A Final Broadside Read online

  Patrick walked toward the fire truck, now unloading a stretcher, medical bag, and oxygen cylinder. “Did you make the call?” called out a lieutenant.

  Patrick closed the distance between the two men and said that he was embarrassed and sorry for the false alarm. A look of disbelief and then disdain crossed the fireman’s face as he turned to his crew to tell them some idiot had called in a false alarm.

  At the train station, passengers were disembarking from the train with smiles and laughter when Ken caught sight of the heavyset man and his family. They were all smiles as they stepped down the railroad stairs, and the children started running toward the Le Mans’ sprint cars ride. It was a race between siblings! The father had just reached the bottom step of the railroad car when he grimaced, clutched his chest, and fell face-first onto the train platform.

  Screams from people close by alerted the lieutenant, and his head jerked toward the commotion. Ken waved and shouted at the firemen to come to the train platform as he reached the man, now foaming at the mouth, his muscles seizing.

  Ken dropped to the man’s side and put two fingers on his carotid artery. He felt no pulse. Ken dropped his head onto the man’s chest, listening for a heartbeat, but heard only the vibration of a fibrillating heart. With no memory of why this action might be useful, yet somehow knowing this was what he had to do, Ken found the location between the collarbone and xiphoid process and began chest compressions.

  One, two, three, four, five, breathe. Ken blew into the man’s mouth the oxygen that would keep him alive. One, two, three, four, five, breathe. The man sputtered, sucked in a giant breath, and then exhaled just as big. His eyes opened, and he breathed on his own as the onlookers cheered. The firemen reached Ken and the man in a few seconds and began administering oxygen from the cylinder. The man’s color changed from a dismal blue to a pinkish hue as he pulled in more oxygen.

  The Watauga County Fire and Ambulance Department got him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance for the trip to the hospital. The lieutenant glanced over his shoulder at Ken with a look of utter disbelief. Patrick stood next to Ken and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “You called the fire department and ambulance even after I told you not to do it. How did you know?” Patrick asked, almost begging.

  “I don’t know,” Ken replied.

  “That technique you used, compressing the man’s chest and breathing into his mouth—I have never seen that. Where did you learn it?”

  Again, Ken honestly replied, “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ken spent the rest of the summer at Tweetsie Railroad as a reluctant hero. Lots of folks came by and asked him how he had known the man was going to have a heart attack and where he had learned that technique of pushing on the man’s chest and breathing into his mouth. Ken would blush and drop his eyes, mumbling on about he must have read about the technique somewhere.

  The rest of the summer was relatively uneventful in terms of Ken’s clairvoyance. As the days of summer faded, so did the event that had pointed out to all that Ken was “special.” His ankle healed nicely, and he was able to have a pretty good football season, this time as a defensive linebacker. Although healed, he had lost some speed and could no longer break those long carries to the end zone as before. Strength training and weights in the summer had built solid muscle, and he felt he was strong enough and fast enough to bring down any powerful running back.

  He had also grown fond of a very cute clarinetist in the marching band, and whenever possible, they spent time together. They were a handsome couple, he with his broad shoulders, big arms, and unruly red hair, she at four feet eleven inches and 105 pounds with long, jet-black hair and eyes to match.

  Donna King, the clarinetist, was an excellent student, and she shared several classes with Ken. They ate lunch together daily and often talked about potential colleges and careers. She was positive that the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill was her first choice, followed by Women’s College in Greensboro. Ken was leaning more toward North Carolina State in Raleigh and its formidable engineering department, but all were close enough to each other that they could continue their relationship.

  Secretly, Sara wished her son would stay in Boone and attend Appalachian State. Her bond with Ken was strong, and she did not want to lose him. She knew it was selfish and never mentioned it to Ken, but he was a strong reminder of Ken Sr., and Sara wondered if she could emotionally stand another separation. She hinted several times that he should apply to Appalachian State just to be safe, in case he was not accepted at NC State. Ken would smile and tell her that he had the grades and SAT scores to get into State’s engineering program and that he was not going to be a teacher! He needed to “see the world,” he said, or at least see Raleigh.

