by Gordon Ryan
“What we do have,” he continued, rising from his seat and shaking his head as he walked toward the window, “in both Haiti and the Dominican Republic—and I’ve worked in both—” he said, turning to look back at Tommy “is the worst possible combination of circumstances. The criminals—and I mean hard-core criminals—have been in charge for decades and through intimidation of local politicians, they’ve become the police force. The local population is terrified of them, and to make matters worse, in order to survive, our marines have become just as brutal: summary executions in the field, beatings, rape—you name it and we’ve followed right along in their footsteps and done it.”
Suddenly, Colonel Rixby whipped around and took two great steps to stand eye-to-eye with Tommy. He spoke not a word for several long moments during which Tommy continued to stand at a formal parade rest, his eyes firmly fixed to a spot on the wall behind the colonel’s desk.
“Lieutenant, I know Colonel Catlin and I knew the 6th Marines in France. Those men were Marines, and if Catlin knew you well enough to recommend you for a field commission and to sign your meritorious commendation, then that’s proof enough that you’re a marine. What kind of marine is yet to be determined, but I’ll tell you what General Lejeune used to tell me: ‘Marines don’t follow orders, they obey orders, but they follow leaders.’ Do you understand me, son?” he said, his voice rising.
“Sir, the lieutenant is prepared to do all he can to fulfill the orders of the colonel, sir.”
Rixby nodded and then stepped behind his desk, taking his seat again.
“Well then, here’s what we’re gonna do, Lieutenant Callahan. Considering your first assignment some years ago, as a training instructor at Parris Island, I’m going to place you in charge of the training barracks for local police officers. God help you, son, it’s a distasteful job, and you’ll find the cadets, if they can be called that, the bottom of the barrel. I’ll give you two weeks to find yourself a dozen marines and a good sergeant—if you can find a dozen you can call marines on this island—to staff the school. You can take ’em where you find ’em, son. I don’t care as long as you think they can do the job.
“We’ve been at this for about a year now, and the lieutenant you’re going to replace gave up after about three weeks. He’s been dead weight ever since, but the Corps won’t have to suffer his ineptitude any more. I cashiered him, and he’s going back to the hardware business in Mineola. I thought I was going to get another feckless officer who didn’t want to dirty his whites. You’re a pleasant surprise, Callahan, but that won’t cut any mustard with me, son, unless you produce results. I want a clean house over there, a new commander—that’s you, Lieutenant—new staff and especially, if you can find one, a first-rate, top sergeant. You put that together for me, Lieutenant Callahan, and we just might salvage some degree of success from this misguided effort. You understand me, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Rixby smiled for the first time and stood up behind his desk, stretching his hand across the blotched and tattered desk top. Tommy came to attention, then reached out to grasp the colonel’s outstretched hand.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. Look, son, for all I know President Harding’s unexpected death will have significant repercussions on our mission assignment. Nobody at headquarters knows where President Coolidge stands on these issues, and we’ll just have to bide our time until he gets his feet wet. Until then, I have the feeling that Colonel Catlin knew what he was doing when he recommended you for that commission. You may well turn out to be, by all that’s holy, a marine officer. My kind of marine. We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” he said, looking sternly into Tommy’s eyes. “Don’t let me down, Lieutenant Callahan. Dismissed.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Tommy said, executing a perfect about-face and leaving the colonel’s office.
Outside, in the administrative office, Tommy stopped at the duty noncommissioned officer’s desk, and the first sergeant stood to attention.
“Lieutenant. I’m First Sergeant Wilford Cutler. May I be of assistance, sir?”
“That you may, Top. Put in a call to headquarters, 1st Division. I want to know the location and availability of Gunnery Sergeant Rufus Holloman, last known assignment, 6th Marine Training Regiment, Quantico.”
The first sergeant nodded slightly, a small smile forming on his face.
“Sir, Sergeant Holloman is currently completing his second year at Parris Island Training Facility where he has been serving as the senior training instructor to the post commandant.”
