The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “We are fortunate to have with us today, Congressman Edwin Denby who will address you. Congressman,” he said, stepping back.

  Congressman Denby, a diminutive fellow attired in a suit and carrying a cane, spent the next fifteen minutes orating on the history of the Corps, the patriotism inherent in service to one’s country, and the evils of drink, desertion, and venereal disease. At the conclusion of his remarks, 42nd Company marched outside under the command of four platoon leaders and two assistant drill instructors for each platoon, heading for the mess hall and their first Marine Corps meal.

  The psychological effect of the previous five hours had transformed the two hundred cocky recruits in 42nd Company into a semi-organized group of uncertain, frightened young men. Most were afraid to speak, having witnessed the instant descent of three or four shouting drill instructors on any unfortunate recruit who dared to ask a question. By dusk, the four platoons had been assigned to their individual platoon areas, which, in each case, consisted of a series of six large tents. Each tent housed twelve to fourteen men and was arranged with the others symmetrically around a larger tent, which they soon discovered was the main assembly area and instructional facility. A smaller tent in the compound comprised the drill instructor’s office and was designated by a hand painted, wooden plaque as company headquarters.

  Tommy and Frank had remained together throughout the morning and now became double-bunk mates in the Third Platoon training area. At nine o’clock sharp, a drill instructor walked through the tent, and one by one, pulled the chains dangling beneath the three bare bulbs that provided the only light in the tent.

  “Good night, ladies,” he said, bending to exit through the tent flap.

  All was silent for a few moments as the recruits of the First Squad, Third Platoon, 42nd Company, Second Recruit Battalion, were left alone with their thoughts and fears. While some had contemplated what Marine training would be like, and some, as in Frank’s case, had family members who had tried to explain it, the abusive treatment and instant control achieved by the drill instructors left no doubt in their minds that they belonged, mind, body, and soul, to the three drill instructors assigned to their respective platoons. Most were asleep in five minutes, but in the quiet of the night, a few sniffles could be heard from those who were unprepared for the shock treatment that had accompanied their arrival.

  “Frank? You awake?” Tommy asked of his upper bunk mate.

  “Yeah, Tommy.”

  “I’m still determined to be a good Marine, Frank,” Tommy whispered.

  “Then there’ll be two of us, Tommy,” he said, turning over, fluffing his thin pillow, and instantly falling asleep.

  Chapter 7

  The first Maori Haka that Elder Callahan ever saw, at the beginning of New Zealand’s summer in November 1916, left him astonished. The energy expended by the native dancers made him tired just watching. Only three weeks in New Zealand, his initial assignment to the Hawke’s Bay region, on the east coast of the North Island, and a rural community outside of Napier, quickly confirmed to young Patrick James Callahan that his life of luxury and creature comforts was over. Of course, the mission president had told him exactly that during his arrival interview.

  When James Lambert interviewed PJ and the other two newly arrived missionaries, the mission president had made sure the three understood that New Zealand was at war, and had been for over two years. Food supplies were short, and wool, which was otherwise plentiful in New Zealand, had been allocated for Commonwealth uniforms. Petrol was rationed, and the population as a whole was sacrificing, all economic classes included.

  After living for a time among the Maori people, Elder Callahan had surrendered to their simpler way of life. In an early letter from his mother, she had acknowledged that it was going to be difficult adjusting to the loss of his wealthy and comfortable upbringing. She had said she was sure the sacrifice he would be called upon to endure was worth it. She also said she would be praying for him, and somehow, the vision of her kneeling in his behalf touched his heart. He would be a good missionary, if only for her sake. The changes required of those he would teach were far greater than those he would need to endure for the term of his service. Following his first convert baptism, Elder Callahan quickly accepted his mother’s admonition. Three months spent in Napier, including his first Christmas away from home, brought PJ a literal sense of mission and instilled in him some of the direction he sensed his father had always felt was missing.

  PJ’s letters home were full of new discoveries: tales of hardships endured by the Maori people, their extraordinary faith, and the kindness and love that they showed to him and his companion. In his January, 1917, letter to Tess, he asked her to inform his parents that he had been given a reassignment and would be going to the South Island.

  “We’ve been instructed to open a new area in the sheep farming country, up in the mountains southwest of Christchurch. I’m told it’s prime land and full of Irish and English immigrants. Perhaps the Lord thinks I need a reminder of who I am,” he had written.

  He had also written about one of the senior elders in his area, an outstanding missionary who had already been in New Zealand for over two years. “One of our elders, Matthew Cowley, has such a knack for the Maori language. It astonishes the other elders how fluent he is and how the Lord has blessed him in his missionary work. I was present at a Maori gathering the other day when Elder Cowley was asked to bless a baby who was blind. I still find it amazing, but Elder Cowley laid his hands on that baby and promised, in the name of the Lord, that the child would eventually see. To have such faith is clearly a gift from the Lord. I would be frightened to declare such a blessing.”

  On a Saturday morning, Cathedral Square in Christchurch, New Zealand, was full of bustle, crowded with people out for some relief from their weekday routines. The Square had become a gathering place for soapbox proponents of all sorts of ideas. All that was required was the pluck to stand up in front of a group of people and voice one’s opinion. Political candidates, antiwar proponents, and amateur theatricals were typical performers in the Square.

