by Gordon Ryan
As the September 1941 term commenced, Tommy was assigned additional duties as a company advisor, an active duty officer and member of the staff who was responsible for guidance and direction of over one hundred midshipmen formed into a company. The week before the start of term, the First Class Midshipman who had been appointed the Company Commander came to his office to pay his respects. First Classmen were the equivalent of a senior at a standard university, with one year left before graduation. The Class of ‘42 had reached that status.
After the protocol of formally reporting and identifying himself as First Classman Antonio Borello Jr., Tommy asked the young man to take a seat, his name resonating though the older man’s mind.
“Where’s your home, son?” he asked the bright-eyed twenty-one-year-old.
“Staten Island, sir,” he replied.
“And your grandfather’s name?”
“Francis Borello. My grandfather is dead, sir.”
“Mr. Borello,” Tommy continued, using the time-honored naval tradition of addressing officers as Mr. rather than by rank, “did you by chance have an uncle in the Great War?”
“I did, sir. He was killed in France just a few weeks before the armistice.”
Tommy went silent for several long moments, struggling to keep tears from forming in his eyes. “How long has your grandfather been deceased, Mr. Borello?”
“He died in 1926, sir, when I was seven.”
“While you were growing up, did you ever hear my name, Midshipman?” Tommy asked, still breathing deeply to keep his emotions in check.
“No, sir,” the young man replied, his face showing confusion.
“Let’s start this again, Mr. Borello,” Tommy said, standing up and offering his hand across the desk. Borello stood immediately when Tommy rose. “You, son, are nephew to my oldest and dearest friend, your deceased uncle, Lieutenant Frank Borello. I knew him best as Private Borello when we went through Parris Island together in 1917. Your uncle,” Tommy said, pausing a moment to take another deep breath, “saved my life in the trenches of France. Literally saved my life and cost him his own.”
“Sir, I—”
Tommy held up his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Midshipman Borello. You have large shoes to fill. Your uncle was a fine Marine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have a seat,” Tommy said, resuming his place behind the desk. “As you’re now a First Classman, have you made your choice of service selection?”
Tony Borello smiled and nodded. “Colonel, there was no choice. I came here to be a Marine and, God willing, I’ll graduate a Marine. Thank you, sir, for sharing that story with me. I did not know. Granddad was a private sort of man, but then I might have just been too young and didn’t understand or pay attention to the things he told me. My father was eight years younger than Uncle Frank.”
“I admired your grandfather. Well, let’s get to the business at hand. I can tell you one thing certain, Mr. Borello. We will be this year’s Color Company,” he said, referring to the year-long competition to determine the best company of midshipmen at the academy.
“Aye, aye, Colonel.”
Chapter Nine
Franklin Memorial Stadium
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
November, 1941
The third week in November, Colonel Callahan was released from academic responsibilities at Annapolis and reported for duty to Marine Headquarters. He participated in several day-long sessions with other defense battalion commanders who were being reassigned to the Pacific theater in preparation for a 1942 build-up of defense forces. As their training and instructional period came to a close, General Holcomb invited the six Marine officers to join him in his section of seats for the annual Army/Navy football game being held in Philadelphia.
Holcomb and a small group of Marine officers occupied the west side of the field, sitting to the side of the throng of midshipmen. Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, Commander-in-Chief, United States Fleet, was stationed in Hawaii and not available to attend.
As Tommy watched the pre-game festivities, his mind was on his new assignment and the difficulty he envisioned in explaining to his parents, while transiting Salt Lake City, that he would be living on a tiny, remote island in the Pacific Ocean for the next year or two.
The Corps of Cadets from West Point, their dark gray capes wrapped around their shoulders in uniform fashion, entered the field, marching in company order around the track before taking their seats. Immediately following came the midshipmen of the Naval Academy, full of promise and visually resplendent in their dark navy peacoats and white service caps. Tommy found himself wondering, just for a moment, how many of them would be at war this time next year. How many would still be alive? Would young Midshipman Borello, somewhere down there among the crowd of excited young men, be called upon to sacrifice everything in defense of freedom, as his uncle Frank had done over twenty years earlier?
After formal presentations on the field, quick political speeches, and requisite Army/Navy challenges extended, the game commenced. President Roosevelt was not in attendance for the game, but senior military officers for all services and many of the congressional leadership were in the stands. Two congressmen and the Chairman of the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee sat with General Holcomb to the right of Tommy’s position.
During his four years at the Academy, 1919 – 1923, Navy had won three of the four games, losing to Army during Tommy’s senior year. As the 1941 game commenced, Navy had a two-game winning streak and was determined to carry it forward. They did so in style, winning 14-6.
Following the game, Lieutenant Colonel Callahan made his excuses to General Holcomb and caught a ride back to his temporary quarters to complete his preparation for departure by train for Salt Lake City the following morning. He arranged for a long-distance telephone call to his father to advise his train schedule, arriving in Utah December 3, and to give advance warning that he would only be able to stay for Christmas, but had to leave before New Year’s if he was to make his ship transport to Hawaii and on to Wake Island.
