Chapter XXIII - Happy Families
1935, St Paul, a seedy hotel
Streetwalkers with painted faces ply their trade on the sidewalk outside, but do not bother the threesome carrying suitcases up the stone steps. Merrill, Sabrina and three year-old Paul are checking in and finding their way to their room.
“Sabrina, y’know, we’re better off outa’ Mrs. Kennedy’s place. That woman was asking too many questions. Why’s it her business what happened to Paul’s father? I felt like screaming at her—just ‘cos you never got laid, doesn’t mean that all young mothers are loose women. What a cow!”
Sabrina has had enough of Merrill’s chitter-chatter, which has been non-stop during a hurried walk across the city in the darkness. “Stop it, Merrill. She helped out with Paul when you were out of town and I had to do temporary jobs—which was most of the time last year!”
Merrill knows that he has to back off as he shows his partner a small, undecorated room. “Sorry, honey. You know, I’m fed up with St. Paul. Too many bad memories. Let’s move over to Minneapolis. I’ve got an option on a workshop.”
“Well, I’m not staying in this fleapit too long, I can tell you.”
Merrill continues his ever-optimistic spin, “My severance pay from Velo might just cover the rent on the workshop. I’ve got all the best contacts in the Twin Cities. I’d really like to start my own printing place again. Just small-scale, like when I started out with Uncle Bart.”
Sabrina tosses a heavy case on to the double-bed, and hoists young Paul into her lap. She has no option but to listen to Merrill’s dreams as she eyes cobwebs in every ceiling corner. “.... and we’ll soon rent a new apartment, just ’til I get on my feet. Then we’ll save for one of them new houses out by Medicine Lake that you saw when we took Paul out there. I miss the old Clear Lake cottage, but, hey— the sale cleared my worst debts.”
Merrill‘s fast-maturing and intelligent common law wife is not impressed. “Yeah, Merrill. And it’s gone and cost you your job. Why d’ya borrow off half the Velo shareholders?”
“Oh, Honey. That’s in the past now, Sabrina. I’m looking forward to a great future—together—just the three of us.” Merrill gives sleepy Paul a loving kiss, then pecks his long-suffering partner before heading off to unpack his half-empty expensive toiletries in a smelly bathroom.
2011, Sligo
Sue is in the garden tending her flower beds. Pat’s van appears on the lane. Jed rushes out of the house door, and all three meet by the mailbox on the river bridge.
“You got a letter from the U.S. in there?”
“Sure have.”
“This is it, Pat. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“It’s not a dental appointment then? Your teeth are lovely, by the way. Did I ever tell you that?”
Sue smiles at Pat’s attempts to be his normal self. Jed is more focused on one large envelope among a clutch of bills and junk mail in Pat‘s weather-beaten hand.
“Hopefully this document will tell us where Merrill was in 1937... or later.”
Pat teasingly holds on to the brown envelope decorated with U.S. air mail logos. “Mmm? From Washington D.C.—the home of the great and mighty presidents of America. How would this have any connection with that loser from Iowa? D’ye want me to open it?”
Jed is impatient and snatches his mail, “Give it here, Pat. It’s from The Washington Post archives: an obituary for Sabrina. It’s a long story, but she died five or six years back in Virginia, where most of the civil servants lived. She had a top government job for a while.”
As Jed eagerly, but carefully, rips open the top of the envelope, Sue continues the explanation of their excitement, “The Washington Post won’t let you read archived papers online — unless you sign up to getting the newspaper for a year or two.”
“Rip off. Won’t be much on Sligo deaths and removals in The Washington Post.” Pat observes.
“Jed’s hoping that Sabrina’s obit will mention something about her early life, when she knew Merrill.”
Pat grins, “When he put his bun in her oven, you mean.”
Whilst Sue and Pat exchange pleasantries, Jed has been scan reading several paragraphs about Sabrina’s prestigious career, then he exclaims, “Here it is, here it is! ‘She was born in Fredericksburg, Ohio’ - nice one, Sabrina, a load of shite—Iowa more like. ‘Mrs O'Hara whose maiden name was also O'Hara, married James Ellis O'Hara. He died in 1937. She moved to Washington the next year.’ That’ll do nicely, thank you. Merrill is dead. Not missing. Not ’disappeared’. Not living a new life on a farm in Montana. He’s dead.”