Tommy allowed a grin to cross his face as he looked at First Sergeant Cutler.
“And would it be possible for you to prepare a request for Sergeant Holloman’s transfer and to obtain Colonel Rixby’s and General Lee’s endorsement?”
“You aim to make some changes, Lieutenant?” Cutler grinned.
“Top, I aim to give Colonel Rixby the marine outfit he desires. Are we in agreement?” Tommy smiled.
“Semper Fi, Lieutenant,” Cutler said, snapping a crisp salute.
Five weeks passed before Gunnery Sergeant Rufus Holloman stepped off the boat in the Dominican Republic, his seabag slung over his shoulder. By then, Tommy had scoured the island in search of marines he once knew, finding only two from the 6th Marines, his original outfit in France. One had served as a corporal under Lieutenant Borello in the closing days of the war. He had selected eight more men from new replacements arriving on the island. These men were untried and unknown to Tommy, but his feeling was that by procuring new men, before they had a chance to be corrupted by local residents or by marines that had already corrupted themselves, it would give him a fighting chance to train them according to his expectations. The arrival of Gunny Holloman meant Tommy’s team was in place, and he felt certain that he had at least a chance of accomplishing what continued to present itself as a formidable task.
“Welcome to the island, Gunny. It’s been a long time,” he said as Holloman tossed his seabag in the back of a dilapidated military truck.
“That it has, Lieutenant,” he replied, rendering a salute, which Tommy returned. “I see the Corps has been good to you, sir.”
Tommy held out his hand to welcome Holloman and then climbed into the driver’s seat and kicked over the engine. They began driving away from the port facility and immediately started climbing into the mountains.
“Gunny, let’s cut through the malarkey. I never would have gotten anywhere but for your training and discipline, and probably would be six feet under in France if you hadn’t been there to wipe my nose. We both know that, and the bars on my shoulder haven’t changed that fact. I still need you, Gunny, and more than anything, I need your ability to put together a training program. The colonel wants me to develop a regimen that will produce policemen—local policemen. It isn’t bad enough that the locals can’t read or write, but even our marines come from the bottom of the barrel. As for discipline, well ...” he paused, shaking his head, “if we have any chance of salvaging the esprit of the Corps we know, you’re the man to do it. That’s why I sent for you.”
“I understand, sir. What do we have to work with?”
“I found Corporal Butterman, from Borello’s outfit, and Lance Corporal Tims. Other than that, the rest of the platoon is untried. Brand-new privates. In fact you may know some of them because several of them came here straight from Parris Island. Colonel Rixby has given me authority to requisition anyone I think necessary to staff the school. Within limits, of course. I grabbed eight men who just arrived, thinking we could keep ’em clean before the scum got their hooks in ’em.”
The truck bounced along the rutted mountain road, and Tommy drove in silence while Holloman looked out over the expanse of jungle below them. Finally he turned to face Tommy.
“Right, Lieutenant. I’ll look ’em over and see what we got. How long does the colonel give us to shape up this outfit?”
Tommy avoided a deep rut and glanced quickly at Holloman, grinni
ng from ear to ear.
Holloman nodded. “Yesterday, right, sir?” he smiled.
“Last week,” Tommy laughed. “But we can do it, Gunny. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do the best I can. We’ve got all the support First Sergeant Cutler can muster.”
“Yeah,” Holloman said, grinning, “me and Cutler go way back, and have I got a bone to pick with that pogie marine. I was all set for my last cushy job before retirement. I already had orders cut for Quantico and the rifle team when he got them changed. This here island’s not my idea of a picnic.”
“Ah, Gunny, like you told me long ago, ‘We go where we’re told, do what we’re told, and keep our mouths shut.’”
“I said that?” the older man smiled.
“And I’ve been doing it ever since. This is no exception.”
“Well, it could be worse, Lieutenant. We could be down in Nicaragua chasing General Santino. He’s retired a lot of good marines, permanently.”