  Elder Callahan and three other Mormon missionaries had claimed their station in one corner of the quadrant, attempting (mostly unsuccessfully) to lure passersby into taking an interest in their message. PJ had heard stories of the missionaries taking their turn in Hyde Park, London, and being harassed or soundly booed for their efforts. The “Kiwis” were perhaps more polite than their British cousins, but as a group they weren’t any more receptive. They sat or stood silently and listened for a bit before moving on to see what the next group of speakers had to say.

  Christchurch had been settled by the English. The first four ships of the founding colony had arrived in 1850, and the community had quickly taken on the appearance and atmosphere of a proper English village. Located in a favorable place, on the ocean with a natural harbor close by and proximate to the central plains of Canterbury, Christchurch grew rapidly beyond the village stage. By the time PJ Callahan arrived, in 1917, Christchurch had become a full-fledged city.

  To the west, within easy sight, lay the magnificent Southern Alps—a range of snow-covered mountains that PJ wished desperately to visit. Their towering splendor reminded him of the Wasatch Mountains east of Salt Lake City. Now, in the southern hemisphere, in late June, winter was hard upon New Zealand, although Christchurch’s location on the ocean kept the climate moderate. The mountains, however, were another story. Rising in places to nearly 14,000 feet, they were continually snowcapped. In fact the missionaries had planned a trip to the west coast, intending to survey the area for possible missionary work, but the road across Arthur’s Pass to Greymouth had been snowbound for three days.

  PJ had learned that the Irish had settled much of the west coast. “Coasters,” they were called by the locals. They lived there somewhat as PJ’s father had explained the Irish did in western Ireland. Although the Gaelic language was not present in the western part of the South Island of New Zealan
d, other old Irish traditions still existed, and PJ wanted to see it for himself. He had come to view himself as Irish, and he occasionally wondered what was happening with “The Cause,” in Ireland. Christchurch papers carried current news, of course, but PJ felt it had a British slant.

  On one occasion, the Elders had traveled by train down to Dunedin, about 200 miles south of Christchurch. The Scots had settled Dunedin, and the accent of the people varied markedly from that of Christchurch. After laboring three months in Napier among primarily Maori, spending five months in Christchurch, and paying visits to several outlying communities, PJ was impressed by the diversity of the population. His letters home were full of praise and wonder at the strength of a people whose rugged ancestors had come to these two relatively small islands, located deep in the South Pacific Ocean.

  When President Lambert had visited the six Elders in Christchurch, suggesting that two of them travel inland through the smaller communities and sheep stations, Elder Callahan and Elder George Armitage, a young Englishman from Huddersfield, Yorkshire, in the northwest of England, quickly jumped at the chance. The trip would be hard, the President had warned them, for they would be on foot and have to find board where they could. They would, he had said, be itinerant missionaries and would need to depend on the kindness of the local residents.

  So, after spending five months in Christchurch, in August, 1917, as spring made an early appearance, Elders Callahan and Armitage began their trek west toward the Southern Alps, turning south and paralleling the mountains. PJ instantly took a liking to the countryside and the people they met. He and George Armitage got along well. Each of them had a brother in the war, and that helped them form an instant bond. Elder Armitage had been rejected for service with His Majesty’s armed forces due to color blindness, and no amount of pleading on his part had been able to convince the authorities to allow him to enlist with his brother.

  The people in the central South Island were indeed friendly and helpful, and the elders spent only a few nights in the open. PJ hardly minded having to do so. The night sky over New Zealand was magnificent. The formations of stars were not the same as those visible in the northern hemisphere, and among the billions of tiny lights was the famous constellation called the Southern Cross. Lying out in the open air, gazing upward, the two young men marveled at the immensity of space and were awed by the handiwork of God. Being out also reminded PJ of the times when he, his father, Tommy, and less often, Tess, had spent time camping together in the mountains of Utah. Remembering, PJ experienced a spate of nostalgia and homesickness that was bittersweet to him. Still, he was content to be in a great country and grateful to be involved in a good cause.

  Tom sat dumbfounded. In fact, his facial expression actually betrayed his disbelief, surprising Robert Thurston. Tom had always had the ability to put on a “poker face” in negotiations and face-to-face confrontations. It was an ability Thurston had always admired in his friend and business partner.

  “Robert, one of the biggest deals we’ve ever done is coming to fruition in the next six months. I need you.”

  “Tom, how long have we been in the bank together?” the older man asked softly, crossing his legs as he sat in one of the leather chairs in front of Tom’s desk.

  “I don’t know,” Tom dodged. “Over twenty years, probably.”

  “Twenty-one years, Tom. And we’ve done more big deals together than you can count. This is a big deal, too, to me.”

  “Well, who does McKay think he is?” Tom stammered. “They’ve already got my son. In Ireland it’s tradition to give only one son to the priesthood. They can’t have the president of my bank, too,” Tom smiled thinly, knowing his partner had already made up his mind.

