The Mythical Bill: A Neurological Memoir

Part Three

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PartThree Far safer, through an Abbey gallop, The Stones a’chase— Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter— In lonesome Place— c. 1863, emily dickinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Beach Boss Sometime after my mother dies, my brother finds Dad’s obituary in the Oak Leaves among my mother’s papers. 9/24/75. A long time resident of Oak Park, William J. McAuliffe, 54, died August 26, 1975 after a long illness. Mr. McAuliffe, son of the late John H. McAuliffe and Margaret, came to OP when he was 8 months old and spent his early years at the family home at 620 Wesley Ave. He attended St. Edmund School and Fenwick HS where he was graduated with honors. After receiving a degree from Notre Dame University, he was commissioned an ensign in the Navy in 1942. He served 3 years on an LST in the South Pacific, serving as ‘beach master’ during assaults on the Gilbert Islands. He took part in some of the worst engagements of the war, including the assault on Saipan and other Pacific Islands. Upon returning from service, he entered the University of Hawaii for graduate studies in English and the theater. Later he came back to OP to live and was active in the St. Edmund Players, while also engaging in the business. This sterling tale of heroism in the South Pacific does not jibe with what my brother had heard from my father’s younger brother, Bob. Jack sends to the U.S. Navy for documents relating to my father’s participation in WWII. The documents that he receives in return do not tell the whole story. He has to parse the Notice of Separation from the U.S. Naval Service and the Statement of Service for me. My father sure wasn’t talking. Bill was on active duty in the South Pacific for a year and a month from January 1943 to February 1944. He gave Student as his last employer, having graduated from Notre Dame 46 Part Three with a major in English in May of 1942, member of the glee club and fencing team. We conclude the obit must have been written by his sister Mary, with her lifelong penchant for fantasy. Bill was a beach boss, but he didn’t make it past a year and a month. His personal island-hopping didn’t extend beyond the Gilbert Islands. Contrary to the impression my aunt was trying to make, my father was not a war hero in the traditional sense. Beach boss is slang for beachmaster of a landing craft. An artillery spotter for the Marines, he coordinates troops on the beaches and communicates with the ships at sea, using signal flags, blinker lights, and radios. He has to stay on the beach a long time; he’s supposed to stay cool under pressure. He’s been doing this assignment for more than six months. He’s supposed to get promoted after six months because it’s wartime, but his commanding officer doesn’t promote him—because he hates him, because Bill’s failing, or both. On night watch he thinks he sees something. Was it just that he was afraid? He wakes the captain up, but there’s nothing, and does he catch hell for that. “Hey college boy.” His words can only mean one thing. Bill snaps around like a whiplash. “You think you’re so smart. Why can’t you do what I tell you to do? “I don’t understand, sir.” “You fuck, you don’t understand. How come you don’t understand if you’re so smart?” “I don’t know, sir.” “Now you’ve hit it ensign. Now we are in agreement. You don’t know anything do you?” Bill is silent. “Do you,” he screams. Bill cannot answer. He slaps him hard. It stings and he is humbled. “I’m not gonna take this shit from you ensign. You think you’re smart, but what you don’t seem to realize is that I know for a fact that you are stupid. I’m the one who’s smart.” “Yes, sir.” Part Three 47 “Now write these letters for me. Do you think you can handle that college boy?” Bill takes the stack of papers. “Yes, sir.” Good. He goes below where he belongs. Out of nowhere the bomber comes, and the bullets fly through his legs. He...