 
My Granddad & Me: American Warriors

Copyright 2014 by Joshua Margulies

Smashwords edition

This project is dedicated to the two boldest adventurers I have ever met my Grandparents: Robert Coleman and Helene Schuster Allen.

Foreword

As I mature as a person and look back I see a great deal of parallels from my own life so far and my granddad's life as a youth. This is the greatest honor to me I can imagine- that unknowingly in my own very different way I am living out the legacy of a giant of a man. When I was younger I would listen to my Grandfathers stories with a jaded ear. Having heard many repeatedly they became mundane to my teenage ears. I could tell they were important to him but I just wanted to know when I could surf, play soccer or when he would teach me boxing. We would sit on the Lanai of the beautiful home he and my Great Grandfather architected in the hills overlooking Kaneohe Bay on eastside Oahu, Hawaii.

Every once in a while i would see the spark in his baby blue eyes overcome his beautiful wrinkled face and a glow empowered him. Now I understand what I was witness to. I was seeing the raw visceral power of a life lived well; through the eyes of a man of experience. Looking back on this I see his stories as the material of mystical magical worlds. Like mythology. The stories would instill in me, unbeknownst to me at the time, a vitality and faith that i carry now.

In this book: a compilation of my Grandfathers and my life so far I aim to explain the adventurous nature of both living a passionate life and confronting danger: in the quest for freedom. We were both young and seeking new horizons, discovery and adventure.

When I picture my Grandfather in his life I picture this in sepia and black and white tones like many of the photographs from his era. My life on the other hand is in vivid kodachrome or High Definition digital color because of its crisp modernity.

Bob Allen and Joshua Margulies had different circumstances in different eras but we shared the same adventuresome freedom-loving blood spanning nations and generations. From the Second Great World War to Australia's Great Ocean Road. We are two peas in the proverbial monkey-pod.

Despite our different upbringings and times we lived in: this is a tale of two men who share one important quality: Courage. Both men grew up in American troubled times but were privileged with a strong character and a free spirit. Discovery and passion helped drive & shape their young lives and lead to exciting circumstances. Their life challenges speak wonders about human strength and perseverance in this world.

Christmas 1929: The Awakening

I was 17 and had already travelled the world. My parents were traveling actors. Occasionally they were employed from town to town to do plays and they became quite a hit couple. At other occasions they would go months struggling. Between acting jobs my mother would work as a saleswoman or seamstress and my father as a miner. But their joie de vivre was in performance. My mother Florence Hart was one of the originals on the silver screen down in a little burgeoning southern California village called Hollywoodland. Back then the actor was anonymous outside of the big cities such as New York and LA so it was a job perk and very becoming for my mother Florence and my father James to travel and perform with gypsies and in various roadshows.

In this venturesome career lifestyle they were able to see the country and spread publicity as well. On one of my parents' great acting couple's tours across the United States, in Topeka Kansas, yours truly, Robert "Coleman" Allen decided to pop on out and say "hello world!"! I was born into the travel and spirited life.

Growing up I was showered with lots of love but little money. I would be with my parents at their shows since the first thing I could remember. From ragtag circus acts to classical Shakespeare. From Broadway to Vaudeville my parents were determined actors and enjoyed their craft. I was always horsing around with my big sister, Patty. I was an attractive little blonde boy. Women of all ages doted on me and I was quite the miniature ladies man. My mother said I was supporting of them and happy to see new places and meet new peoples. The other performers also saw a spirit in me that glowed. I was brought onto stage to perform on occasion.

My mother Florence had a beautiful voice and she would sing to us and play guitar. My sister was also blessed with a lovely voice. I was more pragmatic. I believed in hard work and rugged perseverance. I Guess I got that trait from my real dad, Coleman, who was a gold miner. Coleman lost his life in a mining accident before I was born. My beautiful mother had remarried the actor James Allen whom she met on stage as Juliet doing a highway gypsy version of the Shakespeare classic.

In 1929 we were living in Grass Valley near Truckee, Northern California. The great American stock market had crashed a few months earlier. I had been brewing the idea of going out and making money elsewhere anyway. It didn't take the business degree I had attained at the local college to reckon the market crash meant trouble.

It was eerily calm that day after Christmas. My highly energetic and operatic older sister Patricia was not at the dinner table. She had gone off to pursue her dream of singing in New York City and wanted to be a star. We all sat to eat as I gazed languidly at the brusel sprouts on my plate; wishing they would go away. My mother and stepfather had finished eating and were sipping on hot ginger tea.

Suddenly I felt I could be quiet no longer. "Mom, I'm going to the Southland", I blurted. A sort of shockwave went through her. She had been depending on my physical and emotional support. "I just have a feeling with the stock crash and all that I'd better make us some money and..." I mumbled off losing confidence. I looked down at my food and then into my mom's glassy eyes.

After a few moments she turned away, took a deep breath in, sighed and said to me, "I think you're gonna be fine". I could see (or perhaps i imagined) the pain unspoken in those words. A part of me begged her to ask me to stay. I was battling with my fear of the freedom and of the unknown world. I pleaded, "I want to make you proud and make some money, and maybe you can come down there for your acting and-" "-I am already proud of you, Bob", she said, genuinely.

It was good to hear but it hurt. I wanted so much and my aspirations were just beginning. Life was just beginning! What could she be possibly proud of, I thought . I had been wrangling cattle, going to school and working the stupid mines. Outside the world teemed with other life that I wanted to know so much about.

"Excuse me", I said as I stood and cleared the dinner plates. I walked into the kitchen, washed the dishes and went outside into the crisp cool air. Menlo, our old black lab dozing on the porch with his graying whiskers twitching woke as I closed the screen on the porch. I picked up a baseball by the rocking chair, gripped it tight and gazed at the plethora of stars. I saw a comet. I was restless. I wanted change. The world was changing around me and within me and I churned for new adventure and freedom. I was sick of being under my mom's roof.

"Woof , Woof!!" Menlo shattered my concentration and barked for the ball to be thrown. I snapped out of my trance as I blurred my vision on the pinholes to heaven in the black night. "Shoot for the stars and you'll at least end up among the clouds!" I said. Then I threw the baseball as hard as I could at the brightest star I could see. I watched as Menlo zipped through the tall grass in pursuit. I turned to go inside.

The next morning i packed my bindlesack with my trousers, shoes, and a couple shirts. I threw on my lucky cowboy hat, kissed my mom and pop bye and walked off, down the driveway. The adventure had begun.

Summer 1995 : The Awakening

I was 17 and had already traveled the world. My mom was a missionary, my father a doctor. My Dad was employed by the Australian government to help third world developing nations and provide treatment to those without the privilege of western medicine. My Mom was a missionary working in the mountains. They met in Nepal and fell in love.

After getting married in Hawaii, where my mother was born and raised, they moved to Bali. There my mother became pregnant. They returned to Nepal where I was conceived; under the base of Mt. Everest where my parents had meditated during the full moon. This is where I decided to pop out and enter the story.

Technically I had already traveled to two countries before I was even born. Anyway after I was born, which was a shocking entrance for me (my father says I came out feet first with the umbilical chord around my neck) we chilled in Kathmandu for a few weeks. Then we all traveled back to Indonesia via Malaysia and Singapore. In Singapore I was held by Mother Theresa who was on a mission there. I don't remember it though I wish I did.

Being a Bali baby was awesome. The first memory I have was the rocking sound of a flowing river and a chameleon crawling on the ceiling eating mosquitos.

My father had studied pediatric medicine overseas in Switzerland and earned a masters degree and doctorate at Johns Hopkins. He was well respected and able to work in areas he chose. He always wanted to help the less developed countries. Since he also loved travel this worked well for his lifestyle.

My mother and father fell out of love for reasons unknown to me. She moved back to Hawaii. We would stay with dad sometimes and be with mom at others. My brother was born a year and a half after me in the Netherlands. Our Dad would take us with him on his adventures in foreign countries. He taught us that the world is our classroom. That the world was full of self discovery and that growth was found through its exploration. One of my most vivid childhood memories was when my Dad, my brother and me were invited to a "civilized" Indonesian warrior battle; complete with spears and horses. It may have been over a council quarrel or a debt owed. Whatever the dispute : they would settle it like men.

My father was working for the Indonesian government at the time and paid little more than travel expenses but rich in payment from experience. He had heard about these primitive battles. One night he was speaking with a chief and the next thing you know we were invited to be honorary guests at the battle. My father would act as the emergency medic during this all day tournament of savagery. An adventure!

At dawn our day began. We got on a 4 seater orange prop plane with neon green water landing floats and flew for a half hour to the island of Flores. We landed on the surf-surged white foamy ocean. From there the natives met us with a small motorboat and we surfed the giant sets navigating through reef to shore. There we transferred to a jeep-ride through muddy jungle. After this we hiked in over lush mountainous jungle to a remote village. To say the village was remote is obvious. Many of our hosts had never traveled and they had no TV and barely any radio. To these people of Flores we were white skinned gods; or devils. Who knows?

When we finally got to the village we saw there was a flat grassy field roughly the size of an American football field. On each opposing side there were several shirtless men in thongs. As they warmed up their horses for battle riding bareback armed with 6 foot long semi sharpened wooden spears my father prepared his clinic station. "Bagus?!?" the cheerful chief asked my father as he trotted up on his steed. My father just smiled back nervously and nodded, "Bagus!!"

Bagus means good in Indonesian. Then the muscular chief left us and galloped out into centerfield carrying a spear of his own. Apparently it was over a young man from a neighboring tribe whom had slept with a young woman from the local tribe and had impregnated her and not offered marriage. The chief yelled many words in Indonesian basically giving his blessing on the battle & permission to mame and kill in the name of honor.

Then each side attacked.

It was chaos. The men blurred into several shapes of brown-skinned fighters. My father was working the job of several men since he was the only western doctor on site of the battle. He had only his young nurse-trainee to help. It was difficult for them to aid the wounded in time. I recall my father stitching up brave Indonesian warriors. Dark blood soaked his hands.

Some part of my young mind had always thought that Indonesian blood was a different color than mine because we were such different people; but here it was, red like mine. I looked into the brave warrior's wounded panicked eyes and empathized. It was as if i were out there bleeding to death.

My Dad's hands that had held me when I was born were now holding together the torn skin of people he didn't know. The smell of burnt rubber in the air and stray dogs howling in the high hot sun. . . This adrenal and carnal imagery, the overstimulation of the senses. It all so exciting to me: a 10 year old swashbuckler in the making!

When I was 12 my parents Sherry and Edward divorced. My mother got a job and moved back to Hawaii where her parents still lived while my Dad wanted to continue to travel and do his work. We were living back and forth between our young mother (she was 23 when I was born) who was finding stability at home in Hawaii and our stable-minded jet-setting father for several years.

They fought and it was mostly over us. One year we had moved back to Hawaii with our mom only to be kidnapped (or as i saw it, rescued) by my father and taken back to South America. On the way to the southern hemisphere via the mainland US we went to Disneyland first. Then we flew to Florida saw our grandparents before island hopping to Bermuda and Barbados. In these countries my Dad always had a girlfriend he would visit or an old traveler friend. I remember in tropical Barbados the cars had no doors.

Traveling I was having the time of my life. My father always believed that the best classroom on earth was world travel and life experience. It was amazing to me as my dad, my role model, pulled us out of traditional American school in Hawaii where I was bored and getting annoyed with people and we were given the real school of living.