Pat is highly confused. “I t’ought ye were looking fer Merrill, not this O'Hara feller.”
“Pat, wisest old man in the west of Ireland, Merrill became James O'Hara. That’s why no-one can find him in the death registers.”
Sue intervenes, “Yeah, but we checked out all the deaths of O'Hara namesakes from 1936 to 1940, all over America. None of them were our Jimmy. They all had regular families.”
“I don’t care. We’re on to him. We might have to check all the male deaths of 50 year-olds in St. Paul in 1937. I’ll find him. I’ll find him!”
Jed marches off up his driveway, studying the obituary over and over again. Sue tells Pat, “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s becoming an obsession.”
Pat remarks, “The obituaries in the Sligo Champion are much more straightforward than The Washington Post. They tell you who died and where they’re being buried. You go to the funeral, pay your respects. You don’t have to think about what name to put on the Mass Card.”
Chapter XXIV - They Seek Him There
September 14, 1936, Mason City, Holy Family Church
Alice announced her engagement to Samuel not too long ago. Since then Alice has excitedly planned a grand Mason City society wedding with Merrill‘s approval. Merrill could not let her down, or lose his social standing in Iowa. Merrill has been forced to persuade Sabrina that the Minnesota house-buying plan would have to be put on hold for a few months.
For once, he had been brutally honest with her. He told Sabrina all about his elder daughter Alice's forthcoming wedding: how she wanted a white horse and open carriage. How she wanted Merrill to book her favorite jazz band for a day-long reception in the hotel. More importantly, how Merrill had to spend more time back in Mason City with his daughters to make sure that Alice‘s dreams were met. He insisted that it would be worth it. After the nuptials, he would be a free man. Alice had agreed to accommodate her sister Laura, so that Merrill could concentrate on his new business venture in Minneapolis.
Sabrina was reluctant to be parted, staying in the rented run-down place, but she was soft-hearted towards Alice's plans, a girl of the same age. She was trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. She never got the chance to discuss her own wedding fantasy with Merrill anymore. When her big day eventually came, she knew it would be no white wedding. There would be no white horse for Sabrina.
The wedding photographer has completed his snapping of the bride in several posed shots by the trees in the church grounds. Then Samuel is asked to join his new wife Alice for a few more romantic images of an attractive couple pretending to casually stroll among the flowering blossom.
A large congregation of onlookers remains a discreet distance away, but Alice’s posse of girlfriends keep ooh-ing and aah-ing each time the flashbulb pops. “And now, can I have the bride’s immediate family over here,” calls the bespectacled photographer.
Only two people step from the throng—a beaming man and his youngest daughter. Merrill sports a dazzling white floral button-hole which enhances the appearance of his brand new pale gray suit. The fabric color almost matches his full head of hair. Not far from his fiftieth birthday, Merrill’s blonde locks turned worryingly silver during the last decade. Involuntarily, the health of Merrill’s hair reflects his lifestyle.
All the other assembled relatives at the big event are predominantly from the Smith’ clan. The photographer will have to move his tripod back when the groom’s family line up for their formal shot.
Merrill offers his arm to Laura, the chief bridesmaid in a long pink dress, and he proudly leads his pretty daughter to join the beautiful bride. Another explosion of flash-light captures the moment for all time. Without knowing it, Merrill would only be caught again one final time—on Kodak celluloid, that is.
Later on, at the Eadmar Hotel wedding reception, Merrill swings another loan deal with a guest of the Smith‘s; he dupes this young investment banker from New Jersey to advance a few hundred dollars in a made-up venture. Merrill convinces the wide-eyed boy that he’d be a fool to miss out on a big development opportunity in Minneapolis: “Everyone who’s anybody has bought a stake. It’s a no-brainer. Can’t fail. I can cut you in, but we’ll have to work fast ...”
