Of Windmills and War

by Diane Moody

He locked eyes with her as he shook his head. “No. Not yet. Not until we know.”

  “Sweetheart, that could take weeks. You can’t miss your classes, and more important, you can’t miss finals.”

  “How can I possibly concentrate on finals with all this going on? Everything’s changed now. Who knows, maybe they’ll cancel school for the rest of the semester.”

  “I doubt that. Go back and throw yourself into your studies. If —I mean, when we hear something, I’ll call you immediately. I promise.”

  He released her hand, raking his fingers through his hair. “I suppose that makes sense. I guess.”

  “Of course it does. Now go put your suit on. I don’t want to be late to church.”

  Later, as they walked the five blocks to church, they were shocked to find a steady stream of cars and pedestrians all headed in the same direction. Along the way, American flags waved in the brisk breeze, on one front porch after another. Turning the corner, they were stunned to see a long line of people all trying to get into the church building.

  “Look at that, son. And don’t ever forget what you see. The United States may be many things, but we are above all a nation that loves and trusts God. When we are troubled or worried, we come together and ask for God’s mercy and protection.”

  In the days following the tragedy at Pearl Harbor, Americans slowly began learning details of the unprecedented attack by the Japanese. On November 26, just six days after Americans celebrated Thanksgiving, the massive fleet had left its home base in the waters of Tankan Bay back in Japan. Aboard six aircraft carriers—Akagi, Kaga, Hiryu, Shokakus, Soryu, and Zuikaku—hundreds of planes were transported on the quiet ten day voyage to the waters just shy of the island of Oahu. Under strict order of radio silence, the fleet sailed under the command of Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo at the directive of Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, Commander in Chief of the entire Japanese fleet and architect of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

  Around 7:00 on the morning of the attack, two young Army privates on duty at the Opana Point Radar Station in Oahu reported seeing a large group of planes on radar heading their direction. When the morning duty officer informed them it was probably a squadron of B-17s that were due in that morning, the privates relaxed and ignored the large blips on their screens.

  By 7:30, the first squadron of Japanese fighter planes flew over Oahu, circling the island as they waited for the rest of the 183 planes in that first wave. They struck their first target on Pearl’s naval base and the nearby air base at Hickam Field at 7:53. The second wave of attacks began dropping their bombs at 8:55. Many civilian areas of the island, including Honolulu, were also targeted. By 10:00 that morning it was all over. The Japanese, having successfully achieved the ultimate element of surprise, headed back to their aircraft carriers some 200 miles off the coast of Oahu. In the end, the entire Pacific fleet was gutted, and America hungered for revenge.

  Not knowing Joey’s fate was excruciating. With each passing day, Danny and his parents grew more frustrated at the inability to find out if Joey’s ship was one of those sunk or damaged, and whether or not he was still alive. They’d tried calling, they’d sent telegrams, they’d contacted their elected representatives. But America was in a state of mass confusion, and so they waited.

  Listening to radio reports and reading newspaper stories only added to the confusion. Stories were told as fact only to be retracted later as false. News and radio sources in Hawaii were immediately shut down after the attack. Early on, it was reported that the Battleship West Virginia had been sunk and the USS Oklahoma was badly damaged and eventually capsized. Those reports were quickly flagged as false, but caused tremendous anxiety for the McClains and the other families of those on board those ships. Soon after, the Secretary of War issued a statement that families would be notified first by letter or telegram. When such casualties were made public, the Navy refused to list which ship the individuals had served on, hoping to slow the rumors.

  In a radio address on the evening of December 10, President Roosevelt assured the loved ones of those injured or killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor they would be contacted as quickly as possible. Then he blasted those who gave out “disinformation” in the form of half-truths, unsubstantiated reports, or blatant rumors, while reminding the newspapers and radio stations of their “grave responsibility” for the duration of the war:

  “But in the absence of all the facts, as revealed by official sources—you have no right in the ethics of patriotism to deal out unconfirmed reports in such a way as to make people believe they are the gospel truth. The lives of our soldiers and sailors—the whole future of this nation—depend upon the manner in which each and every one of us fulfills his obligation to our country.”

