The Leper Spy (28 page)

Joey's disease had all but disappeared, thanks to the new treatments. The monthly tests for the
Mycobacterium leprae
were showing great improvement. But she knew that as soon as she was discharged from the hospital, she couldn't stay in America without a special act of Congress. She was confident, nevertheless.

“I know things will work out,” she said.

J
ames Morrison kept filing his bills, year after year, and those bills kept stalling in committee. The letters kept coming to Carville from the INS, cold and unfeeling and bothersome in their form, calling Joey “the beneficiary” and “alien” and calling her illness a “loathsome or dangerous contagious disease.” Each one brought a new wave of fear and horrible allegations. The patient “entered the United States with the intention of remaining here permanently,” one said, and she “willfully and flagrantly violated the rules of the Carville Leprosarium by unauthorized travel to various parts of the United States thereby exposing a countless number of innocent persons to the danger and contagion of leprosy.”

Joey just kept waking up, hurrying to morning Mass, toast and coffee for breakfast, badminton in the afternoon. Thanking the Forty and Eights for their support, the legionnaires for their dedication, James Morrison for not forgetting about her.

In Manila, Renato Ma. Guerrero of the Ermita Guerreros had achieved national fame as a brilliant and outstanding pediatrician, professor, and chairman of the Department of Pediatrics of the Faculty of Medicine and Surgery at the University of Santo Tomas. He wrote a medical book called
Outlines
and later the
Textbook of Pediatrics for Filipino Students.
He served as president of the Philippine Pediatric Society and was editor of the
Philippine Journal of
Pediatrics
and the
Santo Tomas Journal of Medicine.
He worked paces from where his wife had once seen the grenade-blasted body of her commanding officer, the brave guerrilla Capt. Manuel Colayco, who had led the First Cavalry to the prison gates in different days. Rene's letters to Carville slowed and then stopped altogether, and a void opened there over hours and days and weeks and years.

It's impossible to say, based on what remains of the public record, whether the relationship Joey began to share with a new Carville patient much younger than she sprang from love or something more practical, like a desire for American citizenship.

What is known is that by January 1957, Joey had recorded eleven consecutive monthly tests that were negative for leprosy, and she needed one more to be eligible to leave the hospital.

What is known is that Alec Lau was twenty-six, was born in Saigon, Vietnam, had lived in France, and had attended high school and two years of college at the University of Washington before doctors discovered he had Hansen's disease and sent him to Carville in January 1956. He had a father in Cambodia, an aunt in New York City, and he was admitted to the United States in 1951 on a student visa that granted him permanent residence.

What is known is that on January 8, 1957, Congressman Morrison wrote to Joey's lawyer, Robert Kleinpeter, asking if there had been any developments in Joey's case and asking if he should submit another bill on her behalf. And on January 9, 1957, Robert Kleinpeter, who had spent six years working without pay on Joey's case, who had taken two trips to Washington to lobby on her behalf, wrote to Congressman Morrison to let him know he had obtained a divorce for Joey from her husband in the Philippines and would he please include that information in her file “since there was some feeling that if she were granted permanent residence and eventually obtained citizenship, that she might make an attempt to bring her child and husband to this country.” Kleinpeter asked Morrison to introduce one more bill and to encourage his colleagues to help move the bill forward. “It is extremely difficult for a country boy
to understand why we permit so many displaced persons, such as the Hungarians, and other refugees from Communist countries to seek asylum in this country and eventually obtain permanent residence, and at the same time be so technical and hard on one individual who proved whose side she was on before ever coming to this country,” Kleinpeter wrote. “Your interest in this case in the past has certainly proved that you are more than willing to do everything possible to assist Mrs. Guerrero, and I know that you will continue to do so. However, it would be most appreciated by me, as one of your constituents, if a little extra effort could be put forward and obtain relief, not only for Mrs. Guerrero, but for the writer.”