  His first chance to see another part of the world would come in the summer after graduation. The School of Psychology sponsored Sara to attend the American Psychological Association Annual Convention in San Francisco in late June. It was going to be a fantastic opportunity for Sara to meet and consult with some of the top psychologists in the world. The sponsorship was for two, so Sara immediately asked Ken to accompany her. As an added incentive, the trip also included a side trip to Hawaii for three days. Sara had not been back to Hawaii since leaving in 1942 and was looking forward to finding old friends and visiting the USS Arizona Memorial. Ken objected to missing two weeks of work at Tweetsie but was thrilled that he would be able to visit the Arizona and his father’s memorial. Patrick had given his blessing for the weeks off, and Donna was already scheduled for band camp at Chapel Hill around the same time, so he really had no excuse but to go with his mother.

  Although he tried not to reveal it, Ken was excited and a little apprehensive at the prospect of visiting the Arizona. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind about his father still being on the Arizona and about how young Ken would get to meet him someday. Ken was aware of his special gift and wondered if this might be the occasion to which his grandfather had referred.

  On June 15, Sara and Ken boarded a Piedmont Airlines twin-engine prop in Asheville for the fifty-minute flight to Atlanta. There, they would transfer to a sleek Delta 707 jet and fly nonstop to San Francisco.

  Ken and Sara talked through the whole trip, their excited chatter moving from the conference and meeting world-renowned psychologists to riding cable cars in San Francisco and viewing giant redwoods at Muir Woods. As the conversation headed toward visiting Hawaii, Sara’s voice dropped, and she reached over to grasp Ken’s hand. “I always felt like I just left him there,” she whispered. “I mean, there was no body or even partial remains to bury and give him peace. It was like abandoning him,” Sara sobbed quietly.

  Ken squeezed his mom’s hand. “Dad is with the spirits of over 1,100 of his shipmates, so I don’t know if he is at peace, but I do know he is not lonely!”

  Sara looked up at Ken and smiled through the tears. “How is it that you got so wise?”

  Ken smiled back and said, “It’s a gift!”

  The flight was long but uneventful, and they touched down in San Francisco at 10:30 a.m. Sara and Ken hailed a cab for the ride into the city, to their hotel in Union Square. They checked into adjoining rooms, and after unpacking, they walked out into a beautiful San Francisco summer day to find some lunch.

  The three-hour time change was wreaking havoc on their meal timing, and they were both ravenous! Ken spied a small Burmese restaurant a block from the hotel and talked his reluctant mother into trying lunch there.

  “But I have no idea what Burmese food is,” Sara protested.

  Ken cajoled his mom to try something new for a change. “After all, this is San Francisco!” Ken exclaimed.

  After a few more entreaties from her son, Sara surrendered, and they entered the small family restaurant with only four booths and six tables. They were instantly greeted by a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a white co
llarless silk shirt and a colorful satin sarong. His English was good, and his greeting was genuine as he guided them into one of the more private booths. He introduced himself as Zeya and gracefully passed the menus into Sara and then Ken’s hands. Zeya hurried away, returning in seconds with colorful porcelain cups and a steaming pot of tea that smelled of jasmine and hyacinths. Zeya asked them to try the tea to see if it was to their liking.

  Ken and Sara sipped from the small cups. They both loved the taste and nodded approvingly. Sara explained that neither she nor Ken had ever sampled Burmese food and that they were unsure of how and what to order.

  Zeya’s eyes widened, and his smile grew as he proposed that he could order for them, adjusting spices and sauces toward a more Western palate.

  Sara smiled in relief and told Zeya she thought that was a wonderful idea.

  As Zeya turned toward the kitchen, Ken called out, “Don’t water it down too much!”