“Don’t say that too loud, Gunny. We could go there next.”
“Well, give me a day or two to see what we’ve got, Lieutenant, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Tommy pulled the truck onto a side road and drove a few hundred yards into the jungle, pulling to a stop before a small wooden building in the center of a clearing cut out of the brush. A sign over the door read, “Headquarters, Second Brigade Training Platoon.”
Tommy shut off the engine and turned to look at the sergeant. He hesitated for a moment and then spoke, his voice soft but serious.
“Thank you, Gunny. I’ve owed you from the beginning, and if I bear any resemblance to a marine, it’s because of what you taught me. I never got a chance to tell you that as I left France, but I’m glad we have this opportunity to work together.”
Holloman nodded and held out his hand to his former recruit.
“I knew you had the makin’s, Lieutenant, and so did Borello. We lost a good marine that day,” he said, shaking his head.
“We left a lot of good marines over there, Rufus,” Tommy said.
The two men shared the private moment and without further word, the formality returned as two utility-clad marines approached the truck, one of them retrieving Holloman’s seabag from the rear. The lieutenant and the gunnery sergeant stepped out of the truck, coming together in front of the two steps leading into the headquarters building.
“Will that be all, sir?” Gunnery Sergeant Holloman said, his posture now rigid.
“Aye, Gunny,” Tommy said. “Good luck. Keep me informed.”
“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” he said, snapping a salute and turning to face the other marines.
“Corporal Butterman, barracks inspection in thirty minutes,” Holloman grunted.
“Aye, aye, Gunny,” the younger man replied.
Teresa rode in the backseat of her father’s car, a brand new 1923 Dusenberg, as it pulled out from the car park near the Union Pacific train station at the west end of South Temple Street in Salt Lake City. Tom and Katrina had picked up Teresa after her arrival from the East. Not two months after returning to Utah from New York the previous summer, Tom had ordered the car as an exact duplicate of the one Seby had hired in New York and in which he had driven Teresa down to Annapolis.
“Oh, Dad,” Teresa exclaimed as they neared West Temple Street, “could we please stop at Temple Square for a few minutes? I understand they have a giant Christmas tree this year, with lights, and I want to see what it looks like.”
“Of course we can,” Katrina answered, smiling over at Tom. “It really is beautiful, Tess.”
Tom parked the car, and the threesome walked onto Temple Square, stopping at the south entrance to speak with an elderly couple whom Katrina knew. As the couple left, Teresa slipped her arm into Tom’s and Katrina’s, walking between her parents as they strolled through the grounds. A couple of inches of snow had accumulated earlier in the afternoon, but dozens of people were present on the square, and the temple spires were brightly lit, towering over all of the nearby buildings except the Hotel Utah across the street.
“It’s so beautiful this time of year, Mom,” Teresa exclaimed, “and so peaceful. New York is such a bustling place. People always seem in such a hurry to get from here to there and then just as pressed to get back again. It tires me out just to watch people moving about on the street,” she laughed. “And when I go to see friends across the harbor, you should see them rushing for the Staten Island ferry after work. A real madhouse.”
“Are you tired of it, Tess?” Katrina asked.
“Not tired, Mom, just ... frustrated, I suppose. We had a good run with the play, even though the critics say that Broadway didn’t have a very good selection this year. In fact if we hadn’t closed when we did, I wouldn’t have made it home for Christmas. It’s not so much the hustle and bustle of the city as much as it is the ... well, I just don’t deal well with people who can’t see past the fact that I don’t drink or smoke, or that I won’t ...”
“You mean they’re not accepting of LDS standards?” Katrina said, smiling.
“I could have told you that,” Tom added, speaking his first words since getting out of the car, but indicating that he had been listening all along.
“All right, Dad, all right,” Teresa nodded, acknowledging her father’s continuing opposition to her New York residency. “But only one ‘I told you so’ this evening, please,” she said, tugging at his arm. “But I do have an opportunity to move closer to home.”