My fathers' reckless nature & impulsive spirit got under my skin and shaped me as a pre-adolescent. I was always into taking chances as a teenager physically and pushed my physical limits in all sports. I excelled in surfing, soccer, boxing, writing, snowboarding and bodysurfing.

In 1992 we lost our father to a brain tumor. I was 13. It was a sudden loss and forced me to grow up fast. That same fire and energy that was used productively towards my sports and writing was transferred into a mess of undirected anger and misguided passion. My closest group of friends changed from the ones I surfed and boxed with to the ones I got drunk and high with. Soon I turned to crime.

My apathy turned into disrespect and an animosity for authority and law. We would break into houses and sell the stuff we found. Some nights I would drink a 40 ounce of Olde English malt liquor, get stoned, listen to N.W.A & then bust over parking meters and break them open for change. All my friends were hoods and I didn't go to class anymore. The final straw that got my mom and others to notice was when I was arrested for stealing a car. I was sent to therapy and boarding school. There I found nature, friendship and discovered a peace within myself that I can draw on today.

Now it was 1995. I was 17 I had just graduated high school and I was living on Oahu with my aunty Jan; an amazing friend who was going to marry my father before he passed. They traveled together just before my father passed and had been very close. We have the same birthday. Since I wasn't getting along with my mom at the time, Jan adopted me, or as the Hawaiians say she became my Hanai Mom.

I had a travel bug from all my youth adventures and the island was not enough for me. I wanted to be on my own and I craved a new scene and new existence. Oahu is a small island and it was too congested to me. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to begin the adventure of life my father always spoke of. I yearned to be independent and free and wild like the Jack London novels I loved.

One day I had just finished surfing and was lying in the hammock with my yellow lab Goldstar. Aunty Jan was cooking a delicious shrimp tempura. I was reading a book on the history of surfing my granddad had given me. "Jan, my mind is restless here at home. The island feels small for me", I said as I gazed off into the jungle behind her house. Jan just smiled, "I know you, Josh. You always were a free spirit", she replied over the sizzle of the shrimp into the deep fry. "I didn't see the island holding you for long".

A couple days later I packed a couple pairs of jeans, shoes and some long sleeve shirts. I threw on my lucky baseball cap grabbed my skateboard and Jan was dropping me off at Honolulu International Airport for a flight to the mainland. The adventure had begun.

1934- Halcyon Days

When I left California I was 19 years old. A blank canvas full of vigor. In those days we hopped trains to cover long distances. The trains usually started out at 10-15 mph for a mile or so 'til they had enough steam gathered to really get rockin'. They were an especially cost-efficient and straightforward manner of travel.

There was a science to the catching of it. Similar to catching a wave. Ya had to time it just right. First you'd find out the train schedules and destinations. Then you'd spot the boxcar you wanted to get on in the trainyard as the train sat motionless. You would hide in a bush or behind a rock outside view of the train watchmen and wait. Sometimes you'd wait for hours. When the train started moving you'd sprint alongside, throw your sack in the box, climb up a ladder n jump in. Easy right?

Well factor in the guards, the pitbulls, the fact that you have to do a full sprint, the chance of death by dismemberment and the car possibly being locked or full of manure or violent hobos or lord knows who or what and...yeah. It was easy. One crispy cold December morning in the last days of the roaring 20's I made a break for my boxcar.

I was out of breath by the time I pulled myself and rucksack into car 77 that was transporting hay. I couldn't have been luckier. I was on my way to the unknown freedom land. With $10 in my pocket riding the rails in the setting sun. A rich man in that I was living by my rules. I dozed off quickly on the hay bale beneath me dreaming of the unknown city ahead. My first class cabin on the rails.

I woke up quick to a hobo with a funny look in his eye. "Where ya from, Boy?", he leered. I had always been wary of strangers and had a feeling this guy was up to no good. I grabbed my hat and scooted back in the car. "Up north", I said. We were sitting across from each other almost like a stand off.

All of a sudden I recalled that i had my bowie knife. Still I was not up for a fight as I had no idea the likes of where this guy had been. I looked around the boxcar. I spotted a large branch that had broken into the car as we had passed low trees. I took a deep breath and calmly reached over to the branch and picked it up. I then proceeded to take out my 10" knife and begin widdling away at the stick. He gave me a sarcastic smile. Then he leaned back, sighed shallowly and put his hat down over his eyes to sleep.

California is a big state. I lived way up in the northern part and I wanted to make it down to what we called the Southland. After the hobo incident I transferred cars at the next stop on my way to Los Angeles. I recall waking up very early one morning as we were near the coast and the sun was rising behind the train casting glorious shadows on the glassy blue sea. As we approached the city the windows of the buildings reflected the hope that I had in my heart.

I watched the fields blur by as I thought of the future. In LA I knew there would be more work than Grass Valley. I had a friend named Johnny Weismuller whom I had grown up with and who had on numerous occasion invited me to join him to live and work in Hollywoodland. I heard it was very near Los Angeles.

When I arrived, Johnny whom had trained boxing with me in high school (but whom I had never wanted to go up against since he was 6'4" and 220 lbs) met me at the trainyard. "Bobby Boy!", he said and gave me a great bear hug. My back cracked. It felt good. He had an extra cot in his small apartment and some floor space that he invited me to share.

I lived with Johnny and a bunch of folks in Hollywoodland where the moving pictures were being made. It was easy to find work for me. I was always told I had a "great look". My dashing blonde-haired blue eyed look. Well I didn't know what that meant but apparently I was popular. In addition to working as an extra on set with Johnny I photo-doubled and did stunt work for a gentleman named Buster Crabbe on such films as Tarzan and Green Lantern. I went to Hollywood High and the beautiful ladies were a plenty and the parties were right for my young desires.

It didn't take long until I found out about a little beach town called Santa Monica, several miles to the west, which was more my scene. I met some Mexican hoodlums on the set one day and we got to talking and all started to train and fight. I had fun. I soon found that I was good with my fists and actually entered some boxing competitions. To me these bouts were an outlet to let off a bit of steam. Little did I know this path I had stumbled on would give me some cash. I became such a boxing success that I won the inner city golden gloves championship that year.

It was around that time that I also discovered surfing. This discovery would change my life forever. Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, the Hawaiian originator of surfing, who I met working on the film, "Isle of Escape", would describe catching a wave as being in the right place at the right time. He and his brothers also lived out near the waves at Santa Monica. I saw surfing as walking on water. Later when I lived in Hawaii Duke had a locker right next to me at the Outrigger club in Waikiki and we would chat, drink mai tais and surf together. He had an aura that emanated kindness and Aloha.

I always remember the first wave i ever caught. I felt Duke's description quite fitting. To move above the water with a force of nature. I was dancing in freedom on top of an ever-changing element that was also moving at its own rhythm. There was a symbiosis of man and nature leading to a ride of bliss. I became very passionate of and enraptured by surfing.

"The Duke" was a charming fellow with two brothers all of whom always did everything together. All of us would surf at Malibu and Sunset beach together. He invited me to his home in Hawaii. There was also a woman in Hollywoodland named Maryon Davies, a friend of the Dukes, who had taken a liking to me and seen potential stardom in me.

Still, I don't know if it was the cut-throat hustle of the big city or the " bad economy" that got me down. It was the great depression and everyone was busy being depressed and I was young and trying to live the moment. I would send home whatever extra cash I had from boxing, working my stunt jobs and whatever else I could spare to my mom up in Grass Valley. Financially I was fine but the whole scene and the city gnawed at me and after a year or so I was fed up with the congestion. I felt the adventurer in me was locked into a world with crowds, long lines, traffic and rigid thinking. Greater and sandier shores called and the US island territories of the Hawaiian islands were just a 12 hour flight away.

So I jumped ship once again for the great unknown. I fell instantly in love with the pace of life and with the "Aloha Spirit" on the island of Oahu. Hawaii was a land for me that had it all. From the softer and whiter sand of beautiful beaches to the warm translucent water. From the lush Ko'olau green cliffs of Kane'ohe and Waimanalo to the billowy clouds overhead in lovely Punalu'u. From the tranquil nightlife and delicious restaurants of Waikiki to the pounding surf of Hale'iwa. From the roaring curls of Makaha to the deserted blazing sandy beaches of the westside. I had found the good life.

In Hawaii I looked up the great "Duke" Kahanamoku, who had said to visit him at his home. He set me up with his gang of friends known as the "Beachboys" and I got a job doing surf lessons in Waikiki; the tourist center of Hawaii. My surfing and women wrangling skills improved greatly in that time. Our days consisted of surfing the swells, cruising on the sunny beaches and giving lessons to beautiful "Wahines" (and rich tourists) in need. Although it was during the great depression there were still a lot of wealthy patrons who would vacation to Hawaii. They wanted to learn to surf at the birthplace of surfing and surfing was a major novelty in those days.

One day I was sitting on a Hawaiian Koa wood surfboard at Waikiki beach waiting for a set of waves. With the sun blazing on my brown skin and the air fresh with salt I let my mind flow back with the tropical December tide. Something was calling out to me and my free spirit and I had to answer it or regret it. I had made up my mind I wouldn't have any regrets.

I had it all. What could I need. Johnny, who was like a brother to me and always the thinker, used to say "There's no success like failure; And failure's no success at all". I thought of it now and then when everything was just a little too perfect. I would think, "what if this is all there is"? Some may say that it was the perfect existence and i am crazy for wandering from it. But the vagabond spirit in me knew that the true calling was the unknown. In my travels I found in chaos there is the pulse of life's spirit. It was always through this variety that I would grow.

The adventurer in me wanted more. "Go west", the old American saying goes. I had already travelled west off the western US map and into the Pacific but there was a little island chain even further west that was in my global classroom. It was known then as the US Philippine territories. In the winter of 1934 I jumped on a steamer headed to Manila Bay.

So it was that in the mid '30's dustbowl era while much of the country was fighting for survival I was enjoying the tropics and personal freedom. There was work in the mines out there in the PI and I came from the mining ilk (my stepfathers name was Coleman). I had confidence working with explosives and wasn't afraid to get a bit black and sweaty.One thickly humid sunny day with little more than the clothes on my back and less than $5 in my pocket I arrived at the docks of Manila. A beautiful and spectacular visage. Dewey avenue with its tree-lined boulevard and horse drawn carriages. The rich moist air that I would breathe to feel refreshed and quenched.

At that time the Philippines was a US territory and one could live and work there as a US citizen. Being a sportsman and always and needing an outlet, I recalled my horseman prowess from growing up on the ranch and began to enjoy polo, which was quite popular with the Filipino horsemen. I mingled with the tribes in the hills. I walked around at night like a white king and enjoyed the metropolitan colonial city of Manila. I was in my twenties living in luxury complete with several beautiful native maids. I drank San Miguel lager on the hammocks in the humid breeze. These were the halcyon days before the storm.

2001- Halcyon Days

I was 19 years old at 9,000 feet elevation. High in the Colorado Rockies of the USA in the late summer cruising through the wonderful green, red and auburn forest. I had been picked up hitchhiking by Wesley in a silver tacoma pickup truck and his German Shepard lab mix, Carbondale. The Aspens were changing from red to auburn to gray. I learned that Aspen trees are one giant organism thus flowering and dying as a multiple tree unit simultaneously.

