by Adam Makos
Tom handed back the letter. “Don’t worry, Mother, they’ll stop sending them sooner or later.”
—
Two days later, a lanky gray-haired woman removed the crumb-speckled plates from the dining table as Tom and his father sat in silence. The woman was Nursey, still the family’s maid. Seated on his father’s right, Tom had dressed up for dinner, as was the family’s custom. He wore a dark suit and fidgeted with his unlit pipe. A chandelier dangled from the high ceiling.
At the end of the table, Thomas Hudner Sr. smoked a cigarette. Behind him, a tall window revealed the dark street. Thomas Senior resembled a thinner version of President Truman. His gray hair was slicked back and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a three-piece suit. His wealth had come through hard work, hand in hand with his father, to build their grocery chain.
The family had just celebrated Tom’s twenty-sixth birthday and now Senior wanted to talk with his son in private. The war was on his mind. That day the first British unit had arrived in Korea, and troops and medical units were following from eighteen other U.N. nations. The international response was unprecedented: American forces were about to lead the first U.N. army into battle.
When Nursey left the room, Senior encouraged Tom to light his pipe. Tom hesitated, having never smoked inside the house.
“Oh, just light it,” his father chuckled. “Can’t be worse than these.” He nodded at his own cigarette.
Tom lit his pipe. His after-dinner routine had changed vastly over the years. As a boy, Tom usually snuck away after meals with his pockets full of cooked vegetables. From the porch he’d toss his vegetables into the bushes.
“So, how are you feeling about where you’re going?” Senior asked, lighting another cigarette.
Tom lowered his pipe. “Well, we have to show the communists that enough is enough, or their aggression will never stop,” he said. “So Korea’s as good a place as any.”
Senior asked if Tom’s buddies felt the same. Tom chuckled and said that one of the pilots actually transferred out of the squadron rather than accompany them to Korea. Tom explained that he and his friends barely knew the pilot—the young man kept to himself, and the news had come as a total surprise. Senior’s face twisted with distaste.
“He requested transfer to a noncombatant unit,” Tom added. “So they sent him back to Quonset until they can figure out what to do with him.”*1
“He chose to be in fighters, didn’t he?” Senior asked.
“Yes, sir,” Tom said.
“And he raised his hand to protect and defend the American people, didn’t he?” Senior added.
Tom nodded. They all had taken the oath. “In his defense,” Tom said, “there’s lots of ways to serve, and they don’t all call for trigger pulling.”
Senior nodded. He had been an officer himself during World War I and he regretted being stuck in a staff job while everyone else was deployed. “So you don’t exactly need to go to Korea, do you?” Senior asked. “You can call Quonset and transfer out like that other fellow?”
Tom shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose I could.”
Senior flicked the ash from his cigarette. Tom took a puff from his pipe.
“But none of the other fellows are backing out,” Tom added. “We all figure it’s dangerous if we just let the North Koreans take the South. What message would that send the Soviets? If we don’t take a stand, in a few years we’ll be fighting for America’s survival.”
Senior looked at Tom and swallowed hard, fighting back emotion. His next words would mean the world to Tom.
“I’m proud of you, son.”
A day later, in Mississippi
The evening sunlight settled over the Hattiesburg projects as Jesse and Daisy sat on the front steps of her mother’s apartment.
Up and down Robertson Place, people sat on their porches. The affordable housing units were each two stories tall and built of red brick. Lamplight leaked from some windows; radio music trickled from others.
Dressed in a white shirt with short sleeves and slacks, Jesse held Daisy’s hand, his eyes distant in thought.
Daisy smiled and pretended not to notice. She wore a brightly colored dress and a floral fragrance drifted from her neck, the rose and jasmine scent of the Coeur Joie perfume that Jesse had sent home from Cannes.*2
The couple had done most of their dating on the porch, under the eye of Daisy’s mother, Addie. Addie was a generous, loving woman, yet strong too. Her husband had died young, leaving her a thirty-year-old widow with five children. To put food on the table, she had taken to cleaning homes, while Daisy, the eldest of the children, helped raise her younger siblings.