  But rumors continued to run wild. Some claimed Japan was simultaneously attacking other Allied countries. Many believed Washington D.C. would be Japan’s next target. Others warned that Germany would soon follow Japan’s lead, including supposed sightings of swastikas on some of the planes that attacked Hawaii. The mayor of New York City told his citizens they could expect a visit from the Axis bombers at any time, causing extreme panic throughout the large metropolitan city. The entire west coast, fearful of Japanese attack, sabotage, and infiltration, started immediate blackouts and began rounding up Japanese nationals. These roundups would eventually spread across America, placing these individuals and their families in immigration detention centers or internment camps while all Japanese banks, businesses, and newspapers were forced to shut down.

  At the same time, Americans united as never before and stepped up to serve however they could. Nowhere was that more evident than the recruiting stations of the various branches of the military. As early as the evening of December 7, these offices began staying open around the clock to accommodate the huge numbers of those wanting to enlist. Red Cross stations were swarmed with Americans wanting to donate and help out however they could.

  But none of that mattered to Danny and his family as they waited for news about Joey.

  Then, early on the morning of Christmas Eve, the McClain’s doorbell rang. Danny and his mother and father looked at each other across the kitchen table as Sophie barked and rushed to the door. Over the past two and a half weeks, the ringing of the telephone, a knock on the door, or the sound of the doorbell had filled them with a sense of dread mixed with hope. Danny bolted for the front door, his parents close behind him.

  “Telegram,” the Western Union messenger announced, handing Danny the yellow envelope.

  “Thanks,” he said without thinking as he handed it to his mother.

  With trembling hands she dropped the precious telegram. Frank bent down and picked it up then tore it open. He quickly scanned the message. A gasp caught somewhere inside, prompting him to raise a fist to his mouth.

  Then, with a quivering voice barely audible he said, “He’s alive.”

  29

  When Pearl Harbor was attacked on December 7, the USS Oklahoma was moored in Battleship Row next to the USS Maryland. The Oklahoma was one of the first ships attacked, taking three torpedo hits almost as soon as the Japanese began dropping bombs. As she began to capsize, two more torpedoes struck her causing her to roll over until her masts touched bottom. It took only twelve minutes before she came to rest with her starboard side above water.

  Apparently that previous “unsubstantiated” report had been accurate after all.

  Four hundred and twenty-nine of her officers and enlisted men were killed that day. Only thirty-two survived—including Petty Officer Joey McClain of Chicago, Illinois.

  The telegram from the Department of War informed them he was “seriously wounded” but alive.

  As his mother wept freely, she kept saying over and over, “The best Christmas present ever—our Joey’s alive! He’s alive!”

  Dad had quickly retreated to his downstairs refuge. Through the course of the day, Danny and his mother had voiced all kinds of speculations concerning Joey’s injuries and when they might
hear from him. But in the end, all that mattered was that he was alive.

  The day after Christmas, another telegram arrived. In it, a Navy doctor by the name of Benjamin Hurley wrote them a brief message about the extent of Joey’s injuries.

  PETTY OFFICER JOSEPH FRANK MCCLAIN REMAINS SEDATED. SEVERE BURNS ON 50% OF HIS BODY. WILL UPDATE RECOVERY FORTHWITH.

  January 1942

  Danny still felt numb as he returned to Northwestern after the Christmas break. The image of his brother lying helpless in a military hospital gnawed at him day and night, balanced only by the burning frustration of the thousands of miles between them. He wanted nothing more than to hop on a plane with his mother and be at Joey’s bedside to encourage him through his recovery. But in the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor, civilians were not yet permitted to travel to Hawaii.

