Typhoon in the South China Sea
Leaving Taiwan
In late 1947, as Foreign Service Officer with previous China experience, my father was assigned to the U.S. Consulate General in Shanghai. Our family accompanied him, unfortunately with the exception of Jock.
In China, under the leadership of Mao Zedong, the world was witnessing the most massive -- perhaps the most brutal -- socio-political watershed period in history, the Chinese Communist Revolution (1945-1949). It was not long after World War II that the “Cold War” (1947-1991) surfaced in its early stages.
By early 1949, it became apparent that Chiang Kai-shek’s Republic of China, supported by the United States, was being defeated by Mao’s Communist forces. At that time Dad was reassigned from Shanghai to Taiwan with Consul General authority to strengthen America’s presence on the island.
After a year in Taiwan, by January of 1950 my father’s two-year assignment to China/Taiwan had come to an end. It was time for our family to return to the United States. Our mode of transportation included traveling first by British coastal steamer from Keelung, Taiwan to Hong Kong Island. There we would board the American ocean liner, the SS President Wilson, headed for San Francisco via Yokohama, Japan and Honolulu, Hawaii.
Elegant Sea Travel
The relatively small coastal steamer that was to carry us from Taiwan to Hong Kong was perhaps 400 feet long. After tearful farewells to our close-knit family servants, Dad’s office staff, and our many friends, we boarded the steamer. We children had become attached to and were depended upon several of the house servants. After almost two years, saying goodbye to them was wrenching. Tears flowed as we mounted the ship’s gangplank and were led to our cabins. They were elegant in the old British tradition: lace curtains, mosquito netting draped over each bed, electrically powered overhead cooling fans, mahogany paneling, wooden louvered windows, and polished brass fittings everywhere. Air conditioning was not then available. Our family of five, along with two Boxer dogs, occupied two of the twelve first- class cabins on the top deck, perhaps 20 feet above waterline.
As was typical of the times in the Far East, mostly Westerners were permitted to book first-class cabins on British coastal steamers. Our promenade area was limited to the ship’s narrow deck encircling our cabins. Along both sides of the ship the cabin doors opened onto a six-foot wide deck. At the bow and stern, the promenade deck widened to about 15 feet. Below the top deck was the salon where passengers could converse, read, write, and participate in parlor games while enjoying cocktails and an occasional smoke. An adjacent dining room provided meals served by turbaned waiters in long white robes. Place settings included silver plated flatware, crystal glassware, and Irish linen placemats and napkins.
Given their relatively small size, coastal steamers provided no special amenities, e.g. swimming pools, movie theaters, and dog exercise areas. First-class space was set apart and tightly secured from the rest of the ship.
Second and third-class (the latter often referred to as “steerage”) passengers could be seen from the topmost promenade deck at the ship’s stern. Immediately below was second-class assigned to well-to-do Asians. Steerage was assigned to all other passengers who had to travel from one location along the coast to another.
Much of third-class passengers’ space was located on the bottom-most deck of the ship, some of it exposed to the out-of-doors at the ship’s stern and, to some degree, protected from the elements by tarpaulins. This space abutted the ship’s noisy engine room. Overcrowding in that space seemed to be the norm. In the evenings while standing on the ship’s top promenade deck, as a young boy I recall observing the crowded steerage. It’s passengers brought their own food onboard. Their meals were cooked on hibachis on the open deck at the stern. At mealtimes, dangerous sparks from the active hibachis swirled upwards and were carried out over the sea by the winds.
By 1949, only 14 years following the first trans-Pacific air flight to China, passenger flights were still limited, expensive, and typically provided service only locally. There were clear distinctions among nationals, races and the more wealthy, then an accepted way of life throughout most of the world, including the Far East. India had only just received its independence from the British in 1947. Even in Shanghai, known worldwide as the “Pearl of the Orient,” most foreigners lived in specifically designated areas.
On our British steamer, a high level of security was paramount in protecting the ship’s bridge (control area). All officers carried loaded sidearms. Passengers deemed to be either wealthy or influential were considered fair game for Chinese sea pirates then operating out of the many inlets along China’s southern coast. As a result, second and third-class sections were physically sealed off from the rest of the ship.