Not long after, Merrill jogs upstairs to his room in the Iowa hotel. It was not the stately luxury of the Hanford, by any means. A court case was pending regarding the settlement of bills at his former Mason City residence. In the meantime, Merrill had been barred from entering the higher class Hotel Hanford by the owner and his now former friend, Salvador. Alice had wanted her wedding reception venue to be the Hanford ballroom, but Merrill had dishonestly advised that it was fully-booked. His daughters knew nothing of Merrill’s growing financial worries. Luckily for Merrill, a small sales convention did eventually hire out the oversized ballroom at the Hanford for a week, and he could breathe a sigh of relief when Samuel rang the Hanford receptionist after considering moving the wedding back twenty-four hours.
Merrill’s trek to his room during the wedding festivities had one purpose—to secretly phone Sabrina and reassure her, “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll have the money to pay the deposit on your dream home, next week…yes, really. It’s my surprise gift to you for being so understanding. I put a bit on one side just in case Alice demanded a diamond tiara or something.”
Sabrina cannot help but giggle.
“But everything’s paid for now, and we can still just about scrape enough together… I love you too, honey. Really I do.”
Merrill trots back along the carpeted hotel corridor showing signs of bare threads. As he dances down the wide stairway to the ground floor, he notices that Laura is waiting for him in the hotel lobby with a glowing smile on her face. She wants to introduce her dad properly to Alexander Brett, her student boyfriend. Merrill is the perfect gentleman during the formalities. Overall, he is very impressed with Alexander—particularly after learning in a round-about way that his folks are ‘loaded.’
Then the bombshell: Laura squeals with delight that Alexander has just proposed—and she's accepted. Laura turns away, kisses Alexander, and they enjoy a lingering hug. She did not notice the color briefly drain from her father’s face. For a second, he went as gray as his matching suit and hair combo.
Alexander and Laura announce that they plan a quick wedding because Alexander has been offered a lucrative job in Creston in the New Year, alongside his wealthy father. The elated fiancée explains that they intend to set up home near Creston “in a glorious new villa by the Crestmoor Country Club, which we saw last weekend.“ Laura asks Merrill if she can plan a big wedding just like Alice's reception going on noisily next door in the dance hall.
"Of, course, darling Laura. Phew, congratulations. Congratulations!" says Merrill with a forced smile. He knows he cannot possibly afford a second wedding; he's borrowed and begged to get Alice's nuptials out of the way.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I don’t expect the Hanford like big sister. Here will do just fine. The food was divine.”
Alexander tells Merrill the date in December they have in mind. Laura suggests that Merrill should ask the hotel manager "right now" to reserve the dance hall and at least a dozen rooms. All day long, Merrill has been craftily avoiding the manager, who is lurking in the background at the check-in desk. Finally, Laura also appeals to Merrill to get wedding guest Vic Conway of the Globe-Gazette to print a big engagement announcement spread in all the local papers.
“You read my mind, Laura. Why waste another good opportunity to let all my old buddies know that Merrill Harrison is doing very well without the Velo-maniacs. I’d be honored to formally announce your plans. Congratulations again, Alexander. Welcome to my family.”
Alexander shakes Merrill’s clammy hand, then the father of the bride tells the excited young lovers to run along and enjoy Alice's party. “I’ll sort everything out.” He turns to face the check-in desk across the lobby. Beads of perspiration are developing on his forehead, but he wipes them away with a crisp white handkerchief taken from the breast pocket of his stylish dress suit. He regains his composure, marching up to the Eadmar reception desk in positive strides. But, before he can speak ...
"Ah, Mr. Harrison, I've been hoping to have a word. How is everything? Young Alice looked radiant today. And did you like the three-tiered wedding cake, and the extra flowers you ordered?"
Merrill is suddenly stuttering and nodding, as Mr King, the hotel manager does not pause for breath. “Now then. As you know, your private room was retained while you were on business trips— but your monthly bill has never been settled in full since you left Velo. And now we have the wedding party costs, which have mounted up over the last few weeks. You told me that Aunt Edith's inheritance would be cleared for release just before Alice's big day. Are you in a position to settle up? NOW!” The rising volume of the manager’s voice draws timid glances from the bell-boy and a young female receptionist. “And in cash preferably, after the last embarrassing problems at the bank when I presented your check.”