  Sara gave Ken a fake scowl as Zeya’s smile widened even more.

  Zeya returned in less than ten minutes with brightly colored plates of salad greens, steaming vegetables, and an unknown but heavenly-smelling fish and shrimp dish, along with a large bowl of steamed rice and, to Ken and Sara’s relief, forks and spoons. Zeya explained that Burmese food was heavily influenced by the Chinese and Indian cultures, with hot and spicy being the rule for most dishes. He stood by their booth and waited for their reaction to his selections as Sara and Ken tasted every dish.

  Both waiter and patrons were very pleased!

  Sara and Ken walked around Union Square and onto various side streets to feel, smell, and taste the great city. They found the cable car routes and Chinatown and took in the city as every tourist does. At the end of the day, Sara asked Ken to return to the hotel with her. She had one chore that needed completing: finding Commander Plemmons.

  Sara retreated to her room and picked up the phone to call the operator. “Can you please connect me with the base hospital at Alameda?”

  After several seconds, a voice came on the phone. “Alameda Naval Hospital. How can I help you?”

  Sara inquired regarding the availability of Lt. Commander Agnes Plemmons.

  “Please hold,” the voice said.

  As Sara waited, she wondered whether the nurse would remember her and the situation she had helped her and her baby overcome.

  After several minutes a voice came on the line. “Commander Plemmons here.” It was a male voice.

  Sara immediately asked, “Is this Kemp Plemmons?”

  “Yes, it is. How can I help you?”

  Sara recalled for the commander how she and the infant Ken had arrived in Alameda after the attack on Pearl Harbor and how Kemp Plemmons had engaged his mother to help look after her newborn. Kemp immediately recognized her and began to ask numerous questions about her and the baby. Sara patiently answered all of Commander Plemmons’s questions but finally pressed Kemp on his mother.

  “She died in 1956 at the rank of rear admiral. I was so proud of her.”

  Sara gave her condolences and expressed her sorrow to Kemp, who told her not to worry, saying, “My mom lived life on her terms. She neither gave nor took crap from anyone, including male admirals of the day. She was respected and admired by her staff. I can think of no more fitting epitaph.”

  Sara nodded and again expressed her sadness at Agnes’s passing.

  Kemp accepted her expression and moved on. “Mom remembered you and the baby. I often wondered what became of you.”

  Sara related the state of her life, and Commander Plemmons was pleased. “I am so happy that you found your life and the support you needed. We should all be so lucky.”

  Sara wanted to press regarding his last statement but let it slide. Maybe she would revisit the subject later.

  CHAPTER 8

  Sara spent the next three days at the convention hall, attending lectures and discussion groups led by some of the most renowned psychologists in the world. From a professional standpoint, this was like attending all seven games of the World Series! She worried some about leaving Ken alone all day, but he was having a wonderful time visiting Fisherman’s Wharf, the Embarcadero, and Golden Gate Park and going back to Chinatown for lunch every day. On the last day of their stay in San Francisco, Sara and Ken went down to Fisherman’s Wharf for some outstanding fresh shrimp and crabs.

  The next morning, they boarded an 8:00 a.m. United Airlines flight to Honolulu. The trip over the blue Pacific was breathtaking, and mother and son talked about getting back to Pearl Harbor, the place of Ken Sr.’s death and Ken Jr.’s birth. As the pilot announced their approach to Honolulu, Sara became quiet and thoughtful.

  “What’s the matter, Mom?” Ken asked.

  Sara turned and faced her son with tears in her eyes and whispered, “I miss him so much.”

  Ken hugged his mom. He was not feeling the loss that his mother was reliving. He was feeling an increasing anticipation that he could not explain. Yes, it would be meaningful to visit the Arizona memorial and hear the stories retold. But Ken’s anticipation was of experiencing something unknown yet wonderful. There was no room for sadness in his thoughts as every fiber in his being seemed to come alive, screaming to be a part of an amazing occurrence.