Pirate Danger
Pirates had been prevalent in that part of the world for centuries and, understandably, were still feared as the murderous thieves and kidnappers they were. Their high-speed boats and modern weapons enabled them to overpower ships of all sizes — even supertankers. One of the pirates’ many ploys was to book several of their armed compatriots into steerage of an unsuspecting ship commandeering it before the pirate ships arrived from the mainland. Therefore, the importance of tight security on board such vessels as ours was de rigueur, particularly so among all foreign ships plying China’s and Southeast Asia’s coastal waters. Typically, the pirates’ ill-gotten gains were exacted from wealthy Chinese passengers who were kidnapped and eventually ransomed. The last recorded piracy involving a foreign ship along the China coast was in 1952.
Once again our family was embarking on another adventure. For two years in Taiwan, none of us had been able to enjoy fresh milk, butter, fresh vegetables, red meat, milkshakes, and even Coca-Cola. It was wonderful to be returning home to America. After accompanying us as far as Japan, Dad would return to Taiwan to “tie up some loose ends,” an tactic he would use often before separating from us.
War Zone
Our trip began uneventfully. It was exhilarating to be on the high seas in the sun, wind, and salt air. On its way to Hong Kong, our ship had but one port-of-call, the Taiwan-held Matsu Islands. We headed northwest into the Taiwan Strait towards the islands located surprisingly close to Communist China. After some time, through the haze in the distance, we could see the islands and China’s mainland not far beyond. Mainland China was actively seeking to recover the Matsu Islands from Chiang Kai-shek’s forces.
As our steamer entered these waters to unload cargo, I recall hearing muffled explosions in the distance and seeing puffs of smoke in the air from artillery fire not far from the harbor. We were told this was the work of the Nationalist forces harassing the Communists only a few short miles away. The close proximity to this action caused a tense moment for all on board. Some passengers took comfort in knowing that the Communist forces had neither effective air nor naval forces with which to attack the islands.
By January, 1950, the Truman Administration’s previous Far East policy would be altered dramatically. The United States would no longer remain involved with or supportive of either Chiang’s Republic of China or Mao’s Peoples’ Republic of China, thereby leaving Taiwan and its islands exposed to Mao’s more powerful forces. Within six months, however, the Korean Conflict suddenly erupted. It did not take long before Washington finally recognized Taiwan’s true strategic value. A decision was made to reverse America’s previous “hands-off” policy. In due course, America’s 7th Fleet was ordered to patrol the Taiwan Strait thereby reinforcing a separation between Taiwan and the Chinese mainland. Years later, historians would concur that, until the outbreak of the Korean Conflict, much of America’s post-World War II, Far East policy had been woefully flawed.
After a brief period of unloading cargo and eventually weighing anchor, our steamer headed away from China’s mainland and sailed south down the Taiwan Strait into the South China Sea.
Typhoon On The South China Sea
Soon the weather began to take a turn for the worse. The warm seas became long as strengthening gusts created swells causing our vessel to pitch, yaw, and roll to a troubling degree. By dinner time, the weather had turned foul. Heavy rains began to blow horizontally across the vast sea. The head-on wind picked up markedly as the seas roiled. I recall standing with Dad outside on the foredeck late that afternoon, the wind and ocean spray blowing into our faces. We faced the ship’s bow to witness its increasingly violent, rhythmic pitching as it plowed ahead directly into the oncoming angry sea. Atop each gigantic wave, one following another, the ship dived downward into an approaching deep trough. At the bottom of each trough, much of the ship’s bow disappeared into the turbulent water as the engines again powered the ship forward and then upwards, wallowing to port and then to starboard as it mounted the ensuing wave. With each oncoming wave, the ship seemed to become less significant in the raging sea. Though Dad seemed little concerned with the maelstrom at hand, I felt much better after reaching over and taking his hand in mine -- just as a safety precaution.
Raging swells continued to crash against our small ship, one after another, seemingly to unfold from all sides. Distant wave crests soon towered above the ship’s superstructure. Howling winds ripped the tops off the waves scudding them into the distance. With great force, water flowed everywhere on the ship, inside and out.
Typhoons, such as this one from 2006, are frequent visitors to the South China Sea
Bull’s Eye
Dressed in “coat and tie” for dinner, all of us got soaked on our way to the ship’s mess hall. Following dinner, the captain informed everyone that, unfortunately, our ship had been caught by surprise and was in the early stages of a classic South China Sea typhoon. Its full force would be upon us sometime that night.
