Shanghai Exodus
Mao’s Revolution
By early 1949, China’s General Chiang Kai-shek and his ragtag Republic of China (ROC) army had their backs to the sea. Communist leader Mao Tse-tung’s far superior People’s Republic of China (PRC) army was in control of most of China’s mainland. Only a few of Chiang’s last territories included a few major cities such as Peking (now Beijing), Nanking (now Nanjing), and Shanghai. The civil war had uprooted hundreds of millions of Chinese. Thousands sought refuge anywhere outside China’s mainland. Most in China remained in fear of their lives. Old China was collapsing.
All forms of mechanical transportation in China’s medieval-like society were limited. Hordes traveling by foot caused dangerous bottlenecks at China’s numerous border crossings, seaports, and airports. In anticipation of the Communist takeover, most foreigners had already departed the country. Throughout 1949, chaos reigned everywhere on China’s mainland.
As three young children living in Shanghai, Heather, Tom and I were oblivious to the enormity of the catastrophic socio-military conflict unfolding before us. I was eleven years old.
In anticipation of China’s collapse, the United States began to withdraw its presence to a new strategic beachhead. The location was the relatively insignificant island, then Formosa (now Taiwan) located only 100 miles off China’s mainland and 500 miles from Shanghai.
In the early 16th century, during the Ming Dynasty, the Portuguese were among the many western explorers and the one to discover and name the island of Formosa, or “beautiful” island.
In 1895, China ceded Formosa to Japan, whose cultural imprint in turn very quickly became apparent on the island. Though Formosa’s indigenous population were people of Chinese extraction and the “hill people,” Japan’s form of government/culture would prevail for 50 years through World War II. At the time our family arrived on the island, its common name, Formosa, was being replaced with the more widely accepted version, Taiwan.
As World War II came to a close and while Japan’s forces were being withdrawn from China, Chiang Kai-shek and Mao Tse-tung’s civil war was being rekindled in China. In due course, the United States opted to support Chiang as the leader of China. In fact, it was Mao’s forces who actually were gaining control of China’s mainland.
Taiwan Emerges
After Japan’s surrender, Chiang Kai-shek appointed General Chen Yi as Chief Executive and garrison commander of Taiwan Province to oversee the surrender of, and ship back to Japan, all Japanese forces on the island. Unfortunately, the local inhabitants found the Kuomintang (KMT) government to be oppressive and corrupt. On February, 28, 1947, a major conflict erupted between Chiang’s forces and General Chen Yi, and the island’s inhabitants. Martial law was imposed. Chiang’s army’s response was violent resulting in massive slaughter. Neither the U.S. nor the United Nations addressed satisfactorily the dire pleas of the Taiwanese people. Deadly repercussions reverberated throughout much of Taiwan for months. For better or worse, the United States held fast to its new “This (Taiwan) is China now” policy. Once the dust had settled, it was estimated that between 10,000 and 30,000 people (mostly Taiwanese) were killed, or missing, and thousands more imprisoned.
The outcome of this “Incident” was so heinous and so devastating to the Generalissimo and to the United States government that the incident was officially kept highly secret for decades. As Generalissimo’s scapegoat for this tragic incident was General Chen Yi, in time, he was tried and eventually executed in 1950.
Preceding our family’s move to Taiwan we children were never made aware of the island’s horrendous post-World War II history. Many years later and after further research, I learned of Taiwan’s horrible “February 28 Incident.”
I do recall, however, that Dad had traveled to Taiwan at least once before our family finally left Shanghai in late 1948. Surely, he was aware of the underlying conflict between the Generalissimo and the Taiwanese people. Had he purposely been assigned to Taiwan to initiate/enhance a stronger relationship between the Chiang’s KMT and the indigenous Taiwanese? Or, was there more intrigue than met the eye?
Taiwan Assignment
Effective October, 1947, my father was assigned to the U.S. Consulate General in Shanghai. We do know that just prior to that assignment, he had been serving as Director General of the Central Intelligence Agency’s (CIA’s) Inter-Agency Coordinating and Planning Staff (ICAPS) in Washington.
Looking back on the 1948 Taiwan assignment, perhaps Dad was to establish/enhance America’s “eyes and ears” so close to China’s mainland. Then again, perhaps America wanted to establish a more extensive Far East base for intelligence purposes. In any event, as the newly appointed acting-Consul General, Dad was to upgrade America’s existing diplomatic office in Taipei to Consulate General status by the end of 1949.