During Daisy’s school days, her mother would shoo Jesse off the porch by 10 P.M. But this time, Addie stayed inside. The young couple’s time was fleeting. It was Friday night and on Sunday Jesse had to fly east to rejoin his squadron for the cruise to war.
Jesse turned to Daisy and took her hands. His grip was firm, his eyes serious with passion. Jesse had joined the navy—not the airlines—so that he could fly and fight for his country. He had prepared himself for where he was headed.
Jesse told Daisy that they needed to talk. At first, Daisy wondered if he might try to spring a ring on her. Jesse had been unable to afford a ring when they became engaged, nor could they afford a honeymoon. Recently he had begged Daisy to allow him to buy her a diamond ring, but she had refused, because money was still tight.
“Tootie, this isn’t easy,” Jesse said. “But if something should happen to me over there, I’ve been thinking, you should go to college and get a degree.”
Daisy reeled back, shaking her head. She begged Jesse not to spoil the night. But ever since his barrier bounce on the carrier, he’d been trying to broach this subject with her. Before he’d left for the Mediterranean cruise, he’d even sent her back to Mississippi and allowed the lease of their Rhode Island cottage to expire. He wanted Daisy to be close to her family if something happened to him.
Jesse dropped Daisy’s hands and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. He handed it to her. Daisy skimmed the pages with bewilderment.
“Survivors’ benefits, Social Security, everything we’ve talked about,” Jesse said. “I’ve mapped it all out. You’ll also find there’s a private life insurance policy I took out.”
Daisy stopped thumbing through the pages and looked blankly at him. A private insurance policy? she thought. Since when?
Jesse explained that he had invested in a policy that, if he was killed, would issue a monthly payment for five years. “If something happens, darling, use the money for tuition—even if you go just part-time,” Jesse said. “Before five years is over, you’ll have your degree and won’t need to work in somebody’s kitchen.”
Daisy stared, her mouth open with shock. Jesse took his wife’s hands again, and Daisy shook from her stupor.
“Will you become a teacher, like my mama?” Jesse said. “She’ll tell you—it’s one of the best professions there is. Will you promise me, darling?”
Daisy remembered what she had learned at Quonset Point, from Grace Cevoli and the other seasoned military wives: An aviator has enough worries at work, he doesn’t need any more at home.
Daisy also knew that this would be Jesse’s last deployment—her husband had joined the navy through the reserves in 1947 and had just seven months remaining in his commitment. In March 1951 he’d revert back to the reserves and civilian life, and then he’d resume his studies at Ohio State to finish his degree. Daisy knew that Jesse would still put in his weekend a month for the navy to get his flying fix, but she looked forward to having him as a husband, almost full-time. All she had to do was endure seven more months.
A calmness settled across her face. Daisy squeezed her husband’s hands. “I promise,” she said. “If anything happens I’ll become a teacher.”
Jesse’s face lifted. “Good.” He leaned back with relief. “That way you’d be able to take care of yourself if you can’t find another man in fiv
e years!”
Daisy laughed and hit Jesse’s arm. She loved it when he teased her.
—
The next morning, the rural airfield was quiet as the Brown family and their sharecropper neighbors picnicked on the grass. Forests surrounded the field. Over the trees to the south, a dark storm brewed in the Gulf, but over Hattiesburg the clouds remained billowy and white.
It was Saturday, a workday, yet the Browns and their neighbors sat on blankets and sipped sodas. Jesse’s mother, Julia, bounced baby Pam. In suspenders that stretched over his shirt, John Brown talked with other fathers. Daisy mingled with old friends while barefoot children chased one another.
The Palmer’s Crossing municipal airport was largely deserted with the storm brewing. A mechanic or two in greasy clothes strolled between the large, flimsy hangars. A tin Standard Oil sign hung near a fuel pump, and an assortment of biplanes and Piper Cubs were parked in rows on a worn patch of concrete.
A buzzing sound arose in the sky to the south. The sharecroppers stood as a red Cessna appeared above the trees. The plane was new, a sleek model for private pilots. A square wing sat atop a tapered body and short landing gear jutted out from the fuselage.
