“I could get used to this,” she joked.
“See,” he smiled back. “This arrangement could have its benefits.”
They had coffee and pie for dessert. Mrs. Geelan called to say she was tired and would not join them. Jake and Rose continued talking. He was also interested in how things were on the Homefront and Rose explained wartime America in great detail. They were getting along better than he had expected after her initial reaction to the letter.
Jake excused himself to use the bathroom and she disappeared into the living room for a few moments. When she returned to the kitchen, Jake was putting on his tunic.
“It’s getting late. I should find a hotel room.”
“Your real name is John, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
She led him into the living room. The couch was made up with a pillow, sheet and blanket. “It’s too late, John. You can do that tomorrow. Just don’t get the wrong idea!”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Charleston, South Carolina – June 20, 2007
“Humility must always be the portion of any man who receives acclaim,
earned in the blood of his followers and the sacrifices of his friends.”
Dwight David Eisenhower (1890 - 1969)
“I think Jake brought me this letter from Johnny to convince me that living with Rose wasn’t Jake’s idea,” Macie explained as J.P. placed Johnny’s letter in his pocket.
“It wouldn’t be a big deal today but living together back then was taboo, right?”
“Scandalous,” she smiled. “And that was one reason for the secrecy.” She hesitated for a moment. “Among others.”
J.P. nodded. He decided to change the subject. “What brings you here to Charleston?”
“I live here now. I moved here after Jake passed,” her eyes got watery again and she dabbed them with a dainty hanky. “Pardon me.” She sniffled and looked up.
“But why here, at the museum?”
“Why, John,” she smiled broadly. “I volunteer here. Didn’t you know I built this ship?”
Somewhere embedded in all the stories, he was told Macie worked in the Newport News Shipyard. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?”
“It’s comforting to know that I’m going to spend my last days in this place. A great ship that I helped build as a young woman. It’s His divine master plan at work…this connection between my life and the life of this ship. It’s hard to explain, but it’s very comforting.”
Two women about Macie’s age walked over to the table and sat down. They wore the simple uniform of the volunteers; white shirts with blue jeans. The blonde woman had her baseball cap pinned lightly to her head so as not to disturb her hairdo. The redhead had her cap pulled tightly down. “And it’s comforting to spend them with great friends. We’re all volunteers here.”
“Ladies,” J.P. nodded.
“This is John Patrick Kilroy, the man Jake raised,” she explained to the two women who smiled and nodded. “Pleased to meet you,” the blond winked.
“And these are my good friends, Nora Lee and Roxie Rawls Edson. Nora built this ship with me. Roxie ferried and tested planes that flew from its decks. Some of them are right there.” She looked down the hangar deck with its many planes on display.
“Of course, ladies. Pleasure to meet you.”
Macie continued. “I was telling John here about how Jake raised him. He didn’t know that until today.”
“So, the boys never cracked?” Nora Lee quipped.
“Nope,” Macie answered.
“Good for them,” Roxie chimed in.
“Does everyone know about this but me?” J.P. half-jokingly asked.
“Just a close circle of friends that go way back,” Macie assured him.
J.P. smiled. “I’m happy for you, Macie, and grateful for everything you shared with me. We must stay in touch. If there is anything I can ever do, please call. I’m in your debt.” He handed her his business card.
“That’s so kind of you, John.” Macie thought for a moment. “There is something I may need you’re help with later. But for now I’ll just let you process all this new information.”
J.P. had a flicker of curiosity about what that might entail but dismissed the thought and reached into his pocket. He slid the case that contained the Medal of Honor awarded to John NMI Kilroy over to Macie. “This doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to you or it belongs over there,” he pointed to the Medal of Honor Museum.”
She reached for the case as he slid it toward her. She slid it back. “Jake wanted you to have this. That’s why he had Harley tell Colonel Chase about you.”
J.P. nodded and slipped the case back into his pocket.
“And I have something else for you.” She took another folded letter from her purse. “Jake wrote this to you. Wait until you get home to read it.”
“More letters?” J.P. quipped. “You must feel like a post office.” He took the sealed envelope and slipped it in his pocket.
Farewell greetings were exchanged and it was time to go. But he had a last question. “One more thing, Macie.”
“Of course.”
“Why did those men keep this secret from me for so long? I mean, why were they so determined never to reveal what really happened?”
Macie reflected for a moment. “You met these men. You know what kind of integrity they had. When they gave their word or made a promise, it meant everything to them. They don’t make men like that anymore.”
“I’ve come to learn that.”
“Well, John, I wasn’t there but Jake told me this story many times. Jake, Harley, Sky, Frank and Lincoln met in New York after the War. It was January of forty-six. They attended a parade. Rose was there and so were you.”
“Really?”
“Before you leave today, let me tell you this one last story.”
Chapter Eighty
New York City - January 12, 1946
“It is not the oath that makes us believe the man, but the man the oath.”
