The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue.

by David Dennington

  The lights came back on.

  Meager, Lou, Wann and Norway walked the ship with flashlights. The repairs made to the fins had held up pretty well, but the underside of the starboard fin had sustained further damage: two twenty-foot tears this time. A gang of riggers was assembled and patching started.

  Howden R100 limped into Montreal at midnight and flew over the magnificent city of a million lights until dawn, weaving her way around numerous localized thunderstorms. At first light, Booth steered straight for the tower at St. Hubert to a cacophony of sounds. A loud brass band couldn’t be drowned by a cheering crowd of ten thousand who’d waited patiently through the night. When the sun came up, the size of their welcome became apparent: flags and bunting flew everywhere, huge placards of greeting, advertisements for beer, chewing gum and motor oil posted on every available surface. All roads to and from St. Hubert were jammed. The journey from Cardington had taken almost seventy-nine hours. This was indeed a moment for celebration—and relief!

  PART NINE

  TROUBLE IN AMERICA

  65

  EZEKIAH WASHINGTON

  Friday August 1, 1930.

  Lou boarded the Washingtonian from Montreal Station the day the airship landed at St. Hubert. This had been a day to remember, but hectic and tiring. He felt glad to be alone, at last. Everyone on the airship had been treated like royalty, from the officers, to the engineers and riggers. They weren’t used to being fussed over back home. The men sensed a lack of rank and class—that stuff didn’t seem so important here.

  Lou got the film star treatment. Girls gathered around him, some actually swooned—highly embarrassing but, he had to admit, a little satisfying. The press knew he was on board and anxious to meet the ‘American hero’ who’d survived the R38/ZR-2 disaster. It was a great angle that’d sell newspapers. One reporter told him, “Son, you should take your handsome looks and fame to Hollywood. You’d be a sensation!”

  Lou just laughed. He answered their questions with patience and good humor, making it plain he didn’t like the hero label. On this ship, they were all heroes; he wasn’t special. This made him even more popular and everyone wanted their picture taken with him. Lou was glad to get away; the focus needed to be on the British crew and the ship’s designers, including his good friend ‘Mr. Shute’ and ‘Mr. Shute’s’ boss, Sir Dennis, who got into top gear the moment he stepped off the ship. Howden R100 was his idea, his design and his airship. As soon as Lou could escape, he sent two wires. The first to Charlotte in Bedford:

  My darling Charlotte Arrived safely Thinking of you STOP Heading south today by train STOP Will wire later Love you Lou

  The second went to his family in Virginia:

  Dear All Landed Montreal Arriving Union Station 8 am Saturday August 2 Love Lou

  When he got close to the train, a portly steward studied him from beside the door. He was dressed in a crisp, white jacket and well-pressed black trousers. He bowed his domed head that shone like a clarinet, perfectly matching his patent leather shoes. He rubbed his huge hands together.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I’m honored to have you aboard my train,” he said, taking Lou’s kit bag. He led Lou to a luxurious sleeper suite. Lou glanced at the couch, the writing table and the pull-out bed.

  “There must be some mistake—this isn’t for me.”

  “Oh, it most certainly is, sir, yes indeedy,” the steward said, flashing an enormous smile, his perfect teeth as white as his jacket.

  “But—”

  “My name is Ezekiah Washington the Second and I’m here to take care of you,” he said, busily stashing Lou’s bag in a closet.

  “I can’t accept this.”

  “Why not? The train’s half empty and we’ve got to take care of our people—especially, you, sir.”

  “‘Our people’?”

  “Our brothers …our brothers-in-arms.” Ezekiah Washington’s wide, black nostrils flared for a second. “I know you were at the Front.” He pointed at the newspapers on the table. “I have the Washington Post and the New York Times here for you,” he said, his huge, brown eyes shining and radiating warmth.

  “How did you know who I was?”