The Cessna descended toward the runway but the approach seemed too high, as if the pilot would need to circle around again. The plane’s engine suddenly cut to idle. The nose snapped rightward, the left wing dipped downward, and the plane dropped like a rock. Onlookers gasped and Julia Brown covered her mouth, but Daisy just shook her head: She knew this trick.
Low above the runway, the plane’s nose suddenly snapped back to normal and its wings leveled. The Cessna rode a cushion of air down until its front tires and tail wheel kissed the concrete. Tweek, tweek, tweek. The plane barely bounced.
The pilot taxied the Cessna onto the empty concrete near the small crowd. He gunned the engine and swerved the plane around so that the tail was facing the people. The propeller kept whirling. Doors popped open on either side of the fuselage and Fletcher, Lura, and a young friend hopped down to the ground. The boys covered their eyes as they darted behind the tail, their T-shirts flapping. Lura was now twenty, and a smile filled his face. But Fletcher, now eighteen, wasn’t faring as well. His face was frozen in fear. He flopped onto the grass near his family and his mother, father, and Daisy huddled around him.
“Jesse let me try to land,” he panted. “But I was too high and couldn’t get the plane down, so he took over and dropped us from the sky! Called it a ‘slip’ or something—it scared the hell out of me!” Everyone laughed, especially Daisy.
The pilot’s door opened on the left side of the plane and Jesse leaned halfway out. He wore sunglasses and a headset. A smile spanned his face and his polo shirt flapped. A friend had loaned him the Cessna and already Jesse had given half the community of Lux their first plane ride, including some of the hired hands who once predicted that he’d never fly an airplane.*3
Jesse signaled with three fingers. Finally, with nervous grins, three sharecroppers shielded their eyes and approached the plane. They disappeared inside and the Cessna taxied away.
—
When Jesse landed next and disembarked the last flock of passengers, he leaned out from the door. “Daisy!” he shouted. Daisy shook her head and pointed to someone else. One of her friends gently elbowed her and another nudged her forward. Finally, Daisy threw up her hands in defeat. She ran to the plane and hopped in, and Jesse took off.
Fifteen minutes later, the plane taxied back to the concrete patch and its engine cut to silence. The Brown family and their neighbors flocked to the plane. Jesse jumped down and circled to the passenger’s side to unbuckle his wife. Together the couple emerged from beneath the wing and the crowd broke into an applause that went on and on, as if no one wanted it to end.
A day later, Sunday, September 3
Jesse leaned across the steering wheel and peered through the thick rain as he drove along the drenched Mississippi roadway. The rain slapped against the green Dodge Wayfarer’s hood. The roads were slick but the car’s whitewall tires managed.
From the passenger’s seat, Daisy held Jesse’s uniform jacket across her lap as her eyes focused on the car ahead, the one her husband was following. Two red taillights beamed in the gloom. Thick forests bordered the road. It was mid-morning and the rain had turned the world gray.
Now and then, Jesse glanced in the rearview mirror as he held his speed. In the back seat, a young black couple named Ike and Gwen Heard gripped the doors. In a coat and tie, Ike resembled a nervous dignitary being chauffeured to a state function. He was young, Jesse’s age, but his thin mustache and high hairline made him look older.
Ike was Jesse’s cousin and his boyhood best friend. Already he’d become a college professor at a school near Houston, Texas, where his wife was from. Gwen’s face was round and youthful. The young couple was visiting from Texas and accompanying Jesse and Daisy to the airport so that Ike could drive Daisy back to Hattiesburg—provided they all arrived in one piece.
In the rear window of the car ahead, a small hand emerged over the seatback. Then another hand. Baby Pam’s pudgy face and short black hair popped into view. Pam waved from the car ahead.
“Ooooh! She’s up again, she sees us!” Daisy said over the pattering rain.
“Hiya, baby!” Jesse said and waved.
From the back seat, Ike and Gwen leaned forward to catch a glimpse.
Pam bounced a few times, then dropped from sight. A second passed, then again the chubby hands clamped the seatback and Pam hauled herself back into view. The baby waved and the adults waved back.