We were happily making our way through the Animas forest of southwestern Colorado. About a week earlier I had decided to throw my pack and what little belongings I owned on my back and move from Durango to Crested Butte Colorado. A college town to a ski town. I had my sun-bronzed arm outside the window. Gypsy Kings was jamming on the stereo as we approached the high valley with a piqued mountain butte as the crowning jewel.

I let my mind wander recalling the years since Hawaii as if sifting through a picture book. I had landed in Durango, Colorado with a plan to enroll in school full time as a resident of the state. I discovered snowboarding which was somewhat like the surfing I had done back home. I became a state resident and started college.

Colorado was beautiful and peaceful and I was able to enjoy a lot of nature and wide open space that I had missed living on a cramped island. I was able to drive for hours. Go rock climbing or ride a mountain bike up and down miles of rugged terrain and not see another soul. This was a freedom I enjoyed about the mainland - and of course the snow which was unique, cold and soft and fun to ride down. I felt like I was riding on cotton candy.

My adventuresome love for independent sports was strong. I delved into snowboarding intensely becoming quite good at it. The resort I lived at was the home of the world extreme snowboarding and skiing championships. It was also a mecca for the extreme skiers. People would come from all over to the world to ski the double black diamond death defying mountain of Mt. Crested Butte. I went with the flow. I could, and did, jump 30 foot cliffs and hike 4 miles through 20 feet of snow all in the same day. I was island boy turning rugged mountain man.

I excelled in snowboarding as I had a natural talent for board sports transferred from my days of surfing. In the deep snow I would lean back and feel like I was making a fat bottom turn on a huge wave. Soon I was winning tournaments and pushing my limits of skill as a snowboarder. In my 3rd year at the resort I started taking a little too many chances.

I recall one day after classes, I had got up to the mountain restless and ready to ride. My friends were taking their time and not in any hurry. All I could think about was the powder that I had missed out on. So I strapped into my 169 centimeter K2 powder board with Captain America colors... and started off the cliff. The last thing I remember was a sharp rock edge protruding in the path of my takeoff area: I jumped the huge rock wall, stuck the landing and everyone above and below watching cheered. I was the mountain hero!

Turns out that was all a dream in my mind during the concussion I received after hitting the rock and taking off. What really happened was I ended up clipping my board on that devilish rock, blacking out, flipping upside down and rag-dolling on my head and shoulders down 30 feet of cliffs.

The next thing I remembered was pleasant. My bloody head rested in the arms of a girl named Angela; fitting as she was my physical manifestation of the guardian angel that was there. Angela had seen me fall, called the ski patrol and was waiting with me as I regained my consciousness. In delirious glee I was as the ski patrol put me in a sled and skied me down the hill to the hospital. After 15 stitches in my skull they sent me on my way. No more snow for me that day.

The small mountain town would become a small and boring village to me when the snow wasn't awesome. School wasn't really turning me on either as I was going just for the degree and hadn't found anything education-wise to really make it pop for me. I became self destructively restless in other ways. I had just barely turned 21 and come of age to drink so I got into the drinking till I blacked out phase. I was getting into bar brawls too. After a few "friendly" fights my friends would call me Rocky.

I busted myself up so much snowboarding that my health insurance agency stopped covering me since I was way over my premium. Finally I tore my ACL snowboarding because I was showing off. That was serious because I had to get surgery in order to repair it. I was given a heavy dose of perkasets and vicadins and told i wouldn't be able to snowboard for the rest of the winter. I gimped around and drank whisky.

Finally I had a revelation from all this feeling sorry for myself. An epiphany. What alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity. It was time for me to venture on. I remember looking out the window watching the birds around me, thinking how free and beautiful they were. Singing, flying and playing and I thought, I had wings too (figuratively), why not fly.

At that time my mom and I were talking a lot and she invited me to stay with her over on the island of Kaua'i in Hawaii; the furthermost point of the USA. She was working there and I could come and stay as long as I wanted. I packed up, sold my stuff and got on a plane. On Kaua'i I got a job waiting tables at a local restaurant in Hanalei and fell back in love with Hawaii, Aloha and the island life. I recalled when I was a child my Dad had loved Kauai as his favorite Hawaiian island. Me, my brother and him would all drive around the island singing the song:

"Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea

and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Hana lay".

I ended up staying in Hanalei for 6 months. It was like going back in time and time slowing down. It was a mellow, relaxed life but I didn't mind because it was tropical and i was seeing new things and meeting new people. There was a hike I went on alone and with friends a few times called the Kalalau trail. It was 12 miles one way. The rocky trail went along a rugged cliff set right up against the sea. My brother and I would run it and race. I remember much of the trek I would be barefoot to add challenge. Dangerously skirting along the red dirt on the dusty cliff edge between the ti-leaf trees with no one in sight I felt like an ancient Hawaiian warrior.

When you reached the end of the Kalalau trail there was a long beach and a few caves. There was a waterfall for drinking water but the only way to eat was what fruit you could forage and /or what you packed in. I realized what little sustenance I needed to survive and shunned overconsumption. I actually felt better without the processed foods of society.

For hours I would walk along the river under the hot sun in search of food from the fruit of the land and drink from the mountain streams. I was clear. No distractions of what I should or should not do. By day I understood that we men are animals who seek only to find peace in the moment. At night we would have fires; dance and drink while singing and talking. Less was more.

Another gift I found on that treasured island was surfing. Surfing would change my life and how i went about things forever after. I borrowed a board from Dr. Art Brownstein. Art was a doctor friend of my father's. After his travels to India, Art married an Indian woman and became a yogi. He moved to Kaua'i bought a house, had a son and started his medical practice. He continued to do yoga and surf every single day. For a couple hours in the afternoons I would work on his land. We would speak of spirituality while mowing the lawn or picking weeds. At night I'd wait tables in the local restaurant.

The day was mine! The warm blue water and waves made my life complete. For several hours surfing the hot island sun would beat down upon my back and I would paddle and catch waves. Over the clear coral reef giant turtles swam next to me and flying fish were jumping or Humu'humu'nuku'nuku'apua'a (the Hawaii state fish) were brightly floating underneath. After a morning surf I would get back to the earth by touching the ground in the afternoon, pulling weeds and planting flowers. In the evening I had my social time. If there was a heaven on earth I had found it. I had it all.

My Grandmother on Oahu who had been through bombings and prisoner of war camp whom I became very close with after my Grandfather passed got a kick out of how I enjoyed life. She knew I had the drive to work hard but chose to dwell, at least for a time, in what she called the Halcyon days of my youth. This was the calm before the storm.

The adventurer in me soon wanted more. There was a bigoted mentality on the island that I wanted to break from and and I wanted more mental stimulation. I was barely 21 and wanted action. The pace was too slow for me. I wanted a city environment and also to be able to commune with nature as Kauai had provided me with. Well as it just so happened my friend Chris Kendrick from boarding school who had visited me that summer on Kaua'i had moved up to northern California and rented an apartment right on Ocean Beach, San Francisco. He invited me out. Life will provide, was all I could think. So I jumped on the proverbial ship for the San Francisco Bay. A new adventure was calling.

1941 - The Great War

The ocean was alive with ripples that made me think of hundreds of leaves blowing in the wind. I dreamily watched the blue walls & white foam water hills as they danced on the surface of the sea. It was early December and I was off Diamond Head in Hawaii surfing in my orange shorts with my good friend Johnny McMahon. I had just caught one of the biggest waves there that day and was paddling back out with a huge smile.

"Nice one, Bob." Johnny said. "All I could see was the airdrop takeoff and then get deep in the barrel with a huge grin".

"Thanks, it was fun. I didn't think I was going to make the drop", I replied.

"Ya", then he remembered something, "But hey, what time was your boat leaving?"

"Oh Shit!", I exclaimed and we caught the next wave in. I had lost track of time as I tended to do when surfing, I had forgotten about the streamliner that would carry me across the Pacific.

I barely had time to change out of my wet swim trunks on the dock with a towel and put on a fresh pair of trousers. I got to Honolulu harbor as the flower pedals were flying in the air and the huge steamship was blowing its horn. Families were waving goodbye to their loved ones on both sides and throwing confetti and bright fragrant flowers. I made a dash for the pier. I was there just as the gangplank was being pulled up. I literally jumped off the pier to the ship as the sailor shook his head disapprovingly and approached me for my papers. I came that close to missing the ship and my date with destiny!

When we were out to sea I observed that we were being escorted by the US naval fleets finest : The USS Cruiser St. Louis. It was apparent World War II had spread to the Pacific. Everyone felt that it was a matter of weeks until some catastrophic event forced the US to enter the World War as allies with England. I considered Manila my home and felt when the war hit that was where I should be.

Our convoy of ships landed in Manila, Phillippines on December 4th , 1941. Like most of the young Americans in Manila, I went down and applied as a naval reserve soldier. I got to town on Thursday night. I partied hard that weekend with the usual ragtag polo crowd who were happy to see me again. I was happy to enjoy the third world peaceful vibes and low prices again.

On Monday morning December 8th (a day later for us because of the International date line) - We were awakened with news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. A short while later the president had declared war and martial law took effect. That night the Japanese had also bombed Manila focusing on the Air Force and Naval strongholds. My house was just 2 miles from the airfield and I felt reverberations that shook the entire foundation. It cuts through to the core of your heart after enough heavy blasts. I can still recall the vibrations and its chilly implication of leering death.

The civilians were amazing. There was no panic in the city. Everyone helped each other out and evacuated calmly. Japanese bombings were notoriously "inaccurate" and ended up wiping out many civilian homes. There were vigilantes who banded together in the streets to protect those who would take advantage of the situation; protecting the city from loot and pillage.

That night i was up all night considering my fate. As much as I was a part of western society by blood and my birthright, I was wild at heart like a southern Filipino tribesman. While working in the mines I had saved the life of a miner named Tuk. Out of respect he had taken me to his family in the hills and I was treated like a king.

I debated taking to the hills with my Filipino Igarot warrior friends and fleeing white mans calamitous invention of War altogether. I had seen duels between the Filipino Igarot Warrior with his longer primitive machete against a Japanese samurai with his sword. This was a magnificent brawl to witness. I could learn the ways of these warriors and live happily assimilated into their world.

I had met a lovely warrior princess, Almidra in the hills on a previous adventure. I had won respect of the Igarot tribesmen from the beginning. They had taken me boar hunting as a sort of initiation and or to laugh at me and scare the wits out of me. I had taken down a charging boar with a .45 caliber pistol. After that and we all ate and drank merrily. I could go with them.

All these thoughts whirring in my brain giving me no rest. To be or not to be, that was my question. As much as it racked my brain I was not one to turn tail and abandon my country.

Alas, I chose what I considered the more righteous path. I reported to The US naval command to fulfill my reserve status. They honored my brain bashing by signing me up as a naval ensign. Specifically, coding and censoring media. This was terribly boring for me and I wanted to be where the action was. So I took matters into my own hands one day.

I had a commander friend in the Navy, Mike Cheek. We had known each other in dating circles and I had hooked him up with his current girlfriend so I reckoned I could cash in a favor. I went to look for him. I found my way to the Naval dock. The bay was bustling with excitement & activity. I had to devise a plan. After surveying the frantic situation I jumped on a small boat going across the bay for headquarters. At the surprised manner of the coxswain I held up my shaving kit, "Dispatches for Macarthur", I said boldy. "Aye Sir", was the complacent reply as we shoved off.

