by Dean Hughes
When Wally let himself think very much, he sometimes still felt pangs of homesickness. But he had met a fellow from outside Pocatello, Idaho, who was a Mormon, and another guy from Kalispell, Montana. The three young men, all westerners, seemed to understand something about each other. Warren Hicks, the boy from Idaho, had Mormon parents, but the family hadn’t made it to meetings very often. Jack Norland, the Montana boy, was actually more of a “hick” than either of the Mormons. He had never been out of western Montana before signing with the air corps, and it was remarkable how little he seemed to know about anything except cutting hay and raising cattle. He was good-natured, however, and ready to try anything, and in that sense, he sometimes brought out the worst in Wally.
The ship first anchored in the Yangtze River, off Shanghai, and Wally saw things he had never known before. The Japanese were in control of Shanghai, which had been devastated by artillery and bombs. Homeless people roamed the streets, and some came out to the ship on boats, where they begged for food or waited by the garbage chute for anything they could grab.
Some American families came on board in Shanghai, and the ship sailed back into its paradise of an existence, now with young American women on board for the soldiers to pursue. Wally tried to show Warren and Jack what a lady’s man he was, but he learned that his thought of kissing one of the girls, out under the stars, was hardly what the more experienced men had in mind. He couldn’t believe the stories that were soon circulating, and he passed them off as bragging, but still, he knew he was a long way from Sugar House.
Wally had expected grass shacks and tropical jungles in the Philippines, but what he discovered there was the modern city of Manila on Luzon Island, and palm-lined Dewey Boulevard with the beach on one side and elegant Spanish homes on the other. Nichols Field, not far from Manila, looked more like a plantation than a military base. Wally’s quarters were not fancy—a barracks upstairs in a large, screened building—but the ground floor was filled with pool tables, card tables, and easy chairs.
The heat and humidity were oppressive, but even the weather had its compensations. Roll call was at 6:30 each morning. Breakfast was at seven, and at noon the workday ended. The afternoon heat made work next to impossible, so most of the soldiers lounged about or slept. The evenings were free for swimming or basketball or for trips into town.
Pay for new recruits was only twenty-one dollars a month, but each soldier gave five dollars of that to locals, who took all the KP duty, made beds and cleaned the barracks, and even washed laundry. The airmen lived an easy life: half a day of work and no end of free time. They didn’t have much money, but nothing cost very much. They ordered special shoes and tailored uniforms, and they looked classier than troops almost anywhere else.
Wally had almost no complaints. He hadn’t wanted to be a mechanic, so he was glad for the chance to serve as a supply clerk. He got an immediate jump in rank and income—thirty-six dollars a month—which made life even more pleasant. Eventually, those who took mechanics’ training got more money, but that didn’t bother Wally. He felt as though he had been granted a long vacation. He could have used a little more privacy than the barracks offered, but his days were full of fun, and he was seeing things old Mel would probably never see in his life.
Wally knew—based on what Mat Nakashima had told him—that war could come to the Philippines. But something in the peacefulness, the rustling of palm fronds, the constant wash of the blue-green ocean, and especially the persistent heat, made hostility seem unlikely, even too much effort. Besides, General Douglas MacArthur had trained the Philippine Scouts to protect themselves, and he had developed a defensive plan. Experienced soldiers claimed that if the Japanese tried to take more of the Asian islands, the Philippines would be the last they would think of attacking.
Wally trusted that, and he was glad he had joined the air corps. Chances were that he could make corporal before long, and his supply sergeant was training him to take over that job. Wally could be a sergeant in almost record time. Something like that never would have happened in the army or navy.
“Another beer?” Jack was asking. Jack had never been a drinker at home, but he was catching on fast here.
Wally shook his head. He had already had two, and that was normally his limit.
“Forget the beer,” a man named Barney—one of the older guys in the unit—bellowed. “I say we take these boys to the Golden Gate Bar. It’s time they became men.” There were five airmen at the big table—besides Wally, Warren, and Jack—and they all agreed immediately that this was exactly the right plan.
Wally knew for sure he wasn’t going to get involved with a prostitute, but he was curious to see what went on at a place like that. He looked at Warren, who was shaking his head. “I don’t want to go over there,” he told Wally. But not five minutes later, the eight men had piled into two taxis, and they were motoring down the street toward the Golden Gate Bar.
The place turned out to be dumpy and cheap—much like the bar they had just left—but when another round of drinks was ordered, a “waitress” arrived with each drink, one for each of the soldiers. A little woman—really just a girl—chose Wally. She was vaguely pretty, in spite of the heaviness of her makeup and a certain exaggeration in her attempt to be seductive. She placed a beer in front of Wally, put her arm around his shoulders, and held her face so close that she was almost touching his cheek. Then she whispered, “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Wally was quick to say, and a bit too loudly. Most of the men laughed. Wally glanced at Warren.
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this,” Warren said.
“Okay,” Wally told him. “Let’s just see what happens for a minute.”
