“Look at all this, Tommy. This is life in the city. Take away all the Christmas stuff and it flat out stinks, even more than it stinks at home. I can’t wait to get out on the ocean, smell something a whole lot different than this.”
PALATKA, FLORIDA—MONDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1940
“You’re doing what?”
Biggs tried to keep his back straight, felt himself wilting under that too-familiar scowl of his father. “I’m joining the navy.”
“Like hell you are. You know what the navy does? They fight wars. They’re fighting one right now, over in England. We’re helping out the damn Limeys against the Germans. Got no business doing any of that. None. That damn Roosevelt thinks he needs to jump in and help his buddy Churchill, and so Americans are off to a war that don’t involve us. None of us. Not one bit! We got enough problems right here without sticking our noses into somebody else’s mess!”
Biggs had heard the word “isolationist,” knew that his father shared the belief of an enormous number of Americans. To them, the war in Europe was Europe’s problem, and only Europe’s problem. He had heard it from his father many times. If Hitler comes marching down Route 17, then maybe there’s a fight worth having.
Biggs pushed against his father’s tide. “Ray’s signed up. His parents think it’s a great idea.”
“That damn Luigi?”
“His father’s name is Luca.”
“So what? One more Italian. I bet he pays a hell of a lot more attention to his buddy Mussolini than he does his country right here.”
“He was in the U.S. Navy in the Great War.”
“What? A spy? How do you know so much?”
The fury from his father was wearing him down, and Biggs looked toward his mother, sitting on the ragged couch, her head in her hands.
“Mom, this is a good thing. It’s a real job. I got nothing else here.”
She kept her gaze toward the floor, said, “I always hoped you might be a doctor. Make something of yourself, something we’d all be proud of. I always hoped there would be a way.”
“Mom, I didn’t have the grades for college. It’s a nice dream, but I know better. Some people are meant for a big life. Some just aren’t.” He looked at his father again, saw the familiar stare, as much disgust as anger.
The older man glanced toward his wife, said, “Foolishness! Been hearing that crap for years. Big dreams, big wishes.” He looked at Biggs again. “I know what your life is. The same as mine. You got no reason to think you’ll ever be better than me. You ain’t even got a damn job!”
“You don’t have to tell me any of that, Pop. I’ve put in for work at every store, every construction site, but there’s no more room for somebody who doesn’t have skills. I’ve looked for a chance every place I can around here. So, sure, you’re right. I got nothing. You gripe because I live under your roof, and you have to feed me. Well, that’ll change.”
“Bull. You could be helping us out, paying for our damn groceries. There are jobs aplenty. You just have to get your hands dirty.”
“Pop, I’m not gonna settle for a dead end. I’m not gonna gut fish for a living!”
His father seemed to stagger, the fury now driving him forward, the explosion coming, unavoidable, uncontrollable. Biggs tried to back away, the man’s fist catching him on the chin, Biggs’s head jerking hard to one side. He dropped, one knee, then back, sitting on the floor, bells in his ears. Now a new sound, the shrieking fury of his mother, rising up, full in his father’s face, more screaming from both of them. Biggs shuffled through the fog in his brain, put a hand on his chin, checked his teeth, none missing. He focused on his father now, his mother sobbing, both staring down at him. His father leaned low, seemed energized by his victory.
“You son of a bitch. You apologize to me, or you get the hell out of my house. I’m not letting you join any damned navy, either. Nobody in this family is going off to fight someone else’s war.”
Biggs steadied himself, stood slowly, dizzy still. “I’m sorry, Pop. I think you’re wrong.” He looked at his mother, said, “Mom, I can’t keep living in this place. I got no future here.” He looked again at his father, saw an odd weakness now, as though the man had used up all he had. “I need to do something for me, Pop. I can’t just sit and wait for something to happen, playing baseball with a bunch of guys who are no better off than me. Ray’s doing the right thing. His folks are proud of that, proud of him. You don’t wanna give me none of that…well that’s too bad. But it ain’t gonna change my mind. And I’m sorry, Pop, but I’m nineteen. You can’t stop me.”
His father seemed tired, the same look of defeat Biggs had seen so many times before.
“You gonna run off and leave your mother behind. That’s just swell. That make you a man?”
“Yes, Pop. It does. I can’t just stay in this house forever. A man needs to make his own way.”
“So, what you gonna do?” There was no hostility in the question, a surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re gonna join the damn navy, what the hell you gonna do? You ain’t never been on salt water, you oughta be scared as hell. Ships sink, you know. It ain’t like swimming in the river. Out there, you go straight down, maybe a mile or more. Bet you never thought of that, did you?”
Biggs had his first flash of doubt, saw smugness on his father’s face. He struggled to respond, thought of the recruiter, Goodman, reassuring words, and Ray, his excitement at whatever was to come.
“Well, Pop, I gotta find out. I gotta try, and they’re gonna pay me to do it. And Ray says, if we’re damn lucky, maybe they’ll put us on a battleship.”
TWO
Hull
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.—SUNDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1940
“The admiral is at it again. I talked to Stimson about it this morning. I may have to get Secretary Knox in here, Admiral Stark as well, lay all this out on the table. They’re probably as tired of hearing Admiral Richardson’s ‘ideas’ as I am. Sit down, you make me tired.”
Hull sat, said, “I admit I’m a little tired myself, Mr. President. What’s the unhappy admiral up to now?”
“You know, I wish you’d stop being so damn formal with me. We’ve been friends for too long, and unless there’s a herd of reporters writing down everything we say, you should really just call me…” He paused. “Mr. President, sir.”
Roosevelt laughed at his own joke, and Hull smiled. He’d heard that one before.