Aeschylus (c. 424 BC - c. 455 BC)
Jake, Rose and baby John Patrick stood on the sidewalk on the corner of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue just off Washington Square Park in the shadow of the Washington Arch. They were dressed against the biting cold. One and a half year old John Patrick Kilroy was bundled into a furry snowsuit. Rose, with reddened cheeks and teary eyes, wore her black ersatz fur coat over two sweaters and gabardine slacks. Her black wool hat was pulled down firmly over her ears. She leaned on Jake for warmth as he held the baby against his flannel shirt buttoned over a heavy sweatshirt. He wore dungarees and his baseball cap had a Screaming Eagle on the front and an Eighty-second Airborne crest on the bill. He wasn’t cold. He could never be as cold as he was in Bastogne. Streaks of sunlight snuck through the canyons of the city to provide intermittent and much appreciated warmth.
Eager crowds lined both sides of the avenue in anticipation of the Victory Parade by the 82nd Airborne Division. Onlookers were twenty deep in places. It was the first and only time an entire division would be welcomed home from the War and honored for their service. Frank West and Jake’s cousin, Harley Tidrick, were supposed to meet them on this corner. Lincoln and Sky would be marching in the parade. They all arranged to gather afterward for dinner at the famous Luchow’s Restaurant on Fourteenth Street near Union Square Park.
Since arriving from Liverpool, England on the third of January, the 82nd had been absorbing replacements and practicing precision marching at Camp Shanks in Orangeburg, New York. Sky’s responsibility was the assimilation of the 555th PIB (Colored), which had been administratively attached to the 82nd. That is how Captain Sky Johnson met First Lieutenant Lincoln Abraham, a company commander in the Triple Nickels. It didn’t take much conversation before they realized they had common friends in the Kilroys and traced their meeting back to the brawl in the Queen’s Bazaar Pub in London. The two young paratrooper officers worked well together to get the Nickels up to speed.
New cl
ass-A uniforms were issued to all personnel and any free moment not spent in marching drills was used to polish brass, boots and helmets to a dazzling shine. General James M. Gavin insisted the uniforms of all marching members of the division include the battlefield decorations and unit citations earned by the division. That order included the entire contingent of Triple Nickels.
The parade route was one hundred blocks long from lower Manhattan all the way to midtown. It would take the division over two hours to march the entire five miles. The parade route was choked with people. Veterans were particularly well represented on this Saturday afternoon as they prominently wore their field jackets, military caps or sported flags and placards identifying their units. Gavin would lead the march until he joined City Mayor William O’Dwyer and New York Governor Thomas Dewey among other notables on the reviewing stand. This was a big deal for both the city and the army.
Jake heard the deep rumbling of drums. At first it sounded like distant artillery. He looked south and could barely make out the honor guard leading the formation. The flags were fluttering and the paper and ticker tape began to descend from the tall buildings. Soon the air was filled with a snowstorm of paper fluttering toward the ground. The drumbeat became louder as the marchers closed the distance. People began to clap and cheer as they anxiously awaited the arrival of the first company.
The lead element marched into Washington Square Park. There were nineteen ranks of soldiers marching nine abreast in perfect unison. An officer and a trooper carrying a pennant led each company. There were four companies to a battalion, three battalions to a regiment and four regiments in the division. Including attached units and formations, over fifty companies marched that day, all with great exactness and skill. The marching music from one of the many marching bands was barely audible over the cheering crowd but the deep thrumming drumbeat remained clear and the paratroopers stepped smartly to the beat.
Finally, the first formation was marching underneath the Washington Arch and the crowd grew louder and more excited. General Gavin led the formation followed closely by his staff. Shouts of “Slim Jim” and “General Platoon Leader” could be heard emanating from the crowd. They were terms of endearment from men who loved Gavin and treasured serving under him.
Jake nudged Rose whose clapping was muffled by her thick gloves. He nodded toward the flag bearers behind Gavin. The American flag was flowing gently in the breeze alongside the divisional flag with its seven campaign ribbons and numerous battle streamers. The colorful sight was awe-inspiring.
As the leading company passed by, Jake noticed how precise their marching was and how picture perfect their uniforms were. Helmets gleamed, brass sparkled and boots reflected like mirrors. There wasn’t a spot of lint on their Wool Field Jacket, M1944, commonly called Ike jackets, or a single wrinkle in their khaki trousers. The ranks and files were aligned flawlessly. The paratroopers marched with visible pride stamped on their cold, blushed faces. The multitude cheered its appreciation.
Company after company marched by. The throng never lost its enthusiasm. Names were hollered from the masses as discharged civilian veterans recognized old friends. The paratroopers continued to file by, one proud company in perfect formation after another.
Jake looked around. Harley and Frank were still not there and the sidewalks were packed right back to the buildings. Moving about was going to be difficult.
The men had agreed to meet at the Washington Arch the night before when they got together at McSorley’s Old Ale House on Seventh Street and Second Avenue. Harley had come into town and Jake met him at Grand Central Terminal. Together they waited for Frank’s train and after introductions and bear hugs, they took a cab to McSorley’s. They grabbed a booth in the corner and waited for Lincoln and Sky.