Merrill takes his prompt and starts his patter: "Mr. King, calm down .... yeah, the money's coming through. I didn't want to be vulgar and start throwing wads of dollar notes over the desk in front of my guests. Those lazy Minnesota attorneys say they have to rubber-stamp some document or other, and the balance will be in my account by October, and ...."
The hotel manager leans over the desk and becomes aggressive. He’s heard all this sort of talk before. He drops his put-on highbrow professional voice to a threatening whisper: "Look Merrill, if this bill is not settled—in cash—by the time you return from the World Series next month, then you'll find all your precious suits out on the sidewalk...and I don't want my hotel entrance looking trashy, so the garbage man will end up the best-dressed man in town. Get me?"
Over in the garishly decorated reception room, all the younger wedding guests perform the latest popular dances to the sounds of a live Swing band. Some wave at Merrill when he re-appears. He kisses and compliments Alice yet again, then strolls over to a large group surrounding Laura and Alexander. "All sorted," Merrill assures them.
Back in Minneapolis, Sabrina passes another lonely night by palming through her real estate brochures. She knows the text by heart.
The noisy party mood at the Eadmar keeps escalating. It must be the cheap wine, personally selected by the bride’s father. Mr. King recommended a different vintage, but Merrill was not to be swayed. And since the repeal of the Prohibition Act, lifelong tee-totallers were being tempted to indulge in alcoholic beverages.
Eventually, Merrill disposes of his suit jacket at the Mason City wedding. His plain shirt is gradually stained by dots of spilt red wine and larger patches of sweat. He spends most of the night conversing with disbelieving one-time Velo business associates at the bar. He boasts about his great successes out of Iowa state, now that he's branched out on his own. At one point, a drunken guest is dragged away from Merrill after swinging a fist, but missing.
As the drunkard is escorted away, past Laura and Alexander‘s table, they hear him shout, “Bullshit, Merrill Harrison! You‘re a blister-mouthed liar.” The smooching couple sniggers, hoping that this type of guest will not ruin their wedding night.
By midnight, a tipsy Merrill slumps into a chair by the dance floor, watching Alice and Samuel alongside Laura and Alexander strutting their stuff. The knot of his colorful necktie no longer aligns with his gaping shirt collar. An uninvited wedding guest suddenly sits down across from Merrill, as clandestinely pre-planned a few moments ago at the bar. Reaching under the table, Merrill secretly passes the dark-haired stranger a neatly-folded wad of dollar bills.
“That’s one hundred, as agreed.“ mouths Merrill, with a nod.
Before scurrying away, the stranger blurts out, “Charlie Ferreira says you’ve got until Christmas. Your luck was in this time, considering that his cousin was Alice’s godfather.”
The band starts playing a new hit song, heard daily on the radio. The kids all sing along, “They seek him here, they seek him there. From town to town, and God knows where…”
Merrill stares into the mirrored ballroom centerpiece above his head. He knows it is time to go on the run again.
2011, Sligo
“What happened there then. How did you miss that headline, Sue?” inquires Jed, incredulously, returning from his late afternoon jaunt to the village shop and post office.
“I didn’t miss it. I was checking all the Iowa newspaper dates after October 1936, and I noticed that most of November and December were missing from the CD. So I rang the Library of Congress in Washington, and a helpful librarian said that some files must have gotten corrupted when being copied on to the discs we bought. In a flash, she kindly e-mailed me the 1936 file again. And that’s when Laura’s engagement announcement popped up as soon as I opened the missing images. See, here‘s the article ‘Miss Laura Harrison To Wed Alexander C. Brett.‘ ”
Jed accepts the explanation without expressing immediate gratitude, “How come Tim’s mother never mentioned this stuff? I suppose she didn’t want to upset Tim—sort of respecting memories of his dad.”
“Yeah, I agree, but this engagement announcement places Merrill back in Mason City right at the end of 1936. Then he disappears, and then he sends some Christmas money back home. The money envelopes must have been a one-time thing. Christmas 1936.”
