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Claude Buss ’24 – Philippines The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, was coordinated with an attack on the Philippines, then an American commonwealth country on the way toward independence. Sayre was evacuated and Buss had the job of arranging what was in form the “unofficial” surrender of Manila to the Japanese, January 2, 1942. Because of the Philippines’ commonwealth status, Buss’s care for the American community during this interregnum was compounded by responsibilities for the security of citizens in Manila. Amidst air raids, fires set by incendiary bombs, and circling Japanese planes, Buss supervised the transfer by submarine of gold from the branches of American banks in Manila to Australia and the burning of Chinese currency stored in the banks that country had in Manila, oversaw the demolition of American military facilities and spoke to the people of the city by radio as the Japanese advanced to its outskirts. He declared Manila an “open city,” decided that American citizens should remain in ttheir suburban homes even as they were engulfed by the invading Japanese Army, and acted as key liaison with the Japanese for other foreign nationals in the city.
When Japanese forces took over Manila, officers who Buss and others had interned after the attack of December 8, 1941, now interned Buss and thirty-three other Americans. Buss was closely interrogated for five days and then held as a prisoner with the other Americans at a local house until June of 1942, when he was transferred to Japan by ship. Held incommunicado for two months in a Tokyo hotel, he was sent to the Urawa Camp for American and European prisoners outside of Tokyo. Finally, in November of 1943, he was exchanged for Japanese nationals being held by the Allies and climbed aboard the Swedish ship Gripsholm at Muramagao, then a Portuguese held part of India, and was repatriated to the United States. Subsequently, he continued in service to the State Department. At the war’s conclusion he worked closely with General MacArthur as the occupation and rebuilding of Japan commenced. Then, he returned to the academic world, resuming his long career traversing between diplomatic and academic service. This group included Latvia’s largest producer of milk and ice cream, a bakery, one of Europe’s largest egg farms, two fish canneries, a chocolate factory, a brewery, a wine bottler, a large vodka and liquor producer, as well as a large security force. It had been put together by a former prime minister, supposedly with money he had earned while selling flowers during the Soviet occupation, and not through his more recent position in the ministry of agriculture to which these enterprises formerly belonged.
It sounded challenging to get inside what was popularly known as the AveLat empire, so I accepted the position on its first multinational board of outsiders. The objective was to get the stock listed on the New York Stock Exchange within a year. What I had not expected was that I would be appointed chairman.
This experience that lasted about two years gave me a unique insight into the operations of post-Soviet enterprises. Owners hiding behind off-shore entities, executives buying expensive items and reselling them for pennies on the dollar, company boards managing themselves and drawing large salaries. During the Russian banking crisis, the AveLat Group lost much of its market. It was eventually broken up and the best companies were acquired by Russians. (The company that made the best Latvian vodka is now the sole producer of Stoli.) As far as the official information, the former prime minister who had put it all together walked off with a $20 million promissory note. Obviously, there is no tax on promises...
I was sent there as we had acquired Gubor, a German chocolate company, to learn German personnel law and practices. We lived in a small apartment in Mulheim. Most of the residents in the town did not speak English. This made Joan's daily grocery shopping an adventure. None of the store people spoke English.
A moving company was hired to ship our clothing to the German company and would be there when we arrived. The company "forgot" to ship our clothes, so we survived on the extra set of clothes in our carry-on luggage -- a lesson we have never forgotten.
I had a great experience working with the employees of Gubor. Personnel laws and practices are totally different from the U.S., which helps to explain the current economic mess in their country.
Each weekend we would "hit the road" and explore the small villages in the neighborhood. We usually found a wine festival and enjoyed the local hospitality.
After the 30-day assignment, we spent two weeks vacation touring Germany, Austria and Switzerland.
I spent eight years in the International Division and found it to be the most rewarding experience of my 31+ years with Hershey. Cultures differ between regions and countries, but we found that people are people and respond in kind to courtesy, interest in their culture, discussing their countries concerns, mutual international concerns, etc.
We planned to be married in October. Stuart had to drive another expedition to India that summer, and I stayed in England working on an archaeological dig and awaiting his return in September. We would both fly to America and have a month to settle our plans for the wedding.