McSorley’s was a New York landmark made famous by its prominent clientele. Artists and writers frequented the place and made it legendary through their portraits and writings. Other celebrities of the arts followed and soon the pub attained icon status. The walls were covered with old dusty pictures faded brown with age. It was no more surprising to find a vintage oil lamp as the farewell picture of Babe Ruth or a wanted poster for John Wilkes Boothe. The bar had no stools and the handcuffs hooked to the bar rail were said to be once owned by Harry Houdini. The sign above the bar read “Be Good or Be Gone”.
The only two alcoholic drinks served were light and dark ale. The three men ordered dark ale while they waited for their friends. Frank was extremely interested in how Jake was doing with Rose and Johnny’s son.
“Things are going good, Frank. We found a bigger apartment and I moved in with her. She didn’t want to live in her old neighborhood anymore once she took me in.”
“I guess that’s good. So what are you doing?” Frank asked.
“I’m registered for college. I start next week. The GI Bill is covering it and some living expenses. I’m also driving a cab part-time, when Rose is home and I’m not in school. We know it will get hard at times, with our schedules, but we’ll work it out.”
“And the boy?”
“Great kid,” Jake smiled. “Just eats and sleeps. I can’t wait to play catch with him.”
“So, Rose is accepting this…help,” Harley stated rather than asked.
“So far,” Jake answered. “It’s only been a few months but we get along great and I really like them both a lot. Not everyone would do what she is doing to make sure her son has a better life. I admire her for it.”
“Not everyone would be doing what you’re doing, either,” Frank interjected.
Jake got embarrassed. “I’m not so sure. I bet a lot of other guys are doing the same thing. Helping out a buddy’s family, I mean. But I don’t want Rose’s reputation to suffer and I think she’s worried about that. That’s why she wanted us to move.”
Just then two men walked in the door. They wore civilian clothes but their high and tight haircuts indicated they were military. Sky was in front. He shook hands and embraced Jake, remembered Harley from London and was introduced to Frank.
The introductions continued. Lincoln was next and he shook Jake’s hand. They stood for a moment, staring knowingly at each other, and then embraced in a long and warm hug.
“We’re a long way from Foy,” Lincoln reminded.
“And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Jake commented.
“Me neither,” Lincoln reciprocated.
Harley reminded Lincoln he was also present for the brawl in the Queen’s Bazaar but Lincoln confessed he was so scared he only remembered Johnny.
“Congratulations!” Jake told Lincoln. “You became a paratrooper!”
“Thanks to him.” Lincoln pointed to Frank. He remembered him from Foy and thanked him profusely for the letter of recommendation, which helped him get into the 555th PIB.
“How many jumps?” Frank asked.
“Sixty-something,” Lincoln answered smugly with a big smile.
“Is that a lot?” Harley asked.
“More than the rest of us combined,” Jake speculated.
“Oh, yeah,” Sky interjected. “Ask him how many combat jumps?” Sky was smiling. It seemed the two of them had had this exchange before.
“None, you know that,” Lincoln smiled back. “But I’d like to see you jump into the blinding smoke of a burning forest on the side of a mountain with only a shovel and a prayer.”
“No thanks,” Sky joked back. “Give me Krauts shooting flak at my plane and swamps to land in anytime!”
“That many jumps? You were that busy?” Jake asked Lincoln.
“Yup. The Japs were sending balloon bombs over the Pacific and most of my jumps were made in the Northwest.”
“Very impressive,” Frank added. “You’re in Master Parachutist territory.”
They all sat down and ordered more ale.
“You’re going to see the best freakin’ division in the world marching tomorrow,” Sky announced. “Right Linc?”
Lincoln nodded.
Frank responded. “How can that be? They deactivated the Screaming Eagles on twenty-six, November of forty-five.”
“Oh no,” Sky scoffed. “The Hundred and first is better known only because of Bastogne. If we were there, like we were supposed to be, we would have gotten all the credit and the fame. But we’re the ones marching tomorrow.” The ribbing seemed good-natured.
“But you weren’t there. We were!” Frank responded. “Right, Jake?”
“Boys, boys. C’mon now. Both divisions were great! I should know. I served in both of them.” Jake was sure Sky was just having a little fun but Frank seemed to be taking the exchange more seriously. “According to the newspapers, this division represents all the fighting men of all the services. This division is… what did they call it…symbolic of everyone who fought. In fact I read there are new guys and replacements marching that never even saw combat. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Sky answered. “Gavin wanted a full division for the parade. I suppose we are representing everyone who fought or served but I need to tell Frank this story.”
“Go ahead,” Frank allowed.
“At the Bulge there was this lone private digging a hole for an outpost. This American tank comes hauling up the road and the commander asks this paratrooper if this was the front line. The paratrooper asked, ‘Are you looking for a safe place?’ The commander said, ‘yeah’. So the trooper says, ‘Well buddy, just pull your vehicle behind me. I’m the Eighty-second Airborne and this is as far as the bastards are going’. True story.” Sky held up his right hand.
The Last Jump: A Novel of World War II Page 72