The Callahans: The Complete Series

by Gordon Ryan

  Semper Fi,

  Love, Mike

  He then penned another short letter to his mother, sealed it, and began to polish his boots before taps sounded to end the day. Later, as he lay in his bunk drifting off to sleep, his bunkmate hollered from the lower rack.

  “Hey, Cardenas, what’d the sergeant major want?”

  “He said if I couldn’t do something to make a Marine out of you, he was going to have you transferred to the Boy Scouts.”

  “Suck eggs, maggot.” The man laughed in reply.

  Wellington, New Zealand

  March, 1942

  The process of arranging for housing, clothing, food, and transportation for over 15,000 unexpected Marines in a nation with a total population of one and a half million didn’t come easy. It placed a significant impact on food supply and transportation requirements. Most of the able-bodied, younger men were overseas fighting a war in North Africa, so such logistical tasks were left, for the most part, to older men or women, who could be seen driving lorries throughout New Zealand. The fortuitous aspect that Tommy’s brother, PJ Callahan, owner of the largest sheep station on the South Island, was a member of the ruling government, provided an inroad for Tommy, but no certainty of smooth sailing.

  Despite the presence of a Labour government—the philosophical equivalent of the liberal Democratic party in America—New Zealand dock workers, called Wharfies, consistently went on strike, often for only hours at a time, before resuming work when their grievance, real or imagined, had been resolved. A power unto themselves, the docks, piers, and ship handling were tightly controlled by union leaders who answered to no one but themselves. Even the government had little sway with a decision to strike.

  As part of his cabinet, Prime Minister Peter Fraser had placed PJ Callahan as his Minister of Public Works. From that position of authority, PJ was able to assure Tommy made contact with military and civilian authorities who were prepared to construct the necessary housing facilities and to acquire the large portions of food products that would be required when the division began to arrive, expected in late March or early April.

  Once General Puttick, commander of New Zealand forces and the man who had given such a strong account of himself and Kiwi forces in the battle of Crete, gave his approval for support, Tommy was amazed at how quickly this little country turned to the job of building a veritable tent city on the seacoast, north of the capital of Wellington.

  In a country where the government provided comfortable and adequate public housing for its citizens who were low income, they assumed that the Marines would require something similar. The original plan was to build four-man wooden “batches,” small cabin-like structures, but it quickly became apparent that they would not be able to meet the construction schedule before the first Marine units arrived.

  When Tommy showed the engineers the drawings for the typical wooden-floor, canvas-tent facility which Marines traditionally had used, even at training facilities in the States, the production schedule moved very quickly.

  One afternoon, PJ showed up on site and found Tommy down on the beach, supervising one of the engineering crews building the foundation for a large training hall.

  “Decided to come out of the office and get your hands dirty?” Tommy jibed.

  “Nope, decided to pull you back into the office. I’ve arranged a meeting with the prime minister.”

  “The prime minister? Why?”

  “We’re a small country, Tommy. Peter Fraser likes to keep his eye on things and go directly to the source. At the moment, that’s Lieutenant Colonel Callahan. You ready?”

  Tommy was dressed in the standard work uniform, herring bone utilities, and hesitated. “Can we swing by my quarters and give me a few moments to change?”

  At first, PJ’s wife, Kiri, an exceptionally beautiful native Maori woman in her late forties, had insisted that he stay with them during his time in New Zealand. Tommy had convinced them both that he needed to be closer to the construction site, and he and his aide, Lieutenant Borello, would be working odd hours, catching sleep when they could. In the end, Tommy had spent two weekends with his brother and sister-in-law and been introduced to parts of Wellington that were off the beaten track.

  “We’re not going back to Wellington. Fraser is just down the road, meeting with the local mayor. It’s informal, Tommy. Truly. You’re fine as you are.”

  Tommy made a few comments to the lead engineer and then accompanied PJ to his vehicle. To his surprise, PJ had a driver and a 1942 Ford Army staff car.

  “You’re in style, brother. Marine green. They wanted to give me one of these, but I took the smaller Jeep instead. Your off-road access is, uh, a bit primitive.”

  “Get in the car and shut up, Yank,” PJ said.

  As they reached the main paved road, Tommy began to wonder about the meeting. “Anything I should know about your prime minister? What’s he after?”

  “He’ll take your measure.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He just wants to meet you, Tommy. I told him we were brothers, but had been apart for nearly twenty years. He wants to hear directly from you that New Zealand can count on the U.S. Marines if the Japs venture this far south.”

  Tommy nodded, resuming his gaze out the window. They arrived at an old, unpainted wooden structure in Paraparaumu, a small community about twenty miles from McKay’s Crossing where the Marine training camp was being built. They exited the car and entered the building.

  Two older gentlemen were just rising from their seats at a table and shaking hands with a thin, patrician-looking man in his late fifties, wearing thin, wire-framed glasses. As the other gentlemen left, he came out from behind the table and extended his hand as he stepped toward the Callahan brothers. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Colonel Callahan. I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and may I express the appreciation and admiration of the New Zealand people for your government’s support of our small Pacific islands. Our lads have been rather busy this past couple of years, and the rapidity of onslaught by our neighbors to the north has taken us all by surprise, I’m afraid.”