Historically, the worst typhoons in the world occur in the South China and Philippine seas. By the late 1940s and in spite of World War II technological advancements, weather forecasts were neither timely nor accurate. Had the captain been alerted to the typhoon earlier, in all likelihood, he would have skirted the storm to find safe refuge. Typhoons were not to be trifled with, as hundreds of vessels have been known to have capsized and swallowed up by the seas under just such circumstances. All the ship’s outside lights, including its searchlights, were ordered to remain on throughout the storm. With the torrential rainstorm and all lights ablaze, our tiny ship appeared as a floating, sparkling gem.
The captain further informed the passengers that our quarters and every hatch, porthole, and doorway on the ship was to be firmly secured. Once in our quarters, crews then ran chains through the outside handles of all first-class cabin doors sealing us inside. All passengers were locked in their cabins for the duration of the storm. Every passageway and entrance throughout the ship was to remain sealed until the ship had successfully ridden out the typhoon. A number of frightened passengers realized that in the midst of such a severe typhoon, even a much larger ship than ours was at considerable risk of “turning turtle.” Every effort had to be made by the captain to avoid a sudden broach into the waves.
Few passengers were able to sleep that night. Loose cabin items crashed to the floor as the ship attempted to maneuver itself in anticipation of one mountainous wave after another. Approaching the top of each wave, the ship seemed to hover in suspension if only for a brief moment. Loud and unnerving vibrations could be felt as the ship plummeted into the next trough. Strange sounds could be heard throughout the ship. Seemingly, every rivet was being strained to its limit. We heard parts of the ship’s superstructure being snapped off, crashing to the deck only to be blown overboard. Some of us wept in fear. That night, I remained to myself, braced in a corner of my upper berth, reaffirming and reinforcing my firm belief that Mom and Dad were indeed the paragons of safety I knew them to be. An occasional wave would hit the ship broadside; seawater was forced under the doors and into our cabins. So that we wouldn’t be injured, everyone held onto any piece of furniture or fixture at hand. Always thinking of others, Mom wondered out loud how the horrified passengers on the lower decks were dealing with the storm.
Dawn
By first light, the beleaguered ship had managed to survive the night’s raging storm. But she was well off course. Soon we could hear the crews unchaining our cabin doors -- a welcomed relief and a sure sign the captain felt that all of his passengers would now be safe. Our nightmares had come to an end. While the seas were still running abnormally high, a brilliant, blue sky enhanced by the early morning sun served to lift everyone’s hearts. After a nose-count of all passengers on board, the captain announced all were safe and sound. A huge sigh of relief could be heard among those wandering about the promenade deck.
Once we regained our senses, all portholes were opened to let in light and much-needed fresh air. On deck, it was clear that substantial storm damage had occurred to the ship’s superstructure. Snapped cables, bent and torn pieces of metal, and debris lay everywhere about the deck.
Visitors At Sea
Before long, we discovered many, near-motionless, multicolored birds strewn across the various decks. These fragile, battered, feathered creatures represented minuscule remnants of those that must have perished in the storm. The lucky few scattered about the deck had found our ship, a sanctuary in the middle of the typhoon. A number of passengers began to care for the few surviving birds, large and small. All were brightly colored and many had long tail feathers. One by one, each bird was picked up and nurtured by caring passengers as our ship headed for Hong Kong. Using eye droppers, our family fed sugared water and moistened bread to the several birds in our care. All seemed to recover quickly and began to flutter about our cabins. It was decided to release them all at once before reaching Hong Kong. On deck and with great fanfare, passengers held their birds high overhead coaxing them, one by one, to fly free once again. All did. After circling the ship several times, our feathered friends appeared to reorient themselves before disappearing westward, presumably towards Hong Kong Island.
To many of the passengers, most in tears of gratitude, the entire bird experience symbolized our collective thanks to God for having seen all of us through the storm.
It wasn’t until many years later that my parents shared with us, then grown children, just how dangerous that fearful night had been on the South China Sea.