He then undressed and lay down atop his bunk, clasped his hands behind his head, and in the solitude of his room, the game fresh in his mind, he thought back to England and a rugby match they had attended. The New Zealand All Blacks were touring Europe and Bess had introduced Tommy to the rough and tumble of rugby. He had chided her for being so brazen with her New Zealand flag among the crowd of English supporters. Unfortunately on this occasion, England had won the match, 14 - 0.
For the prior year thoughts of Bess and activities they had done together had taken hold when least expected. He remembered the most mundane occurrence, the most trivial comment she had made, but he could not remember a single comment made by those who had attended her funeral, including the eulogy.
Following the tragedy on Chidester Lane, Bess and Ben had been buried together in a small, well-tended cemetery plot near Aldershot. At Tommy’s request, the LDS mission president had presided over the ceremony, which was attended by those members of the branch with whom Bess had spent several years during her internship. The one exception was the presence, without public fanfare, of Ambassador and Mrs. Joseph Kennedy, and a quick appearance by Prime Minister Winston Churchill. A week after the funeral when someone had commented about Churchill’s appearance at the funeral, Tommy had stared at him for several seconds, not certain he had heard the man correctly. He had not noticed the appearance of the Prime Minister of Great Britain at Bess’s funeral. Since that moment, nearly eighteen months had gone by in the blink of an eye.
The past year had been one of aimless plodding, underpinned by his strong desire to get into the fight. He had not attended church, nor responded to a brief message from the branch president offering his support. For a brief time while still in England, he had considered resigning his Marine Corps commission and enlisting in the British Army. But a reasonable review of that plan brought him to understand that America would soon be involved and he could b
e of greater service where he held command.
Now a few weeks short of his forty-second birthday, finally about to assume command of an under-manned Marine Corps defense battalion on a speck of land no one outside a cartographer had ever heard of, much less visited, Lieutenant Colonel Callahan lay alone in his room, ghostly thoughts flitting through his mind. Life did not look promising at the moment, and with war on the horizon, neither did his longevity. The searing pain in his chest, deep in his heart, only served to heighten the emotion. Tommy Callahan did not fear death. He welcomed it.
“I don’t think it will be too long, Bess,” he whispered in the dark.
Salt Lake City
December, 1941
The first Sunday in Salt Lake City, Tommy attended church with Seby, Teresa, their family, and his mother. His father had left for Denver on business before Tommy had arrived home and wasn’t due back until the following Thursday, December 11th. Tommy and his mother were staying at the Cardenas home during his father’s absence.
For two years, Sebastian Cardenas had been serving as first counselor in the bishopric of his ward, and on this particular Sunday he was conducting the meeting. The old brick chapel was located in a farming area of Draper about twenty miles south of downtown Salt Lake and only a few miles from the Cardenas home.
At Seby’s request, Tommy had met with Elder Hugh B. Brown, the Church’s new military serviceman coordinator, and they had discussed the anticipated build-up of forces. Elder Brown had been born in Utah, but was from Canadian heritage and his country was already at war in Europe in support of the British Commonwealth. Their meeting centered around Tommy’s thoughts about how the LDS Church could assist with new servicemen as they underwent basic military training.
Tess’s youngest, a four-year-old firebrand whom her siblings had nicknamed Sparkie, sat on Tommy’s lap. Michael, the oldest, sat to his left as members of the congregation took their turn to bear testimony of faith on a quiet, peaceful Sunday.
As Sparkie fidgeted on Tommy’s lap, his thoughts once again turned to his son, who would have been just a bit younger than the little girl he held. About two-thirds of the way through the meeting, a soft buzz of conversation started near the rear of the chapel, growing in volume as members leaned in to whisper to each other while the speaker at the podium tried to continue her comments. One of the older members near the back, a prior bishop of the congregation, rose and walked quietly up the aisle to the dais, leaning down to speak softly with Seby, who sat on the end of the row. Seby nodded and then continued to sit quietly a few moments while the woman who was speaking finished her remarks. Then he stood and approached the pulpit.
“Brothers and sisters, I apologize for this interruption to our fast and testimony meeting, but Brother Simpson has just advised me that a few moments ago, the governor’s office made an announcement on the radio. Earlier this morning, American Army and Navy installations in Hawaii came under attack by Japanese aircraft. There are no further details at this time, but we are informed that the attack is still underway. There is concern about an imminent invasion of the islands and the military has been put on full alert.”
Tommy immediately focused on the comments of the commandant who thought they would not be involved until sometime the following year. The Corps was not ready. America was not ready. Yet, as he sat amidst the congregation of mostly farming families in the heart of Mormon country, watching as the members heard the news that once again in their lifetime war was upon them, he understood the reason he had remained in uniform. No one is ready when war comes. A few are prepared to teach the many, but no one is fully prepared.
The members of the congregation became animated, children reacting to the tension in their parents, and the buzz in conversation grew louder as people began to gather personal belongings. Seby held up his hand for order.
