Until the Day After You Die

By Susan Thomas

This a historical fictional story of espionage and heroic actions taken based on actual events leading up to and following the Coconut Grove nightclub fire in Boston.


Less than a year after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States was under a relentless German U-boat attacks on merchant ships just off the East Coast of the United States. The American public knew little of these attacks as the news was heavily censored on the radio and newspapers by censors working on behalf of the military government.
The U-boats most productive attack was the "Wolf Pack' method where dozens of U-boats would attack merchant vessels once they were assembled in convoys further out at sea.
The information about these convoy's departures and their routes were highly prized by German espionage agents.
On November 27 1942 Convoy H.X. 217 left New York on the southern route to Europe. On the following night, November 28th, the deadliest night club fire in history occurred killing 492 people in Boston. The news was so horrendous, the media censors could not keep this news off the air waves.
The Germans were monitoring the local news stations just off the east coast in a U-boat listening for any such news broadcasts predetermined by German espionage agents on shore by an ingenious simple code that would alert their "wolf packs" of U-boats out at sea of the departure and route of the convoy.
The United States Government had assured the public that no German espionage was taking place here in the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350904659

Susan Thomas

Susan Thomas is faculty at the Indira Gandhi Institute for Development Research in Bombay. Her research has been in financial econometrics, specifically on models of the volatility of financial prices, and aspects of market microstructure in Indian financial markets. She has also worked on models for the Indian zero coupon yield curve, govt. bond index construction and probability of default for Indian firms. Her work can be accessed on the web at http://www.igidr.ac.in/~susant.

Book preview

Chapter 1.

Coming Home

The train came to a slow stop as it entered the station in Boston. Davis sat toward the front of the train, which had left Providence, Rhode Island for Boston just before dusk. It was Friday, November 20, 1942. The war in Europe had been going on for some three years, but it had been only less than a year since Pearl Harbor. In that same time Davis McFarland had been through his first two and a half years at Brown University.

Having witnessed the collegiate life of his older brother, he felt cheated. Times had changed drastically; there was an uneasy edge on the fun and studies. Just getting by in school was no longer acceptable. For those students whose hearts weren’t in school, there was now an easy and, more than that, a laudatory alternative: joining the military and fighting in the war. Davis was bright and very capable, but not one to go the extra mile in school. He was a headstrong underachiever.

He did well in everything but could easily do better. He felt comfortable doing just enough to get by, thus leaving enough time for his social life, family, and athletics. In the social aspects of life, he excelled. Davis was the unanimous choice for captain of any sport he played. He was well liked by the coaches and admired by his teammates. He could be the life of the party as well as the conscience of his friends, making sure no one was too drunk to drive home or too forward with women. He unwittingly assumed this cushioned position in life. He knew who he was and was confident in his abilities to surmount any obstacles life could deal him.

Considering how things were going in the world outside his own, those qualities were beginning to push him into deciding what he wanted to commit to in life. With his older brother already in the war and so many of his classmates leaving school early for a commission in the military, he felt an emptiness. He had yet to discover his passion. The new reality of the world around him was alarming. The old world of safety, comfort, wealth, privilege that had existed for him, his family, and those like him among the Boston elite was waning, giving way to something daunting. The war now threatened all people—rich, poor, educated, ignorant, old, young—in equal measure. Nothing moved at the same pace. The anxiety in the air was palpable.

Steam rose from the trains, mixing with the hissing and screeching sounds of great brakes in the distance. Davis disregarded the sights and sounds of passengers, scurrying across the station in the near freezing air, dodging discarded luggage, a crying child, and so many determined outbound travelers in his effort to reach the warmth of the station lobby. It was what one might expect coming home from Brown University for the weekend in Boston before the weeklong Thanksgiving holiday, students coming home for the break, shopping bags full of presents, and the ringing of the Salvation Army war relief collection bell. Yet this moment in time, in later years, he would recall as the moment in his life when all his naivety to man’s sins ended abruptly. Nothing would be what he thought it was before this time.

