Wingmen (9781310207280) (63 page)

I have to thank
you for the fine letter of last July. Your reminiscences of the old
squadron were right on target, especially the parts about the
skipper. I’m just sorry we couldn’t get together and talk in
person, but we’re both pretty busy these days. I thought maybe
they’d bring back the old
Ironsides
like they did so many of the other
Essexes, but it looks like they never will. These jets are really
something, but every once in a while I wish I could see the old
Hellcats again.

I wish I had
time for a longer letter, but the baby’s crying and Darlene wants
to get dinner over with so we can have a little time to ourselves
this evening. I’ll be leaving in the morning for another cruise off
South Korea. Rough business, this flying, that keeps a man away
from his wife and kids. But that’s something you don’t have to
worry about, is it? Thanks again for everything.

Sincerely,

Jim Bagley

P.S. I’ve
already found a publisher for the article. Magazine called
Sea Power
.
(
The
Proceedings
didn’t want it.) I’m calling it, “The
Metamorphosis of Fighting Twenty.” Snazzy, huh?

Jimbo

Christmas,
1956

A Christmas note of warmth and
cheer,

To say, “God Bless,” I’m glad
you’re near.

On such a fine day

It’s easy to say

I wish you the best all through
the year.

Fred:

Ten years is a
long time to be in business. To show my appreciation for all we’ve
done together, you’ll find something in the driveway that almost
says it all. Hope you like it.

Jack

Ready Man Real
Estate

San Jose,
California

May 10,
1957

Dear Mr.
Trusteau:

It is my
pleasure to thank you sincerely for the long and fruitful
association we have enjoyed. It is always a pleasure doing business
with a man who knows exactly what he wants, and one who is
possessed of such high standards of professional ethics as
yourself.

The final
papers on the Los Gatos estate will be arriving by mail in several
days at the latest. May I compliment you again on your choice of
location? I’m sure it will bring you and your family many years of
comfort and joy.

As per your
attorney’s instructions, the deeds and title will indicate joint
ownership with one J. E. Hardigan, business associate of yourself.
I hope sincerely that should you have any real estate needs in the
future, you will come again to Ready Man. Again, thank you.

Sincerely.

Robt. A.
Gilardi. Sales Representative

TO: JACK E.
HARDIGAN. M.S. EASTWIND. ENROUTE GUAM MARIANAS PROTECTORATE

FROM: M.
HARDIGAN, PORTLAND, MAINE

MOM NEAR DEATH
STOP BAD OFF STOP

PLEASE COME IF
ABLE STOP

MONTY

23/11/581202Z

Message from
the Front Desk

Jessie Beck’s
Riverside Hotel and Casino

Reno,
Nevada

September 12,
1961

Mr. Jack
Hardigan, the California Suite:

Please call
Erma Badger at your earliest opportunity. She says she has good
news about your book.

A. G., 1:45
P.M.

Medical
Associates

15000 Comstock
Boulevard

Denver,
Colorado

February 26,
1963

Dear Mr.
Trusteau:

We have
received and looked over the medical records and x rays sent us by
your personal physician in San Jose. We are indeed interested in
seeing you and examining you personally with a view toward possible
treatment of your spinal condition. However, we must in all honesty
reserve judgment as to the treatability of your condition. As in
most instances of spinal and neck vertebrae injury which are not
immediately crippling, as in your case, it is quite often safer to
do nothing. Surgery in this area of the human body can have risks
which do not justify the gain. We will be able to tell you more
after we have seen you.

Incidentally,
in the single set of x rays of your right rib cage area, we spotted
a small, triangular-shaped object, undoubtedly metallic, lodged
inside the thoracic cavity interior of the fourth rib. Since no
mention of this object is made in your records, may we recommend
that at the earliest opportunity (if you are unable to come to
Denver soon) you have your present physician investigate this? You
may schedule an appointment with our admissions desk at any time.
We look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,

A. M.
Duckworth, M. D.

AMD/cc

San Jose
Mercury
News
, November 5, 1965

…elected to the
City Council of the Incorporated Town of Los Gatos was Jack E.
Hardigan, part owner of Trusty’s Inc., and long-time resident of
Los Gatos, to a two-year term to become effective January 1.
Reelected was the incumbent…

From the Desk
of Fred Trusteau.

Mr. T—We’ve
been trying all afternoon to get hold of you. Sally is putting this
note on your front door and I’m leaving another on your desk. Mr.
Hardigan has been taken to Lakeside Memorial with bad chest pains.
We don’t know what to do. I am with him. Please come as soon as you
can. Erma, 10-6-69, 2:15.

The day of Jack
Hardigan’s funeral was one of those pristine California days when
the illusion of fall is in the air—autumn in California existing
only in the minds of those who come to the state from Maine or
Georgia or Ohio where the leaves turn red and yellow and frost
touches the ground in the mornings. It was a temperate day. Short
sleeves could have been worn without discomfort. But the occasion
called for coat and tie. The altar arrangement in the chapel of the
funeral home was correctly though incongruously done in the orange
and brown colors of harvest. Under other circumstances, Fred might
have admired them.

The group of
mourners that accompanied the hearse to the Peaceful Hills Cemetery
in south San Jose was large when one considered the fact that Jack
had left no immediate family except his married sister, who had
flown out alone from Leeds, Ohio. Most of the mourners were from
the company. Fred and the married sister occupied the front row in
the chapel, with the corporate secretary Erma Badger, who had been
with the company since 1948. Three of the pallbearers were from the
funeral home. When the short service at the grave site was over,
the group dispersed slowly, perhaps reluctant to leave the gently
rolling hills and manicured lawns, the gorgeous foliage of the
cemetery. Fred was almost to his car (Jack had picked it out
scarcely a month earlier) when a familiar voice from many years
back stopped him. It was Duane Higgins. Fred’s red eyes and drawn
face made Duane look away when he spoke.