Commander Cheek was pleased to see me. He asked no questions and swore me in at his desk. Rummaging around in his desk drawers he finally fished out some stripes and said , "Congrats , Lieutenant Bob!" as he pinned silver bars on me. We spoke about Corrina whom he was still quite fond of. I shared some stories of my escapades with the local women.

Finally I told him I wanted to be where the action was. He decided I would do much good on the neighbor isle of Corregidor. Mike also knew I was good with explosives and we would put together a cadre of troops that shared my skills. We surveyed what needed to be done. It was dangerous. I volunteered and due to my mining demolition knowledge was to be put in charge of the mission of bridge demolition.

I will make note of one interesting encounter with General Douglas MacArthur on Luzon. During an especially heavy bombing raid I was close to the shelter tunnel and ducked in to avoid shrapnel. I observed General MacArthur calmly walk past me to the mouth of the tunnel and march defiantly out! His two aides were petrified and tried to dissuade him. He walked into the carnal bombing where the Betty's were unloading their deadly cargo on us with vicious accuracy. The "Rock", as we called Corregidor, was literally jumping, burning and shaking as if in a series of earthquakes.

The General casually strolled over to a boulder about 50 yards from the tunnel mouth, sat upon the top and lit his corn cob pipe. He proceeded to serenely and thoughtfully watch the bombers as they passed over the target unloading their firepower. His two aides, to their credit, followed him, no doubt thinking they were committing suicide. The aides cringed and ducked with every explosion. But the General seemed to enjoy being in the chaos.

He sat there for about 15 minutes. When the bombing stopped he finished his pipe and then cruised right back to the tunnel. He was completely unruffled and unfazed, while his aides were in a cold sweat. Why he was not harmed is hard to speculate as the bombs and shrapnel were falling all around him. Perhaps his own belief that he was a "man of destiny" was true.

On another occasion at a social gathering Douglas MacArthur looked me up and down and peered, "Haven't I seen you somewhere, Ensign?". I stammered that it was through a friend of a friends party. The great man had noticed me! Soon after we were forced to retreat to Bataan and I never saw the legendary warrior again. The General was evacuated to Australia and I stayed in the Philippines to volunteer my explosive skills but I always cherished those encounters with greatness.

The Japanese were progressing rapidly across land to conquer Manila. The many bridges were an advantage to them. I recalled vacationing and riding my Caratella (horse drawn carriage) across the bridges. There was a large bridge in particular in the vicinity of Manila that we were told would cripple the Japanese advance significantly if destroyed. I knew exactly the layout of this two lane bridge over the Pasig river. We carefully planned the attack. Then with the engineers assistance we diagramed it all out marking the spots to place the dynamite

We left the naval dock at midnight in a single engine diesel boat. 10 men consisting of myself, other miners, and armed naval sappers/gunners launched off. It was 30 kilometers across placid mosquito ravaged waters and we reached the shore stealthily. The placing of the mines had to be very meticulous and precise. We took several hours setting up.

We knew if we were caught by the Japs it meant death or capture. We set a watchman with a light for when a passer was on the bridge. One flash meant it was a local or ally, no worries. Two flashes meant trouble. A couple hours in and several caratellas and pedestrians passed without incident. We were gonna be fine.

Then as if we had become too confident at the end of our setup on the bridge we received two flashes: Jap Patrol! We scrambled to our hiding places and waited for the troops to pass. There was a limousine followed by a truckload of soldiers.

We sat quietly and waited. I could feel the cool of my sweat coming down my cheek in the night. On the center of the bridge the limo proceeded to slow and stop. I could see the back door creak open. Out stepped a young officer who apparently had seen something amiss. I held my breath praying silently that he would just let things be. Suddenly he leaned over the edge of the bridge and yelled in Japanese guttural commands to his troops to descend. The convoy started to pile out menacingly.

At this gesture I waited no longer and gave the order to my men to open fire. The Thompson Sub Machine Gun at close range is an awesome weapon. The troops and the officer were soon a bloody mangled pulp. Our men calmly and surgically dissected the brigand in bullets. Those of us with the garands (the official US service rifle) calmly took care of the 4 other officers in the limo. It took no more than 2 minutes.

Its amazing and inexplicable what a carnal rush of urgency and intimacy with each other we experienced in that short time. We became ultra-focused and finished laying the explosives in 20 minutes. We left the enemy vehicles on the bridge with the bodies, lit our fuses and stood aside. Lighting the dark night we watched as the bridge collapsed like a Hong Kong caterpillar on New Years Eve.

We then made our way to the shore where the boat was supposed to be - No sign of it. So we waited. And waited. And waited. No sign. After almost 2 days in hiding with the mosquitos tearing us up alive and becoming hungry we figured something had gone wrong with the pickup. The men decided they were going to steal a boat and make their way back to the rock.

I however opted to try my luck and head to my house which was 25 kilometers by foot. I bid my fellow soldiers Adieu and travelled all night making it to my house just before daybreak. I was relieved as I arrived to find my home intact with my faithful assistant Villegas there with no signs of trouble.

I went inside and took off my Naval uniform. Then I went to the back yard and burned it to ash. I took a bath, put on my civilian clothes and slept for 13 hours. When I woke I knew it was time to decide what to do. Try for the mountains and band with the Igarot tribes?Reunite with beautiful Almidra and go into the wild? I was ready now, but wavered. The decision was made for me. A Japanese patrol arrived and found me sitting in my living room. I was questioned and brought to my place of employment where they verified I was a civilian. Looking back I was lucky to have been captured a civilian because otherwise I would have been sent to Bataan as an enemy hostile and eventually forced on the infamous Bataan death march.

I arrived in Santo Tomas civilian prison camp on March 2nd, 1942. I thought my war was over. Little did I realize it was just beginning.

2008 - The Great War

The sea was glassy, powerful and unrelenting. It held a dark blue rhythm that I both adored and was intimidated by. I was sitting further out than the rest of the surf-pack at Daystar to be in position to catch the biggest wave. Daystar; named after an outrigger boat that was on the shoreside, I still love the name, was my favorite wave in the world.

I spotted my wave coming at me on the horizon so I turned my surfboard shoreways to match the speed and get into the mountain of water building beneath me, I could feel the wind coming up the face of the wave and blinding sprays of salty blue filled my eyes so I couldn't see. I had to trust that if I got to my feet I would fly out into weightless bliss. Paddling hard with my eyes closed my arms burnt like acid, my breath short. I was kicking my legs to gain more speed and using all my might to be set free from into this aqua mountain I gave a grunt or exertion's sake.

The lingo term at this point of the wavering experience and what is in my opinion the gold of the action is called "taking off" because you literally fly into the symbiosis with the grace of the ocean. I stood up on the board and I was weightless taking off like a bird -time slows down, your senses are heightened, dropping down, speeding faster and faster to equate with the movement of the water, elevated by a thin piece of fiber glass, dancing with the elements, I was flying - like jumping out of an airplane or cliff diving.

Then at the bottom of the huge wave I felt like time froze as I looked up at a 20 foot high blue wall enclosing in onto me. The race is on. I turned instinctively under the curl racing away from danger and then I was enclosed; standing in a tube between the lip of water and the wall of the wave. This is the ultimate goal when surfing. To be inside a womb of saltwater - "the barrel". And as fast as I went in I came out - Wham! Hitting the lip of the wave with a huge regal championic turn and cutting back to return to the curl as if I had beaten the ocean gods, this once, conquering natural fury. The power of the Hawaiian ocean is amazing.

This was home in the winter for me. My escape. My temple. My exercise. October through April when big waves waves came to Oahu I would be out chasing and riding them. A good day I was out in the hot sun riding waves in the bright blue ocean and I was happy. I was working as a production assistant on commercials and TV pilots and doing extra work to pay rent.

One day when I was working with JJ Abrams on the pilot of "Lost" I watched the actors and related to them and found i was of the same spirit. Then i remembered being a youth and dreaming of being a famous movie star. I was too shy so for many years I had suppressed this desire in myself. Now for whatever reason I had tapped into it again by being on the film set. I spoke with casting departments and they were supportive. Soon I became restless for more than the daily grind to climb the totem pole behind the camera. So I took a leap of faith and began to explore something I knew very little: Acting. If I had known what I know now perhaps I would have quit before I started, but now I am in it for life. I began to do some Shakespeare plays and student films in Hawaii and soon realized I had a natural talent for performance. I had always had fun with it and now I wanted to become professional. It became less of a side-gig and more of a full time deal. I bought the books. I took the classes. I went to the auditions. I was going through the motions. But something was still missing.

It was producing; but I would not find out until later. Although I discovered another passion and it was the knowledge and desire to tell the stories I love. I saw my acting as being a human vessel to communicate that. Later more flexibility would come from that revelation. I found that many tales live within me as a part of my diverse heritage. That if I am not expressing them they are being wasted and will soon be forgotten. In acting, writing, sports and traveling I feel truly alive and if I am not alive then I may as well be dead. As John Donne says, "death be not proud".

So I left paradise behind for another adventure and life threatening mission: Hollywood, California. I had heard it was the place to be. People in Hawaii all encouraged me saying it was the real place for me if I was serious about my career. Many friends were living there and invited me out. Ultimately the decision was mine to leave my world behind and create new adventures. For a long time I was hesitant to leave paradise and my jungle home behind for a concrete jungle.

As destiny dictated it was in August of 2008 when I had just turned 30 I decided it was time. I packed my snowboard, surfboards and skateboard and flew to sunny southern California. "Nothing great is ever achieved without great risk" says Ralph Waldo Emerson. I feel that surfing big waves had also taught me that. The best waves are the ones I fully commit to, put my head down paddle hard for and take a bit of a risk to catch. A lesson I would also learn is that the playing field is not always level; the waves may be different and there may be lots of people trying to surf the same wave but sooner or later you're gonna get the wave of your life. If you put the time in. Patience is key.

I answered my Call of the Wild with naive and hopeful eyes. I jumped into the belly of the beast (Los Angeles) without so much as a glance back. Driven by ambition, challenge and a change of atmosphere I was to discover the truth. What I wanted was an essence of living - a thrill of being alive that surfing could only loan me in passionate embraces. We say life is short. I believe it is because our greatest moments of clarity and passion like these are so rare.

I felt like I was 17 again. I had found a plan and a purpose. I was apparently lucky. I hadn't come of age during a great war or great depression like my Grandfather. So I sought out my own risks and challenge. Success in this new environment would be my vision of achieving greatness.

I had felt the essence of living fully in rare moments of performance on camera or on stage. I had found the raw ability to let go and release control in these times. When I gave it 100% In my performances I felt like I was giving of my self: discovering and embracing the essence of life.

This "acting bug" had given me an expressive platform to demonstrate my talent and I wanted to go where the business centered around marketing that with hopes of making it my career. My goal was to land, as my debut TV performance, a co-starring role on "The Office" or some equally popular quirky show within 6 months. Touching down in LA one week and taking meetings with Woody Allen and Steven Spielberg the next, right? Ha!

I landed at LAX and was picked up by my friend, Ahmad, who I knew from college. He spared me a room in his apartment and I found an agent the following week. The agent was useless. All the auditions I went on or the jobs I booked for pay I found myself.