  “Thank you, Prime Minister. We’re honored to be here, sir.”

  “Good, good, let’s take seats for a few moments. I won’t keep you long, sir. I just wanted to become acquainted. I know you have very important work and a tight schedule to keep before your troops arrive. Are we providing everything you need?”

  “Prime Minister, I have never seen a government work so cooperatively and so quickly. We even take longer to obtain approval within our own Corps. I dare say you have exceeded my every expectation.”

  “And would that perhaps be due to our esteemed Minister of Public Works, the honorable PJ Callahan?”

  Tommy laughed softly. “Actually, in spite of him, Prime Minister. But we can work around that impediment.”

  “I say, you two really are brothers, aren’t you?” He laughed. “Now, to the question at hand. I have been speaking with General Puttick. I’ll put it to you directly, Colonel. May we count on your Marines to assist in the defense of our islands should the Japanese forces seek to, shall we say, expand their empire?”

  There it was. The question on the table. New Zealand was virtually defenseless with the Expeditionary Force scattered throughout the Mediterranean and few resources available for home defense. Would the Marines fight in defense of New Zealand?

  “Sir, I know General Vandegrift personally and by reputation. If he were sitting here to answer that same question, I think he would say, ‘Prime Minister, the United States Marine Corps intends to find out where the Japs are held up, to go there, and to kick their arses all the way back to Tokyo.’“I think, sir, that our plans are to assure that the enemy never sees the tranquil shores of New Zealand, much less set foot on them.” Tommy looked over at his brother for a moment, then continued. “PJ is my older brother, Prime Minister, but I’ve come to his rescue more than once when we were children. He’s the smart Callahan. The negotiator. I’m the belli
gerent one, or can be when necessary. The Marines have honed that skill.”

  Prime Minister Peter Fraser stood and held out his hand again. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Callahan. And don’t underestimate your brother. I’ve seen his ‘in-fighting’ in chambers. With no weapon other than his tongue, his oratory skill, and his acerbic wit, he has cut the enemy to ribbons.”

  “Well, big brother, you have grown up. Thank you, Prime Minister, for taking the time to meet with me. If I can offer any assistance or provide any answers, don’t hesitate to contact me, day or night.”

  “Kia ora, Colonel.”

  On the ride back to McKay’s Crossing, both men were silent for a few miles, then PJ spoke. “How about a few days off, Tommy? Kiri and I would like to take you down home to Canterbury for a four-day weekend. We’ll take the overnight ferry to Christchurch, and George will pick us up for the ride to the station.”

  Tommy thought for a moment, then nodded. “That would be great, PJ. General Vandegrift is due to arrive in a couple of weeks, and from that moment, I don’t think we’ll have any time to ourselves. I’ll brief Lieutenant Borello. Will we be in contact by telephone at your home?

  “Telephone? What’s that? Another new invention like the aeroplane?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Valhalla

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  March, 1942

  Katrina Callahan stood in the center well of the spiral staircase leading to the upper levels of their home and raised her voice. “Thomas, we have a letter from PJ. Come down.”

  The rising, cylindrical staircase that constituted the center of the Callahan home provided a wonderful echo chamber, allowing for voice transmission even when they didn’t want conversation to escape. It was several years before Tom and Katie learned that young PJ, Tommy, and Teresa would come and sit at the head of the stairs on the second landing while their parents discussed family affairs in the main parlor. When Tess had once slipped in some comment about Dad ‘going to Denver on business,” the jig was up, and thereafter they had closed the double parlor doors as well as lowered their voices.

  Several moments later, Tom came downstairs, still dressed in his morning robe.

  “Thomas Callahan, I declare. Ever since you sold the bank and we came home from our mission, you seem to think you can stroll around the house looking like a hospital patient. What if someone important called in to see you?”

  “How long has it been since that last happened, Katie?” he replied.

  “Well, it might,” she argued. “I just might arrange it.”

  “That would be nice, but if you do, I’m confident you’d give me advance notice so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. I could have my dressing gown pressed.”

  “Thomas!”

  “So, what does PJ say?”

  “Haven’t opened it yet. Let’s go in the parlor and I’ll read it to you.”

  “This really is beginning to feel more and more like a hospital ward.”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “I always have been, my dear, but you’ve always loved me anyway.”

  “Dear Mom and Dad,” she began. “Oh, my goodness, Tommy’s in New Zealand.”

  “Really,” Tom replied. “I suppose he can’t tell us where he is, but PJ can. What’s he doing there?”

  Katrina read quickly, and silently, allowing Tom to watch her and ponder her opening thoughts about reading the letter aloud. “He’s in Wellington, where PJ is serving in the legislature.”

  “Parliament,” Tom said.

  “Thomas,” Katrina warned, shooting him her look.

  “PJ doesn’t say why Tommy is there. Just that he’s safe and they’ve had a great reunion. Goodness, Thomas, it’s been over twenty years since the two boys saw each other.”

  “Nineteen.”

  Again, the “look.”