  “You’re wearing the uniform of a lieutenant commander in the United States Navy—previously of the United States Marine Corps, sir—Belleau Wood right? I know exactly who you is,” he said, his voice gravelly and coarse. Lou appeared disappointed. “Don’t you worry, sir. I won’t tell a soul. I’m a veteran, too.”

  “Army?”

  “New York 369th. The Harlem Hellfighters, yes sir!”

  “France?”

  “The Argonne Forest. We were the first colored outfit in there.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know. You guys took a hell of a beating!”

  Ezekiah beamed with pride. “The French were good to me—awarded me the Croix de Guerre with gold palm. Even General Pershing said nice things about us. I was one of the lucky ones. Still am.”

  “I’m proud of you, man. And you made it back!” Lou said, nodding.

  “Yep, in one piece. My Lord and Savior Jesus brought me through. I was lucky to get my job back on the railway. The rest of ’em ain’t looking so good.”

  “Why, what’s happening to them?”

  “Thousands are down in D.C. You’ll see ’em when you get there. It’s a cryin’ shame, is what it is. They’re camped out down there in that bog hole, tryin’ to get the money the government promised ’em.”

  “What money?”

  “When they came home they were given government bonds, promising to pay ’em a bonus for their service to the country.”

  Lou remembered. He’d received bonds when he got back, but since he joined the Navy almost immediately, he’d stuck them a drawer in his mother’s chest and forgotten about them.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I got some, too. But I’m okay. I’ve got this job. The rest of our brothers are starving. They’re desperate.” Ezekiah’s eyes glistened now.

  Lou rested his elbow on the window ledge and looked out. This was truly depressing. He hadn’t realized things were this bad. He wished he’d taken more interest.

  “What about everybody else?”

  “The country’s in a terrible mess, millions out of work, thousands losing their homes. Banks a’ takin’ everythin’—hundreds killin’ ’emselves. It’s pitiful!” Ezekiah said. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  A commotion started up on the platform: Whistles blew, doors slammed, multiple voices yelled “All aboard!” The train lurched forward. Ezekiah cleared his throat and wiped away the tears on the back of his hand, recovering his demeanor.

  “They’ll be serving afternoon tea and sandwiches, if you’re hungry, sir,” Ezekiah said. “I can reserve you a place in the dining car, if you like.”

  “That would be great. I’ll come down, shortly. I’m starving.”

  “ ’Bout half an hour then, sir. I’ll have you a seat.”

  When the steward had gone, Lou picked up the Washington Post. The headlines confirmed what Ezekiah had said.

  The left-hand headline read:

  TEN THOUSAND MARCH ON CAPITAL

  The right-hand headline:

  BONUS ARMY REFUSES TO GIVE UP

  There were photographs of men in rags, marching on the streets of Washington, waving banners. BONUS NOW, read one. WE ARE YOUR SOLDIERS DON’T FORGET US, read another. Lou studied the article with concern for his home town, his veteran brothers-in-arms and his country. He wondered how his parents were faring.

  They must be okay, surely?

  His eye skipped to the bottom of the page. A small headline caught his eye and then a photograph of himself outside the Howden Court in 1922. He remembered them taking that picture. He’d been standing with Potter, but they’d cropped him out.

  Virginia Welcomes Favorite Son

  Hero of the ZR-2 due to arrive at Union Station

  Lt. Cmdr. Louis Remington is expected to arrive at St. Hubert’s, Montreal early
today aboard one of the largest airships ever to fly, British airship, Howden R100. Remington is serving as third officer on board and will play the same role aboard Cardington R101, another monster dirigible under construction by the British government. Remington has been serving as a special assistant to the Director of Development of British Airships at Cardington in Bedfordshire on behalf of the U.S. Navy throughout design of both airships. Remington is known for his bravery as chief petty officer aboard U.S. ZR-2 when that airship crashed into the River Humber in Yorkshire, in 1921, killing all but five of the British and American airshipmen on board. The flower of the British Airship industry was lost that day and due to his valuable knowledge and airship experience, Remington was seconded as a liaison officer by the British and attached to the Royal Air Force. The Lt. Commander was born in his grandmother’s farmhouse in Great Falls, Virginia in 1898. Remington is expected to arrive in the U.S. in the next day or so.

