Original Letter & Inspiration
Dreams, Hallucinations
I am now 79 years of age and until recently I have never written or talked about some things that happened to me when I was a young man in my twenties.
I was a prisoner of war in a tropical climate. Our captors were not kind. Diseases - malaria, beriberi, dysentery, dengue fever were common among us. Clean drinking water was very rare if we were working on some project out of camp.
Our diet at the time was a small cup of watery rice and a small portion of boiled sweet potato vines in the morning, no lunch, and the same fare in the late afternoon.
The day I’ll never forget was extremely hard and brutal. With pick and shovel we dug a ditch across a dirt road - about 75 feet. The purpose was to lay a culvert for drainage.
It was hot; the sun never stopped boiling us; water was denied.
If we were seen straightening our backs to relieve the pain, we could expect a clubbing from the guard. Somehow we endured. The job was complete at sundown and we were forced to run back to the prison camp - about 1 1/2 miles. It was nearly dark when we entered through the gates and were dismissed. There were no fires in the kitchen. We would have no more food that day. There was nothing to do about it except get a drink of water and hit the bamboo slats that we slept on.
Words cannot describe the hunger pains I had that night. I thought I had reached the end of my life. I don’t know if I was asleep or awake but I could see the most beautiful display of Smucker’s Jellies all on a rack. It was so plain I could read the labels. In addition to this, I could see our old cherry tree in the backyard in full bloom with an oriole working the blossoms. There were visions of fruit jars sterilizing on Mom’s old kerosene stove and her apron hanging nearby. All pain left me and I sank not a peaceful sleep. I awoke the next day rested and ready for another day in Hades.
Shortly after this things became better for us, and a year later we made our way back to America the beautiful.
I have written this to the Smucker family to thank them for coming to me that terrible night and for all the good products they have made available through these many years.
In the winter months especially, I seldom miss a breakfast without two or three slices of buttered toast with a big spread of Smucker’s Jelly. Many thanks to you for all you have done and thank you for reading this.
Arthur L. Storts
I am now 79 years of age and until recently I have never written or talked about some things that happened to me when I was a young man in my twenties.
I was a prisoner of war in a tropical climate. Our captors were not kind. Diseases - malaria, beriberi, dysentery, dengue fever were common among us. Clean drinking water was very rare if we were working on some project out of camp.
Our diet at the time was a small cup of watery rice and a small portion of boiled sweet potato vines in the morning, no lunch, and the same fare in the late afternoon.
The day I’ll never forget was extremely hard and brutal. With pick and shovel we dug a ditch across a dirt road - about 75 feet. The purpose was to lay a culvert for drainage.
It was hot; the sun never stopped boiling us; water was denied.
If we were seen straightening our backs to relieve the pain, we could expect a clubbing from the guard. Somehow we endured. The job was complete at sundown and we were forced to run back to the prison camp - about 1 1/2 miles. It was nearly dark when we entered through the gates and were dismissed. There were no fires in the kitchen. We would have no more food that day. There was nothing to do about it except get a drink of water and hit the bamboo slats that we slept on.
Words cannot describe the hunger pains I had that night. I thought I had reached the end of my life. I don’t know if I was asleep or awake but I could see the most beautiful display of Smucker’s Jellies all on a rack. It was so plain I could read the labels. In addition to this, I could see our old cherry tree in the backyard in full bloom with an oriole working the blossoms. There were visions of fruit jars sterilizing on Mom’s old kerosene stove and her apron hanging nearby. All pain left me and I sank not a peaceful sleep. I awoke the next day rested and ready for another day in Hades.
Shortly after this things became better for us, and a year later we made our way back to America the beautiful.
I have written this to the Smucker family to thank them for coming to me that terrible night and for all the good products they have made available through these many years.
In the winter months especially, I seldom miss a breakfast without two or three slices of buttered toast with a big spread of Smucker’s Jelly. Many thanks to you for all you have done and thank you for reading this.
Arthur L. Storts