Then, in the clear morning light and still riding huge ocean swells following the previous 12 hour typhoon, we spotted our first ship in the distance. It was a heavily-ladened, magnificent Chinese junk, perhaps 50 feet long, under full sail heading south from Hong Kong. With hoisted colored sails, its grandeur was a sight to behold.
Hong Kong
Coming into sight of land we noticed all sizes and types of colorful junks and sampans, hundreds of them bustling back and forth to and from Hong Kong. The harbor was crowded gunwale-to-gunwale with these ancient boats. Their huge numbers were due in great part to the massive exodus of Chinese from the Communist mainland. In the absence of naval and air forces, the Communists had been unable to contain the flow of thousands of boats and millions of refugees fleeing the mainland. Hong Kong had been the refugees first choice of resettlement.
As our family revisited Hong Kong, few buildings on the island rose more than several stories. Only a few elegant homes had been built on the side of “The Peak” rising to the south of the city. It was tiny in contrast to Shanghai and Taipei, cities where our family had been living during the past two years. Though through the eyes of a 12-year old boy, Hong Kong was seen as an exciting, colorful, bustling metropolis.
Even after World War II, Hong Kong’s harbor remained foul, much like Shanghai’s. The island’s international harbor and surrounding waters were putrid and served as a dumping ground for everyone and every sewer in the area. This included all of the buildings on Hong Kong Island, the Kowloon Peninsula, the New Territories, and the junks and sampans along with every ship in the harbor. In 1949, as throughout much of China, Hong Kong’s air was occasionally unpleasant, acrid and nauseating to tourists. However, in contrast to our previous Chinese experiences, to us children Hong Kong was Nirvana.
As our steamer approached the harbor, there was insufficient space for the ship to maneuver. Entering from the east, passengers were struck by the hundreds of vessels choking the huge harbor.
To reach shore from the steamer required descending the gang plank and climbing across the decks of numerous anchored sampans in order to reach the Kowloon Peninsula shore. Our eventual landing was located directly in front of our hotel, “The Peninsula,” which stood on the north side of the harbor immediately across from Hong Kong Island. As we stepped ashore, we were mobbed by pedicab and rickshaw drivers seeking our business. Prior to World War II, sedan chairs carried by two or four men had played an integral role in Hong Kong’s public transportation. On our arrival, few remained.
“The Peninsula” was considered the “Grande Dame of the Far East,” a reputation it relishes even today. Personal service was extraordinary. In a few days, the hotel’s rich western diet began to take a heavy toll on my undernourished and somewhat emaciated body.
One evening our parents suggested we all go out for a celebratory Chinese dinner. Our family’s favorite, and one of China’s most delectable meals, was crispy Peking Duck. Quickly we appreciated just how much we were used to and really enjoyed Chinese food having become accustomed to it during the previous years.
Several days later we boarded the 600 foot American passenger ship, the “SS President Wilson.” It had been built near the end of WWII and was the older sister ship to the “SS President Cleveland,” the passenger ship we had sailed from San Francisco to Shanghai, almost two years previously.
On the day before leaving Hong Kong, Mom and Dad decided on a family shopping spree. Before the day was out, each of us had purchased a special gift to remind us of our exciting, if not difficult, two years in China. My choice was a simple, beautiful, full-sized, gold and black lacquered chess set including red (smoked) and white pieces of carved elephant ivory. For many years, it became my favorite and most treasured possession.
SS President Wilson
As I recall, during several days aboard the “SS President Wilson” heading for Yokohama, our family found ourselves giddy, enjoying elegant accommodations, fine French and American food and a clean, salt water swimming pool. To us, everything was immaculately clean. We watched American cowboy movies in the evenings, bet dimes and quarters on horse racing games and roulette. I even learned to dance with Mom and my sister, Heather, as the family enjoyed elegant dinners at the captain’s table. Everything on board provided a refreshing change from the way we had lived during the previous two years. Once again, laughing and dreaming returned to our family.
Both of our Boxer dogs (mother and daughter) were housed in separate stainless steel crates located high on the ship’s funnel deck.
Promotion
The only sad note that year was knowing that Dad would not accompany us all the way home. Rather, he would remain in Taipei for several more months. In January of 1950, while back home in Alexandria we heard he had been promoted to full Consul General. He was 42 years old.