“Jesus, Sue. Then in 1937, Sabrina says James O'Hara ‘also known as Merrill,’ dies. He must have secretly kept in touch with Sabrina. Told you! He’s gotta be in Minnnesota at the end, not Montana like Tim’s uncle Samuel seemed to think.”
“Or maybe Samuel was deliberately trying to throw Tim off Merrill‘s scent,” comments Sue, cryptically.
“Eh?”
May 1937, Minneapolis
Merrill is genuinely trying to go legit again, domestically and business-wise, although he has run away from vast debts in Iowa—“trying” being the paradoxical word. He is relieved to be earning some clean money, and contributing to Sabrina’s housekeeping fund. Yet Merrill is deluded enough to think that one day he will pay off every cent he owes. Every day, he scours the obituary columns of the local papers, hoping to see a pronouncement about “Aunt” Edith Forster‘s funeral. Edith’s death would trigger the re-emergence of “Merrill Harrison,” and kill off the surreptitious and burdensome alias of Jim O'Hara, according to Merrill‘s warped sense of values. His fourteen year quest to grab a slice of the Forster fortune still dominates his dream world.
Merrill fails to grasp the extent of his overall financial plight. One hundred and thirty miles south in Iowa, his daughters have the same problem. They are aware that Merrill has upset a lot of people in and around Mason City, but they by no means appreciate the venom which the very mention of his name creates in some quarters. They will never be informed differently. Merrill has not been in touch for nearly six months.
Merrill and Sabrina’s flits have taken them to a more modern apartment block, but the rooms are just as tiny as their previous “homes”—the grimy tenements and budget hotels. They are happier in their latest surroundings; it’s clean if nothing else. With both partners now bringing home some income, Sabrina and Merrill have scraped enough money together to pay three months rent in advance. Within their four walls, Sabrina and Merrill effectively live as a married couple named O'Hara - but this is a private common law arrangement. To the outside world, Sabrina is Merrill’s pretend daughter, and son Paul is too young to comprehend why he is referred to as Merrill’s grandson when the situation demands. The growing youngster and subsequent adult would never be able to fully understand why this façade suited his furtive father.
As previously, the O'Hara rent book has had to be registered in the name of “Sabrina O'Hara” because of Merrill's lack of corresponding ID. Some court messengers and bank investigators and other unidentified complete strangers occasionally knock on Sabrina's door, inquiring whether she is in contact with a man called “Merrill Harrison.” Some say that there have been unconfirmed sightings of a man in the city who looks uncannily like a chap from Iowa with unpaid loans and fines. When these disturbances occur, using an agreed plan, Sabrina always says that the man of the house is her father, “James,” an out-of-work dock laborer. The plan works when required. It‘s always, “Merrill who?”
Each time this scene is played out and the callers are long gone, a convincingly irritated Merrill tells Sabrina that the strangers are “out of order.” He claims that he has sent cash and money checks to “accepted creditors” to buy him some more time. Sometimes, this is partly true, but the checks can never be honored - and no ‘return to sender’ address was ever supplied. Sabrina is not stupid; far from it. She knows full well that Merrill has several sizeable accounts to pay off, but she also knows that the father of her child is now trying for the first time in Paul’s life to earn a honest crust, whilst seeing him daily. Merrill’s dream is a return to wealth and respectability, and the freedom to walk down the street unchallenged, mentally or physically. Sabrina’s aspirations are more modest and much less complicated, but seemingly always just out of reach. She wants to marry Paul’s father, and live in her own home.
In reality, Sabrina thought she knew Merrill as a changed man. She accepted that the spare cash from the housekeeping kitty had to be handed to her aging boyfriend for the regular envelopes being sent to Iowa. However, no envelopes ever made it to the post box, apart from two personal packages addressed to his girls last Christmas. Merrill still had his schemes, although they were just small-scale fiddles these days. Some even make a profitable return, and most times Merrill is sincerely happy to pay back the household “loans.”
Compared to the forlorn cold nights of last winter, Merrill and Sabrina now make a relatively contented couple. They have accepted their fate. It was going to be a long haul - but they would get there, together.
“Blow the candles out, Paul.” They could even celebrate their son’s fifth birthday as a cozy family unit this year.
