by Gordon Ryan
“But what about you, Seby? What do you want? What makes you happy?”
Again he drove in silence, the traffic increasing as they reached the downtown area. As they neared the theater they saw the garish lighting towers, the blinding lights blistering the announcement of yet another Hollywood premiere.
“Are you asking what I want you to do, Tess?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, shaking his head. “You need to do what is best for you.”
“And what about us? What’s to become of us our marriage?”
“What do you want to happen to us, Tess?”
“Damn you, Seby!” she shouted. “Why do you have to always be so gracious? Why can’t you just tell me what you want? Tell me you love me! Tell me you need me! Tell me you can’t live without me!”
He pulled the car to the curb, short of the theater, and shut off the engine, then he smiled sadly at his distraught wife.
“All of those things have been true since before we were married, Señora Stromberg. And they are no less true now. But if you need a lesson in human relations, perhaps it is I who should be asking you the same questions. Do you love me? Do you need me? Can you live happily without me?”
The tears in Teresa’s eyes flushed through her carefully applied mascara and formed two dark, vertical streaks on her face. Her dark hair, cut short in a moment of frustration over her loneliness, framed her beautiful, alluring face, reminding Seby of the young college student she had been when he first felt the stirrings of affection for her. She held her head in her hands for several moments and then Seby put his arm around her, pulling her toward him and holding her close. After several long moments, she raised up, opened her silver compact mirror and gasped at the sight she beheld.
“I think I’m going to have to come home, Seby,” she laughed through her tears. “No one at the premiere will recognize me as Teresa Callahan.”
Seby took a handkerchief from his suit pocket and began dabbing at the dark stains on her face, cupping her chin in his free hand. When he finished, he leaned forward and kissed her gently, then held his face mere inches from hers.
“I will never be fully happy, Teresa, until we are husband and wife, living together and raising more than cattle. And as for happiness, I have not believed for one moment that you have been happy here in Hollywood, either. Professionally challenged, pleased with your success, and perhaps even amazed at your own talent, but not happy. Is that not true?”
Teresa looked into her husband’s eyes, blinked to stem the next onslaught of tears, and slowly nodded her head. She looked ahead toward the gathering crowd of spectators, each hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite movie star, Teresa Callahan included, and then she looked back at Seby and smiled at him.
“It’s time, Seby,” she nodded. “I need to come home.”
It was April 1930, nearly six months after the stock market crash, before Cassie advised the Callahans that Dick Van Brocklin was returning to Buenos Aires. She said they would only remain long enough for Dick to close out his interests in Argentina and arrange for his family’s return to New York. By that time, Mark Thurston had provided Tom a full accounting of the extent of his personal losses and the precarious position of Utah Trust Bank.
Through the holiday period and the early months of 1930, Tom’s financial concerns put a tremendous strain on him, yet he continued to work tirelessly in his missionary efforts, conducting conferences, interviewing each missionary at least twice a month, and constantly visiting newly baptized members to fortify them in their decision to join the church.
After having observed her husband’s near total, thirty-year involvement in the affairs of Utah Trust Bank, Katrina was astonished at Tom’s seeming ability to focus now on the work at hand. Even with the prospects of a personal financial disaster and the possibility of his bank’s collapse, Tom’s work as mission president remained his foremost interest. As a result, the South American Mission was prospering.
This prosperity was occurring in the face of what was becoming a worldwide financial calamity. President Herbert Hoover had assured the nation and the world that all would be well and warned that hysteria would only exacerbate the situation. Even so, frenzied depositors had made a run on hundreds of banks in the United States, resulting in the closure of many. Utah Trust Bank had not escaped the effects of the panic that gripped frightened depositors, who could only think about getting their cash in hand and who lined up daily, seeking to withdraw funds.
When Tom left Salt Lake in August 1929, his financial position had seemed secure. He had full confidence in Mark Thurston’s abilities and the judgment of the bank’s board of directors. His personal portfolio, consisting of stock, real estate, and commercial property, was valued at that time at nearly 155 million dollars and had been growing at about 6 percent annually. It was fortunate that in 1927, shortly after returning from the family reunion in Hawaii, he had begun divesting himself of any stock holdings that required close, personal scrutiny and had reinvested nearly a third of his capital in real estate and commercial properties. In light of the crash, doing so had saved him several millions of dollars.
As majority shareholder in Utah Trust Bank, his wealth had been further decimated in the run on the bank. UTB had always catered to personal rather than corporate depositors, and the bank held nearly eleven million dollars in personal savings and checking accounts, all of which had been frozen by presidential order. By February of 1930, banks were operating regular schedules again, but hundreds of smaller banks across the country had gone under and thousands more were threatened, including UTB.
At what amounted to fire-sale prices, Tom had instructed Mark to liquidate most of his commercial holdings, and from the proceeds, Tom had personally made good on every customer’s deposits. His instructions to Thurston, that no public notice be given of how the payout was accomplished, left Mark unable to explain to his Utah banking associates how, and in fact why, in light of presidential decree, UTB was honoring 100 percent of its customer withdrawals.