So I found another one. Waited a few months and no calls so I found another. And on and on. It wasn't hard to get the meetings with the low level agencies; I just didn't know there were so many powerless agencies whose job it is to mass sign new talent hoping that one fish will get lucky, land a high paying job and make them some cash. I wasted a good amount of time and frustrated energy jumping from agent to agent. Acting class to acting class. Spending money to spending money. In that town you really can spin your wheels literally and figuratively driving around town while driving yourself crazy in search of substance and seeking contact.

It was not for a long time until I found my niche with an acting community known as the improv comedy actors that I would feel grounded. I had taken a lot of courses and finally found a gang I really gelled with as far as being more down to earth and fun. They were iO west and came from Chicago. The midwest down to earthiness approach helped in making me feel comfortable in a massive metropolis.

I soon found work doing what I loved as much as acting: surfing. Being a surf instructor in Malibu was excellent because I was able to set my own hours. At the same time I took acting classes. Soon I was restless with the fact that people were getting acting work all around me but I was struggling financially.

So I took matters into my own hands. I sold my car. I quit the acting classes I was taking and I created and produced my own webseries for the internet. I was having a beer with my fellow actor buddy one evening and he said I was pretty funny in that role as a Ladies Man I had done in Hawaii in college. The seed was planted and I went with it. I employed the talents of a brilliant writer, a composer, a cameraman, crew and I was able to be on the other side of the table as I cast all the other actors. Best of all it was about a ladies man swashbuckler who is down on his luck. I of course cast myself in the starring role.

Altogether we cast, produced and shot five 3 minute shows about a world class ladies man called Raphael Dumbtaro and a short film of the roots of this character. It can all be seen on Will Ferrel' s website "funny or die" (www.funnyordie.com/superjosh). I even flew back overseas to film an episode in Kaneohe, Hawaii. Drafting the help of my beloved Hawaiian workforce I created a high quality short showcasing my homeland, unique environment and acting talent.

My technical skills from film school came in handy and my natural leadership helped me produce an all around successful series. The shows concept seeded in Hawaii like its creator Joshua Raphael. It was originally taken from a Kyogen mythological tale by my friend Peter who continued to mentor me in my ventures. As I began to produce original works and follow my dream I found more and more things to be proud of and achieve.

I truly believed that with the creation and success of my webseries my war to reach self satisfaction, notoriety and financial freedom would be complete. Little did I realize the war had just begun.

1942-1945 The Great War Continues Part I

I had faith that we were going to be rescued by the US troops in no time. Our captors had a different plan. The Japanese soldiers quartered us in a filthy University that had recently housed Filipino merchant marines. The coy were set up in the large gymnasium and there was little more than 3 feet between neighbors.

Of all the Prisoner of War camps in the Pacific Santo Tomas University in Manila was the largest. It would soon house nearly 5000 people in utterly deplorable conditions. Before long we banded together and created some sort of civic environment. Internees gradually organized work procedures and established routines to make life easier on both internees and captors. We arranged sports, board games and various activities that would help make the time go by.

From the start the Japanese had warned us that escape would be punishable by death. Not all of the prisoners took this ultimatum seriously. About a month into my internment three Australians went over the wall and escaped. Headed north for Bataan where the allied forces were still fighting they took little precaution in their safety. Instead of traveling by night to stay low profile they were found during the daylight hours. The three young travelers were captured at a bar half-way from Manila on the road to Bataan. The brutality that followed was an object lesson to the camp.

First the men were dragged through the camp in front of everyone with the guards kicking, beating and clubbing them with rifle butts. The guards then took them to a room near the central hall where the internees could hear their cries and screams. They were repeatedly tortured. This lasted several hours. Their screams echoed. Finally they were dragged again across the prisoner of war camp, given the same thrashing and thrown into a truck along with several randomly chosen internees, of which I was included, to provide witness. We drove to a large cemetery outside Manila.

The men were then given picks and shovels and told to dig their own graves. Giving them picks almost proved fatal in this case as one of the Aussies in a splendid display of bravery languidly pawed at the dirt for a minute or so; then checking his periphery he suddenly viscously turned on his tormentors. It was all the anger he had been harboring from the day of helpless misery and torment exploding. His movements were so unexpected; as they were driven from animalistic adrenaline, that he practically decapitated the nearest guard and severely wounded a second. He was quickly subdued with horrid brutality. By then he was beyond caring.

The Japanese commander, Konichi the cruel, then placed a pistol to the back of his head and executed him. The other two Australians were dispatched similarly. We were made to finish the grave-digging and we buried our brave peers. In this case the lesson that the Japanese were trying to demonstrate was flipped and hope was given to us thanks to the great courage of the Australian. After this the Japanese simply made the policy that for every escapee that went missing they would shoot the escapees family members or, if the internee had no family, they would choose an innocent internee.

It was at Santo Tomas Prisoner of war camp that I developed the "life-line" to aid the military Prisoners of War in Bataan. We had got news that our US forces as well as the Australian allies fighting to defend the Phillippines had been forced to surrender and were being abused by the Japanese conquering forces.

After months of brutal combat in Mosquito ridden swampland and with little sustenance the US troops surrendered to the conquering Japanese in good faith. Completely ignoring the rules of the Geneva convention the prisoners were sent on what was to be known as the Bataan death-march. Being marched over 100 miles to a rudimentary makeshift camp at Bataan without food and water in the 90% humidity tropical heat. Many died of thirst, exhaustion and various diseases while any stragglers were bayoneted.

At camps O'Donnell and Cabanatuan where the surviving POWs were housed reports funneled in about their horrid living conditions. We at the civilian camp wanted to do what we could to help our troops.

Our objective was to enable the delivery of medicines to the POW camps so that the US soldiers could be treated for malaria and dysentery which was running rampant in their camps. This entailed setting up an underground system where the Filipino medical supply houses and hospitals would pass on quinine and carbasone to the prisoners in order to treat these diseases.

We discovered it was more difficult than it seemed. Someone needed to get out and hit the streets to locate theses supply houses. In as much as I was thoroughly familiar with Manila and its suburbs that someone was me. I volunteered as fittest to go outside and make contact where necessary with the local houses to obtain supplies.

The first trip over the wall was nerve-racking like skydiving out of a plane for the first time, or dropping in on a huge wave that could crush you! I awoke before dawn. I put my boots on. Then wearing my straw hat I located the wall and watched the guard disappear on his rounds. After watching for two days I knew the guards pattern and observed it was meticulously timed. He would pass and then round the corner giving a window of 45 to 50 seconds.

My adrenaline was pumping so hard I don't even remember leaping up the 12 foot wall and sidling over. I may have closed my eyes. I then took a deep breath, made a silent prayer, hung by my hands and dropped ten feet to the ground. Sucking in a deep breath I opened my eyes and half expected a yell or a gunshot. There was none. I stood up, crossed the street and quickly joined the market buzz hoping the raucous sound of my beating heart would blend into the surrounding din.

I had arranged via a note system with the food handlers for my old faithful filipino servant Villegas to pick me up in a Caratella. There he was. I then went to Botica Boie, the main pharmaceutical house in the city. As luck had it the pharmacists at the Pharmaceutical house had hidden the bulk of their quinine and dysentery medicines from the Japanese imperialists. I explained the situation to them that the American Military POWS were in dire straights. The Filipinos were usually willing to risk their lives in our aid and to help no matter what. The pharmacists were more than willing to help me set up the transport of medical supplies to Bataan.

This relationship having been accomplished I returned over the wall (which was just as nerve racking as getting out only in reverse) and proceeded to work out the logistics from the inside. We set up a system where the Filipinos would work as carriers of the medicine to a warehouse where they would make packets of the medicine. Usually it would be transported by fruit such as papayas, bananas or mangoes.

As time went on we refined our methods which permitted increased quantities of shipments. The packages changed hands sometimes five or six times en route. Our most successful method utilized the Catholic Priests at the confessional cubicle for the original lift out of Manila. A farmer would take it to the next town of Banban. Another would deliver to Angeles and and it would finally be transferred to the distribution point worked in with food deliveries of the camp. There was a well-known beggar in Angeles who took great pride in receiving the packets from the Priest and sending them on their way. It was a dangerous game but the rewards were high. Soon I met a woman I fell in love with and was weened off this reckless lifestyle.

Meantime back at Santo Tomas Prisoner of War camp the Japanese soldiers had become demons to me and my fellow internees. The conditions of imprisonment had become more cramped, crueler and almost unbearable. The Japanese didn't care. They in fact wanted us to die - less mouths to feed. I watched as my friends shrank and starved. Many were beaten and some were executed. Day after day mine and my comrades confidence and our hope dwindled.

The one and only solace became when I met Helene (Billie) Schuster. Wearing her pigtails in a german braid she looked like a teen angel to me when I first saw her in the camp hospital. She was poised over a microscope giving instructions to the nurses and doctors. She was wearing a pair of light blue tight overalls with her hair braided in two pigtails down the back of her neck. I silently observed her for several minutes during which time she paid absolutely no attention to me. Who was this?!? I became especially intrigued since I was used to women swooning over me. I departed telling myself I would meet her.

The opportunity presented itself a few days later when I saw her speaking with Tommy, a friend of mine. I expressed interest in her to Tommy and it was arranged a few days later that we would all play cards together. We sat in the dim light of the cramped hallway. I observed that Helene was cold and standoffish to me. I was used to girls going after me at once. I relied on my humor and we all started laughing. Just as she had started to warm up a bit I remembered a date I had made with another girl, which I had completely forgotten and I excused myself.

I ran into her in the mess hall the next day and tried to apologize, whereupon she gave me the worst dressing down I had ever experienced. She said I was arrogant and conceited and that I fancied myself Gods gift to women and actually was a complete bore. That fortunately the camp was large enough and that henceforth it would be simple for us to avoid each other. She turned and left me chastised. Naturally, now I couldn't get her off my mind.

I noticed that she was serenely attractive. As I discovered more and more about her I saw each and every detail of her face and body as amazing. Although I would never admit it to myself I was falling in love. I was intent on finding out as much as I could about "Billie" Schuster. So I poked around. I learned she had been imprisoned with her family consisting of her mother and father. Her father was an engineer in the mines and they had to flee from the metropolitan bombings before being captured and herded here.

One day I boldly confronted her in the hallway pleading if we could at least have a little talk...? I explained that my mother, animals and small children found me delightful and that I was sorry about my past arrogance. She gave a smiled and thawed out a bit. We began to spend more and more time together. I had found a landing spot in the stairwell of a building between the second and third floors that had minimal traffic between 9:30 and 10:00 at night. It was here that I stole my first kiss from those honey lips. I knew from that night on that this was it. If we became free I would marry her.

PART II

Christmas 1942 came and went and still no sign of being released. Now it was 1943. Little did we know that it would be more than 2 years before freedom. But the Americans were advancing! It was the hope that kept us alive. We were transported from the urban area to Los Banos, in the hills outside of Manila. As the Japanese became more aggravated from allied victories they became more animalistic and we were the obvious scapegoat.

In turn we became more creative about survival and our ability to survive under harsh circumstances. On the Thanksgiving of 1944 Billie gathered cornmeal mush from breakfast added seasoning and with corned beef she molded it into the shape of a turkey! What a creation. We gave thanks for being together and being alive.