September came and went and Stuart did not return from this trip because of border delays, wars and odd things which delayed him. Finally, I got a telephone call from Stuart's partner telling me that if I could get to his house, he would drive me down to Dover to meet Stuart at the ferry as he entered England from Europe. I didn't have a car, but ran immediately to the bus stop where I would ride to the train station and then get a train to the partner's house. However, the bus never came. I decided to hitch a ride from a passing motorist who took me close to the train station. When I finally got to the station, the ticket master said the train I wanted was just pulling out , but if I ran I could catch it. I ran. I hopped on the moving train and had to buy my ticket on board. Finally got to Dover and met Stuart as he came off the ferry.
I lived for the next two weeks in a cottage near Cambridge and Stuart stayed with his business partner helping to get another expedition vehicle ready for the next trip to India and Nepal. The day finally came when we would get the plane to America and be married. Stuart borrowed a car from a friend, and said he would pick me up and drive to his partner's house where we would get a ride to Victoria train station in London and take a train to Heathrow airport. Sounds simple enough, doesn't it?
Stuart arrived at my cottage while I gathered my belongings and packed the car. We were ready. Here's where the comedy of errors started. The car wouldn't start. We had to push it down a hill, the engine roared and off we started. Halfway to our destination the engine let out a “BANG, BANG” and slowed to a snail's pace. We were still able to creep along, but time was running out. Our plane would leave at 4 p.m. and it was already 2 p.m.. We could still make it.
We crept along the desolate road and then noticed the gas gauge was on empty. The poor car could move slowly with a broken engine, but wouldn’t go anywhere without gas. We came to a stop and decided we would not catch the plane after all. After a few minutes along came a farmer in a tractor, stopped and said he happened to have a can of gas with him and gave it to us saying, “Have a nice wedding.” He wouldn’t take any money for it.
With our hopes of catching the plane once again high, we drove off slowly, still trying to catch our ride to the train station. When we arrived at Stuart’s partner’s house, we were told that our ride couldn’t wait for us and had left. Once again we were depressed. “But,” said the partner, “my girlfriend, Allison, who just happens to be here, could give you a ride into London.”
Elated by this new prospect, we packed all our belongings into her little Mini, and she drove like the wind to London. She must have been going 100 m.p.h., but she got us there without getting a speeding ticket and just in time to see the train to Heathrow airport leaving the train station with all the happy people waving good-bye to us. Depressed again.
Allison then said she would drive us to the airport. She sped along at over 100 m.p.h. this time. Our hearts were in our throats speeding through traffic.
We got to the Heathrow airport at 4 p.m. and went to the check out desk. “Did we miss our plane?” we asked the ticket attendant. “Well,” she said, “you would have missed it, but the plane landed at another airport by mistake and there is a bus loading now to take all passengers to it. If you run, you could catch it!” We ran. We caught the bus with seconds to spare, got to Gatwick airport and boarded the plane. We made it.
After a lovely wedding in America, we had planned to move back to England. We packed all our wedding presents and lugged four very full suitcases back to Cambridge. The plane, train and bus connections were perfect, and we were dropped within a quarter of a mile of our destination. While walking to our new home, my husband’s foot fell off. (Stuart has a wooden leg and the foot bolt broke. His foot was dangling on the sidewalk and was held on by his sock.) We only had a few hundred feet to carry our heavy suitcases, and he would be able to fix his foot once we were home. A passing motorist stopped and looked at Stuart’s foot being dragged along the sidewalk by his still-intact sock and asked if he could help. We said, “No thanks, we’re almost home,” and hobbled into our front door. What a trip! This October we celebrated our 36th wedding anniversary.
From 1979 until January 1992 El Salvador suffered a brutal civil war. In the early years of the war, peasants by the thousands fled into Honduras and Nicaragua, where they were housed in large refugee camps. By 1986, many of the refugees, desperate to return to their land where they could farm and once again support their families, determined to return in mass repatriations. The Salvadoran military opposed the repatriations, threatening wholesale capture and slaughter of the returning campesinos. Lutheran Bishop Medardo Gomez wrote to leaders of the Lutheran churches in the United States, observing that his people were walking a long “via crucis” (way of the cross) and asking for international observers to come and walk with them. In response to this letter, Project Via Crucis was born.
