‘La Paloma’ after the heat of battle
ON FEB. 15, 1898, the American battleship USS Maine lying at anchor in Havana, Cuba was sunk by a mysterious blast that killed 266 officers and men, the largest casualty figure suffered by the US Navy until the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. The explosion would trigger a war that would lead to US colonization of the Philippines.
Two months later, a US Navy Court of Inquiry concluded that a mine had sunk the Maine. (In 1976, a study on the sinking of the Maine commissioned by Admiral Hyman Rickover, father of the nuclear submarine, found no evidence of a mine, contradicting findings of the Naval Court of Inquiry. The report concluded that an internal explosion, possibly a fire that ignited some ammunition stores, caused the explosion.) Shortly after, the American Congress declared war on Spain.
In April 1898, Commodore George Dewey, commander of the US Asiatic Fleet based in Japan, was ordered to “commence operations against the Spanish fleet” in the Philippines.
With his flagship, the “Olympia,” leading the way, Dewey entered Manila Bay shortly after midnight on May 1st. Upon sighting the Spanish ships along the Cavite coast, Dewey turned to the captain of the Olympia and gave his famous order, “You may fire when ready, Gridley.” Within a few hours, only one of 12 Spanish ships remained afloat.
After a white flag was hoisted by the Spaniards, the US ships steamed closer to the Manila waterfront. Here the Olympia’s band played “La Paloma” and other Spanish melodies before a crowd of Spaniards and Filipinos curious to see the victors. (Stanley Karnow’s “In Our Image.”) It seems to me they not only sank the Spanish armada. They added insult to injury by playing “La Paloma.”
James Bradley in his book “The Imperial Cruise” had this to say about the naval encounter: “The May 1 Battle of Manila Bay was actually not much of a fight. When Admiral Dewey’s modern, steel ships steamed into Manila Bay, Spain’s creaky, wooden ships were conveniently tied up in a row. It was a turkey shoot, American cannon pounding Spain’s wooden relics into kindling. The conflict was so one-sided that Dewey had his sailors break for a sit-down morning meal.”
When word of the victory reached the United States, Dewey-mania swept through the nation with Dewey neckties, cufflinks, paperweights and other similar items being offered in many department stores in the country.
In San Francisco, the lovely city by the bay, a monument was erected in the center of Union Square to commemorate the American victory. One side of the monument bears the following inscription: “On the night of April 30, 1898, Commodore Dewey’s squadron entered Manila Bay and undaunted by the danger of submerged explosives, reached Manila at dawn of May 1st of 1898, attacked and destroyed the Spanish fleet, reduced the forts, and held the city in subjection until the arrival of troops from America.”
After three and a half months the Spanish-American War ended. It was, in the words of an American reporter, “a splendid little war.”
On Dec. 10, 1898, the Treaty of Paris granted independence to Cuba and made Guam, Puerto Rico and the Philippines US possessions. In the case of the Philippines, Spain received $20 million as indemnity. With a population of some 10 million, that came up to $2 per native.
Over 400 years in a convent came to an end, and was supplanted by another 50 years in Hollywood. The stretch of highway along Manila Bay was named after Commodore George Dewey. In 1946, it was renamed President Manuel Roxas Boulevard in honor of the last President of the Commonwealth and first President of the Third Republic.
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A week after Easter is as good a time to remember the important things in life. A friend provided me with this story for sharing.
“A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.
“The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again, if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
“The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous ‘yes’.
“The professor then produced a cup of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
“Now, said the Professor, as the laughter subsided, I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things—God, family, children, health, friends, and favorite passions—things that if everything else were lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.
“The pebbles are the other things that matter, like your job, your house, and car.
“The sand is everything else—the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.
“So pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another eighteen holes. There will always be time to clean the house and fix things. Take care of the golf balls first—the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.
“One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled, ‘I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there is always room for a cup of coffee with a friend.’”
