7 September 1945
San Pedro, California
Homecomings are never easy, especially after long absences. Like many newly reunited families the Ingrams discovered that reacclimation to a loved one occurs in at least three phases. Phase one is physical and wonderful, but of course short-lived. The second phase is that uncertain period when lovers examine each other’s psyche to see how much or how little they have changed, and if so, what has changed. In phase three they learn how to adjust to the changes. More often than not, things work out, but sometimes disaster follows.
More practical matters accumulate after long absences: dirty windows, overgrown yards, cars in need of repair; in the Ingrams’ case the car was a faded blue 1939 Plymouth that needed an oil change and had a leaky radiator. But for Ingram this was all good, something he could throw himself into and see immediate results.
The day dawned clear and blue, and after a big breakfast Ingram turned to. He happily sweated and grunted, mowing and trimming the lawn with a diapered Jerry crawling behind, sun glinting off his little body. Later, Ingram attacked the windows while Helen put Jerry down for a nap. After that, Ingram took the luxury of a nap, then dove into a huge stack of bills.
By six that evening the place fairly sparkled, but they were exhausted. Ingram swilled a beer, took a shower, and walked into the kitchen where Helen laid on a savory pork chop dinner. It seemed strange, almost too peaceful, as they sat at dinner with Jerry pulled up in his high chair, stuffing Rice Krispies in his mouth with both hands. No emergency calls from the bridge, no noon reports, no equipment failures between the salad and main course. No small talk among twelve officers at a green baize–covered table. Just pork chops and applesauce and Helen with Jerry happily spilling milk and banging his cup. At 7:30 they settled back and listened to the Lone Ranger with Jerry asleep between them. By 8:30 p.m. they had tumbled into bed and were sleeping like zombies.
The next morning he was up at 6:45 making coffee and breakfast while Helen changed Jerry’s diaper and heated his bottle. “Night feedings,” he said, heading for the front door. “Glad that’s over. Drove me nuts.”
He went out, picked up the paper, and walked back inside looking at the headlines.
Inside, Helen prattled on. “We were lucky. Some babies can’t digest milk. It takes a year, maybe two, to grow out of it, and even—what’s wrong?”
Ingram sat heavily in the kitchen chair and laid the newspaper before her. He pointed to an article on the front page: “Vice Admiral John S. ‘Slew’ McCain Dies at Home.”
Helen sighed and skimmed the article summarizing McCain’s life, from his boyhood on a Mississippi plantation to his attendance at the surrender ceremony on 2 September. “Heart attack. Sad. How did he seem to you?”
Ingram nodded. “He must have known the end was near. You can see it in a man. He wanted to go home the moment the cease-fire was declared on the fifteenth of August. But Admiral Halsey ordered him to stay, insisted that he needed to see the surrender ceremony, the fruit of his labor.”
“Stupid.”
“Maybe. I don’t think Halsey or anyone else other than his doctor realized the severity of his condition. He looked pretty good aboard the Missouri. He lined up with everyone else at stiff attention. But then afterward, coming back on the plane, he didn’t look good. I think he’d had a couple of heart attacks beforehand but just didn’t tell anyone.” He nodded to Helen’s pack of Lucky Strikes lying nearby. “And he was a heavy smoker. That’s probably what tipped him over.”
She finished her scrambled eggs, letting the remark pass. “We’d better hurry. We’re seeing Dr. Raduga at nine o’clock sharp.”
“Funny thing. He knew all about you.”
She rose. “Who?”
“The admiral. He knew all about your adventures on the Jap barge and your love affair with Lieutenant Commander Katsumi Fujimoto.”
“Todd, I didn’t—”
He raised a hand. “Sorry. Bad joke. What he knew about was all the torpedo stuff you turned over to BuOrd. He said it knocked them on their butts.” He patted her arm. “Congratulations. Seriously. Maybe it’s time to take off the wraps. You really should have a medal.”
She growled, “How about you? Isn’t there talk about a third Navy Cross?”
“I need that like a hole in the head.”
“You owe it to them,” she said. “All those people who supported you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Look, Todd. You’ve been skating on the edge of valor for so long. It’s time you stepped up and let people be proud.”
“I still think you should have the medal.”
She checked her watch. “One of these days I may get through to you. But now it’s time to hip-hop.”
“You think we have time for a quickie before we go?”
“Whaaat?” She jumped up.
“Well, can’t blame me for asking.”
“Mrs. Peabody is due here any minute, and we have to be dressed.”
“Just five minutes?” he grinned.
“Is that all you think about?”
“Frankly, yes.”
She threw a slab of toast at him and walked out.
They sipped coffee in a booth at Pete’s Drive-in on Gaffey Street, Ingram and Helen on one side and Dr. Raduga sitting opposite. The Friday morning traffic had unsnarled, and the place was quiet. The welders, riggers, machinists, pipefitters, and white-collar workers from Todd Shipyard were over there completing two destroyers, the last of their war production order.
Raduga wore a leather jacket over tan slacks, a white shirt with a bowtie, and shoes that needed a shine. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and his slicked-back hair was pomaded. He reminded Ingram of a Hollywood matinee star.
Helen clanked her spoon on her coffee cup, stirring constantly. Finally, she pulled a Lucky from its pack, lit it, and inhaled.
Ingram and Raduga traded glances. She’s nervous, and she knows we know. Ingram reached under the table for her hand. She grabbed it and held on. Raduga and Helen had already met twice for psychotherapy after hours at the infirmary before Ingram returned home. She had expected immediate results, but so far she couldn’t see any progress.
Ingram drummed his fingers. I’m nervous too. Why in the hell is that?