Both short and long term visitors were welcomed. Our purpose was to visit with the poor people of El Salvador, to hear their stories and learn about the oppression under which they suffered, then to return to our churches and communities in Pennsylvania and bear witness to the reality of what we had learned. Our presence in El Salvador also gave some protection to those whom we visited, for the death squads were somewhat less likely to target persons who had international friends able to publicize and protest their disappearance or torture. Knowing that the U.S.government was sending a million dollars a day to the Salvadoran military, we also advocated for the cessation of this funding.
What I saw and heard in El Salvador has forever changed my perspective on life. I have heard a translation of the final sermon preached by Archbishop Oscar Romero, in which he boldly called on the military, in the name of God, to defy orders to kill and to stop the oppression. And I have seen the bloodstained robes he had worn the next evening, when he was gunned down while saying mass. I have listened to the testimony of Rufina Amaya, the only adult survivor of the massacre at El Mozote, and marveled at her courage and tenacity, and raged at how our CIA tried to suppress and then discredit her story.
As I turned the pages of the photo album in the Romero Center of the UCA, stomach churning at the sight of the bloody and mutilated bodies of the six Jesuits who were murdered on November 18, 1989, I was shamed by the knowledge that a majority of the perpetrators had been trained at the School of the Americas at Fort Benning, Ga. I remain outraged that this “School of Assassins,” as it is called by human rights workers, remains open despite all efforts to have it shut down.
In one village we talked with a woman who described her determination to see that her children were educated. With barely enough money to pay for school tuition, books, and bus transportation, she had chosen education instead of adequate food for her family. In my notes I wrote angrily that no mother should have to make such a choice.
On the evening of September 11, 2001, our church opened its doors to all who wanted to gather, to pray, and to express their grief. My prayer that night was that somehow from the horror of that day the American people could gain some empathy and understanding for the millions throughout the world who live daily under the threat of terror and massacre, and that we as a nation would truly choose the path of peace with justice. Alas, it was not to be. I remain convinced, however, that our only hope for security is to assure that all in the world are secure; that the only way to end violence is to refuse to participate in its never-ending cycle; that every single human being is deserving of equal respect and adequate sustenance and shelter. Witnessing to this belief and working toward its fulfillment is where I choose to place my energy.
The greatest part of the job was the variety of people I met – coworkers, clients, fellow expatriates and local residents. I was amazed at the number of nationalities in my team, with half of them non-U.K. nationals living in London.
The most challenging event in my stay was applying for and successfully attaining a British driver’s license. We noticed early on that there was an entire selection of greeting cards to congratulate the recipient for passing the driving test. It was always a given in the US that one would pass the test, if not the first time, certainly the second. However, I quickly heard stories of people who tried, and failed, 5 or more times. The test included a relatively straight forward list of questions about the driving regulations, which did require some study. For example, in certain residential areas, the speed limit is determined by the proximity of street lights. The closer they are to each other, the slower the speed limit, even though it would not be specifically posted. The eye test consisted of "Can you read the license on that car over there?"
However the real challenge was the on-road test through the busy streets in live traffic. The only initial instructions were, "Proceed straight unless I tell you to turn.” In addition to actively monitoring traffic "mirror-signal-maneuver," one needed to remember to put on the hand brake with every time at a traffic light, use a complex series of signals when entering and exiting a roundabout, be able to back around a corner starting 30 feet from the corner and ending 30 feet around the corner with the tires a constant two feet from the curb and parallel park without touching the curb. Somehow, I managed to pass the first time, although I took about 20 hours of lessons to prepare.
My boss was not so lucky, failing twice and then turning in the company provided car (a standard perk for most U.K. white-collar employees). Her classic comment after the second try was "The tester had it in for me.The moment I turned the wrong way on that one way street I knew he wouldn't less me pass the test.”
I was also advised by a co-worker not to take the company car, but rather the small compact provided by the driving school. "You don't want to be driving a car whose cost is equal to the annual salary of the person who will determine whether you pass or fail. One persistent applicant was asked at the end of the test, "How do you think you did?" The reply was, "I don't think I made any mistakes so I must surely have passed." "Well, I think you were a bit too cautious, so I am not going to pass you," to which the response "I failed this test 8 times before, and NOW I am too cautious?" was given.
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