Maria, Todd, Elaine, and Murat had not had any formal first-aid training, but their quick actions most probably saved Virginia’s life. They determined that a tourniquet was needed to halt the bleeding, so they tore off articles of their clothing to make one. They made a pillow for her head out of someone’s hunting vest and covered her with a coat when she had begun to tremble from shock. A discussion ensued among them on the best way to get her to the car. In the end, they fashioned a stretcher with the remaining hunting coats and their now unloaded guns to carry her. Virginia was aware of arriving at the car before everything faded to black.
Amputation of limbs was a form of surgery that had been performed routinely on the battlefields of World War I. With no means for reconstruction and only sulfa drugs available as an antibiotic (penicillin was not put into general use until 1941), amputation was frequently a doctor’s only choice to save his patient. Military medical books at the time state that although immediate amputation is not indicated in traumas caused by bullets, it is certainly necessary in cases of confirmed gangrene. It is also necessary when a limb is completely smashed or torn off by a large projectile or fragment. Virginia’s injuries included both of these dim scenarios.
Because of the gun’s proximity to her body, the shotgun pellets destroyed Virginia’s foot. It caused extensive soft-tissue and bone damage. In addition, the wound had been badly contaminated by environmental material— fragments from her boot, the grass she fell on, the clothing her friends had used to cover her. By the time the very shaken group arrived at the hospital in Smyrna, more than an hour had passed since the accident, and infection had already begun to set in.
Although the utmost was done to treat Virginia’s wound, there was no way to adequately manage the infection. Evidence of gangrene appeared and Dr. Lorrin Shepard, head of the Istanbul American Hospital, was rushed to Smyrna. He determined that a BK amputation, the removal of her leg below the knee, was the only course of action possible to save Virginia’s life. As she was unconscious, Dr. Shepard was unable to discuss the situation with her. Nor was he willing to risk waiting for her to come to.
Even before word of the accident had reached her mother in Baltimore, Virginia Hall was being taken into the hospital’s surgical ward, where her life would be changed forever. The surgeons waiting there would have been astounded had they known the patient lying before them would soon play an integral part in the greatest war the world has ever known.
2
First Steps
Virginia floated in and out of consciousness following her surgery. During her conscious moments, which early on were accompanied by nausea from the ether she’d been given during the amputation, she attempted to recreate the events that had brought her to the hospital. She remembered the hunting expedition and the fact that she’d been injured, but nearly everything after leaving the field was a blur. During a brief segment of consciousness she had asked about her leg and was told that it had been amputated as a result of the injury.
However, thinking about the drastic life changes that would now occur was not what consumed the hours. It was her torturous pain, a red-hot burning that spread from her left hip to the tips of her now absent left toes. A different position in the bed might have alleviated the torment, but her body was so weakened from the surgery she was unable to gather the strength to move. Dr. Shepard was attempting to manage Virginia’s pain with a steady dose of morphine and this brought another complication: the vivid dreams and delusions common to those on the powerful drug. The combination of excruciating agony and morphine-induced hallucinations even led Virginia to absurd thoughts of freedom from the misery through death.
From behind her mental haze, Virginia was completely unaware of the outstanding care she was receiving. Dr. Shepard and two American nurses watched her closely the first twenty-four hours to be sure that there was no more evidence of gangrene. Additional infection would mean further surgery and an above-the-knee amputation, which would leave a far less desirable result. The shorter leg stump would be more difficult to fit with a workable prosthesis.
On the second night after surgery, a most unusual event unfolded in Virginia’s hospital room. She lay alone in a semiconscious state, when she had the sense that someone had approached the side of her bed. Standing there was her father, Edwin Hall. Virginia was flabbergasted. Her father had died in Baltimore two years earlier. She had watched the coffin containing his body being lowered into the ground. Yet there he was, smiling down at her, wearing a dapper gray business suit just as he had done almost every day of his life.
