Waiting for Matthew

By Mary McGuire

As the Great Depression waned, the Monahan family looked forward to a future of peace, prosperity and personal growth. But on December 7th, 1941, their lives would change forever. It was the beginning of World War II. An era of innocence quickly changed as it came to light how mankind could be capable of such unspeakable acts of cruelty. Although unprepared, the country rallied. Bonds with family, friends, neighbors and fellow countrymen were stronger than they had ever been in the history of the nation.

Marilyn Monahan was ten years old when her world was turned upside down. Her brother, Matthew, just turned eighteen, the only boy in a family of six siblings, has been called upon to defend his country. Matthew and many young men were sent to places of indescribable conditions; places that were virtually unknown to them until that time. They were trained to kill, and this was against the commandment they had been brought up to uphold It was upon these men that the future of our nation would rely. Many of them would never return.

The Monahan family endured many challenges and personal tragedies as they faced each day with faith and perseverance, waiting and praying for their loved ones to return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503516267

Mary McGuire

Mary McGuire began writing books after her retirement. In the past, she has written articles and term papers for college, but with working, and raising a family, did not have enough time to devote to creating a book. With the encouragement of family, especially grandchildren, she began writing. She finds it a very interesting hobby, especially for a retiree. This is her second book. Mary also likes to travel and spend time outdoors. She lives in Cleveland, Ohio.

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PROLOGUE

Under the cover of darkness, the LVT’s moved toward the island. Allied ships and planes had bombarded the island continuously for the past six months in preparation for the invasion of ground troops. Beside Matthew in the vehicle was his best buddy, C. J. Malone. If anything in this war had been worthwhile, it was meeting C. J. They had become the brothers neither of them had. C. J. was motionless but for the movement of his upper lip which he was chewing on as he did when he was extremely tense.

Matthew knew every one of the Marines in the LVT. Most of them were seasoned veterans now, if that was at all possible. This would be their fourth campaign. The allied forces were getting closer to their objective, the mainland of Japan.

Will Smith, who was just a few weeks away from his nineteenth birthday, although he could have passed for sixteen, was in the very front of the vehicle. One of the nicest guys you would ever want to meet. Tall and slim, with his short cropped hair and ruddy complexion, he looked like an average American schoolboy. In ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Will broke down on the island of Saipan when he tried in vain to save a young native child as the presumed mother jumped from the cliffs to the jagged rocks below, taking the child with her. Matthew knew that Will, despite his placid demeanor, was one who could be counted on to follow orders and take appropriate action when the time came. Matthew would not have hesitated to put his life in Will’s hands. In fact, he felt that way about most of the guys he had been with on home base for the last six months. They trained together, drank together, and spoke to each other of their most intimate thoughts. Funny how close you could get to another person when each day of life was a precious gift.

He thought of Barbie now, the most wonderful girl in the world as far as he was concerned. He loved her more than life itself. Her letters sustained him. She spoke constantly of their future, their marriage that would take place as soon as he came home. At this moment he longed to hold her.

A loud earsplitting burst of gunfire made Matthew jump and brought him back to the situation at hand. Get these bastards before they get you! C. J. yelled.

These Japs weren’t human, Matthew kept reminding himself. Yet he thought of the Japanese baby he found in the bushes on Saipan. Perhaps six months old, the baby’s throat had been cut from ear to ear more than likely by the parents who were told they would all suffer horrible torture from the Americans if captured. The baby was trying to cry, but all that could be heard was a gurgling sound as blood gushed from the wound. Matthew picked up the infant and ran calling out for a medic as the baby died in his arms. What did the enemy think of him?

The shoreline was visible now and the men moved forward as the flap of the LVT opened. Running toward the shore, Matthew’s lips moved in prayer, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. .

CHAPTER I

The month of May is almost gone, and the summer is just beginning. A bright sun brings warmth, so welcome after enduring a prolonged and unusually harsh winter. One never knows what the weather will have in store for us in Cleveland, Ohio; but I love my city, the change of seasons and the unpredictability of the weather. It is where I was born and lived most of my life.

As I walk down the dirt path in the cemetery to where the ceremony will be taking place, my daughter guides me. It troubles me to be dependent on anyone, but my balance is not what it used to be, and after all what can I expect after passing my eightieth birthday. Most of the graves are adorned with flowers, and fragrance permeates the air. American flags wave in the warm breeze that flows gently across the landscape. On the top of the hill I see a gathering of men and women dressed in the uniforms of the different Segments of our Armed Forces. We are here on Memorial Day to pay our respects to all those who have given service to their country.

I am greeted with a big hug by my nephew, Brad, the oldest of the Monahan grandchildren. Dr. Brad has been such a blessing to his family. Looking at him, the warmth of his smile, his quiet strength, I see a strong resemblance to his father. Brad has never met his father, although he knows him well through the memories of those of us who knew and loved him. He was killed in action during World War II, before Brad was born.