In the car ahead, Jesse’s mother, Julia, turned in the passenger’s seat to check on Pam while Jesse’s aunt drove. Julia was taking Pam to the aunt’s house in Meridian, north of Hattiesburg, so Daisy could focus on seeing her husband off to war.
Jesse was not bound for Meridian but for Birmingham, Alabama. A hurricane had settled over Mississippi and washed out the flights. Luckily, Jesse had found a flight out of Birmingham, so he could reach Norfolk, Virginia, in time to ferry his plane aboard the Leyte the next morning.
A road sign for Meridian flashed past Jesse’s window and his smile faded. He knew the turn was nearing. Jesse waved faster at Pam and blew his daughter kisses. Daisy saw tears sneaking down his cheeks.
Outside the window, signs indicated that the split in the road was upon them. Jesse cranked the turn signal upward and a right arrow blinked. Jesse eased the steering wheel to the right and the car followed the road east toward the Alabama border. Through the rain, Jesse and Daisy watched the other car stay straight on the road to Meridian. From his side window, Jesse waved at Pam. The baby’s face turned to follow him, her eyes welling with confusion.
From the passenger’s seat, Jesse’s mother blew him a kiss before a misty patch of woods came between the two cars.
Jesse focused his eyes forward and wiped them dry.
—
As rain fell on the terminal, Jesse parked the Wayfarer at the Birmingham airport. The rounded tails of airliners stood out in the gloom. Daisy checked her watch. It was just after noon; they had made it with time to spare. Everyone in the car was quiet for a moment, then Gwen broke the silence. “Well, Ike and I are going into the terminal. We’ll listen for the boarding call to give y’all some time.”
Ike stepped out, popped an umbrella, and offered Gwen a hand. The couple scurried through the rain to the terminal.
In the front seat, Daisy and Jesse took hold of each other. Jesse stroked his wife’s hair. “I could sit here forever and never find the words to describe how much I love you,” he said.
Daisy’s eyes turned wet as she met her husband’s gentle stare.
Jesse spoke again. “No man ever loved a woman more than I love you.”
Daisy broke into tears on Jesse’s shoulder and soon felt his tears on the back of her neck.
—
Twenty minutes later, maybe more, Daisy lifted her head from Jesse’s shoulder
and wiped her eyes. An aviator has enough worries at work, he doesn’t need any more at home! she thought. She apologized for the waterworks. “I’m crying because I’ll miss you,” she said, “not because I can’t handle myself.”
Jesse nodded lovingly.
“What I’m saying is,” Daisy added, “you do what you need to do over there, love, and don’t worry about me—I’ll be here when you get home.”
Jesse smiled, wrapped an arm over Daisy, and pulled her close. “When I get home, we’re going on our honeymoon,” Jesse said. “I’m taking you to the Bahamas and we’re going to have the time of our lives.”
They held each other until Gwen appeared and waved from the terminal’s doorway. Jesse’s boarding time had arrived.
Jesse and Daisy shared a last kiss.
Jesse slipped his uniform jacket over his shoulders and climbed from the car. He slapped his officer’s hat on his head and tossed his sea bag over a shoulder. As he hustled toward the terminal he glanced back at his wife through the rain. At the terminal doorway, he gazed one last time, then walked inside.
—
The door to the Wayfarer opened, startling Daisy. Gwen slipped into the back seat, then Ike dropped into the driver’s seat. Daisy noticed tears on Ike’s face and she put a hand on his shoulder. The young man bowed his head and began sobbing.
“I’m so sorry,” Ike mumbled between sobs. “I just feel like I’m losing my best friend.” In the back seat, Gwen broke down in her handkerchief.
Daisy sniffled and felt herself losing the composure she had regained. She wrapped an arm around Ike and said, “Ike, Jesse flies with some fine fellows, the best our country has. He’s not alone in this—don’t you fret.”
Ike’s sobbing slowed but his chest still heaved. Daisy noticed his hands shaking. She suggested that he sit in the back seat with Gwen for a bit while she got them back on the road. Daisy had never driven on a highway before but knew they had to begin the four-hour drive if they were to reach Hattiesburg by nightfall.