The ride in the cab from the station to the family’s brownstone in Boston’s Back Bay was short. It had been a year since he had been home from college. His mother’s family lived in Fall River, just a short drive from Brown, so he stayed there when he wanted to get away from school. His whole family—uncles, aunts, and cousins—always spent the Christmas week there as well. Davis had worked in a grandfather’s cotton mill in Fall River for the last two summers, so the sight of men dressed in uniforms on every street corner, while new to the area, was now commonplace.

The pavement was wet, the night early but dark. Davis would have taken the M.T.A., but he knew if he got home early enough, he could catch one of the servants before he left for the evening, getting them to pay for the cab fare out of the kitchen’s petty cash. It was a trick he’d learned from his older brother, Donald, who had already graduated from Brown and enlisted in the Army.

Davis was the middle son of three boys to the renowned surgeon Russell McFarland, who practiced at both Eden Hospital and Massachusetts General. Davis’s life had been easier than most, but the challenge of privilege had yet to bare its burden on him. His father was one of the best-known surgeons in the country. His methods and procedures were both revolutionary and revered in medicine. His mother was from a class above them all, both in wealth and family heritage—one of the earliest families to settle in the colonies. Having married Russell at a late age of 30, Dottie was a social catch for the then-young rising doctor, who having come from a working middle-class family, could warrant only marrying into her Boston social status and wealth, by years of studying, dreaming, and making a name for himself in medicine. She was far beyond his expectations as a possible mate to help catapult him into the Bostonian society he had aspired to join since he was a young boy.

Pull around to the alley, would ya, bud? Davis directed the cabbie. Here…left…here. The cab circled the building to the side door of a four-storied brownstone Davis had always known as home.

Right here...that door there, Davis instructed, pointing over the cabbie’s right shoulder leaning over the driver’s seat.

The cab stopped next to a small, three-step porch leading to the kitchen entrance with a bright light illuminating the area near the side of the building.

Give me hand, will ya? Davis jumped out of the cab holding a bag of presents he’d been carrying, dropping the duffel bag next to the cabbie’s door. He sprinted up the short flight of stairs, knocking loudly on the door and looking behind to make sure the cabbie was following.

What’s the fare?

Four bits.

The door swung open revealing an elderly, tall yet slender colored man, holding a raincoat and hat in one hand. The servant’s nose was the first thing you noticed. It was that of an old prizefighter, bulbous with the appearance of being broken more than once in a fight, but never in a ring. His hair was clipped short, smokier white then gray, with still a few signs of dark color on the edges. His teeth were whiter than possible on any Caucasian, with smooth pink lips and a smile that showed off his gums.

Davis, you’re home! I was just going next door.

Hi-ya, Jace. Davis was grinning from ear to ear. But no, I’m not really home.

Jason had been as close to him as any father or as close as Boston society would allow. His father never lacked for letting Davis know how much he loved him, but his work routine, medical obligations, and society functions always came first. Jacey was the one who was always around when he needed him, driving the car to bring his mom to his sporting events and staying to cheer him on. Or, as a boy, telling him about the rough facts of life on Boston’s south side where he would retreat every night. Davis could depend on his judgment; he kept a close watch on Davis and cared for him.

Miss me? Davis said as he looked over Jason’s shoulder, noticing trays of food on the preparation table in the kitchen, not really expecting an answer.

Who’s here? he added, looking back at the table of food and then to Jason.

Have ya got four bits for the taxi? Davis asked, putting the bag of presents down inside as he swung around to grab the duffel from the cabbie.

Jason was reaching into his pocket to grab some money for the cabbie. Davis saw this and in the same instant looked at the tray by the back door where the family kept petty cash, only to see it was empty. Damn! Out of luck, he thought as he dove his hand into his pocket, grasping a hand full of coins, pulling his hand out, while in the same motion wheeling around to pay the cabbie before Jason could. He had the exact mixture of coins in his hand without even looking at them.

Never mind…I got it. He handed the money to the driver, adding Keep it. Thanking him then closing the door, Davis grabbed his treasure bag of presents, kicked his duffel bag farther into the room in front of him, and walked right into the kitchen.

So, who’s all this loot of food for? nodding his head upward, using his jaw as a pointer toward the food.