  Lou scratched his head in embarrassment. He went to the dining car for tea and ham sandwiches. He studied the other travelers. No one appeared happy. Some glanced at him and smiled, seeming to recognize him, but respecting his privacy. He supposed they were Americans returning from business trips, or visiting relatives. The American immigration officer politely welcomed him home.

  Later, Lou returned for dinner, where he had a decent steak. He struck up a conversation with a Canadian lumber salesman. “The U.S. economy is in dire straits,” the man said. “These are desperate times we’re living in. And it’s all Hoover’s fault!”

  Lou returned to his car and sat on the couch, put his feet up, and read the rest of the newspapers. The steward reappeared and offered him a drink. He ordered black coffee and a Jack and Coke. It felt good to be home, but he found the news troubling. He slept well, lulled by the rocking motion and clicking wheels over the long North American tracks.

  Lou was vaguely aware of coming into New York’s Penn Station, disturbed by slamming doors and the general bustle of hundreds on the move. He faded in and out until the train got underway again. He slept deeply until there came a gentle tapping on the door. He woke up confused and disappointed, expecting Charlotte to be lying beside him.

  “Sir, it’s six-thirty. They’re serving breakfast now,” Ezekiah called.

  Lou sat up. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  He got up and washed his face in the sink. An hour later he sat with his kitbag, ready for Washington D.C. The train began slowing down as Ezekiah came in.

  “The train always stops here for ten minutes—sometimes longer, going into Union. You might as well relax, sir,” he said.

  As they came to a halt beside a stationary freight train, two men chased down and cornered two filthy wretches beneath Lou’s window. He watched in horror. Despite their pleas, they were beaten mercilessly with billy clubs until blood ran from their heads and down their faces. Ezekiah stood at the window beside Lou.

  “It ain’t right what they do to our brothers. Look at ’em. It’s disgusting.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The ones with the clubs are railway police. They’re just thugs is what they is.”

  “What the hell is going on in my country?” Lou said, jumping up. He rushed to the door, jumped down from the train into the gravel, and ran over to the men with the clubs. “Leave these men alone,” he shouted.

  “Get back on the train, sailor. We’re railway police,” one said holding up a badge.

  “And these men are veterans. Leave them alone.” Lou turned to the men on the ground. “Where you guys tryin’ to get to?”

  “Anacostia, sir.”

  “These here men have been ridin’ the rails illegally. They’re under arrest.” Lou stepped forward to help one of the beaten men to his feet.

  “Step away,” the one with the badge ordered, drawing a gun.

  Lou jumped him in a flash, putting his arm in a lock. The gun fell from his hand and Lou wrenched it upwards and bent the fingers of the gun hand backwards, breaking them. He then methodically yanked the man’s thumb out of its socket.

  “Ah, jeez!” the man screamed. His partner froze.

  Lou dumped the first man down like a sack of turnips and moved toward the other man.

  “I don’t want no trouble, mister,” the second man pleaded.

  Lou picked up the gun, emptied the bullets on the ground, and threw it across the tracks. “Back up, right now!” Lou shouted.

  The man obeyed. Lou pulled the two veterans to their feet.

  “D.C. right?” Lou asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get on that train.”

  Lou led them to the door where Ezekiah waited to give them a hand up. He took them to a quiet car and gave them wet towels to clean up the blood. Lou pulled the train door shut and on cue, the train moved forward.

  66

  UNION STATION

  Saturday August 2, 1930.

  The Washingtonian rolled into Union Station and, after trying to give Ezekiah Washington the Second a crisp dollar bill, Lou hoisted his kit bag onto his shoulder and marched down the platform with the two veterans he’d rescued. He tried to spot his brother within the crowd gathered at the barrier. Some were dressed in business suits. Many others were in tatters and disheveled—homeless perhaps. Lou assumed they were waiting for a congressman or a senator. Then he heard shouts.

