My Story No. 13 - A bumpy Road to College
My Story No. 13 - A bumpy Road to College
Change in regulation
I tendered my resignation on September 17, 1956, asking permission to leave my position. There was no answer. On October 1, to my surprise and dismay, a new circular reached my Regional Headquarters. The Ministry of National Defense had changed its policy. The new regulation stipulated that military personnel going to college were limited to studying Engineering and Technology; no social science or literature was allowed. It also said that those who got into college would receive a stipend equal to the salary of their last position. The time spent in college would count as military service, and thus they would not lose seniority, which would affect their promotion after finishing college and returning to the military. If this regulation had been issued in the first place, I would have been very happy because engineering and technology were my original interest. But since I had already passed the very competitive college entrance exam, I did not want to change course and waste my time doing it again. I had already spent seven years in the military and felt old enough as a college freshman.
Since the regulation did not say it applied retroactively and I had the permit in writing to join the exam, I hoped that the new rule would not affect me. The university registration time was approaching, so I took a two week leave from the regional Naval HQ and went to Taiwan on October 13. Two days later I went to the Personnel Division of Political Division of the Naval Command HQ in Taipei to enquire about the matter. Nobody seemed to know anything about it. Therefore, my entry into the university became uncertain.
The university registration deadline was October 17. Despite the uncertainty, I rushed to the school to register at the last minute and became a freshman.
Uncertain beginning at the University
I moved into the dorm. There was an orientation session for new students on the next day. I was absent because I had to find out what was going on. The news was discouraging.
On the 19th, while at Naval HQ again, I met an academy mate, Cao, who was in the same situation. We worked together to try to solve the problem.
I was in class on October 24 when Cao came and found me. He relayed the message that the authorities had rejected our application to leave our post to study. Notifications of rejection would be out soon. After discussion, we decided to seek help from the Supervisor of our Academy, who was influential in our field. He did not mind that two of his graduates had left their careers to seek other routes. After listening to us, he immediately picked up the phone and called the head of the division in charge of personnel management, and the answer was that he was to look into it and try to solve the problem.
The next day, I was supposed to meet Cao at the Navy HQ where he worked to make a plan. As I changed buses at a stop on Roosevelt Avenue, Taipei, I was shocked to find that my pockets had been picked on the bus. I lost my wallet together with all my identification, including the HQ entry permit Even my change was all gone. That left me no way even to make a phone call in the public telephone box to get help. I had to go back to my dorm. I walked for 5 miles, which took two hours in heavy rain, with all my clothes and shoes completely soaked through.
Solving the problem: visiting the Political Warfare Department
On the 27th, I went to Taipei again to meet Cao. After long deliberation, we decided that we should not give up and determined to fight to the end. We worked out the steps to take. We believed that justice was on our side. Whatever the reason they changed the policy, the rule should not apply retroactively. But first, we had to find out who was blocking our way to college although the authorities had already permitted us to take the exam. We thought the culprit might be in the Personnel Management Division of Political Warfare Department in the Ministry of National Defense.
The Political Warfare Department offices were located on the other side of the Presidential Building. It was heavily guarded, and access was strictly limited. There was a reception room for visitors. A receptionist, a stone-faced soldier, sat behind a high desk on a platform. Visitors must fill out a detailed form, including personal data, name and unit of the person being met, and reason for the visit. The receptionist would glance over the form and look down from his high position with suspicion and ask questions. If satisfied he would call the person on the phone. If the person agreed to see you, he would come out to meet you in that room.
We had Academy mates working there. In no time we found out who was in charge of our case. The case officer came out. As soon as he heard our statements, he said that it was not up to him. We should talk to his boss, the section chief. Then we requested to see the chief, who came out and told us that he was just executing the order handed down from his superior. He did not make any suggestions or offer any opinion. His superior, the head of the Personnel Management division of the Political Warfare Department, was a general; we did not dare to suggest meeting him. But our Academy friends working under him passed along our message. Word came out that we had gone to the wrong place. Since both the permit to enter the exam and the rejection of our request to leave the job were all issued by an even higher authority, the Personnel Bureau directly under the Ministry of Defense, we should go to them.
