The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  “­Shouldn’t you keep driving?” she asked, suddenly frightened.

  “It’s all right. The plane knows where to go,” he teased.

  As they flew down the central corridor of Utah, following Highway 91, small communities passed beneath their wings, and Seby commenced to give Teresa a visual geography lesson. Fillmore came and went, then Cove Fort, and later on, Beaver, Parowan, and Cedar City, where the snow-capped mountains gave way to the red rock and rugged terrain of southern Utah.

  Just before noon, they glided past Pine Mountain and approached the town of St. George. Before landing, Seby flew over the snowy white temple and then banked sharply to line up with a dirt airstrip, which was located on top of a mesa just west of town. They landed without incident, though Teresa experienced another wave of fear that lasted until they were safely down and Seby had brought the plane to a halt in front of a wooden hangar.

  While the plane was being refueled, Seby borrowed the mechanic’s car and drove Teresa into the dusty little town where they ate lunch at a small café and stopped briefly in front of an elegant, two-story home, identified by a small sign as “Brigham Young’s Winter Home.”

  Seby then drove them back to the airstrip and again they took off, this time with Teresa feeling considerably more relaxed.

  By late afternoon, they had crossed a range of low mountains and were over the Los Angeles basin. On the flight down, they hadn’t seen any aircraft other than several on the ground at St. George, but now Teresa spotted a number of other planes in the sky. One of them, an open cockpit biplane, passed by them so closely that she could see the pilot’s face, and she was amazed at how much the little craft looked like a kite as it veered up and away from them in the sky. Far below, hundreds of cars, appearing as a file of ants, moved as if in slow motion on the network of roads that overlaid the ground.

  Approaching Burbank, Seby lowered his altitude, studying the ground below, searching for the airstrip. He missed seeing it on the first pass, but finally located it—a grassy field, identified by a single orange wind sock suspended from a pole mounted on top of a dome-shaped hangar.

  He made a smooth landing on the grassy strip, without kicking up the cloud of dust he was used to causing on the dirt strips he normally used and taxied back to a black automobile parked next to the hangar.

  They were met by a representative of the film studio. Teresa introduced herself and her flying companion, and they loaded their luggage into the car. The hotel was located close to the studio, and once they were checked in to their adjoining rooms, an arrangement for which the studio had not been prepared, having reserved only one suite, Seby knocked on Teresa’s door.

  “Ready for some dinner, Miss Callahan?” he said, freshly dressed in tan slacks, a brown tweed jacket, and open- necked shirt.

  “I’m ahead of you this time, Mr. Stromberg,” she replied politely. “I’ve called and made reservations. Actually,” she laughed, “I asked the studio man to call for us. There’s a car and driver waiting downstairs, or at least he said there would be,” she said.

  “Are you ready for all this, Tess?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  “What do you mean? The car, or dinner?”

  “All of it. The special treatment?”

  “Who ­wouldn’t be?” she laughed, closing the room door and taking Seby’s arm. “Let’s just enjoy the ride while it lasts, and then I can take this so-called screen test, you can fly me back to Utah, and I can come back to earth—literally.”

  “Dinner it is, Tess, my dear. Oh, did you remember to call your mother?”

  “Does Santa come each Christmas? Of course I did. Do you think I want the police looking for us tonight?” she laughed.

  “Well, Tess, we have this evening for ourselves, and then early tomorrow I’ll fly on to Arizona and check on some cattle. Then I’ll come back and meet the ship with the horses I bought from PJ. That should take a couple of days and perhaps you’ll be finished by then.”

  “Let’s hope I’m not finished,” she said, taking his arm and walking through the lobby. “I agree, however, tonight is for us, Seby, and ­you’re looking mighty handsome.”

  “That’s a requisite, I presume, since I’m escorting a famous actress.”

  “Not out here I’m not. Not yet, anyway. So don’t be presumptuous,” she laughed.

  Three days later, after Seby had flown to several ranches in Arizona, he returned to Los Angeles and drove to the port facility where he was advised that the ship was still two days out. He arranged for a local wrangler to pick up the half-dozen purebred horses when the ship arrived and transport them to Utah. Returning to the hotel, he found a note waiting from Teresa.

  January 30, 1924

  Dear Seby,

  A whirlwind of activity. The screen test went exceptionally well, or so I’m told. They have offered me a contract for a film currently being written. I have had to travel to northern Mexico with several of the cast and the crew. Please accept my apologies, but I will not return for two or three weeks, I’m told, and then we will spend several more weeks with inside studio filming. I’ll contact you immediately when we return. Thank you for a breathtaking experience. Tell Mom that flying is the wave of the future and that Dad should buy his own plane. See you when I get back.

  Love, Tess

  P.S.- Please ask Mom to pack some of my clothes and send them down.

  Seby folded the note and placed it in his wallet, checked out of the hotel, and returned to the airstrip. The flight to St. George took most of the afternoon, and he remained overnight there, completing the flight to Draper the following morning. When he arrived at his ranch, he telephoned the Callahan residence and was pleased to find Katrina at home.

  “Seby, it’s so good to hear from you. I’m thrilled ­you’re both back safely.”

  “I left her down there, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “Oh? In good hands I hope,” Katrina replied.

  “Well, I’d rather she be in my hands, Katrina, but I have a feeling that I’ll be bucking some tough competition.”

  “Has Tess met someone?” Katrina asked, sounding surprised.

  “No,” he said, “but I think the film industry has met Tess.”

  Chapter 8

  July, 1927

  Oahu, Hawaii

  First Lieutenant Thomas Callahan III checked the gig-line on his summer tans, a cotton-twill tropical uniform, and placed his fore-and-aft cap at a suitably rakish angle on his head. He then stepped through the front door to the porch of his small, palm tree–shaded bungalow. After locking the door, he took the front walk to the street in a couple of giant strides, and without opening the door, vaulted over the side and into the driver’s seat of his bright yellow 1927 Essex Challenger, an open-topped roadster.

  Assigned to the marine garrison at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Tommy had spent the last year enjoying the tropical weather and scenery. He had arrived in Hawaii from the Dominican Republic with a four-inch scar in his upper left chest, a visual reminder of the surgery he had undergone to repair the damage inflicted by a gunshot wound. He had also brought to Hawaii a meritorious commendation for his work in producing what Colonel Buleman, his then commanding officer, had called “a respectable police cadre, complete with competent officers and patrolmen.”

  The commendation, while limited in its praise of the new Dominican police force, nevertheless gave high marks to First Lieutenant Callahan’s success in filling a difficult assignment, something he had achieved without much local cooperation. Colonel Rixby’s after-action report on the nighttime battle with the bandits, wherein he had commended the courage and spontaneous leadership of Second Lieutenant Thomas Callahan, had been forwarded with a favorable second endorsement from the State Department’s local representative to the commandant of the Marine Corps. That report and endorsement had earned Tommy a promotion to first lieutenant nearly a year earlier than most of his Annapolis peers.

  Tommy endured the good-natured ribbing he received at the officer
’s club prior to his departure from the Caribbean island in his easygoing, placable way, knowing that the next island he was to visit—a temporary assignment, he was told—would be a darned site more hospitable than the one he was leaving.

  He spent most of his thirty-day leave in Salt Lake City, where his mother continued to query him about his plans to “get married and expand the family.” Without making any commitment to his mother on that count, Tommy left for his duty station in the Hawaiian Islands, where he found his new assignment physically demanding but very enjoyable.

  In 1926, shortly before Tommy’s arrival in Hawaii, the Marine Corps had begun evaluating the feasibility of making amphibious assault landings. The remote beaches on the islands provided ample staging areas and numerous “enemy palm trees” for such exercises. Tommy and his platoon had spent most of their duty hours practicing coming ashore and securing a beachhead against an imaginary, unarmed foe. After serving as what amounted to a police academy commandant in his Dominican Republic assignment, his new role of marine platoon leader was more to his liking. It reminded him of his experience in France, and he felt as though he was now more nearly doing a marine’s work.

  Secondly, the caliber of marines assigned to his new platoon, indeed the entire 1,500 marines shipped over from San Diego and Quantico to participate in the landing exercises, far exceeded the quality of the marines who had been assigned to the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Laboring now without the services of Gunnery Sergeant Holloman, who had recently retired, Tommy was grateful for that.

  Due to a lack of adequate landing craft and other equipment needed to ensure that the first wave of marines to come ashore would be adequately supplied with ammunition, food, and reserves, the amphibious training exercises were ultimately cancelled. Following that, Tommy was permanently assigned to the marine garrison at Pearl Harbor, in support of the U.S. naval base.

  Hawaii had been annexed by the United States in 1898, and the islands were quickly recognized by the military as a strategic location in a Pacific Ocean that was ever-shrinking due to the range and speed of steam-powered ships. To maintain a naval presence there was the logical conclusion. Initially established during the Spanish-American War in the Philippines, and perpetuated after that as a “forward operating base” by an act of Congress in 1908, Pearl Harbor had become a highly coveted duty assignment for naval and Marine Corps personnel.

  The first year of Tommy’s permanent assignment to the base rolled by quickly. Then his father’s phone call came advising him of Teresa’s forthcoming marriage to Sebastian Stromberg. Tommy had not been surprised by the news, though he wondered how his sister would ever balance her love of performing and her budding Hollywood career with the traditional roles of Mormon wife and mother.

  With Tommy already in Hawaii, Tom said, it had seemed to Katrina a perfect place to stage a grand family reunion. Following Tess and Seby’s marriage in the Salt Lake Temple, they would be honeymooning in Hawaii. At the same time, PJ would bring his family to the islands. Including the time spent there on his mission, by 1927 PJ had been living in New Zealand for nearly ten years. Married and with four children and a successful ranch to show for it, he was by all reports contented to be living there. PJ would also be bringing his business partner and former missionary companion, George Armitage, George’s wife, Emily Callahan Armitage, and the Armitages’s two children. Emily, Tommy was reminded, was his cousin, the daughter of Tom’s long-lost brother John. The two couples from New Zealand were planning to be sealed in the Hawaii Temple.

  “And of course,” Tom had said, following this lengthy narrative, “your mother and I will come too. Any questions?”

  Tommy had laughed at his father’s explanation that Katrina had worked it all out and told him, “Come on out. The sun’s blazing and the water’s warm.”

  Driving down the mountain road toward the port in Honolulu, Tommy caught glimpses of the city through views framed by palm trees—those his platoon hadn’t shot up during their practice assaults. He marveled again at the green foliage and colorful flowers, the white sandy beaches and the ocean beyond and wondered if he would ever tire of such beauty. Enjoying the brilliant sunshine and the scent of tropical blossoms being carried about by the trade winds, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

  With Teresa planning to be married, he wondered about himself. The Marine Corps was not an easy life and certainly provided no stability in terms of family. That concern, along with his father’s standing offer that all he needed to do was submit his resignation and come home to Salt Lake, where he would have a place on the Utah Trust Bank management team, had often left Tommy in a quandary. If he chose to do so, his future would be assured, and he could get on with the business of getting married and having a family—a responsibility his mother never let him forget. It was something he seriously considered doing while bed ridden in a Dominican Republic hospital, recovering from his wound and wondering whether it would heal sufficiently to permit his return to active duty. However, once he was given a clean bill of health, all thoughts of leaving the Corps vanished.

  The banking life certainly offered considerably more money, but money wasn’t a factor. His trust fund provided an ample income without even touching the principal. In fact, the annual income from his marine salary was less than a tenth of the interest income that accrued from the investments his father had so carefully arranged.

  Tommy took a lot of good-natured flak from his fellow marine officers over how he could afford such things as the off base bungalow, his sporty roadster, and all the other toys he possessed. Without divulging his additional income, he countered their gibes by saying that if they would only manage their pay more carefully, they could enjoy the same benefits.

  Financial considerations aside, Tommy wondered how he could ever take on a wife and family. What sane woman wanted to marry a vagabond marine? Though he had met some wonderful wives of fellow officers, some of whom relished the idea of matching up the handsome, clean-cut lieutenant, most of the women Tommy had run into simply wanted a meal ticket and a way out of their destitution—especially some of the women he had met in the Dominican Republic.

  No, he thought, shaking his head to himself as he neared the turnoff toward the port facility where the civilian ships moored, the Marine Corps was no place for a married man, and he was not yet ready to make the leap to gray business suits and join UTB’s nine-to-fivers.

  After parking his roadster and walking to the designated pier, he entered the shipping line’s office and asked about the arrival time of the Southern Winds, coming from New Zealand. The port director for the Pacific Transport Lines assured Tommy that Southern Winds was less than an hour from mooring and, in fact, was already in tow and under the control of the harbor pilot. Outside the office, Tommy negotiated the fee for three Hawaiian girls to be on hand with an armload of leis to greet his family and guests, and then he walked further down the pier to a small café.

  He bought a newspaper, ordered a cup of coffee, and then sat at a small, outside table to wait for the ship’s arrival. On the front page of the newspaper was a large picture of Charles Lindbergh’s recent ticker-tape parade in New York City. The Lone Eagle had become an instant hero when he completed the first-ever transatlantic solo flight. America’s “melting pot” city had given Lindbergh the biggest parade since the end of the Civil War.

  Twenty minutes after seating himself and becoming immersed in the newspaper, Tommy spotted a vessel slowly making her way up the channel, escorted by two harbor tugs.

  Uncle Tommy, he suddenly thought as he envisioned a pack of little kids clambering down the gangway. It would be a new role for him, and he would be seeing a brother he hadn’t seen since ... well, since PJ had slapped him on the back at the train station when PJ had left for a visit to Ireland in 1916. By the time their father had gone to Ireland to get PJ out of a British jail, following the abortive Irish Easter Rebellion, Tommy had left to live with Uncle Anders in Virginia and attend college at Georgetown.
Then PJ had gone off on his mission to New Zealand and Tommy had joined the marines, ultimately sailing for France and the trenches. Tommy reckoned it had been eleven years in all since they had seen each other. How peculiar it was the way family members separated and then reunited, bringing with them a spouse, another generation of kids, and often in-laws—or in-law stories.

  He downed the last bit of his coffee and then walked to the end of the pier to watch the docking procedure. As the tugs swung the ship broadside in the channel, his mind flashed on the naval hospital ship in March, 1919, arriving at the Brooklyn Navy Yard when he, along with thousands of other wounded marine, army, and navy servicemen had returned from France. Now, as then, the pier was silent except for the general waterfront sounds.

  The sound of his name reverberated across the water—a small, echoing sound that startled him from his reverie. Southern Winds was primarily a transport or cargo ship, with moderately appointed accommodations for about two dozen paying passengers. Resembling not at all the great ocean liners that plowed the Atlantic between New York and Europe, she still held human cargo that, despite his attempt to minimize his excitement, Tommy now anxiously awaited. His brother and the next generation of Callahans were aboard.

  He looked toward the ship, searching for whoever had called out his name. Lining the railing on the port bow stood a small group of adults and children, all waving at someone on the pier. Glancing around, Tommy could see no one else waiting besides the stevedores who stood ready to secure the lines of the vessel.

  He realized the passengers were waving at him, and he soon spotted his brother, looking somewhat older but unmistakably PJ even though so many years had gone by. Through pictures sent while Tommy was in France and in the following years, he had been able to keep up with his brother’s growing family. Combat-hardened marine that he was, Tommy was surprised that a lump rose in his throat as he watched PJ and his family waving and yelling across the water.