  He hated to leave his mother, especially since his dad was no support whatsoever, still in a shroud of silence since receiving word of Joey’s injuries. Danny had to admire his mother’s faith. She didn’t care what shape her oldest son was in, as long as he was alive. He wished with all his heart he felt the same way, but he didn’t. Danny kept trying to put himself in Joey’s place. Would he want to live with a body so severely damaged? Or worse, could he handle the mental and emotional trauma inflicted by such injuries? He knew Joey would be able to handle it much better than he would. Still, Danny hated all the thoughts that buzzed incessantly in his head.

  For now, at least he had school to help distract his thoughts.

  School and Beverly.

  They had talked a couple of times over Christmas break. He’d missed her terribly, and even contemplated taking the train up to see her in Madison. But he knew his place was at home, helping his mother get through the long days of waiting for more news about Joey. Once he and Beverly both returned to campus, she’d been the perfect antidote for the darkness of the holidays. Any moment he wasn’t in class or working, they were together.

  The campus they returned to was not the Northwestern they’d left. In fact, most of America had changed drastically in the weeks since the attack on Pearl Harbor. As the country moved into a lock-down mindset, students at Northwestern made adjustments to the necessary restrictions. Normally, most of the college dances were held off-campus—primarily because NU was an alcohol-free campus. But with the country at war, most campus activities were confined to campus-only events. The Wildcat Capers, the Second Semester Stomp, and the Sophomore Cotillion relocated to Scott Hall or the new Patten Gym.

  Perhaps the most noticeable change on campus was the large presence of Navy personnel. Northwestern administrators welcomed the servicemen who resided on campus while completing their military training. At first Danny warmed to the idea of sharing a campus with the cadets, admiring them for their service. The familiar uniforms always reminded him of Joey and his sacrifice.

  But a strange thing began to happen. With the pervasive sense of patriotism sweeping across America, these cadets didn’t hesitate to taunt the other males on campus who’d received deferments simply because they were enrolled in college. Harassing their male counterparts became a favorite pastime for the sailors.

  “Think you’re too good to fight for your country, boy?”

  “Scared you might break a nail, freshman?”

  “Not my fault your girl prefers a man in uniform!”

  Danny made a conscious decision not to engage the sailors and their verbal abuse when they crossed paths. They had no way of knowing his brother had paid dearly at Pearl Harbor, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

  By the end of January, Danny’s parents had finally received the long-awaited phone call from Joey.

  “He sounded good, Danny, all things considered,” Mom said. “You know your brother—he cracked a few jokes, insisting he’d faked his burns just so the pretty nurses would fuss over him. But when he tried to tell us about the attack, he broke down. I’m ashamed to say, while I was so worried about Joey and his injuries, I’d never once thought about all the friends he’d lost. He was more concerned about the families of his buddies and their loss than about his own situation.”

  She’d paused, and Danny had wondered if he’d lost their phone connection. “Mom? Are you there?”

  She sniffed then answered, “Yes, honey, I’m here. I’m just so proud of Joey and how he’s handling all this. He’s grown up so much since he left home. But I guess war does that.”

  “It’s made us all grow up in one way or another.”

  “I suppose it has. Anyway, the good news is that Joey will be moved stateside in the next few weeks. They’re sending him to Bethesda Naval Hospital near Washington, D.C.”

  “We’ll go see him as soon as he gets there, okay?”

  “Yes, dear. As soon as we can.”

  When their call ended, Danny stood still, his forehead pressed against the wall above the telephone on his dorm floor. I can’t believe I ever wallowed in pity for Joey, wondering how I would handle getting burned and maimed if it had been me. Joey’s twice the man I’ll ever be. Then he chuckled, imagining his brother carrying on with all those pretty nurses and realized he couldn’t wait to see him again.

  On a surprisingly warm Thursday in March, Danny and his parents made the long drive to Washington after learning Joey had finally arrived stateside. Even his father’s ever-grumpy demeanor couldn’t deter Danny and his mother’s anticipation of finally getting to see Joey face to face. As they arrived at Bethesda Naval Hospital, they were escorted up to the burn unit. After a quick meeting with Joey’s doctor, briefing them about his prognosis and anticipated recovery, they were finally led down the hall to Joey’s room.