Tom gave Thurston one final instruction. Utah Trust Bank held 174 home mortgages valued at some three million dollars. Knowing that the bank’s home mortgage customers were likely to lose their jobs and be unable to meet their mortgage payments, Tom instructed the board of directors to use money from his personal account to clear all the home mortgages—essentially forgiving the debt owed by the bank’s customers. At the same time he directed that the bank’s remaining stock holdings, which had lost much of their value in the crash, be liquidated and that the proceeds be distributed to the members of the bank’s board of directors for their long and faithful service.
When all was finally valued and totaled, Thomas and Katrina’s net worth amounted to about four and a half million dollars, about half of which was tied up in real estate, including the eight hundred acres Tom had purchased in Hawaii. They had lost or given away nearly one hundred and fifty million dollars in the worst financial crisis to ever beset America.
One evening shortly after he had confided his intentions regarding the bank to Katrina, they sat alone on the veranda, sipping lemonade and discussing their situation.
“Thomas, has it not entered your mind that all this happened shortly after we answered the Lord’s call?”
“I’ve considered it,” he said, picking up a small piece of cake. “It’s not His doing, Katie. I’ve never thought that.”
“I’ve always told you that the Lord blesses those who serve Him. It confuses me. How can you be so ... stoic?” she asked.
“When I stepped off the boat from Alaska in ’98, I felt like the richest man in the world, Katie. I’m far richer now,” he said, reaching across the space between their chairs for her hand. “If I learned nothing else in that dark cell in Portlaoise, I learned the truth of the teaching, ‘You can’t take it with you.’ My wealth meant nothing in prison.”
“And all the customers of the bank? They don’t even know what you’ve done
. What it’s cost you.”
He shook his head. “Sister Mary used to tell me on our evening food deliveries, ‘It doesn’t matter whether they’re Mormon or Catholic; They’re all God’s children.’ I don’t presume to be like Sister Mary, Katie, but do you remember the week we were married when we rode the train from San Francisco to Salt Lake and I asked you about the name of the bank—what the customers would want the most?”
“Vaguely,” she replied.
He smiled at his wife and squeezed her hand. “You told me they would want to trust a bank where they kept their money. Utah Trust Bank, Katie. We’ve honored that. I feel good about it. So,” he said, rising and finishing the last of his drink, “I’m for bed. It’ll be good to see Dick and Cassie again tomorrow. I’m sorry they’re leaving so soon.”
“They have two weeks till they leave,” Katrina said, an impish grin on her face.
Tom looked at her and squinted his eyes for a moment.
“Katie, you’ve got that look.”
“They’ll be here for dinner tomorrow, Thomas. My lips are sealed till then.”
“You women have always got something cooking, don’t you? Always a bit mysterious,” he said, raising her up out of her chair. “But know this, Katie m’darlin’,” he said, pulling her closer, “the Lord gave me you, and with His assistance, you gave me the gospel of Jesus Christ. I’m far richer than I could ever have expected to be for a sod-buster, part-time store clerk from Ireland.”
She looked up at her husband, his temples now completely gray and his thick, dark hair streaked with silver, yet his blue eyes still vibrant and piercing. She laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his back, squeezing tightly.
“I love the Irish larrikin you’ve always been, Mr. Callahan, and I love the man of God you’ve become. We are rich, Thomas. By any man’s standard, we are truly rich.”
Dick looked older somehow, Tom noticed. Throughout dinner at the mission home, the conversation had been casual, the Callahans and the Van Brocklins preferring, perhaps, to defer any serious subjects until after the pleasantries of dining had been completed. As they walked out onto the terrazzo veranda behind the main house, the lights of Buenos Aires and the shipping traffic on the Rio de la Plata provided a beautiful backdrop to their evening.
“Katie tells me,” Tom began, “that your father has retired to Connecticut and is doing a bit of yachting.”
“It was too much for him, Tom,” Dick replied. “His brokerage, Van Brocklin, Holcomb, and Evanston, never had a chance. He lost his seat on the exchange and most of his clients lost everything, too.”
“That wasn’t Hank’s fault,” Tom said. “They should have known the risk of buying on margin.”
“I know, but that didn’t change their opinion. They felt the brokerage should have warned them ahead of time. They’d made money hand over fist for so many years that they couldn’t believe what had happened. It had to be someone else’s fault, or that’s how it seemed to them.”
“Is he well?” Tom asked and could see Cassie shake her head at the question.
“He’s eighty-two and a broken man, Tom,” Dick said. “His life’s work was gone in less than a week. But I don’t want to dwell on that tonight. Dad’s always been strong-willed, and with Mom’s help, he’ll recover his priorities,” Dick added, his face brightening. “I take it you’ve come through the crisis, not unscathed, of course,” he laughed, “but solvent at least.”
“Katrina and I will be fine, Dick. How about you and Cassie?”
“We’ll be okay. I’ve taken over the New York branch of the bank, and we should survive the onslaught. Now, tell me, how’s the missionary work going?”
Tom looked quizzically at the two women who appeared to be trying hard to maintain their composure and keep from laughing.
