Chick Parsons was a good friend of my father, Antonio J. Beltran y Ayala. Not only did he work with him at La Insular but belonged to several many social organizations with him. Chick, having lived so long in the Philippines, spoke Tagalog and perfect Spanish.
It was during the occupation. La Insular, being a Spanish company, was left alone by the Japanese. Not only that but the Spanish owners didn’t really pay much attention either. When the “big boss” went back to Spain in 1941 my father was promoted from Sales Manager to General Manager. It was difficult to go regularly go to the office so my father would often just let the “live-in” overseer run the place while he conducted business from home. A Japanese “supervisor” was there as well.
Sometimes my father would talk to my mother in whispers. He didn’t want the rest of the family to hear anything or know anything because it would be too dangerous. I shared an upstairs bedroom with Abuelita which was right next to my parents’ bedroom (the house, still standing, is on the corner of Paris & Leon Guinto (Pennsylvania). He knew if Abuelita found out, she would be too nervous but I would stand close to the wall and listen when my parents talked.
I heard my father tell my mother how Chick came to his office one day when the Japanese overseer was there. My father introduced Chick to the Japanese but Chick was so dark from being out in the sun–and was dressed like a Filipino in a barong and hat–that the Japanese didn’t pay any attention. I remember my father telling my mother that the “Jap” was stupid. I believe my father gave Chick cigarettes and other supplies for the guerrillas. This was not the only time Chick went to see my father. He was always dressed like a Filipino.
The guy who “smuggled” Chick into Manila was also a Spanish-speaking friend of my father but I forget his name. I do remember my father telling my mother that he’d see Chick on the streets around Manila and recognized him. He said, “That Chick — I saw him on the streets today. He is so daring.” Other times my father would say “I saw Chick again today.” My mother replied, “How is he?” My father would laugh and say ‘he’s all right but he looks like a native. I see him all over the place. He’s going all over Manila dressed like a native with a barong and a Filipino hat.”
I don’t know how involved my father was with the Guerillas besides giving cigarettes to Chick. It was dangerous as there were Filipinos who would report you to the Japanese authorities. I do remember the guerrillas coming to the house. My father would talk to them in Tagalog and give them fruit and maybe medicine. I was worried.
One time there was a guerrilla who had been injured in the leg by a Japanese sword and lost the use of the leg. He was in such pain. My father helped carry him in the house and treated him.
I don’t know what my father did but I do know he helped the guerrillas. What I do remember is my father laughing at how Chick didn’t even look or sound like an American anymore (when he saw him during the War).
I don’t remember being introduced to Chick until after the war. He gave “Herman” (my fiancé) a job at Luzon stevedoring at my father’s behest.

—-[here follows an email expansion of above from Bob Hansen, son of the above writer]: