The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “Tom, your own brother-in-law, Congressman Hansen, has worked wonders in the Utah delegation since his return from Norway. And now talk has it that Roosevelt intends to run for president again in 1912. You know, of course, how he broke with tradition back in ’02 and intervened in that coal strike back East. He even threatened to have federal troops take over the mines. If he’s elected again next year—well, I needn’t tell you what he might think to do with our mines out here. Times are changing, I’m telling you, and we need to move with them.”

  Tom nodded his acknowledgment and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “We get the picture, Governor. What would you have us do?”

  Spry also nodded. “First, Tom, please understand that I know you’re at the forefront of change within your economic peer group. That is admirable. And I am well aware of your philanthropy. But, all that aside, I want to resolve this Bingham issue a different way than hammering it out around the bargaining table.”

  “I’m listening, Governor,” Tom said.

  “I’ve asked Father Vasilios Lambrides of the Greek Orthodox church to join us in a few minutes. I want him to use his good offices to find common ground.”

  “You think the church can play a role?”

  “These Greeks are very spiritual, respect their religious leaders, and need someone whom they can trust to mediate. If my sources are right, they don’t even feel they can trust the union negotiators who have come in to represent them.”

  “Well, surprise, surprise,” Tom said sarcastically.

  “I know, I know,” the governor replied, his arms raised in supplication to the ceiling. “But what do you say, Tom? Will you lend your support to this proposal when the other owners arrive for this afternoon’s meeting?”

  Tom looked at Robert who nodded slightly, and then turned his gaze back toward Spry.

  “Governor, Utah Trust Bank will do all we can to support your initiatives to resolve this strike. If Father Lambrides can be of assistance, he’ll receive all the support we can give.”

  “Thank you, Tom,” the governor said, rising. “Then I’ll see you back here at three this afternoon. That meeting should be a real donnybrook,” Spry laughed.

  “Aye,” Tom also laughed.

  “And, Mark,” Spry said, clapping him on the back, “you’ve got two fine men to emulate. Your father and Mr. Callahan are held in high esteem in this community. You’ll do well to follow their lead.”

  “Thank you, Governor,” Mark replied as he exited the office.

  In the car, heading back down State Street toward UTB, Tom was silent as they drove.

  “Tom?” Robert asked, “a penny for your thoughts.”

  “He’s right about one thing, you know. Utah, America, the world for that matter, is changing considerably. We have a telephone and telegraph that tell us instantly what happens halfway around the globe. Somehow we need to find ways to come to grips with conflict other than by pounding our fists on the table and presenting a take-it-or-leave-it stance.”

  “Do you have the answers, Tom?” Robert smiled as he turned the car onto Second South.

  “Robert, you and I are eating quick bites at the hotel, running home for a few hours sleep each night, and thinking about our wives and families hundreds and thousands of miles away. And you ask me if I can solve the world’s problems?”

  Robert turned the corner, pulled into the bank’s parking lot, and turned off the engine. “Well, not this week, I suppose,” he laughed, getting out of the car.

  The striking Greek miners were deployed throughout the canyon, positioned in strategic places on the walls, rifles prominently displayed as several police and government cars slowly made their way up the canyon road.8 Management had sought to break the back of the strike by the use of temporary miners—“scabs” the strikers called them—brought in from outlying areas of the state.

  Throughout the narrow approaches to the canyon, armed men could be seen kneeling or crouching behind rocks and bushes high on the canyon sides. Tom Callahan rode in Governor Spry’s car, along with Sheriff Joseph Sharp. Earlier, representatives of General Wedgewood, National Guard Commander, had informed representatives of the striking miners that National Guard troops would be called upon to storm the canyon if reason could not prevail and the strike brought to an end. Father Lambrides was carrying Governor Spry’s last offer of conciliation.

  Exiting his car, the elderly priest gathered the skirts of his robe about him and, without waiting for escort, began to ascend the hillside toward a group of men standing partway up. Shouts echoed throughout the canyon, as leaders of the striking miners warned their men not to react and accidentally injure the priest. Finally, Father Lambrides came face to face with two of the miners, and requested that their leader descend to speak with him. One of the men relayed the information, and three men made their way down the hillside and approached the priest. In several minutes of conversation, during which Greek miners at first rejected, then considered, the priest’s advice, a compromise was reached and the miners agreed to meet with Governor Spry at the Bingham Opera House the following day.

  Attending the negotiations in the Bingham Opera House, Tom Callahan, silent during the entire proceedings, recognized that once again the mine owners and management had won the day, notwithstanding the few concessions granted the miners during the negotiations. Public support had swung against the miners during the strike, and Father Lambrides had been able to convince the Greek community that the governor would have no choice but to call in the National Guard, which would inevitably bring about further violence and death. The miners accepted a small hourly increase in wages and a promise that safety measures would be adopted in return for their going back to work. Several weeks of confrontation, accompanied by the deaths of striking participants and the beating of several others, came to an end.

  Riding home from the meetings, Governor Spry was contemplative as they drove. Tom, again invited to ride with the governor, finally broke the silence.

  “You’ve done a good job, Governor. Bringing in Father Lambrides was an excellent move.”