  “Petty Officer McClain, you have some special visitors who are quite anxious to see you,” Dr. Shepherd announced, leading them into the six-bed room.

  There, third bed on the right, Danny spotted the lazy smile of his only brother. His eyes filled as a lump lodged in his throat. An unexpected rush of relief washed over him. As Mom rushed to Joey’s side, Danny tried to compose himself.

  “Mom . . . Dad,” Joey started, coughing over his emotion. “It’s about time you got here.”

  Dr. Shepherd pulled the white curtain around Joey’s bed. “I wish we could offer you more privacy, but please—have a seat and take your time. I’ll check back with you later.” He shook Dad’s hand and disappeared behind the curtain.

  “Joey . . . oh, son,” Mom cried, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “I want so much to hug you, but—”

  Danny hadn’t known what to expect. None of the reports had ever specified where Joey’s burns were. Now, seeing his gauze-wrapped arms, torso, and neck, he silently thanked God that his brother’s face had been spared.

  “I know, Mom, but we’ll have time for that later after all this heals up. I promise.” Joey gave her his signature wink.

  Dad had made his way to the other side of Joey’s bed, removing his hat. “Joey . . . I, uh . . .” His face crumbled as he too was overcome by emotion.

  Joey slowly raised his arm toward his father, extending the only two fingers not bandaged. As his fingers reached his dad’s hand, Frank looked up with tears streaming down his face. He gently grasped those two fingers then leaned over to bring them to his lips.

  “Now, Dad, don’t go all mushy on me.”

  For the first time in more than three months, Danny heard the sound of his father’s laughter. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, son.”

  “Danny! Come here and let me take a look at you.”

  As Dad stepped aside, Danny slid in closer to his brother’s bedside. “Hey, Joey. It’s good to see you.”

  “I’d muss up that hair of yours, but I’m a little indisposed at the moment.” He shrugged, reaching out his fingers.

  Danny reached out for them, tweaking them gently. “It’s a good thing you look good in white.”

  “No kidding. So what’s it like being at college? I was hoping you’d show up in purple, Mr. Wildcat.”

 
; “Not gonna happen, sailor.”

  “That’s Petty Officer McClain to you, boy.”

  The banter continued, bridging the emotion swirling around them. They avoided any mention of the war or Pearl Harbor, finding refuge in the mere joy of being together again. Over the next two days, they spent as much time with Joey as visiting hours allowed.

  On Sunday morning, they stopped by for one last visit before heading back home. None of them wanted to say goodbye, stalling until the last possible moment.

  “Dad, before you go there’s something I want to ask,” Joey said after taking a sip of water through a straw.

  “What’s that?”

  “I know it’s gonna be a while before I get out of here, and I know I’ve got a lot of physical therapy before I get to come home. But I was wondering . . .” He scratched his left eyebrow. “I was kind of hoping you’d consider letting me come to work for you at the theater. Maybe teach me about the movie business.”

  Frank blinked, then blinked again. “Well, now.” He looked across at his wife whose smile brightened her whole face. He coughed a couple of times, then looked back at Joey. “I think we might be able to work that out. If that’s what you’d really like?”

  Joey nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I think it’s exactly what I’d like.”

  30

  Spring 1942

  With spring in the air, the Northwestern campus came alive much like the lustrous green ivy crawling up the walls of Deering Library. Spring fever drew students out for sunny picnics on the Quad and moonlight strolls along Lake Michigan. Even professors couldn’t resist the warm weather, many holding classes outdoors in the Deering meadow. Baseball games, track meets, Navy ROTC parades accompanied by the Drum and Bugle Corps, glee club concerts, stage plays, and interfraternity competitions all kept students entertained. The 1942 Waa-Mu Show, the annual musical production always written and produced by Northwestern students, was the most popular event of the spring semester. This year’s musical, “Wish You Were Here,” drew record crowds for every performance.