Your parents are having a bridge party, Betty the cook replied loudly as she entered the room from the back hall, warning Davis that someone else had heard his voice, threatening his plan of sneaking out before his parents learned he was home.

Hello Bet, all this food for me? Davis quipped with a grin, trying to joke his way back into the favor of the family’s cook.

No, not any of it! She spoke sternly, and then relaxed into a smile. She could never properly scold Davis. Go on, help yourself, she sighed with a twinkle in her eye.

Not only did he know his plans of sneaking in, dropping off his stuff and going back out was foiled, but there also was a good chance his mom would find out he was home. She would certainly ask him to help host or even sit in at a bridge table should they need him, as has happened many times in the past. It would surely be all the usual cast of characters, but, worse, his parents would have some his friend’s parents in the mix, so begging off would be impolite to them, in a way.

Ready to face the music, Davis reluctantly asked, Where’s Mom?

Upstairs, fa’now, Jason said in a way to let Davis know he should not even think of ducking out.

She’s going be happy to see you, Betty added, cocking her head down and giving him a look that said, Get up there and say hello.

Davis froze for minute, his thoughts of going to the Grove with his buddies versus visions of playing bridge all night with his parent’s friends gave him pause. He glanced at Jace and knew he was sunk. No use making it worse.

Yeah, sure, of course, Jacey. Don’t take off just yet though, give me a hand.

Jason dropped his coat and hat on the back of a chair, bent down and grabbed Davis’s duffel, following him through the back-door entrance. As they passed the kitchen table, Davis paused to grab a bite from the trays of food, then proceeded to walk toward the pantry and to the back staircase. Davis figured he had to think fast to devise a way to salvage the evening.

Jason beat Davis to the stairway, as he’d stopped to peek at the card tables set up in the room opposite the dining room and entrance hall.

Who’s here? Davis queried as he returned to the kitchen, passing the table again and grabbing a few more snacks.

Your mother and Bill, Jason responded, as he waited for Davis to follow him up the stairs, carrying his bag more like a briefcase than luggage.

Who’s working? Davis wanted to get the lay of the household before strategizing his evening.

Three of us, Jason answered as he walked slowly up the stairs.

Davis was tall at 6 ' 2 ", but much stockier than Jason. He had the broadest shoulders in the family—hell, in Boston—but he also carried a few extra pounds in the mid-section. Nothing that would slow him down, but having been a lineman on the Brown football team and a goalie on the hockey team, the extra weight kept him bolted down when someone wanted to move him. Jason knew just how to control Davis and as long as he could stay close behind him on the stairs, there was no way of him escaping to his preferred distractions.

Climbing the stairs, they reached the second-floor landing. It was separated by an open doorway from the hallway where he could see into his parents’ room. Jason quickly turned and reached for Davis’s bag of gifts, forcing him through the threshold of the landing into the hall.

I’ll take this stuff up to your room, go in and say hello, Jason said with a nod of his head toward the master suite.

Na, I’ll do it later.

But Jason had won the moment simply by seizing the bag of presents securely in his extra hand. Davis had a brief look of defeat then a big smile. He knew he was doomed to a night at home.

Go on, you’ll make her night. With that, Jason turned and headed up the stairway to the third floor.

Davis, is that you? It was his mother, Dottie.

Mom! Davis yelled down the hall so all could hear. Yeah, it’s me! Davis left Jason with his hands loaded and a victorious smile wheeled around sporting a snarling grin towards Jason and strode down the hall, combing back his already-combed down hair with his hands and straightening his shirt.

How’s the gang? he said as he turned the corner of the doublewide door that led into the master suite. His elegant silver-haired 50-something mother was sitting in front of her lighted makeup table, halfway around in her chair to witness the entrance of her second son. She played no favorites, but she was always so happy to see Davis. He had an infectious smile that would light up any room and a confidence in his manner that made you feel warm and secure the moment he arrived. On the floor behind his mother was Bill, Davis’s 14-year-old brother, lying on his back looking at the ceiling, lightly tossing a football straight up and catching it as it fell back to him.

Sweetheart, welcome home! Dottie lifted her left arm, directing him to come give her a hug.