“Oh!” Katrina exclaimed. “And what’s that?”
“A man named Marcus Loew from Hollywood attended one of our performances about six weeks ago. He came backstage after the show and asked if I could have dinner with him.”
Tom raised an eyebrow at Teresa and clucked his tongue as they continued their walking loop around Temple Square.
“I know, Dad,” she said, chuckling. “But I’m twenty-three, and I’ve learned to separate the wolves from the others.”
“I should hope so,” Tom said, “but you shouldn’t be in a place where the wolf pack is so large.”
“Thomas, let the poor girl tell her story, please,” Katrina said, inwardly pleased at the protective feelings Tom had for their only daughter.
Tom grunted his obedience, and Teresa continued.
“Anyway, Mr. Loew is head, or as he said, will soon be the head of a company being formed by the merger of three large film companies. He said that Metro Pictures, Goldwyn Pictures, and the Louis Mayer Company will merge late this year or early next year to become the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation. That would put three of the biggest film companies under one roof. He asked if I would be interested in coming out to Hollywood to do a screen test after the play closed.”
“And what did you tell him?” Tom asked.
“I said yes, Dad.”
“So you’re going to Los Angeles after Christmas?” her mother asked.
“I think so, Mom. I called Mr. Loew, and he said late January, when he returns from France, will be a good time.”
“Would you live there, Tess?” Tom asked.
“Nothing is certain, Dad. I’ll just have to play it by ear, I suppose. I have an offer to do another play in New York, too, starting rehearsals in February.”
“You’ll know what to do, Tess,” Katrina said, hugging her daughter. “Mr. Callahan, your wife is suddenly very hungry. I suggest we cross the street and have a nice meal at the hotel.”
“That, Mrs. and Miss Callahan,” he added, wrapping his arm around his daughter, “is an excellent idea.”
“I’m for that,” Teresa said, kissing her father’s cheek.
“And, Tess,” Tom said, pulling his daughter closer as they exited the south entrance to Temple Square and turned toward the Hotel Utah, “it’s very good to have you home again ... where you belong.”
“Yes, Father.”
At seven-thirty on a Friday evening, the Roof Garden dining room at the Hotel Utah was not overly crowded, yet a full compleme
nt of people were seated at the tables as Tom, Katrina, and Teresa entered the restaurant.
“It is very nice to see you, Mr. Callahan,” the maître d’ pronounced. “And you, as well, Mrs. Callahan. And I see Miss Callahan has returned to Utah to grace our facility as well. We have an orchestra tonight,” he said. “Perhaps you will favor us with a number from your musical production?” he suggested, his smile beaming.
“I think tonight, Henri, that we would like a quiet dinner and no ceremony, if you please,” Tom said. “Teresa has only just arrived from her trip and ...”
“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” he said, deferring to Tom.
“I meant no offense, Miss Callahan,” he added, looking toward the young woman.
“I understand, Henri,” Teresa smiled at the man, who appeared to be slightly embarrassed. “I’m honored by the offer. Perhaps some other time.”
“Indeed, ma’am. By the window, sir?”
“In the back, please, Henri. Where we can talk without disturbing others.”
“Right this way, sir.”
The trio followed Henri as he led the way toward a rear window seat, overlooking Temple Square and the brightly lit temple spires. As they passed another window table, a man quickly stood up and reached to shake Tom’s hand. Teresa instantly recognized Seby. He was standing in front of Katrina, speaking briefly with Tom and apparently had not seen Teresa yet. Seated at the table was a beautiful young woman whom Teresa didn’t recognize. She wore her blonde hair pulled up in a fashionable loose style, and her earrings caught the light from the candle on the table. She was seated so that she could look past Katrina, and she locked eyes momentarily with Teresa. At that moment, Seby glanced over Katrina’s shoulder and saw Teresa standing there. He smiled broadly and after pausing to kiss Katrina’s hand, Seby stepped toward Teresa.