  “Humph. It appears so now, Tom, but we haven’t seen or heard the last of the issues. Somehow, during the hopefully quiet period this will give us for a few months or, if we’re lucky, a few years, you’ve got to convince those entrenched owners that these miners are people. They’ve got families, too. Is there really that much difference if the owners make twelve percent instead of fifteen or eighteen? The numbers don’t matter, Tom. But something has to be done to better the conditions those men talked about. That one Greek fellow—the spokesman—I’d have joined him myself if I hadn’t been the governor.”

  “Aye. He was eloquent all right. But, as you say, more importantly, he was right about much of what he said. The irony, Governor, is that one of their major complaints is the extortion required to obtain work in the mine. That, I’m sure you noticed, was extracted by one of their own—the Greek foreman Skliris. Certainly it didn’t go unnoticed that they agreed to return to work under the prevailing wage, if the company would just fire Skliris. And then Jackling—I’ll be looking to have a word with him, I can tell you—defends Skliris in his telegram. I don’t know, Governor. It’s a convoluted situation all right, but at least we’ve calmed the issue down and there should be no more killing.”

  “Humph,” Spry grunted. “Perhaps not in the open. Well, anyway,” he said, looking out the window of the car as they approached Temple Square, “I didn’t have to send in the Guard.”

  “Aye,” Tom nodded. “We can be grateful for that.”

  Chapter 15

  Tom’s telegram made Katrina’s heart race a little faster.

  “HMS Oceanic voyage canceled—Stop—New bookings arranged—Stop—Tickets at White Star Office, Southampton, departing 10 April—Stop—I leave Utah 12 April to meet you in NY—Stop—Children to Utah with Lars—Stop—You and I for a fabulous week in NY—Stop—Hurry, KMD—Stop— Love, Tom.”

  Katrina smile
d at their secret code—KMD—‘Katie m’ darlin’. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in her upstairs bedroom in Horten, Norway. After six months of touring Norway, seeing parts of it she had only studied as a child before they left for America, Katrina had gained a deeper appreciation for her homeland and the struggles of many generations of Norwegians who had learned to terrace-farm the hillsides to provide sufficient crops to survive.

  Lars and Jenny Hansen had taken one more three-day trip, taking the ferry from Horten across the fjord to reach Moss, Sweden. One of Father Hansen’s schoolmates was the headmaster at a school there, and Lars wanted to see him again.

  Katrina had been pleasantly surprised at her father’s stamina during the trip, and under her mother’s watchful eye, Lars had done much of what he had intended. As a tourist, he had seen more of Norway than he ever had before they emigrated to America.

  Tom’s letter of the previous week told how much he missed her, and how pleased he was that their return voyage would start the following week. As a present to Lars and Jenny, he had rebooked their reservations on a new ocean liner in First Class accommodations. His letter caused her thoughts to return to Utah, her husband, and her American life. It was as Tom had once said about Ireland. Norway would always be her native country, but Utah was where her family was and that was home. Norway was in her heart, as Ireland was in Tom’s, but Utah—Salt Lake City—was now their home, and almost instantly she longed to return—to have Tom take her in his arms again and to call her ‘Katie, m’darlin’, as he always had.

  Tommy and Tess, now eleven, and young Benjamin, barely seven, had not really posed as much of a problem as Katrina had imagined they might. The twins’ dark hair, blue eyes, and ruddy complexions stamped them as Tom’s children as surely as if a mold had been cast. Tess actually acted like quite the young lady with her Norwegian cousins, and Tommy, as the man of the family—a title Grandpa Lars had given him—had been quick to assume the role. Benjamin had been totally taken over by his Norwegian relatives. His fair skin, blond hair, and green eyes, so much like Katrina’s, had assured him acceptance in the Hansen homestead.

  In the morning, they would begin the journey home. They would take a short ferry ride to Copenhagen and then passage on a small coastal freighter to Scotland. Then once again, as they had so many years before, there would be a train ride through Scotland and England to Southampton. There they would board yet another British White Star liner. A brand-new vessel, she was of immense proportions and reputed to be the finest ocean liner in service.

  Katrina read Tom’s telegram once more, folded the paper, and tucked it into a side pocket. She stood, smoothed the front of her pinafore, and went downstairs, prepared to assist with dinner for the family. Lars and Jenny were due back in Horten on the afternoon ferry, and the whole Hansen family was gathering again this evening for a farewell party. The trip had been pleasant enough, and it was certainly rewarding to see the children take an interest in her homeland. But on the morrow they would leave. Katrina Hansen Callahan was ready to go home.

  The size of the ship was overwhelming. Comparing this vessel to the Antioch—the ship Katrina had first taken to America—was like comparing a hotel to a tent. Her suite, one of twenty-eight exceptionally elaborate suites located on B Deck, consisted of a sitting room and two smaller bedrooms, one off each side. Tommy and Benjamin were assigned to one room with twin beds, and Katrina and Tess took the other. Lars and Jenny Hansen were several doors down the passageway, also in a First Class suite.