Korean Consequences
At the time our family was leaving Taiwan, the State Department’s interest in the country had begun to wane. By April, 1950 the Taiwan-China political situation was seen by Washington as precarious and closed the U.S. Consulate General offices in Taipei. My father, along with all of the office’s female staff, was directed to evacuate and return to Washington.
America’s current Far East foreign policy continued in disarray. Moreover, and quite by surprise, the Korean Conflict erupted in June, 1950. That “police action” precipitated America’s reassessment of its previous Asian foreign policy involving Taiwan. By 1953, the American Consulate General in Taipei was upgraded to Embassy status.
Early Post-War Japan
Our ocean passage to Japan took several days. Only four years had passed since Japan’s 1945 surrender and the end of World War II. Our family became curious about Japan and what it would be like. As guests to their country, would the Japanese despise us? Had much of the country been destroyed by American bombing? Was there anything of beauty left to see?
Because of such concerns, on our arrival in Yokohama Mom and Dad suggested the family take a car to visit the city of Kamakura to see the “Great Buddha.” The day after docking, we set off with a driver and a State Department official to visit the temple most renowned for its “Great Buddha” -- the colossal, greened, copper image of Amida-butsu. I was taken aback by its grandeur. Built in the mid-13th century, the 50 foot sitting Buddha weighs over 120 tons. We were told this magnificent landmark was considered by the Japanese a “National Treasure.” Before leaving the temple that sunny day, I bought a four-inch replica of The Buddha, one I have treasured since and that still sits atop my bureau.
Much of that day we wandered throughout the temple’s extensive gardens. Every shrub had been carefully manicured. And, in contrast to China, there was no trash anywhere we traveled in Japan. Cleanliness prevailed. The air was clear and fresh. No matter where we looked, traveling both to and from the ship, we saw no evidence of WWII’s destruction. But, to a person, the Japanese people appeared morose. There were no smiles. Most walked with their heads down, avoiding eye contact. Poverty appeared rampant everywhere.
Counterintelligence Story
While in Yokohama, I recall my father recounting an unusual Japanese event that took place prior to World War II. It occurred in the 1920s, just before Dad was posted to Hong Kong’s American Consulate General in 1931.
Back then Japan had begun to build a sizable modern naval force. To accomplish this undertaking, she recognized she would have to turn to the West for the requisite technology. In doing so, the Japanese began to acquire surreptitiously substantial naval technology from various western countries. The purloined information was quickly replicated by the Emperor’s shipbuilders. Blueprint to blueprint, every detail was copied.
America’s intelligence services began to notice that Japan’s successful shipbuilding program was proceeding at an unusually rapid clip. America’s naval architects reacted. A counter-plan was set in motion. Purposely, a number of erroneous measurements were subtly and cleverly incorporated into the blueprints of several new ship designs. As expected, one of the imperfect blueprints was stolen and found its way back to Japan’s shipbuilding program. As their newly built ship with its imperfect measurements was launched, it promptly capsized and sank. The Japanese shipbuilders had clearly not noticed the out-of-balance blueprint alterations. America’s successful counter-intelligence effort proved remarkably effective. Coming on the heels of Japan’s surrender only four years earlier, I was particularly intrigued with Dad’s counter-intelligence story.
We saw no westerners that day. Few Japanese were seen walking about the streets. Even after years of war, we were told that Japan’s population remained deeply humbled as a result of its defeat. To many, their Emperor was judged to have forsaken his people. From 1945 to 1952, the U.S. occupying forces were led by General MacArthur. His direct endeavors enacted widespread and successful military, political, economic, and social reforms throughout Japan.
Embarrassing to us, each time we walked past a Japanese civilian he or she would stop abruptly several paces before us and bow deeply until we passed. Some even dropped to their knees. The habit of bowing would continue by the Japanese for years thereby acknowledging/accepting their country’s defeat. In Japan, reverence was and remains important and taken seriously.
Last Leg Home
I do not recall our ship stopping in Hawaii on its return to California. Reaching San Francisco, we booked into the St. Francis Hotel for a few days. Then Mom and we three children continued our long trip across the country by train. It was a relief to return to our lovely, comfortable, and safe home at 215 Jefferson Street in Alexandria, VA.
While in Taiwan I had missed 6th grade altogether. Nonetheless, once back in the United States I was able to enter 7th grade at Sidwell Friends School in Washington.