“Please, brothers and sisters, let’s be calm. We will continue our service , but the bishopric will understand if some of you need to go home and try to make contact with members of your family. If members of the active military are in our service today, we understand if you need to contact your respective branch of service for instructions. Please feel free to leave as necessary.” He paused for a moment, looking over the audience and turning to exchange glances with the bishop, who sat behind him.
“We have two members of our ward who are currently serving with the Navy in Hawaii, and one of our young men is on a mission in the Islands. Please remember them in your prayers. We will do everything we can to determine their safety. If those related are able to make contact, please inform Bishop Craig or Sister Snow. Please try to remain calm this morning. If Sister Jones will take her place at the piano, we’ll sing the closing hymn.”
Michael leaned over to Tommy and asked, “Are we at war?”
“I don’t know, Mike,” Tommy responded, “but I suspect we will be. It depends on the scale of this attack. But I’m going to have to leave and make contact. Will you take care of Sparkie? Help your mother with the kids.”
“I’m going to enlist tomorrow, Uncle Tommy,” Michael added.
Tommy placed Sparkie on the seat next to him and put his arm around his nephew. “Listen to me carefully, Mike. Don’t be hasty in making decisions. Let’s see how this develops. If you must join the military, do it the right way. You’ve graduated from the university and been accepted for medical school. I would suggest you continue that direction. But by all means, don’t enlist. If you want to serve, request a commission in the Marine Corps or the Navy. Tell them you’re in medical school.”
“I want to fly, Uncle Tommy. I haven’t changed my mind on that.”
Tommy nodded and then leaned the other way toward his sister, who had been involved with gathering her things. “Tess, I’m going home to make a phone call. I’m also going to see if I can get a train ticket to San Francisco for tomorrow. If the Japanese are attacking in the Pacific, it may already be too late to reach my duty station. Can I borrow your car and you come home with Seby or Mom?”
Tess fished in her purse and handed Tommy the keys, clutching at his hand. “Tommy, what if . . .”
He squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right, Tess. Hawaii was a beehive of activity when I was there last year. This could be a mistake. I’ll see you at home later.”
It wasn’t a mistake. Throughout the afternoon, radio reports of severe damage, death, and emergency conditions in Hawaii filled the air waves as announcers continued the barrage of reports and supposedly firsthand accounts from Honolulu. Military personnel stationed on the west coast of America had been put on alert and coastal defenses manned. Naval ships remaining in San Diego put to sea and all military personnel were recalled from furlough.
By early afternoon, Tommy was able to reach the duty officer at Marine headquarters in Washington, D.C. He advised he was departing immediately for his pending assignment. No further word had been received from the naval installation on Wake Island—at least, not to the knowledge of the duty officer at Marine headquarters.
Tommy was able to obtain transport on a non-scheduled, additional train departing Salt Lake City at 3:20 a.m. Monday morning. Seby agreed to take him to the train station at that hour. He packed his two bags and was prepared to leave shortly before midnight. The children were in bed, and Katrina, Seby, Tess, and Tommy were alone in the large living room where the fireplace was lit, but slowly extinguishing from the earlier blaze.
“Tommy,” his mother said, unusually calm in the face of this new national emergency, “you’ve been down this road before. I won’t try to give you motherly advice, nor ask you to be careful. You know all that. I will just tell you that your father and I love you deeply. We are proud of who you are and what you’ve become. You’ll be in my prayers every day, Tommy. Every day.”
Tommy smiled at his mother, reaching over to take her hand. “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry I won’t get the chance to see Dad, but tell him how much I love him too.”
“Is there anything can we do for
you?” she asked.
“Exactly what you said, Mom. Your prayers, your thoughts, and maybe a box of cookies once in awhile.” He laughed. “Even yours, Tess, although you still need to get Mom to teach you how to bake properly,” he chided.
Tess ignored his attempt at humor, crossed the room, and sat on the floor in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. “You’re forty-two years old, Tommy. War is a young man’s game.”
“Young men like Michael?” Tommy said gently, knowing he would anger her but feeling it necessary to speak up for Mike before he left..
Tess jerked her eyes up, an instant anger in her face. “Michael is going to be a doctor. He’ll have nothing to do with this war.”
Tommy took her face in both of his hands, leaned down, and pulled her closer, speaking softly. “He’s a man now, Tess. He’ll make that decision for himself. If he makes it differently than you would like, don’t make him feel guilty because he chooses to do what he thinks is right. Don’t send him off riddled with guilt because of your anger.”
“He’s not going anywhere, Tommy. I won’t allow it.”
“Tommy’s right, Tess,” Seby said from his place in front of the fire. “Whatever Mike decides, we need to let him make the choice and support him.”
“Are you on his side? I couldn’t stand it, Seby,” she exclaimed to her husband. “All these boys going to war.”
“Teresa,” Katrina said, “I said the exact same thing to your father when we discovered that Tommy had joined the Marines. I still don’t like it. But I’ve come to understand one thing. It can’t always be some other mother’s son who bears the burden. You’ve known for some time that PJ’s oldest son, Clinton, has been in North Africa for over a year. He’s been serving as an artillery captain.”
“I don’t want my son to go to war, Mom. Don’t you understand that?” Tess pleaded, the tears now filling her eyes.