On an unusually still and balmy night in February Billie and I went to our particular spot on the stairwell between the second and third floors of our compound. I had asked one of my floor monitor friends to keep the spot clear as other couples had discovered it. I then proposed to Billie. My speech was something to the effect of "I love you very much and if we survive this war and come out of it, will you marry me?".

She said "Yes", Since I had no ring I carved a makeshift ring out of bamboo and placed it on her finger. She later allowed that it was very romantic of me to propose to her on Valentine's eve! I, of course, had no idea the date but did not let on till years later.

The Japanese forces and our captors were feeling the pinch from the advancing allied soldiers from the south and east.The honorable Japanese way was to fight till the end they were determined to hold us and do so. Meanwhile we began to experience loss from the deaths of friends and family we had shared almost three years of prison life with. We were forced to dig their graves. One or two a week in the beginning. With picks and shovels we would make them 6 1/2 feet long and 3 feet deep. Towards the end we were burying 2 and 3 a day in shallow graves.

In the midst of our darkest hour hope sparkled in Los Banos prisoner of war camp in early 1945. There were two incidents that I helped engineer with the help of the brave warrior Filipino Igarot Tribes. A downed US Air Force pilot we were able to help and the obtainment of 50 rice sacks from the Japanese convoy supply. One provided us morale and hope and another gave physical sustenance.

In Tagalog, the Filipino dialect, Igarot means the "mountain people". They are historically the warriors of the Filipinos and deserve special recognition for their courage during the war. I had in my pre-war years been acquainted with their people from my adventures in exploration of mining. In fact I had hunted boars with the young men and made love to the beautiful tribeswomen. These relationships proved useful in our lean times when the Japanese guards were feeling the pinch on food themselves and subsequently starving the POW's.

One dark desperate night my friend Jack Connors and me went under the barbed wire of the camp and into the jungle in search of the mobile band of fighters. When we found them we discussed our problem with them. Pure and simple: we needed food. The Japanese soldiers, starving as well, had stripped and looted the countryside. Food was scarce for everyone. So we all devised a plan. It was decided that the only way to get food was from the Japanese themselves. This was jumping into the belly of the beast with no inhibition!

The Filipino Guerrillas were historically strong. Their power had a staggering effect on the Japanese occupying forces. The Japanese regimented fighting system was beaten much of the time by the chaotic method of guerilla warfare. The Imperialist soldiers were shamed in their defeat by the primal tribal warriors. Their Samurai swords were won en masse as a favorite victory token.

Connors and I organized that raw force into a trained battalion with the purpose to attack a Japanese food convoy and overtake it. The Guerillas were able to supply explosives, firearms, and dynamite. We set up the perimeter with explosives buried on the road and prepared for the ambush. I got little sleep as anxious as I was.

At dawn our friends shared their rough fare of Bacalao fish and cold rice with us. As sunlight hardened the soft darkness to welcome the morn we all settled back to await the convoy.

Around 0900 we saw a large jeep convoy but were overwhelmed by their firepower. We shrunk back considering it foolhardy to attack. More waiting in the blazing sun. At 1200 once more we heard the rumble of the trucks. The convoy rolling up like a caterpillar was massive and armed powerfully and again beyond our capabilities to attack. We shrunk back again, dejected.

Then, as the first few vehicles rolled by there was a command and the trucks came to a halt. I peeked over to notice one of the rear supply trucks had developed engine trouble. The commander issued a series of orders and soon the main part of the convoy advanced leaving the supply truck and one behind. Full of rice, meats and fresh vegetables I drooled seeing it. We couldn't have been more fortunate.

Since they were not on the explosive section yet we hung back awaiting the repair. Finally it was fixed and the trucks rolled up to the mined section. The Guerillas were in place with finely tuned nerves. I was poised above the road, holding the plunger between my legs; ready. As the jeeps passed over the section I thrust down on the plunger. The blast hurled the two jeeps in the air decimating steel and flesh. The remaining stunned soldiers made a break for it and were gunned down by the Guerillas.

We had to act fast. The front jeep was entirely demolished except for the rear section containing a full load of several 50 pound sacks of rice. The second jeep was not only intact but the engine was running! Score! One hundred huge sacks of rice in all. We split the food with the Guerillas and fed our fellow prisoners for months.

Around New Year's of 1945 the Americans had gained domination of the Philippine airspace and were bombing Japanese occupied Manila, only a few miles away. On one particular day Japanese anti-aircraft fire was accurate and we watched as propellors stopped; a chute popped open, as we cheered the survivor on, and a US P-39 plane came crashing into the mountains within miles of our camp. The Japanese immediately gathered their troops and took to the hills in search of the survivor. When they returned empty-handed we knew the Guerillas had found him.

A couple days passed before contact was made from the Guerillas informing us that the downed pilot was with them. He had a severely broken leg with the shinbone sticking out that they were unable to treat and from their description gangrene was setting in. I decided it was our duty to bring him into the prison hospital and treat him. I contacted Dr. Dana Nance the most trustworthy doctor we had at camp. This proved to be quite a risk on all our parts as the discovery of an allied fighter meant execution to all involved in the rescue.

Under cover of a moonless night we smuggled in the unknown soldier. The doctor employing the help of two nurses examined the fevered flier. Now to replacing the bone. Putting it back in place would be a feat because we had no anesthetic. Since it had already reset itself the leg had to be re-broken and set back into position. It took 3 of us just to hold the poor man down who was kicking, crying and screaming as if being tortured while a fourth gagged his mouth to subdue the noise. Fortunately he soon passed out during the procedure.

Several days later he was in good spirits and his leg was looking better. We hid him in one of the barracks checking on him regularly. His fever was gone and he was sharing uplifting news with us that the American and Australian forces were close to re-conquering the entire Pacific from the Japanese. He felt it wouldn't be long until we were finally free! After 10 days we had to get him back to the Guerrillas. It was too risky for him to stay. He was passed off as a sickly intern for a while on a cot in the corner but we were unsure of what would come as the Japanese were unpredictable and known to do barrack raids more and more.

We made contact with the roving guerillas and landed him safely into their care. I never knew what became of this gracious soldier or the name of his carrier. I never got his name. It was enough to know we had saved a life.

2009-2013 The Great War Continues Part I

The smog filled city was becoming unbearable to me. I had left my friends and family in Hawaii and chosen this? I was living out of my car taking acting classes near the beach and airport in Santa Monica. Today I was sitting at the beach on a chilly fog ridden May morning. I was preparing to make a presentation on my Grandfather as I watched the small waves of Santa Monica, the land where he had made home.

Many of my friends had given up their passion to act. They had become disillusioned with the rat race and left town. Some had taken other "temporary" jobs and were forgetting about their dreams of acting, writing or directing. Opting for a more stable lifestyle some of my closest friends had inadvertently diverted themselves from their true calling and their focus of acting. Some just moved back home and got into their patterns.

Some people had come with their vision of grandeur, seeking a big break right away. When it didn't happen they become distracted by the rock n' roll lifestyle of LA. Soon they were caught up in chemical and/or alcohol addictions. Self-destruction have been their path anyway. But I'm sure as a child they didn't envision living on the streets. Sadly this happened and happens to many in the cutthroat industry of showbusiness.

I chose to toil through the struggle because after a certain point I couldn't quit. I had been working hard at cultivating my career in the city. Today this acting exercise in class was honoring my favorite person I have ever met: My Granddad.

My Granddad who had been a pivotal hero during World War II. My Granddad who had set up a beautiful home on Windward Oahu. Later in life he had gone on to be one of the advocates of Hawaiian tourism. He became director of the Hawaii Visitors Bureau and helped the early days of the Hawaiian tourist economy thrive. My Granddad: Bob Allen.

My Granddad who lit cigarettes on boxcars through the crisp winter cold and discovered wild tropical beaches. My Granddad who won the golden gloves championship in inner city Los Angeles and taught me his formidable boxing comb (which actually helped me kick some ass growing up). My Granddad who hunted and killed boars with the Filipino tribespeople and demolished enemy battalions. My granddad who learned to surf with the founder of surfing, "Duke" Kahanamoku who he also acted with. My Granddad.

Who shared the Aloha spirit ; the joy of the Hawaiian islands with the world? Who had lived amongst and been respected by almost all people he contacted? Who was given presidential honor and decorated lavishly for his service in World War II?

My Granddad, whom still I could see in my dreams and receive counsel from.

It was time to honor him in my work. I had formed a collage with photographs of all the heroic expressions this man had expressed to me. There were black and white photos of him on the range in old California. In another he was with my grandmother on a field in front of the house in Kaneohe they built. There were photographs of him surfing with Duke Kahanamoku which the Duke, Grandfather of surfing and Ambassador of Aloha, had signed personally: "Me ke Aloha, Bob"! He was wearing flannels tanned and golden-haired holding me and my brother in Hawaii. In one photo I am reaching high to hold his hand as we walk to the jungles edge as the sun sets. This photograph, which my grandmother took from behind, shows us embarking into the world together; in search of discovery of beauty.

I pictured him alive. He was with me and still teaching me life lessons as I stood in front of my class. In this moment I zoned in on our connection and became one with my heritage. His dreams, his hopes, his realizations, they were mine. We were separated by 65 years of life experience, but were the same bold blood.

One day when I was filming him and feeling kind of cheeky I said, "Granddad, whats the meaning of life?" He simply paused, looking into the distance. Then gave me a grin: "Well"... He said, "I don't know, but for me life is about leaving a legacy behind". Now it was my duty to express his legacy to my class. So in the exercise I poured my creative relationship out and bonded with my ancestry.

Part II

This realization of our similarities was enough to propel me into action for my career. I was able to understand that the universe is a loving, friendly and powerful force that wants me to achieve my greatest desires. Soon after this performance I teamed up with a writer from that acting class and we worked to develop the comedy film and webseries: Raphael Dumtaro. It is based off the fictional character: Mr. Dumbtaro, of a Japanese Kyogen story. In our version we have adapted this man as a ladies man- a mixture of a younger Dos Equis world's most interesting man and Austin Powers; sprinkled with a dash of Saturday Night Live's Leon Phelps, "The Ladies Man". Many people also equate the character with Hugh Heffner. This character has given me much success and holds international appeal. (www.funnyordie.com/superjosh).

While I was doing staged readings for writers at my comedy school I was given a role that sang to me. I played a burnout rock band manager who is the life of the band. The producers and writers of the script approached me afterwards saying that they were interested in having me perform it for pay. I linked up with the writer, we became friends and we produced more of my Raphael Dumtaro work together.

I had a real hiccup in my career in fall of 2010. My Grandmother passed away. She and I had lived together in Hawaii after my Grandfather died and we had become very close. Kindred spirits and both knowing each other so well. My brother had been living there with his fiance when I left and then she was all alone. She had felt lonely and hinted at asking me to return on a phone call. Billie Allen was so prideful though she never would ask outright.

I had told her that I still had work to do on the mainland and was not ready to go home yet. A few months later she passed and I was racked with guilt. What if I had just gone home? So many questions I asked myself. I wasn't ready to deal with it at the time. Looking back I feel the resentment at myself for not being there for her caused me to sabotage my career. It's a mind-fuck in a lot of ways but it truly did hurt me to not be there. I had lost someone who was in all effects my mother.