“Trusty?” That
name, thought Fred, would he never lose it?

“Duane. Duane
Higgins.” They shook hands as warmly as the occasion allowed,
mutually surprised at the aging effects of the passage of over
twenty-five years. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too,
Trusty.”

“No one’s
called me that in years.” He hoped Duane would understand and stop
using the name, although it seemed as if there was nothing anyone
could say or do at this particular time that would penetrate the
thick mantle of fear and isolation that had settled over him.

“He meant a lot
to you, didn’t he?” Higgins said.

“How did you
hear about it?” asked Fred.

“I was in town
on business and I saw it in the paper yesterday. Figured I had to
come out and see the skipper off…” Another name from the past,
almost forgotten.

“No one’s
called Jack that in years…”

A car scratched
by on the gravel road, and Fred saw Erma Badger and two of the
office workers inside. She slowed down as she passed, halting when
Fred motioned with his hand. “Put a note on the doors, would you,
Erma? Just say that we’ll be closed until next Monday. You and the
rest can take the week off.” Erma nodded wordlessly, and the car
pulled away down the hill toward the cemetery gates.

“Look,” said
Duane suddenly, glad for the interruption. “Let me buy you a drink.
Maybe we could catch up on some old times.” There was a hint of
pleading in Duane’s voice.

“Sure,” Fred
said, “I know a place close by. Can you follow me?” He walked
around the front of his car and opened the door.

“Yeah,” said
Duane. “I’m driving that blue Caddy down there.”

Fred got in his
car and swung the door shut, glad to be alone. But the new car
smell was mingled with the aroma of Jack’s cigars, and he
remembered again what he had lost. He turned the key, felt the
engine come to life, waited until Duane reached his car and got in.
Then Fred drove slowly down the hill, away from Jack’s final
resting place, leaving a great, irreplaceable part of himself
there, too.

When they had
taken a booth in the plush little cocktail lounge and ordered their
first round, Fred asked Duane what he had been doing for the last
quarter century.

“You make it
sound like such a long time,” said Duane.

“It is a long
time. You haven’t spoken to Jack since 1945.” The lounge was a
world away from the chapel, the muted organ music, the gentle
sobbing of the corporate secretary at the graveside service. Fred
was finding it easier to talk.

“I’m in real
estate,” Duane said. “Office in Santa Barbara. Doing right well, I
have to admit.” He took out a cigarette pack, offering one to Fred.
Fred shook his head. Duane patted his pockets for a match. “Damn,”
he said.

Fred took out
the Hornet lighter which he often carried and struck a flame for
Duane. As he lighted the cigarette, Duane caught sight of the
insignia on the case.

“Look at that,”
he said. “May I?” He took the lighter from Fred’s hand and examined
it closely. “Boy, that sure brings back the memories.”

“Jack gave that
to me back in ’43. On the
Ironsides
.” The drinks arrived and Duane handed the
lighter back to Fred, wiping his hand on his lapel as if it were
dirty. For the first time Fred noticed a wedding band on Duane’s
hand. “You’re married?” he asked.

Duane laughed
nervously and tugged at the ring. “Divorced a year ago,” he said.
“Can’t get the damn thing off.” He stopped tugging and took a sip
from his drink. “Three boys. The oldest one’s a law student at
Berkeley.”

“That’s nice to
hear. I’m glad you’ve done well.”

“I guess I
have.” Higgins lapsed into self-conscious silence.

With rising
anger, Fred thought:
Here it is again, the same old game. Hide-and-seek.
Goddamn, I wish I could just talk and be myself
.

“Neither Jack
nor I ever married,” he said.

“Look, Fred—”
Thank God
,
thought Fred,
he’s
quit with the Trusty thing
. “If you don’t want to talk about
it, it’s all right.”

Fred looked at
him hard and unconsciously fingered the great gap on his right
hand. Duane couldn’t help but notice. “You’re the one who wanted to
talk,” he said.

Duane sipped
his drink slowly. “You know,” he said, “after you left he was a
different man. I mean really different. Man, he drove us. But he
sure as hell made an outfit out of Fighting Twenty. Damn, we were
good. It was like old times there after a while….” Fred said
nothing, and he continued. “But there was something that really
bothered me then, and since yesterday I’ve been thinking about it
again. I know it sounds kind of dumb, but I really have to
know…”

“Know
what?”

“Well, do you
remember that first raid on Truk? The sweep?”

Fred held up
his disfigured hand, touched his side. “I’m still carrying a piece
of my plane. How could I forget?”

“Look,” said
Duane, becoming almost animated. “I saw Jack leave the target in a
perfectly flyable aircraft—”

“Yeah?”

“What I want to
know is this. Did he ditch just—because of you?”

Fred stared
numbly at Duane. Jack had never mentioned the ditching. To find out
something like this after all these years, to know that Jack had
risked his own life to save him, putting his Hellcat down in the
hostile sea with no real hope of being picked up…

“I don’t know,”
he said wonderingly. “We never talked about it.”
Oh, Jack
, he thought,
did you really do
that? Why didn’t you tell me?

“I just had to
know,” said Duane. “I don’t think anything less of Jack for what
you and he—”