Passage

By Sandy Powers

"Passage" is an incredible true story of Grace Balogh and her courage during a turbulent time in American history.

Through her journals, "Passage" recounts the struggles of the Great Depression; America fighting two wars: one with unconditional public support and the other with public indifference; the letters from servicemen that are poignant and timeless; and the emergence of a Cold War that pits two ideologies against each other.

Threats to the American way of life prompt the FBI to recruit Grace Balogh as an undercover agent whose job is to infiltrate a cell planning violent overthrow of the United States government. Grace leads this secret life largely unknown to her family and friends.

"Passage" takes the reader on a journey into events of the 1930's, 1940's, and 1950's that read like the headlines of today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456729554

Sandy Powers

Cancer survivor and health writer, Sandy Powers is the author of the award winning book, Organic for Health, and the acclaimed book, Passage. Her new book, Blood Wine, is coming. When Sandy is not writing, she enjoys time with her grandsons. Sandy and her husband live in Englewood, Florida. [e-mail]

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© 2011 Sandy Powers

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 02/28/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2954-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2956-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2955-4 (e-b)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011901317

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

For my mother

Contents

Foreword

Passage

Correspondence

Documents

The Journals

Photographs and Miscellaneous

Historical Notes

Foreword

Passage is a true story.

While the murder case is factual, the names and dates have been changed to protect the identity of the daughters. The World War Two letters from the soldiers and the letters from a friend and the retired FBI agent are actual letters my mother received. The only fictitious words in the newspapers are their names: The Cleveland Times and The Lorain Courier. All else is as close to true accounts as I could make them.

No one writes a book alone. Therefore, kudos to my brother Butch (a.k.a., Wilbert), the gumshoe who traipsed through cemeteries and scoured library archives; to cousin Denny, for rummaging through boxes of sixty-year-old negatives; and to my daughters, Kayle and Chrisy, for editing.

Thanks, guys.

God promises a safe landing but not a calm passage

Passage

Can you deliver the hospital bed before noon? I glanced at my watch: 9:30. Eleven? Yes, that’s right. Englewood. I’ll be waiting.

I ran my fingers through my short blond hair. This gives me time to arrange nursing.

An hour later, I lightly knocked on the door of my parents’ house. No answer. I unlocked the front door with my key. My eighty-six-year-old father was napping in his brown recliner in the living room. The blaring television was switched to the local twenty-four-hour news channel, which he regularly watched. The same news over and over. How much new news can there be? I shook my head. I turned down the TV volume then gently tapped my father’s shoulder.

Dad? Dad, wake up.

Confused, his light blue eyes gazed up at me, not recognizing me at first.

Oh, Cookie. It’s you, honey.

I smiled at my father and the nickname my family called me all my life. It wasn’t until I went to college did anyone call me Sandy.

Hi, Dad. They’re bringing the bed for Mom. After they set it up, I’ll leave for the hospital.

It was 1:30 before I started for Sarasota Memorial, an hour’s drive away. Bone tired, I reflected on the last few months. I prided myself on my resilience, yet recent events proved otherwise. Life can indeed be tough.

Arriving at the hospital, I tiptoed into my mother’s room. Barely visible, my mother looked lost in the hospital bed. Always a wisp of a woman, she had become smaller through the years. A closer look revealed she was crying.

Oh, no. It’s too soon.

I held my mother’s hand. They were ice cold.

Mom, your hands are so cold.

The nurses were trying to warm them with heated towels a while ago but they’re still cold. No circulation, Cookie, she explained in a ragged breath.

Do they hurt? Is that why you’re crying?

No, she whispered, wiping the tears with her tissue, I didn’t think anyone was coming.

Oh, Mom, I said, my voice cracking. I told you I was picking you up.

My mother glanced sideways at me. I thought I was like that young soldier at Crile Hospital.

What young soldier?

The paraplegic, she murmured softly. Remember I was a Gray Lady?

I nodded as I rubbed her hands.

He had to live at Crile, my mother wept. "He was paralyzed from the neck down. The first year I was there he never had a visitor. He waited and waited but no one came. One day when I walked into his room to help him with his lunch, he was so excited.

Grace, my family is coming to see me tomorrow! My mother! My father! My sister!

I was almost as happy as he was. A few days later when I returned to Crile, I asked him, How was your visit?

They never came, he sobbed.

I wrapped my arms around my mother’s frail body. Oh, Mom, I would never forget you. The arrangements for the bed and nurses took longer than I expected.

I tenderly stroked her arms.

She sunk further into the pillows. Cookie, I’m dying.

Don’t say that, I pleaded.

It makes little difference if I say it or not, she mumbled.

I’m not ready for you to die, I cried.

My mother wiped a tear from my cheek then lightly patted my hand.

I had just finished dressing her when there was a rap on the hospital door.

I’m here to take Mrs. Balogh down, a voice announced.

Come in.

The hospital aide pushed the wheelchair into the room. He carefully lifted my mother into the chair and wheeled her down to the hospital exit where my car was parked. Frail and weak, Mom dozed the hour home. As I pulled into my parents’ driveway, Mom awoke.

Do you think you can walk into the house? I asked.

I don’t think so.

I knew my father wouldn’t be able to help.

Okay, Mom, here’s what we’ll do. You place your feet on my feet when we get out of the car. Wrap your arms tightly around my waist. I’ll be your feet. We’ll walk slowly, so don’t be afraid. I left the door unlocked. Your bed is in the living room next to the window. Ready?

Ready, Mom repeated.

My mother rested her head on my breast as she wrapped her arms around me. With her tiny feet encompassed in slippers, she planted a foot on each one of my feet. Like Siamese twins, we shuffled toward the front door. I twisted the doorknob.

Hearing a sound, my father turned to see us meshed together. Can I help?

No, Dad, we’ve just about made it.

I gently sat my mother on the edge of the bed while I went back to the car to get her hospital bag.

Mom peered out the large picture window. This is nice. I can watch the birds from here. She started coughing. In a wheezy voice, she said, I should’ve gone to that other place.

I heard her as I carried in the bag. Mom, you mean hospice?

Mom coughed again. That’s what the nurse called it.

Is that where you want to go? I asked, surprised.

No. No. I want to be here in my own home.

This is where you are and this is where you will stay.

Dad didn’t say a word. The love of his life was dying and there was nothing he

Reviews for Passage

[susiebookworm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I wasn't extremely impressed by this little book, but it was an enjoyable read that was interesting for its primary source material. The author's mother, Grace Balogh, certainly had an interesting life, starting with her adoption and later abuse at the hands of her step-mother, covering the Great Depression and Second World War, and culminating with her secret involvement with the FBI in the Cold War. What made the book of particular worth is that it's almost entirely comprised of the correspondence and journals, interspersed with some pertinent newspaper clippings, of Grace herself. These bring to life the hardships and fears of the periods of American history that Grace lived through, giving the average American's view of such things. The only thing that I wish was different about the book is that I think more notes and explanations from the author would have been helpful in connecting some of the documents together and explaining events and relationships to others that Grace, writing for herself and for her children, wouldn't have thought to explain but that readers unfamiliar with her family and friends wouldn't know about. I found Passage to be unequal to some of the raving reviews I've read of it, but it's still an enjoyable, informative short little read.