He watched Barney put his arm around a woman and pull her against him. Like the others, she didn’t have much on—a low-cut blouse and a short skirt that was split along the side. Barney was a heavy man who wore his shirt unbuttoned halfway down whenever he was “out of uniform.” He never said a sentence without some vulgarity in it. Wally was not really surprised that this woman, who was no youngster, would let him maul her, but then she began rubbing up against him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Warren said again.
Wally nodded. The other men were beginning to paw their own waitresses, and the young woman who was still behind Wally reached around him and began to rub his chest. Suddenly a sense of shame struck Wally. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and looked at Warren. “It’s Christmas,” he said.
“I know. This makes me sick.” He got up too.
“We’ll see you guys later,” Wally said. “Are you coming, Jack?”
Jack seemed to waver. But Barney shouted, “Stick around. I think that girl has a Christmas present for you.”
Jack shrugged and said, “I guess I’ll stay.”
Wally and Warren got out. They found a taxi, and they headed back to the base. They said very little along the way, but when Warren said, “I wish I could be home today,” a surge of homesickness hit Wally that was more powerful than anything he had felt since the day he had left Salt Lake.
Wally calculated the hours and tried to think what time it was at home. But Christmas had not come yet. The Philippines were across the international time line, a day ahead of Utah. Wally felt the loss of Christmas Eve, and of Christmas morning still to come, and suddenly he wanted to be home.
When he got back to the barracks, very few of the men were there. He was glad for the quiet and the relative privacy. He got inside the mosquito netting, and he lay on his bed. He tried to picture it all—LaRue and Beverly running downstairs, Gene ambling down behind them trying not to act too excited. Everyone there, together. And then he thought of his dad reading the Christmas story. Wally considered looking for his
Bible, of reading the passages in Luke himself. But he couldn’t do it—for all kinds of reasons. And so he lay there in the
heat and tried not to think of home anymore. The trouble was, his thoughts wandered whe
re they wanted to go—along Thirteenth East, and there, on the porch, he saw that lovely figure in the sunset, wearing a light-blue polka-dot dress. He suddenly threw back the mosquito netting and stood up. He had to think of something to do. But nothing appealed to him, not even swimming in the ocean.
Chapter 26
It was a cold February day, and snow had been falling all night. Alex had been in his office since very early that morning. He was trying to keep up with all the government paperwork. Recently, he had hired a second shift to keep up with the contracts that were coming in, but that had only meant more supervision—and more paperwork.
Alex was ordering new machinery all the time, and his operators were sometimes novices who had to be supervised. Some of the parts had minute tolerances, and a small mistake could cause an entire order to be rejected. Alex was actually quite mechanical, and he learned quickly. His foremen were, for the most part, much older than he was, but they respected his ability to troubleshoot and to work patiently with new hires. The problem was, they sometimes depended on him too much, and he spent more time than he had to spare out on the floor.
Henry Rosen liked to travel, to pitch the company to weapons builders, and to take big shots to lunch. What he
didn’t like was to deal with day-to-day operations. But that was all right. Alex preferred running things by himself to having Henry there acting important and getting everyone confused.
Alex sometimes escaped the plant to eat lunch at a nearby diner, where he could be left alone for a few minutes. More often, he told himself he would get away soon and then ended up skipping meals. Every time Mom saw him these days, she shook her head and told him he had to start eating better. And so it was probably her idea that Dad showed up on this cold day with a basket of fried chicken.
President Thomas stepped up to Alex’s little office and stood in the open doorway. “Dinnertime,” he said.
Alex looked up, surprised. Dad came by often, but he had never brought food before. “Oh, thanks,” Alex said. “Come in.”
“Push a few of those papers aside and I’ll join you. Your mom cooked enough for the whole plant, I think.”
“I’d like to push all these forms right into the wastepaper basket. It’s unbelievable how much red tape I have to deal with.” He picked up a stack of papers and slipped them into a folder, and then he pushed some forms off to one side.
Dad sat down across from him. The office was a shabby little room with a worn-out carpet and windows on all sides, shaded by venetian blinds. Alex kept the blinds open enough to see out on the floor of the plant.
“With all the money that’s coming in these days, you ought to spend five dollars and get yourself a decent lamp,” Dad said. “I can’t believe you work in this light.”
“I’ve been meaning to buy something for a long time. I just never get the time to do it.”
“Alex, you need more secretarial help—or an assistant manager. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”
“I know. I plan to hire some more people.”
“When?”
Alex laughed. “As soon as I get time,” he said.
“Well, you’ve got to do it soon. I’m worried about you.” Dad pulled a plate from the basket and handed it to Alex. “Your mom really fixed us up here.” He pulled out utensils and cloth napkins and a bowl of potato salad with waxed paper over it. “Grab some chicken. There’s a nice breast piece right there.”
Alex did take the breast, and he could hardly believe how good it tasted. It reminded him of how much he missed his mother’s cooking—or any sort of home cooking.
“Alex,” Dad said, “I had no idea what I was getting you into with this business. I thought Henry would carry more of the load, and I didn’t know it would get this busy.”
“Well, I do have to get more help.”