“It’s struggling, Dick,” he said quietly, still confused by the women’s restrained actions. “We have a dedicated group of missionaries, but still, it’s ...” he paused, looking again toward his wife. “What is it with you, Katie? Am I missing something?”
“It’s my fault,” Dick said, also beginning to laugh. “Cassie—against my better wishes, mind you—confided in Katrina several weeks ago, but the two of them agreed to keep it secret until I returned and could speak with you.”
“Keep what secret?”
“Tom, you remember when you first gave me the Book of Mormon to read.”
“I do.”
“And you were surprised, or at least I think you were surprised, when I told you I’d read it.”
“I remember that, too,” Tom said. “You said you read it all.”
“I did, Tom, front to back,” he said, his demeanor turned serious. “And I’ve read it again since then, while I was in New York. What I didn’t tell you before I left, President Callahan, is that not only have I read the book, I believe it to be true - to be the word of God.”
Tom looked at Katrina who was holding Cassie’s hand.
“You knew this?”
“I did, Thomas. Please don’t be angry with me. I was sworn to secrecy, under penalty of ... of, well, of breaking my word if I confided in you. It was Dick’s right to talk to you first.”
“And you, Dick. What’s your excuse?” Tom asked, beginning to enjoy the conspiracy to keep him in the dark.
“My excuse, Tom, is that I came to know of the truth of your message before I left Buenos Aires for New York, but I wanted to return and ask you to baptize me. Once I knew I had to stay in New York longer than I planned, I feared that if Cassie told you, you’d demand that I be baptized in New York and not wait a minute longer. I wanted to wait until you could do it, Tom. Don’t be upset with Katrina. We forced her to go along.”
“Forced, my eye,” he said, looking again toward his wife. “She loves this sort of subterfuge. And what about you, Cassie?” Tom asked. “How do you feel about Dick’s decision?”
“I believe it with all my heart, Tom,” the petite, strawberry blonde woman said, her eyes sparkling. “It’s our decision. The very first time Dick and I knelt in prayer, the Spirit flooded my heart and I knew. I would like you to baptize me, too, President Callahan, and Peggy as well. We’ll discuss it with our older daughter, Margaret, when we get back to New York. You’ve changed our lives, you and Katrina. And considering what we’ve all just experienced financially, it’s been so comforting to know that there’s something more to this life that is worth so much more. From the bottom of my heart I will always thank you, Tom. You and Katrina. I love you both,” Cassie said, tears forming in her eyes.
Later that night, long after the hugs and tears had ceased and the Van Brocklins had departed, Katrina sat in a chair in front of the bedroom mirror, completing her nightly ritual of combing out her hair. Tom came and stood behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
“As long as I live, I’ll never fully understand the Lord, Katie. It took me well over twenty years to understand what he wanted me to see, and Dick and Cassie simply read the Book of Mormon and believed it.”
“He knows us all, Thomas, and he loves us equally. Some children take longer to learn how to walk. Others, well, they know Him instantly. Knowing Him is what matters, President, not how long it takes to recognize the truth. Aren’t you happy for them?”
“Dick will be the first person I’ve ever baptized, Katie. Personally, I mean.”
“But he won’t be the last, President Callahan. Mark my words,” she said, reaching her hand out to hold his. “He won’t be the last.”
Chapter 13
The Prisman estate was located north of San Francisco, across the bay in Marin County, and as Tommy drove his new roadster onto the ferry at the foot of the Embarcadero in San Francisco, he felt a moment of fear at the decision he had reached. Susan clung tightly to his arm as they stood on the foredeck of the ferry during the windy crossing, and Tommy could sense her tension as well, although he had not discussed his intentions with her.
To say their
relationship had been a whirlwind affair would not do it justice. It had not gone well at first. Susan had resisted all of Tommy’s overtures, both subtle and direct, for all of the first year of their doctoral programs. Despite the fact that they worked in close proximity as Professor Wallington’s teaching assistants, the beautiful, intelligent, confident woman had for some reason determined to pay Tommy no heed.
Then, without warning, shortly after New Year’s Day, 1931, when Tommy had returned to Stanford from a quick holiday visit to see Seby and Tess, and with less than four months left until they graduated, Susan Prisman had reversed the order of battle. Tommy had fallen as if to the advance of the combined European armies, allied against his single outpost.
His surrender had been pleasant enough, and convincing Professor Wallington to retain two new teaching assistants a couple of months early so as to free up their time had not proved difficult. In fact, the old man had seemed quite enamored to play a role in furthering the romance.
Spending weekends in San Francisco, taking day trips to Half Moon Bay, Carmel, and Big Sur, and simply lounging around whichever of their apartments was the closest, gave them ample time to discover the joy young love brings. Tommy’s reservations about having a Mrs. Marine disappeared within weeks, and suddenly he found himself thinking about his graduation, departure for his new assignment in Washington D.C., and a world without Susan Prisman at his side.
It was not a pleasant prospect. Though he had not yet discussed the possibility of marriage with her, it was an assumption he had begun to make. He had never had such feelings for a woman. Knowing and being with her had provided him a zest for life he had not thought possible. He anticipated their every meeting—even study dates—and when they were not together, she dominated his thoughts.