  That grand family reunion had occurred in Hawaii in 1923 when Seby and Tess had gotten married and Tommy was stationed in Honolulu. PJ had brought his young family by ship from New Zealand and they all spent two weeks in the sunshine.

  “Just a newsy letter, but no real information on Tommy. What would he be doing there, Thomas?”

  “My guess is that the American military is helping to prepare defenses for Australia and New Zealand. Their army has been in the war for over two years and is scattered around the globe. Maybe the Marines are going down there to help.”

  “Do you think Michael will go there when he finishes pilot training?”

  “No way to know, Katie. Even the boys don’t know where they’re going until they arrive sometimes. I read that some of our troops just got on a ship in San Francisco and left, having no idea where they were going.”

  “That’s terrible. How would they know what clothes to pack?”

  Thomas just smiled at his wife and reached for the letter. “Can a man get breakfast in this hospital?”

  “No. But if he puts on some clothes, he can get lunch,” she said, rising and leaving Tom alone with PJ’s letter.

  Canterbury Plains, New Zealand

  April, 1942

  The trip from Wellington to Christchurch was an overnight affair on an ocean-going, vehicle-carrying ferry down the east coast of the South Island. The Port of Lyttleton, where the first English settlers had landed in 1850, located to the southeast of Christchurch, was the final destination. Tommy and PJ Callahan were met by George Armitage, a former missionary companion of PJ’s from 1918.

  As part of their missionary effort, they had been visiting rural homes in the central Canterbury Plains and came across a farm whose owner was named Callahan. John Callahan. During dinner the first evening, while talking about family names and history, it was revealed that John Callahan was in fact Thomas Callahan’s older brother who had left Ireland several years before Thomas had come to America. The realization dawned that Mr. Callahan was PJ’s uncle and his beautiful daughter, Emily, was his cousin.

  That didn’t stop George Armitage, who began thinking of Emily in terms of a different family relationship, from keeping the young woman in the corner of his heart as he completed his missionary service. As his mission came to a close, he returned to the Callahan sheep station, courted the young woman, and they married.

  When PJ, through the trust fund his father had sequestered for him many years earlier, purchased Uncle John’s sheep station, plus several thousand additional acres to the west, toward the Southern Alps, Shenandoah Station became the largest sheep ranch on the South Island. All of that had occurred some twenty years earlier.

  “PJ, I thought the land around Wellington was beautiful, but this is the most magnificent sight I’ve seen in New Zealand. It’s no wonder you never wanted to leave after your mission.”

  “We love it, Tommy,” Kiri replied. “It’s necessary to spend extended time in Wellington now, but this is our home. Our real home.”

  “George and I canvassed these hills on my mission. You’re about to meet George’s wife, our cousin Emily. When Uncle John sold me the farm and returned to Ireland, she was quite sad for awhile. Both of her brothers had died in the Great War, and her mother shortly thereafter from what everyone called a broken heart. After that, it was just Emily and her dad for several years. Then she met George, I bought the station, and John went back to Ireland. She never did get to see him again before he died, several years ago.”

  “How many children do you have, George?” Tommy asked the driver, who had been quiet for most of the trip. Tommy sat in the left front seat, with PJ and Kiri in the back of the vehicle.

  “Seven. Two of them are in the Army in Egypt at the moment, along with PJ’s son. History is repeating itself, it seems. For twenty years, Shenandoah Station has sent her share of men to defend New Zealand. I just pray God these three boys will come home.”

  As the mountains grew closer, Tommy could see the similarity to the Salt Lake Valley. The western slopes of the Rocky Mountains formed a backdrop for their home in Utah, and the Southern Alps, to the w
est of Shenandoah Station, provided a comparable view. Though summer was just about complete, there remained a perpetual cap of snow atop the highest peaks, framing the rising spectrum of green, brown, purple, and then white frosting. Without conscious thought, Tommy found himself homesick, not for Salt Lake City which had not been his true home for many years, but just for “home,” a place where he belonged. A place that felt comfortable. A place where . . .

  “A man could find his soul out here, could ride a horse, raise a family, and spend his life in such a beautiful setting and never look back on the world. How could heaven be any finer? I envy you more than you know, big brother. It’s absolutely beautiful. Kiri,” Tommy said, turning to face his sister-in-law, “how long have the Maori people resided in this paradise?”

  “History places our earliest ancestors here in the twelfth or thirteenth century, migrating down from the Pacific islands to the north, including Hawaii. There are more Maori in the North Island than down here, but I think it’s more beautiful here, with a more visual and physical seasonal change.”

  He swiveled his head to face forward, continuing his view of the panoramic scenes unfolding. “Why did you ever let the British in? You could have kept this rapture to yourselves and made a fortune from tourists.” Without turning around, he asked PJ, “Will there be a chance to ride? I’d love to just head for those mountains . . . and maybe never come back.”

  Suddenly his voice grew softer, speaking more to himself. “I now understand what a sacrifice it was for Bess to stay in London with me. She loved this country so very much.”

  Tommy’s wistful tone kept PJ and Kiri silent as the car covered the final miles to the turn-off toward Shenandoah Station. Then Kiri placed her hand on Tommy’s shoulder and whispered softly, “She must have loved you more, Tommy.”