So while I remained in Los Angeles in body my spirit was in Hawaii. Before my Grandma passed I was pushing myself creatively. I was going out on auditions two or three times a day. My attitude was positive and my ambition was high. My energy was quicker and younger. I would drive 4 hours round trip just to make an audition for a model spot or a play that didn't pay; showing up bright-eyed just to audition for whatever I could. Pay or no pay I was excited to get out there and be a player. After my Grandmother passed I was loathe to walk 3 blocks to audition for an independent film.

My talent and technique were getting stronger but the spirit had left. I was a walking shell in some ways. Going through the motions without emotions. Numbed to a purpose. The spirit and drive were gone. On the positive side I was producing my own work and was talented at it. In doing that I was also hoping that the other work would come to me.

After a few months I had put a lot of energy into my own projects and felt little realized. This was how I had felt my actions of auditioning were received as well. These factors had forced me to go inward rather than outward. I had found a good school to work on for my technique and a great group to perform with in Improv comedy.

I cultivated my talent but when it came to business aspect I shunned it preferring to stay roots and against mainstream "Hollywood". It was all "show" and no "business". I needed to shift the paradigm. I lost the "fun" in the "fundamental reason I started in the first place.

The roller coaster acting and producing ride continued as I was torn between my lovely home base in Hawaii and the rat race of the city of Los Angeles. I would go back to my home and feel the magic of the island life. Still I was attached in a way to the fervor of ambition and the chase, always returning to what I had started in Hollywood. My acting talent felt more comfortable in Los Angeles. Its was (and is) easier to foster my writing talent in certain calm environs such as Hawaii, South America and Nepal but I know I can write anywhere when I make that time. It became complex and a tug of war between opposite worlds.

In LA I discovered improvised comedy and finally found a community there that would become like brothers and sisters. Improv pushed my career and confidence forward in ways i wouldn't have imagined. It brought the fun back! With the improv performances my writing improved since in a performance I was writing in my head the scene. The crew at iO were super fun and the friends I made are lifelong. Still I hadn't become professional except in small acting gigs.

Every time I was about to give it all up I would find something to push my acting further and bring it to the next level. For example in June of 2012 I was in a play as part of the Hollywood Fringe Festival where I played the Greek Warrior Ajax. I also played a party animal guy named Jason (the modern Ajax).

There is a belief in Ancient Greek and Roman societies that the individual artists were inspired by a muse. From that inspiration or "genius" it was as if the gods were speaking to the artist or breathing the divine creativity into their performances, sculptures, paintings or song lyrics. This is an interesting idea that I have seen at work. At times my muse is there to inspire me and in those times my ego can let go and realize my true purpose of being on this earth is to achieve that creative communication. This magnificent genie or "genius" that helps me stay on track with creating is elusive and mysterious but when she is there she delivers!

My talent takes a modest bow to that unknown force that I was able to connect with on Father's Day of 2012 at the Hollywood Fringe Festival. During this festival I entered a 24 hour festival. At 10am The directors & actors were randomly paired and given an 8 page one act script. Then looking at them for the first time we were given 4 hours to rehearse, given direction and perform them in front of a full house that evening. The 8 pages had to be completely memorized.

In the comedy we were given I played a ridiculous alien politician named Lieutenant Linnyx. My scene partners were two girls who were drilling me about my policies. The bulk of the dialogue was coming from me. I repeated and memorized the crazy dialogue I was spewing out, took a deep breath and got on stage.

The girls were asking me how I felt about this policy and that policy and whatever! It was intense and took a lot of focus. When it was over I felt like it bombed even though the audience was cracking up the whole time. I sat in the back with my girlfriend at the time and watched the rest of the show. We had a ceremony at the end and to my amazement I won the best actor among a large pool of great Hollywood caliber actors. It was even more special in that it was on Father's Day so I saw it as a sign of my Father telling me to push on. Maybe the muse of creativity was speaking through dear old Dad.

1945 * Rescue

Billie and I were ready to make an escape. The Japanese had let their guard down on security and strictness at role call. Several internees had already escaped. The only thing holding us back were Billie's parents whom were not of the strength to survive a jungle adventure. We had planned our route for several weeks. We had gathered survival kits filled with food and Klim milk cans to last a week in case we couldn't make immediate contact with our forces. I also knew the current location of the Filipino Guerilla tribes. Finally we were ready to flee. The date was February 22nd, 1945. We settled into our last night at the camp.

February 23rd, 1945. Dawn plus 30 minutes. Helene and me were standing for one final roll call and then it would be over the wall to freedom. We lined up as the guards uttered their harsh commands. I watched the prisoners for what I felt would be the last time. I looked at my fellow internees with pity as they were all emaciated and forlorn. Some suffered from swollen limbs and joints and were on the verge of death. I was watching with compassion one such weathered older man when I noticed confusion and then a glint in his eye resembling happiness. He smiled as he looked to the skies.

At that same moment I heard the undertone of a P-38 plane motor and looked up to see a sight like heaven. The sky was raining puffs of white. Paratroopers! The camp erupted with cries of joy. Simultaneously gunfire broke out as the inmates; men, women and children flattened themselves into ditches, barrack floors and any cover possible. The paratroopers combined with the Filipino Guerrillas and US Ranger commandos proceeded to wipe out the Japanese garrison and secure the camp.

US troops, we later discovered, had silently filtered through Japanese lines during the night and were lying in position to take out the guard posts at sunrise.

The battle was one-sided and deadly. The combined forces of the US 11th Airborne, First Cavalry tanks division and Filipino Guerillas took the Japanese occupiers completely by surprise. Some bewildered soldiers scrambled for escape trying to make their way up the hill and into the jungle. Some being caught in the middle of breakfast attempted to mingle with the prisoners and use them as shields. But the American troops were taking no prisoners and tracked down each and every outlying threat. At the end of the day a few of our internees were wounded in the firefight and rescue mission but miraculously none were killed.

Effectively, the USAF P-38's and Mustangs prowled at tree top level defending the camp from any possible counter-attack by the Japanese. I made my way to the women's barracks hoping to find Billie safe. All the women were in fine spirits enjoying the super production without panic. It was a sight to see. We had all been through bombings, executions and starvation and now this was it. Our boys were back!

As the fighting diminished word got around to gather all we could of our belongings and make for the center square of the compound. As we did the tanks came in. The first monster tank I saw had an image of l'il Abner on its side. Next tank had a naked curvy woman poking through and saying "Hi Babe!". All the tanks had fun comic strips and original art by the G.I.'s. It showed the American humor even in wartime.

My gaze was interrupted as the commander of the company barked at our leaders, "We cant hold this position long, get your wounded and young in the first tanks and lets move out!"

We jumped into the tanks which doubled as amtraks (amphibious floating tanks) and made our way across the lagoon to safety - all the while the air forces were holding off the Japanese forces. In the rescue camp more was told to us of the operation of daring and planning on the part of the American Warriors who rescued us.

The afternoon before we were rescued I had noticed a group of US dive bombers attacking the hills directly behind our camp. We knew nothing of its purpose. Turned out the bombers knocked out Japanese gun emplacements which were zeroed in on our camp. The Japanese had intended to wipe out the entire compound in the event of a rescue attempt. Thanks to the Filipino Guerrillas American intelligence was notified of this and took out the threat.

As we floated over the massive lagoon known as laguna de bay in our amtraks we were feebly shot at by Japanese snipers as if to let us know they were there and not giving up yet. Their efforts proved suicidal as the Filipino guerrillas valiantly followed our convoy as a rear guard and mopped up the operation taking out any snipers in the process. As soon as we were safely departed from the danger zone the passionate guerrillas melted back into the jungle to harass the enemy some more.

Then a sight I will never forget.

For three years we had not seen the flag of the United States and were forbidden to have one in camp. As we chugged out onto the lake and got beyond the sniper's range we began climbing out of our shelters and stood on the tanks sides waving at our neighbors in the adjacent tanks.

Spread out in almost uniform lines abreast were dozens of amtraks- each one flying the American flag. With tears in my stinging eyes I realized in that moment the things my country's flag stood for. The simple freedom to walk around and have outspoken opinions. The unhesitating courage of men who would voluntarily participate in a rescue mission such as ours for people they did not know. And the opportunities we all have to make a fresh start in life.

2013 *Rescue

Well it was a roller coaster experience living in Los Angeles, that's for sure. All in all roller coasters are scary but fun! After four and a half years I see it all as a game and laugh. A good friend of mine, Kelly, once said Los Angeles is an adult Disneyland. A lot of lost kids just trying to have enjoy. A lot of kids are taking themselves a bit too seriously (me included). As a counter of this I picture Buddha laughing with a fat belly knowing that life is a struggle and thus laughing with it.

True freedom and joy comes from within ourselves. To me it is stemmed from living fully in the present. I recall the dreams of my youth when I moved away from home at 18. I had no cash and I was camping and traveling. I bought a paperback copy of Jack Kerouac's "The Dharma Bums" - a spiritual version of the famed "On the Road". I felt like I was reading my thoughts: To quote Japhy Ryder, the books hero, "Climbing (For me Traveling, Surfing, Acting) is like Zen. Don't Think. Just Dance Along..." When I am in this and what athletes refer to as "the zone", life is perfection.

Still I decided to make my move from the place that had given and demanded so much of me and do what I wanted to do for a little while. Surf and soul-search through travel. The year of the snake (my year chinese sign) was approaching and I wanted to claim it.

In December after a play and several other projects I was working on in Hollywood were finished and with the winter surf season approaching I watched Bruce Brown's "Endless Summer" again & set off back to the Hawaiian islands. The universe conspires to help us succeed at any venture we aim to undertake to better our lives and situations. I either read that somewhere or just made it up.

As soon as I landed in Hawaii I had work, found a perfect little green Geo Metro and eventually found a nice little treehouse studio on a cliff above the ocean with the most powerful waves in the world. I worked on my writing, script reading and surfing. The birds would sing every sunrise with the ocean roaring up at me from below the cliffs. Thundering ocean in the quiet of the night with the singing crickets. It was my rescue from the babble and static that the city holds. Los Angeles is a beautiful place in many ways but it is very tangled up in confusion and overpopulation. Hawaii is pure and clean. Balance of these two worlds; and of any worlds, is my key to happiness.

Travel and adventure is a major passion of mine. That being said I make it a point to evacuate the US every year. Stretch my legs and explore the world. I journeyed across the country to Florida to visit my brother, his in-laws and most exciting of all my niece, Madeleine Margulies who was less than 1 years old, the newest addition to our little clan.

The next morning we set out on a boat way offshore in the gulf of Mexico. I caught a 35 pound Ono (wahoo) while out fishing. I Reeled it in with arms burning. PArt of this I wrote from the seat of a B737 on my way to Panama City, Panama. Down there they had just been given a heavy dose of southern hemisphere waves. The swell is powerful and the water is warm.

Being born in Nepal and traveling as a child ingrained in me my free spirit. Since being 18 and independent I lived in Colorado, Australia, San Francisco, Hawaii and LA. I also have travelled to Thailand, Bali, Fiji, Chile, Brazil, Mexico, France, Switzerland, Panama, Italy, Costa Rica, Germany, France, Ireland, England, Romania, Bulgaria, Greece, Spain, Portugal, Turkey, Peru, Luxembourg, Morocco, Iceland and Holland all in search for adventures and new experience.