My sister Katie makes her way toward me. She looks exceptionally well for a woman approaching eighty, and the mother of eight children; grandmother and great grandmother of more than I can keep count of. We are the only surviving siblings of our family. Among the crowd are many descendants of the Monahan family. Yes we are well represented. My parents, Michael John and Mary Ann Monahan would be very proud. After the memorial service we will all gather at the family graves.

The ceremony begins. Each year the number of veterans of World War II decreases. Veterans of Korea and Vietnam are aging. Younger members of the military from Iraq and Afghanistan join them. . They all deserve our gratitude and respect. It is a very touching ceremony, and the testimonials and eulogies bring forth emotions that I hold deep within me. As the bugler plays Taps, I can’t hold back the tears. The memories of times long past engulf me.

Jack and Annie Monahan

At seventeen, Michael John Monahan, known as Jack among family and friends, joined the army. Just before his eighteenth birthday, World War I came to an end and without seeing any action, Jack went home to his childhood sweetheart, Mary Ann O’Brian, Annie to all who knew her. It was 1918,the war to end all wars had ended and the United States had become a super power. The up and coming Roaring Twenties brought about social change as well as economic growth. It was a time of peace and prosperity.

Michael John Monahan and Mary Ann O’Brian were married in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1920. With prospects for a bright future, the couple migrated to Cleveland, Ohio, which at that time was the fifth largest city in the nation.

The bright, energetic young man found a job as soon as he arrived, and the couple set up housekeeping in a cozy apartment in downtown Cleveland. Annie, adept with needle and thread, found a part time job as a seamstress in a small dress shop. They saved a large portion of their earnings but managed to put a little aside for entertainment. Jack and Annie attended dances every Saturday night. A gregarious couple, they soon had a large group of friends.

Many of the mansions on Millionaire’s Row had given way to the expansion of downtown Cleveland, but the young couple enjoyed strolling down Euclid Avenue looking through the gates of the homes that remained, where some of the wealthiest people in the world resided. Their dream was to one day have a home of their own, where they would raise their children.

Many looked admiringly at the young couple as they strolled down the Avenue. Jack was a tall man of solid physique, dark wavy hair and Irish blue eyes that laughed rather than smiled. Annie was slim, of medium height, with dark blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sky as her husband described them. They had known each other their entire lives. Their fathers had been friends from early childhood, and the families were more like relatives than friends.

She never talked back to me when we first met, Jack would quip, but those blue eyes stole my heart from the first. He was two years old and Annie was just a few days old when he first laid on eyes on her.

Their affection for each other was evident and they complimented each other both in looks and temperament. Jack was outgoing and fun loving but had absolute disdain for anyone who was dishonest or deceitful. And at this his temper would flare. Annie was just as righteous as her husband but more restrained in temperament.

In 1922 the couple welcomed their first child, Mallory Louise, promptly nicknamed Lorie. Two years later, just after celebrating the New Year, Matthew was born. With children in tow, the couple still found time for recreation.

When twin girls arrived, it was time for the family to move on. In 1926 a three story house in a quiet Cleveland neighborhood on the west side of Cleveland was purchased. Built before the turn of the century, the house was sturdy and well built, but needed some care. This was Jack Monahan’s forte. He had learned carpentry from his father, who was one of the best. It was very affordable at the time and his job was very secure, or so he thought.

The Great Depression hit the nation in 1929. For the Monahan family, and for the nation as a whole, times were hard. Full time jobs became part time jobs with hours cut to almost half. Jack and Annie were undaunted. They went on to raise their family and also to add to it.

It was during the Depression that I, Marilyn Elizabeth Monahan, was born; thereafter called Lynnie by Dad who had nicknames for almost everyone. It wasn’t until my first day of school that I learned my birth name. It took quite some time getting used to the name, Marilyn. Two years later, Mary Katherine, Katie was born.

The Monahan’s people would describe us, That Irish family with one boy and five girls. While it was true that we were Irish in many of our traditions, our family was comprised of other nationalities including Native American. Matthew Monahan, the oldest family member we had a history of, had married an American Indian woman. They had one son; Gideon. This was recorded in an old family bible.

According to Dad, he was a strict disciplinarian and everyone in the family toed the line. Every time he said that, Mom raised her eyebrows. Although Dad laid down the rules, he never enforced them. That was left to Mom. I don’t remember any of us getting a whipping from either of them. When we disobeyed, they came across with that look of disappointment, which I believe we dreaded more than a whipping. We loved them dearly

Although we were raised with common beliefs and ideals, each of my siblings had distinct personalities. Mallory (Lori), the oldest, not only looked like Mom, tall and slender, but was also a born homemaker.

My twin sisters were as different as any two siblings could be. Although they looked alike, it was evident from the start that Margaret Mary (Peggy) was above average in intelligence. Maureen Ann, (Reann) her twin, was a strikingly beautiful girl but academics were not for her. She wanted to be an actress from the moment she looked into a mirror and smiled back at herself.