A few days after Paul’s impromptu little party, his father gets wind of the news that a somewhat naive bank manager has arrived in town. In a back-street bar, Merrill gets told that the banker has just been transferred over to the Twin Cities from Boston. Apparently, this new man is out to make a name for himself by trying to kick-start small businesses with low interest loans and buy-in options. In a jiffy, Merrill makes an appointment to see the open-minded money-man on the tenth floor of the Minneapolis bank building. Three months ago, Merrill had gamely set up a small-scale printing business by renting a tiny unit at the back of an industrial complex. He is ironically proud of the company name neatly stenciled over the workshop door by his own hand : O'Hara Book-Binding. It is a one man operation and does not even provide full-time work for Merrill, at present. He wants to expand. He can undercut Velo on several Minnesota contracts, for starters—if only he had the modern machinery. He wants a loan, and a bit extra for the deposit on Sabrina's dream home. The add-on does not feature as such in Merrill’s hastily drawn-up business plan.
Overall, the bank manager is suitably impressed. He is blissfully unaware of Merrill's track record. It is just the sort of business idea that the bank’s investors are looking to help out, and cash in on. The ambitious banker can only see a sharp-suited man showing all the right credentials to fight his way out of the Great Depression. Economic forecasters say that the worst days are over.
“Let’s get the process started then, Mr. O’Hara. No time like the present.”
Loan forms are filled out, and Merrill only has to produce his James O'Hara identification documents prior to shaking on the deal. He has no suitable driving license or rent book, so he brings out a photo of Paul plus his son's birth certificate. The recently-married banker admires the photograph of Merrill’s bright-eyed son. “You must be very proud of him. I hope to have a boy of my own like that soon. Now then, this birth record is fine; confirms who you are.”
Merrill keeps quiet and nods vigorously, trying not to overdo his desperate excitement. “But...”
“But what?” Merrill interjects.
“What I really need is your own birth certificate.”
Merrill responds with a complimentary quip, “Sir, I’m quite a few years older than you. We were not issued with certificates when I was born.”
“I’m not getting any younger, Mr, O’Hara, ha!” The banker advises that Merrill’s predicament is not uncommon. He explains that he has helped out many older gents and there is a solution. “It is now common practice in financial circles for middle-aged businessmen to get their births retrospectively registered with the county authority. This is a simple exercise and will help you with lots of security matters in the future.”
“Go on. What do I do?”
“Simply take a bunch of unique documents down to the Vital Records Registrar, such as a church or school register entry which shows your name and date of birth. Or an old pay slip, if your past employers kept personal details. Even a hand-written baptism record would suffice. And take along Paul's birth certificate. This would certainly support your application for a back-dated birth document.”
“And that’s it? No questions asked?” Merrill’s choice of words puzzles the banker.
“Don’t be silly. The Registrar will then contact your referees—and check that any supplied documents are genuine.”
Merrill’s raised hopes are dashed in an instant. But his mind is working overtime. He keeps smiling blankly while considering possibilities. Semi-ideas are rationally rejected by his brain in hundredths of a second. Fourteen years of ever-increasing deceit has honed Merrill’s mental capacity, for all the wrong reasons. As a result, he knew that the winning formula would enter his head very soon—and it duly did.
Merrill thanks the bank manager for his time and tells him that he will be back in a few days with a birth certificate. “I will hold on tightly to these forms, Mr. O’Hara. We want to be a part of your future.”
“So do I. So do I.” Merrill’s head is far away. He does not realize that his farewell small-talk is rather nonsensical. The banker pats him on the back as he leaves, confident that his potential new client is a very determined man. A winner.
*************************
1937, Mason City, Velo Building
Using his old set of keys, Merrill gains easy entry to the Velo offices. Flicking on his flashlight, he heads straight for the storage room. The layout of this office block has not changed in the thirty years since it was built. Merrill helped the architect to design the special internal elements required by an expanding print works business. At this moment he is especially glad that he insisted on every inside door having a unique but matching lock, except for the extra secure strong room. This brick-lined vault has a heavy-duty door, and a heavy-duty bolted locking system. In the half-darkness, it is not difficult for Merrill to pinpoint the store room key on a key-ring containing dozens of look-alike Yale devices.