Dad’s Airplane
In advance of the final move to our new island home, Dad, with me in tow, flew to Taipei. He was to scope the sleepy capital, Taipei. That year, 1948, was the first time I had ever flown in an airplane.
With brand new responsibilities, Dad was assigned a Navy Douglas DC-3 (often referred to as a “Gooney bird”) and a crew of three. The shiney aluminum plane could cruise at 200 m.p.h. for a distance of 1,500 miles carrying about 20 passengers. In November, 1948, that very plane would move our entire family, two dogs, and most of our personal effects from Shanghai to Taipei.
Stock photo of a Douglas DC-3
New Home
After a few months of being assigned to our compound on Route Doumer in Shanghai’s French Settlement, surprisingly our family was assigned a two story, western style house outside the city. The new, stand-alone house was spacious and had a grassy yard secured by an eight foot stucco wall topped with the typical shards of broken glass. It was there Flirt gave birth to her first litter of boxers, including Alex.
There was only one entrance to the property -- a heavy iron double-gate overseen by round-the-clock, Chinese guards posted outside. Inside, huge rhododendron bushes lined the wall. A gardener maintained the yard. Soon a number of additional servants were hired as part of the household. By late 1948, rapid changes throughout China were in the air.
Shanghai Exodus
It was late one night in November, 1948, when my bedroom door unexpectedly opened with resounding urgency. Surprisingly, it was not our Amah (a Chinese nursemaid) awakening me. Typically it was her job to care for all three of us children. Instead, that particular night it was Mom rousing us from bed with dispatch. Going from room to room, Amah dressed each of us as quickly as possible. I noticed tears in her eyes and that she was distressed.
Since arriving in China, we children had been coached well by our parents, namely, to respond promptly on command. Only later might we be permitted to ask questions. Not only while in China, but throughout our childhood, our parents rarely shared with us any sense of danger. On numerous occasions this discipline would prove highly effective. Fear was always kept separate from reality. Therefore, as young children we never came to comprehend what was happening to our family, and why.
Our servants were grabbing pre-packed suitcases and bundles from our rooms and carrying them quickly down to three black vehicles -- engines running. It appeared everyone had a flashlight, their powerful beams flooding the immediate area. Commotion was everywhere. I sensed something big was afoot. Just before leaving my room, I grabbed my two Teddy bears looking unwanted in my unmade bed. In the kitchen, snacks had been prepared and stuffed in our pockets by our “Number-one houseboy.” He too was weeping. Clearly, it was not a time for questions or explanations. When I finally ran out into the dark, I saw Dad talking to a couple of serious-looking Chinese men in suits and ties. As our family began to be divided between two of the three cars, I moved quickly to assure I would ride with Dad that evening. I always made a point of accompanying him whenever I could. After all, in the absence of my older brother, Jock, weren’t I now “Number-one son?” When being driven, my father always sat on the right side of the back seat. On that frigid, frightening morning, I especially wanted to be next to him. Dad’s car was being driven by our family’s personal driver. Even in the dark I could see the grotesque scars from his ringworm staring at me from the back of his neck. In the front seat next to our driver was a Chinese man, also in a black suit and tie. I didn’t recognize him. And, while I was always on the lookout for weapons in our midst, none were evident -- but I knew better. My mother along with Heather, Tom and both Boxers got into the second car with another driver. The third vehicle was to carry excess baggage. Prior to boarding the cars, quickly we said our thank-yous and goodbyes to the staff. It appeared everyone was weeping including Mom. Our convoy started its engines and, with great dispatch and lights ablaze, headed out of our driveway and into the early morning. The huge double-door iron gates to our new Shanghai home closed behind us for the last time.
