Tossing the Dice

Today, the links are highlighted. They're all parts of the story.

First off, today is Pearl Harbor Day--a not-insignificant date in the life of my family, as regular readers *of this blog know.

The echoes of that event have reverberated down through time, and the memory of it resulted in this story, which was the first spark for my returning to the "QWERTYUIOP" keys to write again.

But every spark has to have a generator and that was Mr. Jeff Hoyt who, one day in a mass e-mailing, asked for stories with lessons learned for a class he was auditing. He took that piece and made it part of a collection called "Memory Song." "I want to do something with that thing of yours," he said last year, and a couple of weeks ago, he stumbled onto this blog through the vibrating strings of the Intra-web, and decided, "Now's the time."

You can peruse that story (Now called "From Mom to Mary," and any number of Jeff's brilliant little pieces) on his Pod-Cast Central "Hoytus Interruptus." It should be "up," starting today.

But another story about my Mom and Dad, and Pearl Harbor, and War, and the sacrifices and the courage that Life takes.

When Pearl Harbor "happened," my Mom (Mary) was living at home with her folks. Her Father was a former Sheriff of King County, and once had run unsuccessfully for Governor. He served as sheriff during a time of bootleggers and corruption that is now quaintly looked on as Seattle's "colorful" past. My grandfather had a reputation for implacable honesty, which was tough to do in those times in the Seattle PD. He was not a glad-hander, a panderer, a slick operator, or an easy mark, but he was a stubborn man--a determined man, and he expected the same integrity from his children. He was a strict disciplinarian. He and my Grandmother had six kids that survived the ravages of childhood disease--one son, Buddy, never made it past three--and he made sure that the Survivors toed the line, and would not bring Scandal and Dishonor to the reputation that his incorruptibility fought against for so many hard years.

Mary was working as a fashion-buyer at Frederick and Nelson downtown. She met John (my Father) through the urgings of his twin sisters, Katherine and Marybeth, who were models at the store. Their first date was to see "Fantasia," (Mary's first words upon seeing John at the door were "You don't look anything like the girls!"-- which is not an auspicious beginning) and when my father asked Mary how she liked it, she tartly replied, "Well, I saw it already last week." With another guy. With better prospects.

His twin sisters were waiting up for a report on how their little match-making escapade went. "Didja kiss her?" they wanted to know. "No," he said quietly. "But I'm going to marry her."

Sounds just like my Father.

This is the story of how they got married.

Mary was home. John was at Pearl. My grandfather heard the news of the attack over the radio and had to break it to her. What must have it been like to hear that the country had suffered a terrible attack with so many casualties, so many dead, and know that your fiancee was right in the middle of it? What must that have done to someone? And she wouldn't hear from him for days. A black-out had occurred, security was tight in Hawaii, and within days Roosevelt had declared war. World War. But where was John? News wouldn't come for quite awhile, and when it did it came in the form of a post-card, with few options to be checked off. "I am well." "I am injured and in hospital." He had checked off "I am well." One check-mark. That was all she got. That's all he was allowed to make. A scratch of life. And the only hope. Not much to go on.

But soon they were writing. John couldn't say much, but at one point, he said he would be getting leave in San Francisco, and they should get married while they could. Mary agreed.

Her family thought she was nuts. Get married in war-time, while he's in the service in the Pacific? Insane! Stupid! Throwing your life away! She got all that. Probably said it a couple times to herself, but she was determined to go to San Francisco. And if there were any doubts about her father's views on the subject, they were answered when he wouldn't accompany her to the train station. Her mother, dutifully, saw her off. Her father stayed home, for all the good it did.

And she went by herself to San Francisco. Along with all the other service-wives with their infant children, to greet the ships when they came to port, to see their husbands, their fathers--to catch a glimpse of them before they returned to the war from which many of them wouldn't return. She took the trip alone. Without the blessing of her parents. And she helped with babies, and talked with the wives. She was surrounded by the possibilities of her choice the whole way and knew, they all knew, that they were rolling dice taking a chance on the future when war was chewing it up.

She said it was all worth it when she saw John. They made arrangements to be married in between church services at a local parish, and Mary stayed with John's fabled Aunt Marie. On the day of the wedding, traffic was bad and Mary was late for the service. When she got there, with John and the priest and the early-birds for the next Mass, he looked at her in terror and said, "What, are you trying to kill me?" which is a rather ironic thing to say, considering.

They got married. That's them, up at the top of the page on the day of their wedding, photo by Aunt Marie. Eventually, John returned to the war. Mary took the train back to Seattle, to wait for him and for the war to end...for Fate to play out.

Don't we all?


* Are there regular readers? Really?