What is also known is that on January 10, 1957, a year after Lau's arrival at Carville, Joey Guerrero, thirty-nine, wore an emerald-green silk Henri Bendel cocktail dress and an imported Italian hat embellished with seed pearls and sequins and exchanged wedding vows with the young and handsome Alec Lau before Judge Jess Johnson of Baton Rouge.

And four days later, on January 14, Congressman Morrison's secretary sent a note to his friends at the Baton Rouge morning and evening papers: “Congressman James H. Morrison reintroduced a Bill for the relief of Josefina V. Guerrero on January 14, 1957, which was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary. Joey's marriage to another patient at Carville has been called to the attention of the Judiciary Committee and it is believed that further consideration of her case will include information pertaining to her current marital status.”

When the story broke in the
Baton Rouge State Times
on January 15, the wire services began calling and the story of Joey and Alec's wedding flashed to newspapers from New York to Manila. Television reporters showed up, too.

“We just fell in love,” Joey told the reporters, “and that was that.”

Alec confirmed the explanation with a smile. “That's it,” he said. “It must have been destiny.”

“It's a free world,” said Dr. Edgar B. Johnwick, the medical officer in charge. “I approved Joey and Alec's request.”

The story in the
Star
mentioned Joey's wartime exploits and Morrison's new bill, which also had the strong backing of the rest of the Louisiana congressional delegation.

“Joey now has more reason than ever to want to remain in this country as Alec, a Vietnamese, is here on a visa granting permanent residence,” the story read. “What of the future? Like all young couples, Joey and Alec have their dreams, hopes, and plans.”

Morrison didn't waste any time and quickly fired off a letter to the chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary, pointing out the divorce and marriage and the fact that Joey's new husband had permanent residence in the United States. The chairman then asked the INS for an up-to-date report on Joey. Strangely, much of the callous language present in previous reports was missing from the latest.

The beneficiary, whose present name by a recent marriage is Josefina V. Lau, was born on August 5, 1917, in Lucban, Tayatan, Philippine Islands, and is a citizen of the Philippines. She married Alec Lau on January 10, 1957, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He was born on January 4, 1932, in Saigon, Vietnam, and is now a permanent resident of the United States. He has been a patient at the United States Public Health Service Hospital, Carville, Louisiana, since January 1956 under treatment for leprosy. The beneficiary divorced her previous husband, Doctor Renato Guerrero, who is a native and citizen of the Philippine Islands, on December 12, 1956, in Louisiana. The beneficiary and Doctor Guerrero have two daughters, ages seventeen and twelve. The youngest daughter is an adopted child and both reside with their father in the Philippines.

The beneficiary is a patient at the United States Public Health Service Hospital, Carville, Louisiana. She
is employed as a secretary to the editor of the hospital paper at a salary of $15 to $20 per week and her assets consist of $900 in savings. The beneficiary has received a high school diploma and completed courses in shorthand and typing in the United States. She is now taking a correspondence course in Journalism from the Louisiana State University. She has no close relatives in the United States.

The beneficiary was admitted to the United States on July 10, 1948, at San Francisco, California, as a temporary visitor for a period of six months to receive treatment for leprosy at the United States Public Health Service Hospital at Carville, Louisiana. In connection with this admission, the beneficiary was accorded a waiver of the excluding provisions of Section 3 or the Immigration Act of February 5, 1917, as amended, as they related to the alien's affliction with a loathsome or dangerous contagious disease. She was granted several extensions of her temporary stay, the last of which expired on August 20, 1951. Deportation proceedings were instituted on October 31, 1951, and on August 31, 1953, she was found to be subject to deportation by a Special Inquiry Officer on the ground that after admission as a visitor she remained in the United States longer than permitted. Voluntary departure has been authorized with the alternate order that she be deported if she fails to depart. Although the order of the Special Inquiry Officer was appealed to the Board of Immigration Appeals, the appeal was dismissed.