“I’ll tell you, Alex, I couldn’t be prouder of you. I knew you had the talent to manage a business, but I didn’t expect you, at your age, to step forward and make such a go of this thing. I’ve talked to the men in the shop, and they tell me they’ve never worked for a man they like better.”
Dad bit into a thigh piece and stayed after it until he had finished it. He wiped his hands and mouth then, and he forked in a big bite of potato salad. He ate the way he did everything else: as if it was a job that had to be done and he had better go at it hard until it was finished.
“Alex, things are falling into shape for you. Now it’s time to step back and think about some other priorities. You’re twenty-four. You need to find yourself a wife, get a family started.” He pointed to the basket. “Oh, say, Mom put hot rolls in there too—baked this morning.”
Alex reached in and got a roll, but he didn’t say anything. Dad went after another piece of chicken, consumed it, and dropped the bone on his plate. Then he wiped his fingers again before he said, “Your mom was telling me about some of the young women she would like to see you court—girls from the best families. There’s not a girl in Sugar House who wouldn’t jump at the chance to go out with you.”
Alex laughed. “Sounds dangerous,” he said.
Dad seemed unsure how to react to that, but he tried to smile. “Tell me this,” he said. “How do you feel about being a business manager now? Doesn’t it turn out to be a lot more interesting than you expected?”
“To tell you the truth, no,” Alex said. “I’m doing the best I can. But I can’t really say I enjoy it.”
Dad took his time to react, as though trying not to come on too strong. “I don’t understand that, Alex. Just think of the doors that are opening up for you.”
Alex was still bothered by the idea that he was making weapons, but he didn’t want to get into all that again. And so he merely said, “It just doesn’t engage my mind. I like ideas. I like to think.”
“Are you telling me you still want to be a history professor?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Alex, you’re helping your country here. And you’re getting set up financially so you’ll never have to worry again.”
“Look, Dad, there’s no use our debating about this. I told you from the beginning, I’ll manage the plant long enough to get it going, and then I’m going back to school.”
“Alex, if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to turn away from the great blessing you’re receiving. You could have your fortune made in a few years, and then you can devote your life to anything you want. You know what Elder Smith told you—that you could serve in the highest councils in the Church.”
Alex didn’t answer. He saw all too clearly what Dad had in mind: get married, make some good money early in life, and then become a Church leader. It was Dad’s notion of the fulfilled life, and there was nothing wrong with it, but Alex simply couldn’t see himself traveling that road.
For a time, Alex and President Thomas merely sat and ate, but Alex felt the tension. Dad was obviously frustrated. Eventually, after putting away one more piece of chicken and a second helping of potato salad, President Thomas leaned back in his chair and said, “Alex, is this still about building weapons? Is that what’s bothering you?”
“That’s one of the things. Yes.”
“Your mom tells me you’re still attached to this German girl—the one you baptized.”
This sounded like an accusation, and for the first time, Alex was a little irritated by what was happening. He glanced at his dad, but he didn’t say anything.
“Son, you can’t let this German girl color everything you’re accomplishing here. Hitler needs to be stopped, whether she lives in Germany or not. And you absolutely can’t think about waiting to marry her.”
Alex wiped his mouth and then dropped his napkin on his desk. He took a long breath and then tried to smile. “Dad, come on. That’s my decision, not yours.”
“I’m just being realistic. You need to get married, and you may not see this girl—”
“Her name is Anna.”
“All right. Anna. But you may not see her for years, if eve
r. And there’s more to it than that. Bringing a foreign girl here is difficult. I’ve seen other missionaries do it, and sometimes it works out, but it’s never easy.”
“But it’s still my decision.”
“So what are you telling me? Are you going to wait out this war? I know she’s a pretty girl, but—”
“Wait, Dad. Give me some credit.”
“Well, I don’t know what’s on your mind. I don’t understand this at all.”
Alex leaned forward and put his elbows in his desk. “I haven’t told you how I feel because I knew how you would react. But I’ll tell you now.”
Dad leaned back and nodded, but he looked as though he were waiting to be slugged.
“Before I left on my mission, I told you my testimony
wasn’t strong enough, and you said, ‘That’s what a mission is all about. You’ll learn to get answers.’ And that’s exactly what happened. I learned to get answers—and I got my answer on this. Anna is the right girl for me.”
Dad didn’t argue, but he didn’t look convinced.
“I asked the Lord whether I would ever see Anna again, and I got the clearest answer I’ve ever had in my life. She’s going to get through this war, and I’m going to have my chance to ask her to marry me.”
“Alex, the only way this war is going to be short is if Hitler defeats England this summer. Otherwise, it’s going to last for years.”
“I know.”
“And you’re absolutely sure you want to wait?”
“Yes.”
Dad sat for a long time, his eyes distant and full of concern, but finally he said, “Son, I would never tell you not to follow the Spirit, but I hope you haven’t deceived yourself into believing what you want to believe.”
“If that’s what I’ve done, then I don’t know the Spirit, and I don’t really have a testimony. It’s that simple to me.”