The next thing Virginia was aware of was her father lifting her out of the hospital bed. She floated in his arms to a nearby chair where they sat down together, with her on his lap as if she were a small child.
“I know you’re in a great deal of pain, Dindy,” Edwin Hall said. The nickname brought a faint smile to Virginia’s lips. When she was born, her brother, John, two years older, had been unable to say Virginia. The closest he could come was “Dindy” and the name had stuck.
“And I know that it seems as though your pain is endless,” her father continued, rocking her gently as he spoke. “Can you be strong, Dindy? Your mother needs you very much. She’s terribly upset by the news of your accident. If you don’t survive, dear little Dindy, she’ll be heartbroken.
“But if, Dindy, it’s more than you can bear, I’ll return for you tomorrow night to take you away from the pain.”
Virginia felt herself floating in her father’s arms again back to her bed. She remembered nothing else from that night, neither seeing nor hearing anything more until the next morning when the nurses rustling around her room woke her. Through parched lips, she asked them about her visitor the previous night.
“Why, my dear,” the older of the two nurses told her, “there was no one here. No visitors are allowed after hours.”
But the memory of her father’s visit was powerfully vivid. The man had looked like Edwin Hall and had sounded like him. He had even smelled like the elder Hall, a mixture of pipe smoke and bay rum. Virginia would swear the rest of her life that he had been with her that night.
For the moment she let the subject drop. But from that point on, Virginia’s recovery would proceed at an amazing velocity. Her father had asked her to fight and that was exactly what she intended to do. Marshaling the same kind of resolute spirit he and her grandfather had been known for, she became determined to survive and to live as normal a life as anyone else. After all, President Roosevelt had overcome his handicap; there was no reason why she couldn’t do the same. And her dream of a Foreign Service career would merely be delayed.
As the days passed and Virginia’s strength grew, she had time to reflect on her life thus far. Her fascination with the world had begun at an early age. She made her first trip to Europe in 1909 at the age of three. It was a time when it was not unusual for wealthy families, like the Halls, to take an extended holiday to see the world’s sights. They traveled by ship in elegant staterooms, ate fine foods, and celebrated the good life at sea. Once in Europe, the same privileged lifestyle prevailed. And although she was very young, Virginia soaked up the exotic cultures like a tiny sponge.
The family made another trip to Europe while Virginia was on vacation from her studies at Baltimore’s Roland Park Country Day School. This trip gave her the opportunity to practice the foreign languages she excelled in. And the seed of an idea for her future began to germinate.
“The only way for a woman to get ahead in the world,” Virginia told her high school chums at graduation in 1924, “is to get an education.” They loved her and knew her well enough to describe her perfectly in the senior yearbook.
The “Donna Juanita” of the class now approaches. Though professing to hold Man in contempt, Dindy is yet his closest counterpart—in costume. She is, by her own confession, cantankerous and capricious, but in spite of it all we would not do without her; for she is our class president, the editor-in-chief
of this book, and one of the mainstays of the basketball and hockey teams. She has been acclaimed the most original of our class, and she lives up to her reputation at all times. The one thing to expect from Dindy is the unexpected.
So while her friends were planning marriages and families, Virginia was planning for college and a career. She went first to Radcliff and then Barnard College, but the classes held no spark for her. What was lacking, she decided, was the romance and intensity of an education in Europe.
Edwin Hall and his wife, Barbara, were very modern thinkers. Sending their young, single, unchaperoned daughter to Europe to pursue her studies was not at all exceptional to their way of thinking, even if, in 1926, it was to others. So later that year, Virginia arrived in France and enrolled at the Sorbonne and the Ecole des Services Politiques in Paris. A year later, she was accepted at the Konsular Akademie in Vienna, where she graduated in 1929. And while the idea of becoming involved in Foreign Service had been a small glimmer back in high school, Virginia was now equipped with skills she hoped the State Department would find useful.