Doctor Edgar B. Johnwick, Medical Officer in Charge of the United States Public Health Service Hospital, reports that the beneficiary's case is now considered arrested as she has had twelve consecutive negative tests and is eligible for discharge. He states that as her husband
is a patient at this hospital and his case is active, she will be permitted to remain at the hospital.

It is reported that the beneficiary rendered extensive valuable assistance to the United States troops in the Philippines during World War II.

The accompanying note from her doctor said Joey was “ambulatory and free from physical distress most of the time. She retains normal vision and good function of all extremities. Her skin shows extensive atrophic scarring which is the result of long-standing leprosy infection. At present time there is not any clinical evidence of active leprosy. In April 1957 this patient's lepromatous leprosy satisfied criteria for apparent arrest (i.e., her tests had been negative for a period of twelve months). Since that time she has been eligible for discharge from this hospital.”

With the bill pending, Joey Guerrero, who had spent nearly ten years behind the wire at Carville, was finally free to leave.

J
oey caught a ride to California with friends and stayed with them for a few weeks. In June, she and Alec, who was also discharged, took an apartment at 1565 Fourth Street in San Rafael, California, not far from San Francisco Bay. The weather was just lovely. It was why she chose California. Her job search was challenging, though. She was honest with potential employers about her disease. One interviewer told her that “because of your chronic illness, you would be a risk and I doubt that you will find it easy to get a position,” she wrote to a friend. “I am sure something will eventually turn up, but I shall have to fight prejudice and bigotry along with disappointments.”

But after a month of responding to want ads in the newspapers, she found a job as a secretary at the Argonaut Printing and Sierra Press Company on Church Street, across the Golden Gate Bridge, where she earned $325 a month. The post office at Carville forwarded her fan mail, which still came in at a steady clip.

“I was one of the army chaplains who knew you thru visits to Novaliches,” wrote the Right Rev. Edward J. Schlotterback from Africa. “Recently my brother sent me a newspaper clipping telling of your marriage in Carville. I wish you all possible happiness and will pray for you both. You were always an inspiration to me for courage and good spirit under your affliction, and for willingness to care for all the others.”

The INS extended her deadline for self-deportation, giving her another year to try to become a permanent resident. But the letters kept coming.

“While the one is not alarming, it doesn't take away the feeling of threat,” she wrote to James Morrison. “I hope this matter will be settled soon and that you will do all you can to expedite it, so that all this harassment will be taken away from me.”

Morrison wasn't concerned. So long as he kept submitting bills, he was assured, the INS would not act.

“I am sure you may consider it as a regular notice and no action will be taken as long as legislation in your behalf is still pending,” he wrote back.

On Christmas Eve 1958, the company she was working for was sold. It didn't take long for her to find another job, this time at Levi Strauss & Co., and she started January 19. Two weeks later, Alec Lau fell ill and was sent back to the hospital at Carville, with no idea how long he would need treatment. Two weeks after that, Joey got a letter from the INS assistant director for deportation. “Reason for appointment: interview about your case.” Again she wrote to Morrison, apologizing for taking up the time of a busy man, asking him to prove to the INS that he had introduced yet another bill before the Eighty-Sixth Congress.

“I am now employed in this 107-year-old firm and I have a fairly good job, a job which I hope to stay in for a long time,” she wrote. “So you see, I am gainfully employed. I keep well and my schedule is tight for I commute five days a week, but I want to prove to all who have faith and believe in me that I would never, please God, have to be a burden to this country or to anyone.”

Several months later, the INS announced it was questioning the permanent resident status of Alec Lau because it did not know he was suffering from leprosy before his permanent status was approved.

On and on and on it went, never ceasing.

“We, Joey's former coworkers, are warmly appreciative of your efforts in the past on her behalf,” Stanley Stein wrote to Morrison,
“and we are sure the countless hundreds of friends of this courageous little war heroine all feel indebted to you for what you are trying to do for her.”