  The big jet landed smoothly, and the thud of the wheels on the runway shook Sara’s mood, shifting her attention back to the adventure that lay ahead for her and her son. She would take Ken to Pearl Harbor and visit the hospital where he was born. Maybe some of the staff would still be there and remember them. Sara would take him to the married officers’ quarters that had served as their home and ultimately down to the memorial to pray and remember her husband, who had fought and died so bravely defending his ship. Ken had also requested a luau, time at Waikiki Beach, a pineapple farm tour, and surfing lessons.

  Sara and Ken left the airport and took a cab to their hotel, only two blocks from the beach. Oceanfront hotels were too expensive for an assistant professor and Tweetsie Railroad ticket taker. It was still morning when they checked into their hotel to unpack and then returned outside to find some lunch.

  A food stand with a roof of palm fronds provided a fine lunch of local seafood, salad, and fried pineapple. Fortified, they walked to a bus stop and boarded. Sara and Ken Sr. had used the bus so many times as they explored Oahu before the war. One transfer downtown, and she and her son were on the bus to the base at Pearl Harbor. As the bus rounded a curve and the base came into view, Sara was amazed at how much the base had grown in the years since the attack. Several new docks and berths, dozens of new ships, including three large aircraft carriers, and numerous new buildings had been erected in areas that had been vacant years before. The base hospital where Ken had been born was over twice the size it had been back in 1941.

  The bus stopped just outside the main gate, where Ken and Sara boarded a navy transport bus to the hospital.

  As Sara stood outside the main entrance, dozens of memories flooded her, to the point that she was overwhelmed and grew faint. She grabbed Ken’s arm to steady herself.

  Ken assured her, “I got you, Mom.”

  They proceeded arm in arm through the main doors and up to the reception desk. A young Hawaiian girl looked up at them, smiled widely, and asked how she could them.

  “I am trying to find Captain Russell Christenbury. He was on duty during the attack back in 1941, and he was the doctor who delivered my son that same day.”

  Ken smiled at the receptionist and raised his hand as if to say, “It was me!”

  Sara continued, “I realize that he has probably retired and moved away, but I didn’t know where else to start looking for him.”

  The receptionist asked them to wait a moment, reached to her left, and retrieved a spiral-bound notebook labeled “STAFF.” After a few moments she looked back up at Sara and said that she could not find a Captain Russell Christenbury, but she had f
ound a Commander Neil Christenbury who was chief of staff of the ob-gyn department.

  Sara asked if it would be possible to speak to Commander Christenbury. The receptionist paged his nurse. Within a few moments, a thirty-something navy nurse walked into the reception area. She smiled at Ken and Sara as she introduced herself as Lieutenant King. Sara explained her situation to Lieutenant King, who inexplicably began to chuckle.

  Sara grinned back at her and asked, “Why are we all laughing?”

  Lieutenant King grasped Sara’s hand warmly and asked her to come with her to meet the commander. Sara and Ken glanced at each other with unspoken questions on their lips and accompanied the nurse down the corridor and through the doors marked “OB/GYN.”

  King approached an office door and knocked firmly as she called out, “Commander, I have some folks here that I know you will want to meet.”

  Commander Christenbury emerged from his office to find Ken smiling at him and Sara gaping at him wide-eyed, with a hand covering her open mouth. Commander Christenbury was over six feet tall and broad-shouldered like an athlete. His face was angular, with a square jaw, and he had a salt-and-pepper crew cut. His eyes were narrow, and his brow was deeply furrowed, evidence of years of focus and concentration. His eyes widened as he noted Sara’s expression, and he asked warily if she was all right.

  “My God!” Sara exclaimed. “You are the image of Captain Christenbury. It is like looking back almost twenty years!”

  Commander Christenbury took Sara’s hand in a firm handshake and smiled warmly. “Captain Christenbury is my father, and you both can call me Neil.”