The store room had to be secure. Over the years, Le Mars and then Velo printed thousands and thousands of official state authority forms. Some were even to Federal specifications. There were booklet and folder designs, and tear-off pad arrangements. And every so often, a new governor or pompous state official would decide to leave his mark on public service history by changing the header layout, affecting boxes of paid for but unused forms. It might just be a petty change of coloring on the state logo, which the new political leader thought was not quite right, according to his historical knowledge. Of course, sometimes new legislation dictated that new text had to be inserted on official forms. Either way, it had never mattered to Velo, or to Le Mars Printing before them. The printers were delighted: they got paid to supply the newer designs, and also to securely store superseded documents. Scattering them on a rubbish heap was not an option. There was also the theory that a cash-strapped county might revert to using up old forms in special circumstances, but this rarely happened, even in the early 1930’s.
Merrill roots through some old cabinets, having a good recollection of the archive filing system. He knows he is in the right section and it does not take him long to find exactly what he has driven four hours through the night for—a pile of old Le Mars Printing BMD forms. In plain language, blank birth, marriage and death certificate templates. He rapidly finds the series marked “MN” under torchlight and pulls out an obsolete foolscap Minnesota birth certificate form. He quickly scrutinizes the document. up and down. It seems to be from the desired era.
Five minutes later, he is all set up on the oldest typewriter in the office. The flashlight illuminates the inserted page as he steadily presses the spring-weighted keys >> JAMES ELLIS O'HARA born 22 JULY 1891 [vainly knocking a few years off] in ST PAUL, father THADDEUS O' HARA, mother MATILDA WALL. Registered 15 SEP 1917, {for purposes of WW1 DRAFT RELEASE}. He forges the signature of the long-deceased St. Paul's Registrar, copied from his old marriage license when he wed Madeline in 1912. This was the final touch. He had practiced this signature all day. Merrill shines the torch on his new birth certificate, looking a tad proud of himself. “Away we go, Jim-lad.”
*************************
Summer 1937, Minneapolis
The bank loan approval letter eventually arrives in the O'Hara’s post box in the apartment lobby. Merrill had shrewdly rang the bank manager the morning after getting home from his overnight excursion to his former Velo stomping ground. Saying that he was “busy with new orders at work,” Merrill had asked if he could mail over his ID documents.
The bank manager was delighted to hear that Merrill’s business was flourishing, and he eagerly directed Merrill what to do. “Just address them to my secretary. She has your loan forms. Assuming everything is in order, you should get approved in no time.”
It had been an overlong wait. Merrill was convinced during the last fortnight that the bank was on to his fraudulent name change scam. He expected every passing police car to stop and drag him off to the precinct—but it never happened. The hold-up actually concerned the unavailability of a senior bank official over in Massachusetts. The rubber-stamper was on vacation ... then ill. Merrill probably felt more sick than the feeble Boston banker, until today.
The belly-ache had been worth it. Shortly after reading out the approval letter to Sabrina, Merrill’s lover was gliding around the apartment with a permanent smile on her face. In her head, she meticulously plans the finer details of a final move from rented accommodation: “Maybe in a month or so, I‘ll be able to start packing away a few things.” Merrill is unsure whether the dreamy comments are directed at him, so he just continues reading his newspaper, folded neatly on the obituary section.
Sabrina had been able to resume work as a secretary for the Emergency Department, a local government office, to help boost the O'Hara's day to day finances. Merrill half-heard Sabrina mutter something to the effect that, “in another few weeks, the savings kitty will be enough to reserve some furniture on lay-away.” Merrill starts to study financial market closing prices, as Sabrina dreams on in her one-sided conversation. “The window-shopping will be fun.”
However, Merrill was forced to respond when Sabrina playfully snatched away his newspaper and asked when he was going to make the house deposit down-payment. Merrill spoke nonchalantly as he grabbed his young girlfriend and cuddled her on his lap. “Why—just as soon as the loan money clears into the book-binding account—trust me.”