all works.”
I fingered my sheet of paper. “I don’t know. I have all this research to do.”
“There is no better place in the world to do research, Martin. We subscribe to the best databases, premium government sites, and you’d be free to use them while I’m in my meeting. I’ll get Steve to help you.”
“Who’s Steve?”
“Our IT guy.”
I quickly scanned my list of names and places. Were they real? Or parts of a dream? Or something else? I said, “I’ll need to get ready.”
“Sure. We have a little time. Take a shower. Put on clean clothes. Do you want me to toast you a bagel?”
I refolded the paper and got up. “How about a Pop-Tart for the road? Give me ten minutes.”
I stepped out the kitchen door and walked, averting my eyes from the morning glare, to Margaret’s old Camry. I was now out of my environment, a subterranean mole exposed to the sun, but I knew I had to do this.
Margaret took a right turn on Hightstown Road and headed toward Route 1. I waited until we crossed the railroad bridge before asking her, “Do you really think our grandfather was friends with Joseph P. Kennedy and General Lowery?”
Margaret feigned shock. “Martin! You’re talking about your namesake! How could you doubt that? We have the photos to prove it.”
“Yeah. But people pose with celebrities all the time; that doesn’t mean they know them. There’s a photo of you with some president, right?”
“Right. Bill Clinton.”
“Did you know him?”
“No. He spoke at Princeton, and I got to pose with him.”
“Yeah. See what I mean? What if Martin Mehan just posed with those guys?”
“Well, there is more evidence, corroborating evidence. Martin Mehan is part of the official records of the U.S. Embassy staff during Ambassador Kennedy’s time there. General Lowery was an official visitor, sent by President Roosevelt. There is a lot of paperwork to place them all there at the same time. However, I see your point. That doesn’t describe what kind of relationships they had.”
“What does Grandfather Mehan say in his memoirs?”
“He describes himself as indispensable to all of them—from Ambassador Kennedy to General Lowery to FDR himself. Remember those passages he would read aloud at Thanksgiving?”
“I remember him reading something. It could have been the Bible, for all I knew. But isn’t it possible that, in fact, those guys treated him like crap?”
Margaret sputtered and laughed. “Like what?”
“Crap. I mean, who was Martin Mehan? He wasn’t a rich ambassador, or a famous general, or a president of the United States. He was just a government clerk, right? Some little guy who did what he was told?”
Margaret turned right, into an industrial park, and followed the road around a row of blue glass buildings. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. Back in 1940, he was pretty low on the ladder in government service. That’s very insightful of you, Martin.”
“And why was General Lowery such a hero, anyway?”
“Hmm. Well, as Colonel Lowery, back in World War One, he earned several medals for bravery.” She pulled in to a space and turned off the engine. “He lost a lot of men, but he gained a lot of ground. So he got promoted to General. He was famous for urging his troops forward with a loud voice.”
“Hollerin’ Hank.”
“Right. The U.S. Commander, General Pershing, called him that. Then the newspapers picked up on it. They liked the colorful nickname, so he became a national celebrity.”
Margaret and I climbed out of the car and walked to the building entrance. She inserted an ID card into a slot and the dark blue glass door clicked open. I followed her across a small lobby into an elevator, where she pressed number three and continued: “Lowery turned his celebrity into a personal fortune. He sat on the boards of big corporations; he bought and sold companies; he endorsed products. Near the end of his life, he even had his name on a line of hearing
I fingered my sheet of paper. “I don’t know. I have all this research to do.”
“There is no better place in the world to do research, Martin. We subscribe to the best databases, premium government sites, and you’d be free to use them while I’m in my meeting. I’ll get Steve to help you.”
“Who’s Steve?”
“Our IT guy.”
I quickly scanned my list of names and places. Were they real? Or parts of a dream? Or something else? I said, “I’ll need to get ready.”
“Sure. We have a little time. Take a shower. Put on clean clothes. Do you want me to toast you a bagel?”
I refolded the paper and got up. “How about a Pop-Tart for the road? Give me ten minutes.”
I stepped out the kitchen door and walked, averting my eyes from the morning glare, to Margaret’s old Camry. I was now out of my environment, a subterranean mole exposed to the sun, but I knew I had to do this.
Margaret took a right turn on Hightstown Road and headed toward Route 1. I waited until we crossed the railroad bridge before asking her, “Do you really think our grandfather was friends with Joseph P. Kennedy and General Lowery?”
Margaret feigned shock. “Martin! You’re talking about your namesake! How could you doubt that? We have the photos to prove it.”
“Yeah. But people pose with celebrities all the time; that doesn’t mean they know them. There’s a photo of you with some president, right?”
“Right. Bill Clinton.”
“Did you know him?”
“No. He spoke at Princeton, and I got to pose with him.”
“Yeah. See what I mean? What if Martin Mehan just posed with those guys?”
“Well, there is more evidence, corroborating evidence. Martin Mehan is part of the official records of the U.S. Embassy staff during Ambassador Kennedy’s time there. General Lowery was an official visitor, sent by President Roosevelt. There is a lot of paperwork to place them all there at the same time. However, I see your point. That doesn’t describe what kind of relationships they had.”
“What does Grandfather Mehan say in his memoirs?”
“He describes himself as indispensable to all of them—from Ambassador Kennedy to General Lowery to FDR himself. Remember those passages he would read aloud at Thanksgiving?”
“I remember him reading something. It could have been the Bible, for all I knew. But isn’t it possible that, in fact, those guys treated him like crap?”
Margaret sputtered and laughed. “Like what?”
“Crap. I mean, who was Martin Mehan? He wasn’t a rich ambassador, or a famous general, or a president of the United States. He was just a government clerk, right? Some little guy who did what he was told?”
Margaret turned right, into an industrial park, and followed the road around a row of blue glass buildings. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. Back in 1940, he was pretty low on the ladder in government service. That’s very insightful of you, Martin.”
“And why was General Lowery such a hero, anyway?”
“Hmm. Well, as Colonel Lowery, back in World War One, he earned several medals for bravery.” She pulled in to a space and turned off the engine. “He lost a lot of men, but he gained a lot of ground. So he got promoted to General. He was famous for urging his troops forward with a loud voice.”
“Hollerin’ Hank.”
“Right. The U.S. Commander, General Pershing, called him that. Then the newspapers picked up on it. They liked the colorful nickname, so he became a national celebrity.”
Margaret and I climbed out of the car and walked to the building entrance. She inserted an ID card into a slot and the dark blue glass door clicked open. I followed her across a small lobby into an elevator, where she pressed number three and continued: “Lowery turned his celebrity into a personal fortune. He sat on the boards of big corporations; he bought and sold companies; he endorsed products. Near the end of his life, he even had his name on a line of hearing
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