Solving the problem: visiting the Ministry of Defense Personnel Bureau
The Bureau was located in Mucha, a stone's throw away from my campus, across a hill. A sign on the road leading to it said, "Military installation, No Admittance." No student had ventured there before.
I immediately returned to Mucha and went directly there. There was no guard posted at the entrance like most military complexes. The place was U-shaped bungalows, simple and humble, the first room with a sign indicating that it was the reception room. A group of soldiers chatted inside. After listening to my request, a soldier came to the door and pointed at a room on the right side row and said that should be the section handling my case. I could go directly to them, no forms to fill out¸ no waiting. So I went. An officer with the rank of second lieutenant sat alone in the office. After I made my case to him, he rose and led me to the inner compartment. The section chief, with the rank of Lieutenant, sat behind a desk, surveyed me up and down, then said:
"Oh, yeah, going to college, very good. I was in college in the Mainland myself. Because the situation abruptly changed, I wasn't able to finish. If you can go to college, I should have been there long before." Then he shook his head slowly and added: "You should put the college stuff in your pipe and smoke it. "
I was stunned by his commentary. In desperation, I tried to make a last argument. So I showed him the permit issued by the same unit he was working in, thinking probably he had something to do with the case.
He looked at the paper, pondering for a long time without saying a word.
Then I made a bold suggestion:
"Can I see the director?"
The director was Mao Ren-Feng (毛人鳯), a Lieutenant General, and I was only a lieutenant in the Navy. I did not expect the Director would waste his time meeting a low ranking officer for such personal and trivial business. However, the section chief picked up the phone and called. Then he told me to go to the Director's Office on the other side of the compound. Overjoyed, I hurried across the square. The door was open, I went in.
Mao Ren-Feng was no ordinary general who earned his rank in the battlefield. He used to be the head of the secret service under the Ministry of National Defense. His work was mostly searching for Chinese Communist spies. He was ruthless and merciless. When a spy was discovered and caught, he always executed him or her right on the spot - in a few cases, together with the whole family. No need to send anybody to court or to re-education programs. He was one of the most feared in the circle of the secret service. I heard his name as early as while I was in the Political Academy. After Chiang Kai-Shek's son Chiang jing-Gao took over the secret service, he lost the favor of his new boss. I assumed that was why he was transferred to the more neutral and harmless position as the director of the Bureau in charge of military personnel.
When he came into the meeting room from his office, I stood at attention. He then showed me the chair to indicate to sit, and he sat opposite me. I was expecting a stern, dignified, and serious person. He was none of these, but appeared friendly, mild, kind, and eager to listen to what I would say. After patiently listening to my narrative, he said:
"Honestly, we don't have authority over personnel relating to the Political Warfare Department. Your permit and the rejection papers were issued by us in the name of the Ministry of Defense, but we solely act on the recommendations of the Personnel division of the Political Department. If you have any problems, you should go back to them to present your case."
Back to the Personnel Division of the Political Warfare Department: Mrs. Chiang
So the key to the problem was switched back to the Personnel Division of the Political Warfare Department, with a General Pai, head of the Personnel Division, as the culprit. His relegating responsibility to others because he could not face reasoning with us were evidence of his feelings of guilt. On October 28th, I went to Taipei to tell Cao what happened and what I thought. We agreed that it would be useless to continue our appeal to the Personnel Division level. We had to go to his superior, the Director of the Department of Political Warfare.
General Chiang Jian-ren (蔣堅忍) was the Director. It was impossible to ask him to meet us at the office, so we decided to go to his residence. Friends inside promptly provided us with the address. We waited until evening to make sure he was home. We went by bus and walked in the drizzling rain to his front door. Under dim door lights, we pressed the bell. A man in casual clothes answered the door. Hearing that we were there to see Director Chiang, he said: "Not home!" and tried to close the door.
