Chapter XIV - The DC Connection
2011, Sligo
“Sue, we need a break here. Merrill disappeared from view after 1935, yet Tim’s uncle Samuel knew him after Alice’s wedding in 1936. Then there’s a few debt recovery trials in the court files box from 1937—then nothing.”
Sue speculates, “There’s no guarantee that Merrill attended those last few court dates in person. None of the reports actually mention his presence. It’s just different legal representatives stating their cases.” It was a valid point.
Jed takes a big drag on his cigarette and ponders, “I know. Why don’t we check out what happened to Sabrina and her baby. It’s worth a long shot. We’re stuck.”
Sue chips in. “I just found the obituary for Merrill’s father in Oklahoma. Thaddeus Harrison died in September 1937. It says that he had two sons, ‘Leroy now deceased,’ and ‘Merrill.’ Well, his father knew he was alive in 1937.”
“Or, his father thought he was alive…mmm?”
1953, Washington DC, John Foster Dulles on the Phone to President Eisenhower
Secretary of State J. F. Dulles and President Eisenhower are talking about suspected Communist activities in the East. Both use less than diplomatic language. Dulles is told to contact his brother Allen at the CIA, “Let’s stamp out the Commie threat covertly before it gets out of hand. Okay?”
Dwight D. Eisenhower is not a man to be trifled with. The call ends. Dulles turns to his secretary, who is about to replace her own phone on the hook, “Did you get all that, Sabrina?” His secretary flicks through her shorthand notes.
Sabrina smiles, “Well, John, I got it all except for some of those Asian place names. I’ll write it up and you can check it out after your meeting with Mr. Churchill. By the way, he’s sent over some of his favorite cigars for you from England. Never forgets, does he?”
“Good ol’ Winnie. Did you get that inscribed trowel I requested for my good friend Winston?”
“It’s all wrapped up and ready for you to collect in the lobby, John. Sterling silver. We had to commission it, special. It looks lovely.”
Sabrina O’Hara and John Foster Dulles walk together in a business-like manner past typist’s desks in elaborately plastered side rooms until they reach the department foyer. “Excellent, Sabrina. Well done, and wrapped in a Union Jack, too. That’ll please him. Y’know, there’s not many world statesmen who could build you a garden wall whilst lecturing you about the history of the Middle East. Winston‘s a very talented man.” Sabrina brushes a stray thread from the shoulder of her boss’s smart suit jacket.
“By the way, Sabrina, how‘s your boy Paul settling into his first job?”
“Well, he knows he’s got to start at the bottom, just like I did, but he has big ambitions to sit for the Bar exams and set up his own law practice someday.”
“Good for him, Sabrina. Nothing wrong with ambition. He certainly breezed through his university studies. We can all see where he gets his brains from, and his dad must have been a bright fellow too.”
Sabrina turns away, a little flustered, ready to dash back to the safety of her office, “Oh he was… in his own unique way.”
Sabrina had been in Washington D.C. for fourteen years now. For the last dozen, she carried out secretarial work for an assortment of senior civil servants and politicians. In the early 50’s, when Ike Eisenhower marched all the way up Capitol Hill to the White House, an even bigger promotion fell into her lap.
Today, when Sabrina headed back down the maze of plush carpeted corridors, other female clerical staff respectfully parroted their regular greeting, “Good day, Mrs. O'Hara,” as she passed each desk.
1940, Washington DC, Secretarial Review Meeting
Sabrina’s work record is being scrutinized by a prim and proper headmistress-type government official, “Well, Sabrina, you’ve certainly excelled at every position you’ve worked at in the Agriculture Department. Your record won’t hold you back if you’re serious about this vacancy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“As you know, since the outbreak of hostilities in Europe, the War Secretary needs to expand his staff swiftly. Only the most trustworthy and upright girls will get the new posts.” The Head of Clerical Administration has her head down, closely perusing the file resting on her crossed legs.
“I see that Bob Lovett has put in a good word for you. Well done. But I have noted that the Personnel File section is short of a few family details. There’s just you and your son Paul at home, yes? And your folks back in Ohio are deceased? Okay, I’d say we just need your proof of marriage document .... and a copy of Paul’s birth certificate, for good measure. After that, I’m more than willing to approve you for the War Department.”
“Thank you Mrs. Berneau. I’ll get on to that right away. I might have to contact the registrars back in the Midwest for the marriage record. I was looking for my marriage license the other day. James got it framed for me, but I haven’t seen it since we packed up and came to Virginia. I do hope it wasn’t misplaced with our other personal things after the railway shunt.”
“Thanks Sabrina. That will be all. I think that you can go a long way here in Washington if you just keep doing what you do best. Work hard, and don’t ever tell tales.”