She first applied for a consular position in October of 1929 at the age of twenty-three, while a graduate student at American University in Washington, DC. She listed herself as being in perfect physical condition and fluent in French and German, with a fair knowledge of Italian. The ensuing months merged into years as the wheels of government churned slowly. Every aspect of Virginia’s life was carefully researched. She provided reference letters from attorneys and bankers, business associates of her father’s. Even the Halls’ neighbors were interviewed, giving Mrs. Hall cause to wonder if the job her daughter was applying for was more dangerous than she had previously thought.
Finally, on July 27, 1931, Virginia began her first job with the State Department at the American Embassy in Warsaw, Poland. Her job as clerk earned her an annual salary of $2,000. Ambassador John Willye thought highly of her, reporting that she had a “prepossessing personality,” and was “adaptable, alert and interested in her work.” Never having had any previous work experience and no formal training in typing or stenography, her performance of clerical duties was a little lacking. Nonetheless, Ambassador Willye felt she had “no lack of service spirit” and her “co-operation with others on staff [was] excellent.”
Virginia immersed herself in life in Warsaw, embracing its food, sights, and customs. Furthermore, the city was not just the city of her first job. It was also the city in which she fell in love. His name was Emil Stanisz. He was a junior officer in the Polish army, the son of a decorated Great War veteran who had died on the battlefield. Emil and his four younger siblings lived with their mother in an apartment not far from the Vistula River, which ran through the center of Warsaw. One of Emil’s assignments included escorting Polish officials to the American Embassy and it was there that he and Virginia met.
Virginia found herself looking for tasks that would allow her to hover near the embassy’s entrance on days when Polish officials were expected. Emil spoke very little English, and Virginia was not yet adept at Polish, but they discovered they were both fluent in German. What began as a friendship flowered. Their dates included strolls through Old Town Warsaw, on cobbled streets amid Gothic and Baroque buildings. They drank kawa, strong Polish coffee, at sidewalk cafés and had long discussions about world affairs.
Virginia would never have guessed it was possible to feel so many emotions simultaneously: the warmth and comfort of a companion, and the heady thrill that washed over her each time she saw Emil. It had to be love.
But, after a glorious Christmas season during which they were inseparable, Virginia could see strain on Emil’s face. As 1933 dawned, he became more reserved with her. Finally, one snowy Sunday afternoon in January, he came to her flat wearing an extremely grave look.
Emil explained that ever since his father had died, his mother relied heavily on him; he was the eldest of her children and the family’s major wage earner. His mother’s health was poor, he told Virginia—a fact compounded by her fears that if Emil fell in love, married, and left his mother, no one would care for her in her old age.
Virginia understood completely. She had worried about her own widowed mother. But, she pointed out to Emil, between the two of them, and all his brothers and sisters, his mother would be very well cared for.
Emil shook his head. Each time he talked of Virginia or their future, his mother would suddenly become faint and be bedridden for days. She wouldn’t see anyone, even a doctor. And she told Emile just the mention of “the American” made her heart race unnaturally. He feared that one day her heart would just stop beating.
Virginia suddenly realized that it was not the mother’s heart that was in question, but rather Emil’s. His mother was simply not pleased at the prospect of her son marrying an American.
They discussed it a few more times, but the conclusion remained the same. Emil said he’d be unable to continue seeing Virginia until his mother’s health improved. The truth was so obvious: the elder woman’s health would never improve as long as “the American” was in the picture.
This was a first for Virginia. In every aspect of her life, whatever she had wanted, she had achieved through hard work and determination. But in this matter, resolve would prove useless. Disappointment, helplessness, and a broken heart brought Virginia to what she thought would be the lowest point in her life.
Remaining in Warsaw simply became too painful. So Virginia sent a request to the State Department asking for a transfer in posts. As it happened, the consulate in Smyrna was in need of a clerk. Virginia’s final thoughts as her train pulled out of the Warsaw station in April 1933 were of how life-altering her break with Emil had been. Of course she had no way of knowing that by the end of that year, her life would be drastically altered yet again.