Dr. Raduga said, “Helen, you can relax. I’m not going to bite you. The whole idea is to help you get rid of these nightmares and the depression, remember?”
She countered, “Depression? I’m not depressed anymore. Todd’s home. Everything’s fine.”
Raduga nodded. “Oh? If that’s the case, then maybe I should leave.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I . . . I still dream.”
“Ummm.”
“And . . . under the bed.”
“Okay.” Raduga looked at a shrugging Ingram. He said, “This isn’t going to happen overnight.”
She turned on him, her eyes flashing, “It has to. I have a husband and a son to take care of.”
Raduga asked, “Have you started your medication yet?”
“I believe that’s what I prescribed, yes.”
“Well, it’s the dosage.”
“What about it? It’s a light dosage.”
“Only at night, it says.”
“That’s so you can be active during the day.”
She looked aside, “Well, that’s just the thing. I need to be . . . active at night too.” Her face turned pink.
There was a prolonged silence. Raduga blinked twice and then he got it. “Delay it for a week and then resume it. Is that all right?” He pointedly looked at both. “Believe me; this will help you a lot. You’ll sleep like a log.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” grinned Ingram.
She threw an elbow in his ribs.
“Is twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday, still all right with you? Say, six o’clock?” He dropped some change on the table and started to get up.
“Yes.”
“Good. Just for an hour. And I’ve cleared you to come back to work anytime you wish. Not in the psychiatric ward though. You’ll be working in surgery.”
“Sounds good. I’ve had some experience there.”
Raduga thrust a hand across the table. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Commander. Welcome back. Or maybe I should ask how long are you back?”
They shook hands. Ingram said, “Last I heard, my ship is heading back soon to Hawaii, convoying a slow train of troop ships. I’ll meet her there for the rest of the trip.” He looked at Helen. “I have another week or so here.”
“Okay.” She put her hand on top of his.
“Well, then . . .” Raduga started to slide out. “If that’s all, I’ll . . .”
Ingram said, “Dr. Raduga. I may need your services too.”
He stopped. “Oh?”
“Todd?” Helen asked.
Ingram said, “You see, I used to have these nightmares too. I was on Corregidor with Helen. That’s where we met. And I saw those poor chopped-up people, some bound to their stretchers in the main tunnel when artillery shells blasted at the entrance, sending dust and smoke all the way through. Some of those guys were so covered with dirt you couldn’t tell if they were alive. And they . . .”
“Shhh, baby,” said Helen.
He turned to her, “Why am I saying all this?”
Raduga said, “I’m not surprised. So many are in the same situation. And neither of you is a coward. It’s just that humans can only take so much.”
Ingram tried to stop himself but couldn’t. “And then Guadalcanal. We stood toe-to-toe with the Japs. We tangled with a Jap battleship. You know what the inside of a 5-inch mount looks like after a 14-inch round goes through it? You’re lucky if you find a jawbone or a bent belt buckle. The rest of the mount looks like hamburger all stuck to machinery. Twelve guys snuffed out,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that, to say nothing of the ship on fire and the upper decks littered with dead and dying. Broken men with scalded faces crying for their mothers . . .”
Helen leaned into him. “Todd, honey.”
He turned to her. “Did you know Ollie saved my life more than once?”
“You sort of implied it.”
“We hated him on Corregidor. He got scared during a Jap air attack and froze up when his shipmates were in trouble. Two of my men died. Not really his fault, but it looked like it. Maybe he could have done something, maybe not. But everybody wanted to kill him, and he let them feel that way. They literally threw him off the dock and into the 51 boat when we shoved off from Caballo. Everybody ignored him, even me.
“But then I got chickenitis too. There were a couple of times when I froze. Once on Marinduque and once when we rescued you. I froze at the trigger. But Ollie was right there backing me up, killing people who were trying to kill me. He saved my life more than once because I became a coward. I really shouldn’t be here.”
“I . . . didn’t know that.”
He took a deep breath and looked squarely at Raduga. “This is the first time I’ve talked about this. And I really didn’t mean to. It just came out.”
“It’s okay, Todd. That’s why we’re here,” said Raduga.
Helen ran a hand through his hair. “You should have said something, Todd. I’ve been making this all about me.”
“Couldn’t. Big . . . tough . . . guy.”
“Todd.”
“I’m yellow.” He clinched his fists. “Yellow with two Navy Crosses I don’t deserve.”
“Todd, come on.”
He took a deep breath. “Weeeow. Can you believe this? Shooting off my mouth. I’m sorry.” He looked up. “But I think I’ve beaten it. The belladonna and a caring wife got me through this.”
Raduga said, “So, you’re okay for now?”
“I’ll tell you. Coming home to Helen and not getting shot at helps a lot.”
“Oftentimes that’s all it takes. But if the nightmares continue, why don’t you go to the Terminal Island Naval Hospital. I’m Army, remember?”
“That’s a career killer. Someone finds out I’m seeing a shrink and they close the record. Period. I’ll get drummed out. This has to be off the record.”
“Tell you what, Todd. Let’s have coffee again next Friday and we’ll talk some more. See how you’re doing. But I can’t make any promises, especially with the off-the-record stuff. That wouldn’t be ethical.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re Navy, I’m Army, and that’s okay. But still, I’m trained and certified to comment and make recommendations on your fitness for duty. I’d be derelict if I found you unfit and didn’t do something about it.”
“Oh.”
“What I can say is that I can keep this off the record unless something is seriously wrong, which in my humble opinion is not the case.”
Now it was Ingram’s turn to stir coffee. “Fair enough.”