At that moment Cao stepped forward and said a few words to him. His voice was too low to hear clearly, but I could tell he was speaking some kind of dialect. They, as well as Chiang's family, were from the same place. The man was General Chiang's chauffeur. They talked for five or six minutes, then I heard him say, "OK, let me tell madam. " He turned and went in without closing the door.
After a while, Mrs. Chiang came out and said, "The Director has gone to Matsu. It will take two or three days before he’s back." We introduced ourselves and told her about our difficulties. She said:"It's good for you young people to go to school to improve. Why not? Okay, when the director is back, I'll let him know. He will be home on the first of next month. Come back for news on that night."She went in to fetch a pen and paper. We wrote our names under the dim door light and said goodbye to her.
On the bus, I asked Cao what ploy he used to pull the chauffeur back to listen to him. He said:"Never call him a chauffeur - call him Officer, even if you know he is not."
Thus I learned a lesson. Sometimes a little compliment is essential despite being a bit inconsistent with fact. It works beautifully at some critical times.
Director Chiang’s decision
November 1st was the day Director Chiang was supposed to be back home. In the evening we two went again to Chiang's residence. The officer came to open the door, wide. He was very friendly and helpful and told us the Director had just returned and was eating noodles right now. After that, he had to rush to the city hall to participate in an official party. Because time was short, he advised us to present our case in a brief, clear, and to-the-point way.
Hearing our conversation, Mrs. Chiang came out. She told us that she talked to the Director, and that he already knew our case. It was rejected. We explained that it was why we were there: because the rejection is unreasonable. It conflicted with the previous permit allowing us to join the exam. If we had been allowed to join the exam, it should mean that after passing it we should be allowed to go to college. She then asked to see the permit. I was just about to hand over, then Cao interrupted and said:"Can we see the Director?"
The Director must have heard our conversation all along because he came out right away, chopsticks in hand, and said to us:
"You two should not entertain this in your minds any longer. The Department had a special meeting for this matter. Your requests were denied. You must go back to your units as soon as possible."
Then we pleaded that it was the Ministry of National Defense that had permitted us to join the exam in the first place.
He appeared a little puzzled. "Let me see the permit!"
He took our papers, glanced them over, and said:"Leave them to me. I'll see what's going on."
It was said that the next day, the Director summoned Pai, the chief of Personal Division, showed him our permit, and questioned why he didn't mention them in the meeting or before the rejection letters were issued. Pai argued this: the Ministry of Education had just announced that those who did not have a chance to finish college in Mainland China, if they had records in the Ministry's files, could go back to any college in Taiwan to make up the credits in order to graduate. There were hundreds of them in the Department. To let two of us go would set a precedent allowing those political officers who were qualified to follow suit. The vacated positions would be impossible to fill under those circumstances. It would have too much of an impact on the Political Warfare Department, and political work in the military would be greatly affected.
The Director held that the permits were issued in the name of the Ministry of National Defense. They were not only a promise, but an order. As a military installation subordinate to the Ministry, an order from the superior had to be obeyed; its interpretation should not be distorted, and its execution should be absolutely faithful. Executing the order might cause problems, but we should obey first and deal with any subsequent problems later. Not presenting the permit when making the decision could be construed as hiding the facts, no matter what the excuse.
The matter was settled at that point. However, we did not see any signs of resolution of the problem until later.
Appealing at Magong
When I went to see Cao on November 6, he told me that things did not look good. The official rejection that forbade us to leave our jobs for school had already reached our units. Sure enough, my Regional Naval HQ sent me a telegram, saying that my request was denied, and that I had overstayed my leave. I was ordered to return to work immediately. Otherwise, I would be regarded as a deserter and possibly court-martialed.