  Departing Southampton proved to be a noisy affair, with official proclamations, traditional British pomp and ceremony, and representatives of the Crown making speeches about the maiden voyage of the new ship. The band stood on the Promenade Deck and played “Rule Britannia,” as the harbor tugs pulled and pushed the great vessel clear of obstacles. Katrina and the children remained on deck to watch the proceedings and the myriad of smaller vessels in the harbor for the occasion.

  Precisely at noon on 10 April 1912, under the control of six harbor tugs, the great ship was pulled from the pier and moved into the channel, where it began a slow journey down the River Test.

  Passing two vessels idled by a local coal strike—the White Star’s Oceanic, the ship on which they had originally been booked, and the American Line’s New York—she glided on, through a channel passage made considerably narrower as a result of the two smaller vessels being warped side by side, with the New York on the outside. Suddenly a succession of sharp cracks rang across the water, as one after another the gigantic ropes securing the New York to the Oceanic snapped, and the New York began to drift out into the channel toward the larger vessel that was moving to reach the open sea. Quick thinking by one of the tug captains enabled a line to be secured to the stern of the New York, and the episode passed without incident.

  That evening, following a brief stop at Cherbourg, France, the ship passed Fast Net and began to parallel the coast of southern Ireland. Katrina was exploring on deck with Tess, and Tommy had taken Benjamin to the gymnasium where a swimming and diving instructor had scheduled a program to entertain the younger children.

  “You all right, Mom?” Tess asked, sliding closer to her mother as the cool April evening breeze blew across the deck.

  Katrina wrapped her arm around her daughter, tucking Tess’s shawl closer around her neck.

  “I’m just fine, darling. I was just looking at the land your father loves so much.”

  “I’d like to see Ireland one day, now that I’m grown,” Tess said.

  Katrina laughed. “You’ll see Queenstown this evening, my sweet, but it won’t be hard to convince your father to grant that wish and show you the rest of the country,” Katrina said, hugging her daughter.

  “Is that where you met Dad, Mom?”

  Katrina nodded silently. “Over ...” she hesitated, trying to discern exactly where they were in relation to land. A junior officer of the deck walked close behind and Katrina saw him approach.

  “Oh, excuse me, sir. Would you be able to point out where Cork might be?”

  The man tipped his cap and stepped beside the two women at the railing. He scanned the darkening horizon off the starboard side of the ship for a moment. The light was beginning to wane, and visibility was poor.

  “Ah, yes, there she be,” he said, pointing. “We’re going to enter that small estuary in about an hour, Mum, up the channel to Queenstown. Cork is actually out of sight now, but that soft glow of lights just off the starboard bow—that’d be Cork, Mum.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Katrina replied as the man again tipped his hat and left.

  “Did you meet Dad in Cork?” Tess asked.

  “Well, I did, but I didn’t know it,” she laughed.

  “What?”

  “I know that sounds funny, dear, but your father was ... well, he was sort of a brazen lad. He found a way to bump into me one day when your Uncle Anders and I were out for a walk. I don’t actually remember the meeting, but your father has described it to me several times. But then,” Katrina continued, her gaze turned forward toward the setting sun off the bow of the ship, “we were underway about a day when he once again, very brazenly mind you, took it upon himself to speak to me, alone on deck, without even being introduced.”

  “What did you do?” Tess asked, her eleven-year-old eyes growing wider.

  “I spoke with him,” Katrina admitted.

  “Mother, you’ve told me never to—”

  “I know, dear. And I didn’t stay long speaking with your father. But something about him ... something just ...” Katrina grew silent again, her thoughts racing to a far distant time and the unknown future that had lain ahead of her. She thought of the sixteen-year-old girl whose heart had been taken by a brash, Irish lad who, following their meeting, had made his way halfway around the world to claim then eventually lose the girl. And of how he had challenged the wilds of Alaska in search of his future, only to return to the woman who had captured his heart.

&
nbsp; “Mom?”

  “I’m all right, dear, I was just remembering.”

  The dinner arrangements in First Class were exquisite. Several groupings of passengers were seated around Katrina’s table, along with her parents. Both Hansens were quiet. They had usually traveled First Class on their voyages, but First Class on this ship was, indeed, First Class. As the waiter unfolded her linen serviette and draped it across her lap, Katrina thought for a moment that her parents would feel somewhat out of place among the wealthiest of the passengers and that Tom’s present of exchanging their reservations for the more elaborate accommodations could become troublesome. She quickly dismissed the idea, however, and tried to open a light conversation.

  Seated directly across from her was a woman slightly older than herself, dining alone. From the drift of her conversation with others, the woman was already acquainted with most of the people at the table. Katrina smiled at her when their eyes met.

  “Evening,” the woman smiled. “My name is Abby Pearson, from Chicago. My father is Hermann Pearson, of the meat-packing Pearsons,” she laughed. “And the steward told me that you are Katrina Callahan from Salt Lake City.”

  Katrina cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yes, well,” the lady laughed, “I like to know who I’m dining with. And these are your parents?” she said.

  “Yes,” Katrina replied, “please excuse my manners. These are my parents, Lars and Jenny Hansen, also from Salt Lake City. We’ve been on an extended trip back home to Norway.”