Bumper-to-bumper our convoy sped down Shanghai’s filthy but empty, narrow streets. The dark boulevards weren’t even crowded. The convoy would turn down one street and then up another without pausing. In Shanghai’s suburbs there were no streetlights. Dad maintained a clipped dialogue with the men in the front seat. Our cars drove at above-average speed, then suddenly turning left and then right as though taking shortcuts through the city. Approaching the outskirts of Shanghai, we began to encounter increasing numbers of people, all heading in the same direction as we. Most were on foot, many carried children or were pushing broken-down wagons and bicycles over-burdened with personal possessions. Using bamboo “shoulder sticks” many individuals seemed to be carrying everything they owned. Many appeared distraught, anxious and confused. Some just stared ahead with blank faces trudging along in one direction. Did the growing crowd know something I didn’t? The word “forlorn” epitomized so many of the Chinese masses we saw throughout our stay in Shanghai. Some even wept, heads down as they shuffled along the road in their travel. Most were dressed in standard blue, heavy quilted jackets, and pants. A number of men, in all likelihood farmers, had partially shaved heads, some still with queues hanging down their backs ...even then an unusual remnant of the Manchu era.
Other than our three cars, there was no traffic to speak of. As we sped on, the crowd became increasingly difficult to maneuver through. In a low tone of voice, for the first time Dad informed me that we were heading to an airport located outside of Shanghai. Our three car convoy rolled on making sure not to separate from one another.
As we drove further into the countryside away from the city, little did I realize we were actually moving closer to the Communist front lines. Not far off, their armies had been amassing for some time encircling Shanghai. As Mao’s overall military strategy precluded engaging in urban warfare, major Chinese cities such as Shanghai, Beijing and Nanking, were being spared - - until Mao’s final victories over the countryside.
In due time, we approached a cordon of armed Nationalist Chinese soldiers who, holding back the crowds allowed us to pass by. Vastly outnumbered by the growing crowd, many running alongside our moving cars, the soldiers appeared fidgety and even frightened. On several occasions, Dad reminded me that I must not worry about the tumult pushing in on us. Suddenly in the distance we saw a lone airplane with running engines. On the silvery wings and fuselage of the DC-3 airplane were U.S. Navy markings. Hundreds of armed soldiers were protecting the plane. Some in the crowd were trying to breach the protective cordon. Those who were belligerent and confronted the military were struck fiercely and repeatedly by military batons.
In retrospect, it became obvious these people were simply seeking to escape their homeland -- by whatever means and at any cost. In some cases, huge amounts of bundled Chinese currency were being offered by those seeking a way out.
Paper currency was being inflated at a rapid pace daily by the Chinese government. As China’s civil war grew costly, the already inflated paper currency in circulation was growing exponentially. The volumes of money in use were bundled in pre-measured packets. The larger denomination bills were not readily available. The almost innumerable stacks of packets were bound with twine, each weighing five pounds or more. Money was cheap and getting cheaper by the day.
That frightening morning some refugees displayed lavish amounts of gold jewelry while banging their fists against the car’s windows seeking to get our attention. A number of refugees even offered hard currency, namely gold, to buy their safety. Contrary to paper currency, in China gold was always highly prized for its stability in value. Those with funds sought any mode of conveyance out of China. Most recognized that China’s way of life was in the painful throes of collapse. Nonetheless, their lucrative offerings were to no avail as our convoy drew closer to the DC-3 parked on the tarmac.
A large contingent of officials, assigned to the American Consulate General, were near the Navy plane waving their powerful flashlights authoritatively. A few, along with the flight crew, hurriedly assisted Dad and our family in boarding the plane.
In advance of the air trip, Mom had been requested to bring along two “boxes” for our dogs. When asked where the boxes were, Mom presented two empty Kleenex boxes. These were intended in the event of dog mistakes while onboard. The Navy had meant/expected two crates to house the dogs during the flight. Everyone chuckled uneasily as Flirt and Alex were led onboard at the ends of leashes.
Once on board, Mom took special care informing us children that Dad had already arranged for six of our Shanghai servants and their immediate families to leave mainland China for Taiwan by ship. We three were elated over this unexpectedly good news. To children, servants were seen as family.
With great dispatch, everything was transferred from our three vehicles onto the DC-3. The Navy plane was now filled with everything “Edgar” -- steamer trunks, wooden crates filled with furniture, boxes filled with toys, a refrigerator, suitcases, two dogs, etc. The pilot, co-pilot, and the radio operator (“Rosie”) all were World War II Marine veterans. Curiously, our Marine pilot was also the son-in-law of Livingston T. Merchant, a senior diplomat from the State Department and friend of my parents. In the months ahead we would find just how invaluable our trio of Marines would become to our family. We became very fond of them.