I had to go back to Magong, to my unit, to settle the matter. I took ten days off from school. On November 9th, I took a train to Kaohsiung, the only city running a scheduled ferry line to my destination. I boarded a ship named Yilan on the 10th and arrived the next day.
My appeal had to be through my immediate superior because of the rule forbidding military personnel to bypass their units and report to any higher authorities. But the head of the Political Section of the Regional Naval HQ, reasoning that the case was already closed, steadfastly refused to forward my paperwork and insisted that I resume my work immediately. My colleagues sympathized with me. They tried to convince the head, but to no avail. Then one of them suggested that I go to the Deputy Commander, who might be more sympathetic about my situation. When I went to his office to ask for help, he promised to try. It worked. A few days later my appeal was forwarded to the Ministry.
On the 21st, I flew back to Taiwan. That was the first flight of my life. The carrier was a transport aircraft of the Air Force. The empty cabin had no seats and no windows. Dozens of cloth bags were scattered on both sides, and everyone sat on them. I didn't know what they were at the time. Later it came to me that they were probably parachutes. I heard the blast of our take-off and felt the swaying and pitching. We arrived in Tainan in 40 minutes. The journey was not only faster, but more comfortable than the time-consuming, laborious, and costly ship passage.
I went back to school. The midterm exam began on November 28. As I was taking the exam, I still worried about the appeal. Cao and I met several times to exchange information and discuss next steps. The news came on December 9 that we would be allowed to go to school, but withs ome conditions. A few days later, we learned that official approval for us to leave our positions had been dispatched to our units. Thus the matter had come to successful conclusion. At that time the final exam of the first semester was approaching.
Conditions
The order from the Ministry of National Defense for us to leave our jobs to study was issued on December 24¸1956, in the form of transfer of positions. We were transferred to the Ministry of National Defense as extra staff members. While in college, no salary was to be paid to us and no seniority earned. After completing our studies, we had to return to the military, continuing our service at the same rank as before.
The news that the Ministry of National Defense let us attend college soon spread among the Armed Forces. It created two classes of officer students with different treatments: those who were in engineering and technology, and those were not. The purpose of this discrimination obviously was to discourage personnel in the Political Department from leaving their jobs.
A friend heard the news and made a special trip from Taichung to see me. He wanted me to weigh the advantages and disadvantages. He tried to persuade me that under such conditions, I should give up my studies. He wanted me to face the reality that I would very likely have to drop out of college due to financial problems. Even if I could graduate, returning to the military at my original rank would bea great loss, because by then, my classmates would have advanced to major while I would be still a lieutenant. He added that even if I did not return to military service after graduation, my future job would most likely be as a school teacher or a civil servant. The difference in the military and in the society was not so much that it was worth wasting 4 years in college. The reasons he listed were convincing, and the facts he presented were clear. Throughout the whole day that we spent together he tried to persuade me to give up.
His sincerity and friendship moved me a lot, but going to university was my dream, also was my promise to my grandfather. No matter how worthless it might be, whatever difficulties I might encounter, I had determined I should go, taking one step at a time.
Eventually, he felt my determination, and he gave up. As we parted, he handed me NT$200. I refused, saying that I had no shortage of money at present. He insisted and said that it could be needed in the future. As we were at the school gate to see him off, he saw the branch of the Post Office which also offered bank services. He suggested that I open a postal savings account there and deposit the money. The next day, I opened an account as he advised. That was the first time in my life that I had an account with a financial institute. I determined to maintain at least 200 yuan in the account to treasure his friendship. I kept the account until I left college. I did not see him again, but we kept corresponding. He retired as an army colonel, had Alzheimer's Disease in his late years, and passed away about 20 years ago.
Fighting for fair treatment
Having set the precedent, just as General Pai feared, more than 500 current officers in the Political Warfare Department, qualified by the Ministry of Education standard, applied to leave their jobs for college despite the less favorable treatment. The majority went to the College of Literature and Law of National Taiwan University.