As for me, five years younger than the twins, I resembled both parents, light hair, blue eyes, and in my childhood, as thin as a rail. I planned to become an artist.

Katie, two years younger than I, was a cutie with big blue eyes, golden brown curls, a turned up nose and dimples. As soon as she learned to read, Katie became an avid Nancy Drew fan and planned to become a sleuth.

My older brother Matthew, two years younger than Lori, was named after the oldest Monahan on record. For some reason, Matthew never had a nickname. Perhaps it was because he was the only boy or it may have been that he was so special, at least to me he was. Matthew resembled our father, dark hair and those Irish blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled. He had such a warm smile. I always thought of it as the Matthew smile. He was the apple of Dad’s eye, and although we girls were aware of this, we never felt in the least slighted. Dad treated each of us in a special way, and as for Matthew, he was a wonderful brother.

Matthew like Dad was good at fixing things. As a very young child he displayed his talents much to the consternation of our parents. He would take things apart; toys, bikes, any gadgets he could get his hands on, to see how things worked. Eventually he learned how to put them back together. While Mom was at times perplexed, Dad was extremely proud of him.

Even as a child, Matthew lived life to the fullest. He was a good scholar, perhaps not as advanced as Peggy, but he always maintained a high grade average. He also loved sports: football, basketball, baseball. He, like Dad, preferred baseball. At an early age, he made up his mind to become a teacher, math and physical education would be his chosen field. He began saving for college with earnings from odd jobs he could obtain.

The Depression years were difficult times for most people, and with a family of six children, it must have been more difficult for our parents than they let us know. They did whatever they could to provide for us. With a large backyard there was ample space for a garden. With the yield from our garden and trips to the farmers’ market for fresh produce, it was canning time. We all helped, peeling, slicing and washing pots and pans. I was happy to see the first frost as that would be the end of the harvest.

On the corner of our street was a grocery store owned by Walter and Martha Kowalski. It was there Mom bought the necessary food for our family. The neighborhood grocery was also a meeting place where neighbors could gather and discuss the latest gossip. There were times, however, when idle gossip could send the local residents on their heels.

Mom usually made daily trips to the grocery store. We had a small refrigerator but kept many of the perishable items in our icebox. Each day the iceman would come with blocks of ice to keep the food cold. How it was managed, I marvel at, but for Mom the way of living caused no problem. At that time we knew no other way.

We all looked forward to mealtime. Mom was very innovative when it came to preparing inexpensive and nutritious meals. Gathering around the table, we not only enjoyed the different combinations of food, but being together gave us reassurance. The same meals Mom prepared for us are in demand today as comfort food such an appropriate depiction.

With Dad doing odd jobs, and each of us economizing in every way we could, we lived out the Depression years. Looking back, I don’t remember any of us feeling deprived. In fact, we enjoyed life very much. We walked to the beach and the playgrounds where we had picnics and ballgames when weather permitted. The grownups gathered on Saturday nights for card games; while the kids played board games, jacks, and marbles.

Dad loved sports, particularly baseball. He became an avid fan of the Cleveland Indians, and win or lose, his loyalty never wavered. During the Depression, the Cleveland Indians played many of their games at League Park, which Dad preferred to the large Municipal Stadium. Wherever they played, and when he was able to attend, Dad went to root for his team. Sometimes the entire family would attend, but Matthew as avid a fan as his father, was usually with him.

Our family, like most others during those difficult times, loved the movies. During the winter months on Sunday afternoons, the eight of us would make our way to the local movie theatre. It didn’t matter what the movie was, we enjoyed them all. The way of life in cities, towns, and farmlands across our nation was very much the same during that era. We lived a simple life, unaware of what things were like outside of our small domain. We were taught to respect our parents and to obey the laws of God and man. The work ethic was very strong, and we didn’t take the necessities of life for granted. These values would help sustain us in the difficult times to come.

CHAPTER II

At the height of the Depression, some people in our neighborhood had no running water. They couldn’t afford the repairs needed. By the year 1939 the Depression began to wane and with employment on the rise, people were able to afford better living conditions. Many of our neighbors called on Dad to do repairs and remodeling. He soon had more customers than he could handle. He considered leaving the factory and starting his own business. Matthew was old enough to take on some of the responsibilities and was also very skilled. After a lot of thought, Dad decided to go for it. Of course he would need more tools, a vehicle and space for a work shop. A friend offered a room in a small building that had been vacant for awhile, and it was very affordable. Grandpa O’Brian offered his car; he said he had planned on getting another. Dad refused.

We were just sitting down at the breakfast table on a Saturday morning in mid January when we heard a horn blowing outside of the house. Dad went to look. He opened the door and in came Uncle Paul. Mom ran to hug him. She was always happy to see her brother.

Cold out there, he said as he warmed his hands near the stove. Well, she’s washed, polished and ready to go, Uncle Paul announced as he led Mom and Dad outside where Grandpa O’Brian’s 1935 Ford was parked in front of our house.

"You drove all the way from Pittsburgh in this weather, Paul.