  “Look, this must be him!”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “I see him.”

  The ticket collector glanced at the two scruffy veterans with Lou, about to say something. “These men are with me. Any problem?” Lou said.

  “Go right ahead, sir. If they’re with you, that’s good enough for me,” the man said, waving them through.

  The small crowd broke into spontaneous applause and a few cheers. A couple of men in trilbys were holding Speed Graphics. Flashbulbs went off. Lou couldn’t understand what the fuss was about.

  They must think I’m someone else.

  Then he remembered the newspaper article. Standing apart from the crowd, he noticed two people beside a column. They looked familiar. She reminded him of his mother.

  Oh my goodness, it’s Anna and Tom!

  The crowd swarmed around Lou before he could get to them. Reporters peppered him with questions. “Are you home to stay, Commander Remington?”

  “How was your airship flight, sir?”

  “How long are you here for?”

  “We read you got married in England.”

  “Tell us about your wife.”

  “Have you gotten over the crash of ZR-2?”

  “Can airships really ever be safe?”

  “Are you going back to England?”

  “What do you think about the Bonus Army?”

  “D’you think they should get the money?”

  One of the men in rags stepped forward. He reeked. People backed away in disgust, screwing up their faces.

  “Lou, d’you remember me?” he asked, his voice plaintive.

  Lou studied him. He was about his own age, but in poor physical condition; his face was filthy, hair long and greasy, a front tooth missing, the rest discolored and about to fall out.

  “It’s me, Henry—Saint-Mihiel—France!”

  Good God, it’s Henry Faulkner! He was behind me at Verdun somewhere in that last attack.

  He hadn’t seen Henry since that horrible morning of eleven, eleven. Lou had been taken to a field hospital. It was all a blur; chaos had followed the official ending of the war at 11:00 a.m. He assumed most of his buddies were dead. Lou took the man’s grimy hand.

  “Yes, of course I remember you, Henry. I thought—”

  “No, I survived, but we might as well be dead. We need your help, sir—real bad.”

  Henry thrust a piece of scrap paper at Lou. “I’ve written down where you can find us—Tent City in Anacostia. Just ask for me. We must talk to you.”

  “I’ll come. I promise,” Lou said.

  “There’s so much you can do to
help us, Lou.”

  Lou pointed to the two men he’d brought with him on the train. “Henry, do what you can for these two men,” he said, slipping a few dollar bills into his hand.

  The crowd listened in rapt attention, while reporters scribbled madly.

  “I must go. My family’s waiting for me,” Lou said, raising his voice.

  “Where are you staying, sir?” a reporter called.

  Lou didn’t answer. He smiled and moved toward his brother and sister.

  “You won’t forget us?” Henry shouted.

  “I’ll come as soon as I can,” Lou yelled back over his shoulder.

  Before Lou got away, a man and a woman stopped him. They were about fifty-five, dressed casually, but decently. The man put his hand on Lou’s arm. “Excuse me, Commander Remington, I’m Daniel Jenco—Bobby’s father—Bobby Jenco—you remember our Bobby, don’t you?”

  Lou’s heart skipped a beat. This was exactly what he’d always dreaded.

  “Bobby was on ZR-2 with you,” the man said, his eyes sad and penetrating. Lou could see the resemblance to Bobby. The crowd closed in around them once more, the reporters wide-eyed, eager like wolves.

  “Josh Stone told us what you did—how you threw Bobby your own parachute …”

  “Oh, er, Josh, well—”

  “We came down from Baltimore to personally thank you for trying to save our boy.”

  They put their arms out and hugged Lou. He suddenly remembered the two pregnant girls at the court of inquiry. “Did you know you have a grandchild?” Lou said. They looked stunned and thrilled at the same time.

  “No, nobody told us—”

  “I talked with your son, just before the ship broke up. He told me he was going to ask the girl to marry him that same evening—a nurse.”

  Overwhelmed, Bobby’s mother began to cry.

  “The child would be about eight or nine now, I guess,” Lou said.