The followingyear¸1957, the Chinese Nationalist Party, KMT, called its 8th National Plenary Conference. That was an important meeting for the ruling party every 5 years to review the government’s accomplishments and set policies for the future. People who wanted to have a say on public affairs competed to participate. Professor Fu chi-Xie (傅啟學), the Dean of Student Affairs, campaigned among the KMT members to be elected as a delegate to represent the KMT branch of Taiwan University. All the students from Political Science Department, about 300 of them, were KMT members because membership was a requirement. Representing all of us who were in the same situation, they took the opportunity to jointly request Professor Fu to air our grievance and unfair treatment in exchange for their votes.
He was successfully elected and submitted our case in a skilled way. First, he reported the inequality and differential treatment compared with those who were studying engineering and technology. Then he described the difficulties for us to study and make a living at the same time. As a Dean of Student Affairs, he was familiar with the problem, and his presentation earned lots of sympathy from the delegates. Lastly, he told a story that shocked all the delegates. KMT was the ruling party, but to show that Taiwan was free and democratic, some minor political parties were allowed to exist. The bigger ones were the Youth Party and the Socialist Party. Though tolerated, KMT did all they could to make sure they did not become too powerful and influential. Professor Fu reported that there were cases that those two parties, learning of those students' situations, were luring them to join their parties by paying their tuition and living expenses. He asked: if those people went back to our armed forces with their new party affiliation, what effects would it have on our Military? Thus the conference unanimously denounced the Ministry of Defense and ordered it to resolve the matter quickly and reasonably.
What the Ministry should have done was treat us as they did those in engineering and technology. But without funding, the Ministry had to let us go, to retire from the armed forces. A few months later, in one proclamation, all of us studying in fields other than engineering and technology were kicked out.
Flowers and willow trees
Fortunately, society gave those who were competent and outstanding the space to show their capacity and talent. To me, those who left the military contributed more than if they had stayed. Many of them became lawyers, writers, professors, and journalists. After graduating, my friend Cao continued his studies at the Graduate School of National Chengchi University and obtained his doctorate degree. After some years of teaching, he was selected as a member of the National Examination Committee which was in charge of all the important exams of the country, such as Civil Service, and Professional Licenses. It is a very prestigious position in the academic field. He was also an exchange scholar at Hoover Institute for one year when we were in New York. Later, he had a daughter living in Los Angeles. He always came to stay for the summer, and we met every time when he was here. He passed away in his seventies.
For those officer students who enjoyed better treatment because they were studying engineering and technology, I envied them then – not only because they had more advantages, but also because those subjects were my interests.
I had met an Air Force Major, Li, through a relative. He was ambitious and wanted to go to college to get a degree to have a better future. I kept in very close contact with him, especially during the period when I was denied going to college. If eventually I had to go back to my unit, I planned to retake the entrance exam next year but switching to the stipulated subjects. Li was very good in some of the subjects, and I might need his help and advice. He entered the prestigious college in his field, National ChengKung University in Tainan, and graduated with flying colors. However, after graduation, he had to go back to the Air Force. The authorities arranged a job for him teaching in the Air Force Mechanical School, where he worked until retirement at the rank of colonel. I heard from my relative that after a few years, he became very disappointed and frustrated.
Looking back, I have wondered at fate, and how a man's life can have a bumpy start but surprising results. The fortune teller hired by my grandfather predicted some of my life events by quoting a traditional Chinese proverb: "Plant a flower, but it does not bloom, Stick a willow twig in the mud unintentionally, and it grows into a big tree.” In this case, engineering and technology were my flowers, but what really happened to me was unplanned, and those were my willow trees.
As a Chinese proverb says:"In life's journey, whatever road you tread all will have hindrances. When you have crossed a mountain, there is another mountain. " to continue my studies, I had still another mountain to overcome.
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