By mid-January 1934, Dr. Shepard felt Virginia was well enough to be transferred to the American Hospital in Istanbul. And she was pronounced fit for travel back to the United States in late February. As Virginia left Turkey, it wasn’t only the anticipation of returning home that filled her thoughts. Although she was looking forward to seeing her family and home after living abroad nearly three years, her thoughts were consumed with the day she could resume her duties with the State Department.
Virginia’s destination was the family’s Box Horn Farm, which sat on some of the most lush acres in Maryland. The tranquil, rolling hills encompassed woods and orchards, a small stream-fed pond, and miles of riding trails. The barn was home to chickens, cows, goats, and horses, and the farmyard had been jail and infirmary to myriad wild animals, captured or saved, depending on one’s point of view.
It was a magical place to grow up. Virginia and her brother learned to hunt, catch and clean their own fish, and milk cows. Virginia thought nothing of de-scenting a skunk or collecting snakes. In fact, her reptile companions accompanied her to school numerous times. On one occasion, Virginia arrived with what her teacher thought was a pretty new bracelet. On further investigation, she realized the “bracelet” was moving, and to her horror, saw that it was a snake.
The Hall family maintained a residence in Baltimore for the purposes of Edwin’s business. But whenever they could, they traveled the twenty miles to Box Horn. The stately three-story house had a mansard roof and five bedrooms. There was running water but no central heating. The Halls relied on fireplaces and woodstoves for comfort in the cold months. Attached to the large kitchen were a laundry, storage room, and a small dairy, where milk from the farm’s cows was processed for their consumption. The living room and library were filled with books to satisfy the Halls’ keen appetite for reading, and the dining room cabinets displayed an impressive collection of silver and fine china.
Box Horn Farm’s grounds included a sun-dappled tennis court, a small kitchen garden for the family’s use, lush acres planted in soy beans, and a house for the tenant farmer who acted as caretaker.
From the moment Virginia arrived at Box Horn, she was eager
to begin making preparations for an artificial leg. The idea of adapting to a prosthesis was not the least bit daunting to her. She figured it probably had the same kind of learning curve as a foreign language or any other skill she had mastered; it would simply require practice for perfection.
But before she could be fit with an artificial leg, it was necessary for the swelling in her stump to abate. To speed that process, her leg had been wrapped and massaged while she was in Turkey. In addition, the skin at the end of the stump also had to develop beyond just a post-operative scar. Because it would be in constant contact with the prosthetic leg, tender, new skin would not be able to tolerate the constant friction.
The artificial leg itself began as a block of wood slightly thicker than her own leg had been. A hole was bored into one end of the block and tapered exactly to fit and support the remainder of her left leg. A knee joint wasn’t needed, as Virginia’s own knee had been spared from amputation. Once a perfect fit was made at the contact point, the interior was varnished for smoothness. Then the rest of the block was hollowed out. When wearing the prosthesis, Virginia would don a “stump sock,” a woolen sock that would pad her skin, reduce the friction of movement against the wood, and absorb perspiration.
Next, work began on the exterior. In preparation for a prosthesis, Dr. Shepard had taken careful measurements of Virginia’s amputated leg and foot at the time of her surgery. These he sent to her doctors in Baltimore, who in turn made them available to the prosthetist.
A wooden foot was attached to the leg on an axis, giving it play. It had a rubber sole that would smooth out her gait as she walked. Once the leg had been sufficiently shaped and sanded by hand, horsehide was stretched on it and the seven-pound limb was sealed and painted. A leather corset was attached to the top of the prosthesis, which laced up Virginia’s thigh. Elastic straps fastened to either side of the corset and extended up to her waist where they attached to a belt. The leg took two weeks to construct at a cost of $125.
The Wolves at the Door: The True Story of America's Greatest Female Spy Page 2