Shanghai Take-Off
The plane’s engines were running as we boarded. The seats, designed for paratroopers, were beyond uncomfortable. They consisted of fold down steel-framed benches with webbed seating. I checked to be sure that both Teddy bears were still safely at my side. I reached out to hold my baby sister’s hand as we settled into our seats. She was just seven and wide-eyed. Looking out the window over my shoulder I could see hundreds and hundreds of desperate people still being restrained by the soldiers. To me, it seemed the soldiers might not be able to hold back the pressing crowd. Once the plane’s hatch was secured, our pilot began to gun the engines. We began to move towards the runway. It taxied from side to side in a wide pattern, left and then right, while gaining speed. This was a technique to discourage the growing mob from pressing too close, or even grabbing onto the plane itself.
There was no control tower in operation at the airport. A few pleading Chinese continued running after the plane even as it picked up speed heading out across the field. Years later I was informed our plane had standing orders to press on at all cost even at the risk of endangering the crowd. It was still dark as our plane lifted off the unlighted landing strip heading east into the empty sky. So very suddenly, our family was leaving China behind.
Nanking Stop-Over
No sooner was the plane heading east towards the Taiwan Strait than our pilot informed Dad that one of the plane’s engines had developed a minor mechanical problem. Before heading out over the East China Sea, the plane would have to turn back into China’s mainland for repairs. As Shanghai was out of the question, a decision was made to head for Nanking (Nanjing), northwest of Shanghai and a former capital of China. As in the case with Shanghai, China’s Communist forces had decided to hold back from taking the city of Nanjing. Flying over Communist-held countryside, it was deemed imperative to land in Nanjing before daybreak.
An American diplomatic contingent had been forewarned of our emergency. Official cars met the plane at the airport. All five of us and both dogs were loaded into several cars without baggage. We were instructed to keep down and out of sight as our car sped into Nanjing. As dawn was beginning to break, we three children and the dogs were intentionally kept out of sight lying on the floorboards of the car covered with blankets on the way to a safe house somewhere in the city. Exhausted, we all fell asleep on the floor of our temporary sanctuary as the flight crew continued its critical work back at the airport. This stopover was a serious departure from the original plan. After all, by leaving Shanghai that night, we had been scheduled to arrive in Taipei, Taiwan that morning.
My recollections are that the U.S. 7th Pacific Fleet patrolling the Taiwan Strait was ordered to monitor our plane’s progress out of China. Unfortunately, that night the plane’s radioman, “Rosie”, had not informed the Fleet of our emergency landing in Nanjing. This generated a chain of events culminating with an erroneous newspaper article. It was reported later by The New York Times that the newly appointed acting-American Consul General to Taiwan and his family were missing over the Formosa Strait during their flight out of mainland China.
After a brief rest in Nanjing followed by a light breakfast, stealthily our family was jammed into two cars and rushed to the airport. Once again, there we saw hundreds of Chinese pleading for a ride out of China. Again, Mao’s forces were not far outside the perimeter of the city. Heather could not understand why no one could help the refugees.
Once the engine was repaired, our pilot explained in detail to my father that when airborne our plane must seek to minimize daytime visibility as it crossed Communist China’s airspace. This would include following a low altitude flight plan using the shortest route from Nanjing to China’s coastline, avoiding ground detection. Our pilot’s strategy was to exit Communist airspace as quickly and safely as possible.
While Mao’s military ground forces were formidable, they had neither effective air nor naval forces. At the time, the skies were relatively safe for foreign aircraft and the U.S. Navy still controlled the seas around China.
Next Stop Taiwan
By early morning, our tiny DC-3 was heading southwest over the East China Sea. Taiwan’s coastline was our next marker. After some time, the plane began to descend through the high ceiling of broken clouds. It flew low on a course heading toward the rolling, jungle-covered mountainous terrain north of Taipei. Once over the island, our pilot and his crew kept their eyes peeled for the elongated landing strip in the green lush countryside below. The simple World War II strip was located not far from the slumbering capital of Taipei. As the island’s largest town, Taipei is located at the northern end of this idyllic 250 mile tropical island. There was no operating control tower at the airport. Circling the runway a few times in a steep bank, we could see a crowd of officials waiting below to greet Dad and our family. Before departing the aircraft, all five of us heaped deep praise and gratitude on the plane’s crew for the safe trip. As an eleven, little did I realize the surprises still in store for all of us.