  “And how is PJ?” Robert asked.

  “His letters are ... he’s engrossed. That’s the only term I can use.”

  Robert nodded his head. “It was the same with Mark. Tom ... there’s something else ...” he said, staring across the desk at him as he had that first day when Tom had returned from Alaska and asked Robert to consider heading up the new bank Tom intended to start. “In these twenty years I’ve not pressed you for understanding about my church. I’ve always known that you have as good an understanding of what we believe as most of the men in my ward. And so,” he continued, rising and walking to the window, where he looked out for a couple of silent moments, and then turned back to face Tom, “I knew you’d eventually come to terms with my decision. You’ve got a great staff here in the bank. And, if I do say so myself, Mark has taken hold of his job and is running full speed. The bank won’t skip a beat.”

  Tom looked over the top of his reading glasses at his partner, who had moved back to stand behind his chair in front of Tom’s desk. “I guess you’re right. The only things you’ve brought to UTB are hard work, integrity, and sound business judgment. We’ll get along fine without those.” Tom allowed a smile to betray his feelings and continued. “Seriously, I’m happy for you, Robert. I know it’s a great honor to be called as a mission president. You’ll do great.”

  “Thank you, Tom. Your support means a lot. My thoughts, and, you should know, my prayers, have so often been with you and your family. Losing young Benjamin was like losing one of my own. But now, Tom, seeing I’m leaving so soon, and for several years, I have one duty that I’ve put off far too long.”

  Tom held Robert’s eyes silently for a few moments. “Yes, President?” Tom grinned.

  “I’m not joking, Tom. Please, hear me out. This is something you can’t ignore any longer. For over five years I’ve watched as you’ve wrestled with your feelings for Tommy. He’s in the Marines now and as surely as it snows in Utah in the winter, he’s going to war. You’ve got to put your heart right about this matter. Tommy has always loved you, and whether you know it or not, he has sought your love and your approval all of his life. When I was his bishop, he and I spoke several times of the conflict between you two. I was acutely aware of his need for you. Yet you’ve held him at arm’s length when he’s needed his father’s love.”

  “Robert, that’s—”

  “Just listen to me, Tom. You may never have another chance to make it right with the boy. Like it or not, he will, or maybe he already has, become a man. Fathers and sons tend to drift apart and avoid the things that are important in life—like fathers telling their sons that they love them. We get engrossed in our work. Like these big deals we do in the bank. I don’t make light of our efforts and the good living it has brought both your family and mine, but in the overall scheme of things, Tom, none of that matters. It truly ... doesn’t ... matter. We’ll take none of this with us when our time comes. When you see Benjamin again, and as God is my witness, you will see him again, he won’t ask, “How’d things go at the bank, Dad?” Do you understand that, Tom?”

  Tom looked up at Robert and said nothing. Robert came forward to stand against the front of Tom’s desk and waited. Tom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking down toward the floor and then back up at Robert.

  Tom’s face betrayed his feelings once again. This time it was pain.

  “You’re right, of course, Robert.” He removed his glasses and sighed, rubbing his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. “I’ve been angry at him for years, and I know it’s broken Katrina’s heart.”

  “Why, Tom? Have you truly thought it through? What was there to be angry about for that many years?”

  “For a long time, I blamed Tommy for Benjamin’s death—for letting go of his brother’s hand and letting him get away on ... on the ship. Nursing those feelings made it easy to blame him for a lot of other things and pretty soon we weren’t able to talk anymore. We just learned to stay out of each other’s way and became strangers.”

  “It wasn’t Tommy’s fault that Benjamin drowned,” Robert said.

  “I know that,” Tom said. “I figured it out a long time ago. I wasn’t mad at Tommy, I was mad at myself—for sending Katrina and the kids off to Europe, for not being there to help whe
n they needed me. I was the one who failed, not him. I eventually understood that, but the way things had gone, I didn’t know how to fix it. What can I do? He hates me. How can I tell Tommy that I’m sorry and that I love him?”

  “Just—like—that,” Robert said. “I’m sorry, and I love you, son.”

  “Would he want to hear that, Robert? Isn’t it too late, after the way we’ve hurt each other?”

  Robert took a step back and prepared to leave. He looked across the desk at Tom, who for the first time since Robert had known him had tears in his eyes.

  “You know the answer to that, my friend. Take care of it.”

  Robert gathered up his briefcase and walked to the door. Before he could leave, Tom called out after him.

  “Do you know where you’re going to be assigned?”

  “Not yet. In a couple of weeks I’ll be advised. It really doesn’t matter, though. Alice and I will be happy to serve wherever we’re asked.”

  Tom came around his desk and across the office. He extended his hand and the two men shook.

  “There is one other thing you might like to take care of, Tom,” Robert said. “The next step, following repentance, is baptism. As my first official act as a missionary, I’d be happy to help you take care of that,” he grinned.

  “One step at a time, President Thurston,” Tom smiled back. He hesitated for just a moment, and then wrapped his arms around his friend and partner, a physical demonstration of affection Tom had never previously shown. Stepping back, Tom said, “I’ll tell you what, though, you’re going to be one heck of a mission president.”