In Panama I rented a car and drove 300 miles on the Panamerican Highway to find a solid right hand wave that was world class. Surfing big waves in the evening rain with the fading light and the approaching storm as spectacular lightning bolts break the dark sky, I could not help but recall my Granddad's story of General MacArthur. He was victor of the entire Pacific ocean during the world war; and as my grandfather made witness of, he knew he was destined for victory. He wasn't frustrated when my Granddad saw him sitting on the rock. He was simply waiting faithfully for his time to come. I was sitting on the ocean with natural power and electricity surrounding me. Waiting for my perfect wave.

I close this finalist chapter half asleep between dreamland and waking life with random and clear thoughts pouring in with the tranquility of the first light. I open my eyes in my cliffhanger dorm to see the perfect point break, Santa Catalina. The birds squawk their morning announcements. I think about the connection of my Grandfathers and mine: our two legacies. My father being an adventurer as well it seems fitting that I continue their work.

There is a Hawaiian word: "Mana". It means spiritual power and inward strength. The ancient Hawaiians considered it so important that they would eat the strongest opponents after defeating them in battle in hopes of inheriting their power or Mana. I believe my Granddad had Mana so strong that he was like a great king. This Mana has found its way into my life and has guided my young adult life.

The United States was founded on adventure, starting anew and the exploration of frontiers. The very thing that other countries admire most is our freedom to achieve a new beginning no matter where we come from. This passion has faded in the last several years. Gentrification, consumption and overpopulation have made Americans bewildered and aimless. Man chooses instead to listen to what they are told is correct or become institutionalized and be overwhelmed by negativity or self-doubt.

We have forgotten that as Americans it is we who dared to be pioneers and overcome struggles. Ultimately we have forgotten our spiritual side of life. We must again relearn and be childlike to enjoy the short moments and the little things because nothing is ever repeated. Only then will we fulfill our destiny to represent what our American Flag and freedom stand for.

1947- Return to Hawaii: "Sitting (Pretty)"

Hawaii was always a special place for me. When I heard the doves cooing their soothing tropical rhythm in the prison camp one day with Billie as we were having cornmush breakfast I suggested that we had to indeed live in the Hawaiian islands no matter what. She was all for it; because what dame doesn't love Hawaii?

The Phillipines had been like a home away from home for me and I loved the tropics. I knew that Hawaii was where my heart lie. We had also become very close with Howard and Helene, Billie's parents, and so it was decided we would all live out there.

When the tradewinds would blow and whisper soft life upon the surface of the waves as I was gazing into the physical world of magnificent blue ocean. When the Hawaiian music would play and I would laugh and sing with my friends. When I would breathe a deep breath full of plumeria scents and rich humid thickness. Then I was truly happy. And I wanted Billie to share that bliss with me. I wanted to fulfill my life-dream and I had found a partner. We had been through a lot together and we wanted security in a place we loved.

I decided I wanted to foster our future and create our own world away from the struggle we had been exposed to in the war. We married in California on account of me having family that was pretty lead-footed even when it comes to taking a ten hour plane ride to paradise. We had our honeymoon in lovely yosemite national park and then moved to Hawaii.

At that time land was affordable and easy to come by in the islands. It was still only a US territory. We had been taken care of financially by the military and Bille's parents had endowed us with wedding gifts to support our foundation. We discovered a parcel of land 30 minutes driving from Waikiki. Splayed out underneath jutting green peaks near the bay where later they would film "Gilligans' Island" we were on the windward side.

We decided to erect a house on the highest point of that hill and call the street Nohonani. The word means "sitting pretty" or "sitting comfortably" in Hawaiian. Lucky for us we also had the best engineer in the islands to architect the dwelling; Billies father, Howard Schuster. Howard and I also built a great stone wall at the entrance to the street that stands there today.

We bought horses and ponies and they roamed in the pastures below. We bred dobermans. I played polo as I had in the Phillippines. To train I would ride through the jungles underneath the mighty Ko'olau mountains. I enjoyed the openness of an area that was still pristine and far from the city of Honolulu. For work I used my business degree well and started working at various tourist jobs around the island of Oahu. Tourism was just starting to burgeon in the islands. I was so successful at luring tourists in the agencies that I worked at that soon I was given an ambassadorial ranking. I became the president of the Hawaii bureau of tourism and worked closely with the legendary Duke Kahanamoku to promote tourism on the United States island territory of Hawaii.

As every local knew the Union had plans for statehood I was entrepreneurial about implementing ways that tourism would thrive under a US economy. I became friends with all the hoteliers as it was a small community and everyone knew each other. There was a field right underneath diamond head where we would spend our sundays stick and balling. Polo is the sport of Kings: and Kings we were. I had a close friend, Fred Dailey who leased a magnificent parcel of land on the north shore where we would play right up against the ocean. Guests such as Irish dukes, Prince Charles and Marquises would visit and play. What a wonderful world!

I had found my bliss. There were many roads to walk and much fun to still be had but for the time I was in comfort. I had followed my heart and was finding my personal power. At 36 years young I was beginning to find my zen. This was for me, Happiness.

2014 - Return to Hawaii: "Sitting (Peacefully)"

At the end of 2012 I decided that I wanted to live my life on Terra Firma ; since it was my life i decided it was time I would live by my rules. I had received a small inheritance from the sale of my Grandparents house in Hawaii and it was enough to make me re-assess my decisions. I had pushed at the showbiz game long enough with less budge than I wanted in Hollywood. Sometimes you can't keep knocking at the same door. But you can open the one next door.

I wanted to fulfill my dreams and gain rich experiences.

So I moved back to Hawaii in the winter.

This time I strived to find a home on the north shore of Oahu. The winter waves were pumping blue walls of soft saltwater bliss , calling me to surf on a daily basis. In the interim I stayed with my friend for a few weeks and worked construction with him to make some travel money. I then put an ad up that I was a local returned to search for a house. The universe conspired to find me a home high on the cliffs above the north shore. It's a 5 minutes drive up the hill from Pipeline, Waimea Bay and Sunset Beach. Only a dream come true. It overlooks the Pacific and the street is named Akanoho. Akanoho means "sitting quietly" or "sitting peacefully" in the Hawaiian language.

I had come full circle and returned to the land of my heart. This would be the launching ground for what I really had been wanting to do for several years while I had suppressed this to pursue my career dreams in Los Angeles: Travel. So I booked my tickets and after living very minimalisticaly and quietly while working and surfing on the North Shore for 5 months I got on a plane bound for Los Angeles to begin my journey into the unknown.

It was Hawaii to LA to Peru to surf and then see awesome Mach Pichu. Then it was Peru to Miami and to the sunny Florida keys. Then driving up to the panhandle of Florida to visit my brother and niece. Then to Washington DC to see my mother. Then to Iceland to break the ice into Europe. Then awesome Paris to see the city of lights and of love. Jetting off to passionate Portugal to surf and see old Swiss friends. Morocco to hit the African continent and be the first in my family to do that. Barcelona, Spain...'cuz its Barcelona AND Spain! Paris again for a lover. Italy on my birthday to see Rome; and the Coliseum was spectacular. Back to Portugal for a Brazilian lover and discovered the Portuguese culture. Then Nepal (with a stopover in Istanbul) to trek and start my way back around the world via Bali, Phillipines and Japan and to re-visit my birthplace (I was born there but don't remember it). I was zipping along having the time of my life!

Then in the wild a strange and tragic occurrence. My mom had a stroke which triggered a heart attack. We almost lost her. It was a major hit to her and unexpected to everyone because there had been no previous history anywhere in our family. I flew back the next day I could. Canceled my flight to Bali. I was at 10,000 feet elevation when it happened and I found out several days later.

In Richmond, VA I stayed at her bedside day in and day out for almost a month. It wasn't easy but I soon found I was actually serving her in my silence. It felt correct and natural to give back to her, who had given me life many years ago. I guess it is instinct Just from holding her hand she found strength. I had been the only person that could sit with her through everything as her husband had also had health complications and my brother had to go back to work. My aunty Olina came out for my mom and I was re-united with a family member I had written off.

Still, I was not finished with my travels. So I got another batch of flights. Starting roundtrip from New York City to Dublin because I've wanted to try a real Guinness. Then back to Amsterdam 'cuz I love a party and a cute blond girl. Then Romania because I wanted to try something different and I was intrigued by Eastern Europe. Took a train to Bulgaria, stopped over and met some roots travelers. Then bussed south out of the cold to Greece because I wanted to discover the old land. Flying again to Barcelona- 'cuz Barcelona and Spain rule. Then to northern Spain / Southwest France Basque to surf and finally to England to check out amazing London. Ultimately I wrapped it up back to west Ireland to surf, drink and see the awesome Irish and finally to NYC. My travel bug was satiated...for now.

I went back to Virginia and was able to see my mom again and marvel at her improvement on the stroke recovery. I spent Thanksgiving with her, met an artist and visited my high school friend in North Carolina. Then I launched off back to the Hawaiian islands. By a stroke of good fortune the same place I lived in before; my treehouse, was "sitting quietly" waiting for my return.

Now I reside in the treehouse or as the Spanish call it, El Castillo Del Arboles : The Tree Castle. I have worked on two films already in the new year. I was a surfer and an interviewee on "Happiness" for a Swiss filmmaker who is traveling the world. The other project was a roundtable discussion on Hawaii's film industry and a fun skit based off Seinfeld with friends (well established actors) that will air in Hawaii.

My next adventure may be Brazil and South America or it may be Asia to start back where I left off in the travel round the world circuit. I try not to get too attached to an idea or desire because of the flux of the world and nature. At some point my passions will also pay me as I write my travelblog (www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/travelsurfer) and discover my talents at producing and writing along with my acting. All in good time as I find my zen and release my mana into the world. At 36 years I am able to see what makes me tick and better versed to find and attain that elusive item we call "Happiness".

Afterword

I started this as a tribute to a great man. I was interested in telling my Grandfathers story that he had always been so generous with me in sharing when I was a boy. As I continued to write this, and especially after it was suggested that I write my life story alongside his, I realized how many parallels in our lives there were. I began to enjoy the history and it made writing it so much more interesting and fun. When our age similarities were starting to match up almost to the exact year of the chapters it was eerie! Big events would happen or we would create them at the same time in our lives. Strange how close two lives can be. I started to believe in parallel universes and fate. I hope that in telling these stories people can remember their passion that drives their individualism and helps them achieve their desires no matter how big or small.

I may be reading too deep but it seems that his legendary life was written as a great script. He always said he did things as they came and didn't like to prepare. My life too, seems scripted as I look back at it so far but I was never reading from the script; just trusting in the unknown. I also share the philosophy of never looking back in regret. He taught me well as a father would. As I close this chapter and project of my remembrance of a legend I am moved to think that he was able to accomplish so much. I have some great big shoes to fill.

My mind keeps wandering back to that magical photograph my Grandmother took of us when I was a little boy. Me and my granddad walking in the grass under the Ko'olau mountains at Nohonani Place. That time is long gone but he still lives in my blood and visits my dreams. When I am the best and mightiest I know we are together in spirit: Me and My Granddad: American Warriors.

Special Thanks to

Libby Ward, Michael C. McCarthy, Raquel Pinheiro, Fareeha Khawaja, Holly McMillon Steele, John Lordan & iO West.
