That black and white photograph had been displayed on the walls of all my homes over the last 30 years. It was a photo of tow young men in uniform, the uniform of the United States Navy. On the right, a handsome young man with around face named Kenneth Lord, and on the left, a boyish face with an unforgettable smile, the smile of my Dad. Dad was only 17 when he joined the Navy. Like many young men during WWII, he wanted to serve his country and follow in the footsteps of his older brother, Bud. Begging my grandmother to let him enlist, she would finally give in and sign for him to join.
In 1946, when the USS Harris arrived from California and docked at Boston Harbor, a plethora of homesick sailors disembarked from the home they had known aboard ship and headed for town. Walking briskly down the crowded, narrow streets with their hands tucked inside the pockets of their pea coats and their heads down to block the piercing wind that blew from the north, the sailors made their way past corner stores and shops. For the merchants and street vendors, a ship in port was the saving grace that put food on their tables and paid the rent. Eager to attract business, they would stand in the doorways and wave the young soldiers and sailors in to buy their wares or dine in the quaint little restaurants just off the ship's landing dock.
Kenneth Lord and my Dad were not only shipmates, but friends. As they walked down the street together, a photographer pulled at their coat sleeves, insisting they come in and have their picture taken. At first they resisted, laughing and pushing the persistent photographer away. Desperate not to let them get away, the man reminded the two of a mother's pride as she displayed the picture of her handsome son in his Navy blues. They finally gave in. Posing together in the tiny studio, the two sailors smiled broadly for the camera. Then, taking turns, individual pictures were made. It would be the only photo of my Dad ever taken in that uniform, and one of my dearest treasures.
Often, when Dad came to my home, he would pause and look at that old photo of him and Kenneth. Sometimes he would retell the story, always laughing and remembering that cold March day in Boston, just off the ship; just a couple of regular Joes looking for a good time.
It was there; in Boston that he would meet my mother, Josephine Anna Tranchina. Mother was the oldest of five children born to an Italian immigrant who came to the United States in his twenties and Ida Scola, A Boston-born Italian who grew up in Boston's North End. It was there, in Boston, that he would discharge from the Navy, take a bride and bring her home to his Mama in Texas.
Over the next 24 years, Mother and Dad would carve out a life in the suburbs of Dallas, raise four kids, suffer the trials and tribulations of middle class life and ultimately go their separate ways.
In 1970, when Dad married Dorothy Farmer Hallmark, it was quite an adjustment for all of us. She was soft spoken, even tempered and kind. With four nearly grown kids of her own, we were suddenly like the Brady Bunch.
Dorothy took care of my Dad like a mother hen watches over her chicks, always making sure he had whatever he needed, and I loved her for the devotion she gave him.
Without a doubt, Dorothy knew Dad's Navy stories as well as, if not better than he did. After all, she had heard them over and over. When they started taking an interest in attending the reunions his shipmates hosted, I was trilled for the two of them. From Mississippi to California, they would travel every two years to catch up with old friends and hear the stories that bound these men to heir Navy history on the USS Harris.
The wives would form a union of their own and become such good friends it would be hard to distinguish the roots of those friendships if you were a stranger to the group; but like the memories those young boys savored in their golden years, soon the events of those reunions would become the new memories made among the wives.
Dad was like a little boy anticipating Christmas the years they held those reunions. He looked forward to them and to seeing his friends, to telling things the way he remembered them and to hearing the tales of others. But each reunion brought bittersweet sorrow, a new shipmate coming on board (to the reunion scene that is) and the loss of yet another to bad health or misfortune.
It was 1993 and the city chosen for that year's reunion was Minneapolis. As in the past, a large reception welcomed the now 60-year old sailors, and across hall, looking a little lost, stood the white-headed man and his wife. Dad pulled Dorothy by the hand toward the couple. Although he had not seen the man at any of the previous reunions, Dad knew exactly who he was.
As they approached, Dad asked, "Hey, do you remember me?" With a puzzled look, the man closely studied his face, but couldn't recall. "Sam Mangum!" Dad boasted. Again the man shook his head to indicate he did not.
Breaking the silence, his wife spoke up, "This is our first reunion; our son saw it posted in a magazine and encouraged us to come." Then she reached into her bag and pulled out one of many photographs she had brought with her. "We are looking for the guy in this picture with my husband. He doesn't remember his name. Do you know him?"
Dad turned and looked at Dorothy with the same boyish smile that 50 years had not erased. "Why yes, "came Dorothy's reply, "you're looking at him!"
Not long after that, the reunions that followed became an annual event. Kenneth Lord, until he lost his battle with cancer in December 2001 and his wife Harriett continued attending reunions with the same enthusiasm of my father. And I am sure the story behind the photo was always among the stories told and the memories shared - the photo of two young sailors who were just out to have a good time and paused for a moment in front of the camera.
Authors Note: In 2005 I proudly attended my first USS Harris reunion with my Dad and stepmother. Although many of the sailors were now departed, it was still a great turnout. Like me, the children of these great friends and WWII hero's came to hear their tales and honor our dads, many of which had long since passed. Customarily at the close of the banquet, an announcement would be made telling what shipmate and city would host the next reunion but we all knew this was to be the last. The now 80 year olds could no longer take on this enormous task. So, at the closing of the banquet, along with all the other 40 and 50 year old children in attendance that evening, we gathered on stage and gleefully announced our desire to carry forth with their reunions as our way of honoring them and would faithfully do so for as long as they would come. This year's host was none other than Dwayne Lord, the proud son and owner of the other Photograph!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda has been writing for a number of years now and writes about true experiences that are near and dear to her heart. Many of her stories are tributes to family members. In addition to writing, Linda is a full time Executive Assistant with two grown daughters and a loving husband that enjoys spending leisure time with her on the lake or on their Harley Davidson. Linda's love for writing stories began when her children were small; she would create tales to entertain them using their names and their friends as the characters. Linda's stories have been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, the book and the weekly newspaper syndicate, Fort Worth Business Press and you may recognize her name from other stories she has shared on MyDailyInsights as well. She can be reached at lghastings@embarqmail.com
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