Davis walked directly to her and completed the command. Hi, Mother, miss me? Again, in a way not expecting an answer, giving her a strong hug and a kiss on the cheek.

As he completed his mother’s greeting, he stood up, turned around, and gave his younger brother a lovingly soft kick on his hip. Hi ya, champ!

Hi, Davis, Bill responded not missing a beat in tossing his football up and down. It was apparent that Bill was there keeping his mother company as she was preparing for the evening’s events.

Where’s Dad?

Hospital, Bill replied as anyone else would by saying work if asked where their dad was after working hours.

How was your trip, dear? his mother asked.

Good. I was just going to drop off my stuff and give Andy a call.

Sounding somewhat disappointed, his mother said: Oh, his parents are coming over to play bridge tonight. What do you have planned?

This was crucial as he needed to sound busy but not mischievous. We’re getting together with a group over at the Grove later. He was hoping to make clear he had plans already, but wanted to be discreet regarding the likelihood that alcohol would be involved.

Oh. There was a pregnant pause until Dottie added, I was hoping you would sit in for Dad until he got back from the hospital. He was called in to finish a surgery that one of the other doctors couldn’t close on.

This is what he was afraid of and was sure would happen, as it had so many times before. His dad was always on call, even when he shouldn’t have been. It was troubled times. With the war in Europe, lots of the young doctors had been called into the service or enlisted or were working up north to help their Canadian counterparts who had earlier joined the war. His father, the chief surgeon at Massachusetts General, and on staff at many children’s and polio hospitals in New England, never had a chance to live what most people would describe as a normal home life.

It wasn’t that Davis didn’t like to help out, or even play bridge. With his older brother who was already in the army overseas, it fell on him to take up the role of oldest son when help was required. Unlike his older brother, he excelled at being an adult. He also loved to play bridge. He had won many tournaments and was considered by many to be one of the best bridge players of his age group. Dottie’s friends always complemented her about Davis after an evening of bridge.

He didn’t mind so much laying with his parent’s crowd but it was just that his parent’s played so slowly and made so many mistakes. It was all he could do to keep from pulling the cards out of their hands and telling them, Here, play this, then this, and follow with that.

It seemed that every time it came the turn of Mrs. Pennhollow, a pleasantly plump lady laden with gout (and every other disease associated with obesity), it was part of her style of play to first tell everyone about her newest physical problem, the doctor she was seeing, the prescription she was taking, and how traumatic her life was before she played a card.

Who’s coming? He said as a reaction to her question, and a thought of maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if some really good players where invited. Then he realized he was sunk. By asking this, there was no way he could say no.

The usual, Dorset’s, Howe’s, Moody’s, Adams, Pennhollow’s, and a few others in town on leave. We’ll have four tables. Dottie was brushing her hair as she looked at Davis in the mirror to see his reaction Then she added, "If Howard comes back in time, he can stand in for Dad."

An invite to Dr. McFarland house was nothing to be scoffed at. He was the preeminent physician not only in Boston, but also throughout New England and the rest of the United States. An invite to his house was a guarantee to medical service by the crème de la crème, should anything happen to you or your family. This was one of the few things in life or in New England no amount of money or social status could buy. If you were a private patient of Dr. McFarland, you were blessed.

In addition, Dorothy was from the social elite. Her family were one the original settlers of Rhode Island in 1640, and her more recent ancestors down to her father were known as the New England Cotton Kings. Since the Civil War, most raw cotton, instead of being shipped to England (which supported the South in the Civil War), was sent north to New England to get processed. There was an abundance of free waterpower in New England that the South lacked, and the cost of shipping by rail rather than sea made much more economic sense.

Dottie’s family had been bankers in Rhode Island and Massachusetts. With the beginning of the Industrial Revolution and the invention of hydropower to run industry, her family, already large landowners, converted their access to waterpower toward industrial power and captured a large position in New England’s industrial growth. Dottie’s family were the largest and most prestigious cotton mill owners in the United States and she, having three ancestors on the Mayflower, had become a key part in New England society.

When Dottie married an unknown doctor and moved to Boston, it was a social earthquake to the New England bluebloods. Russell’s father had emigrated from Scotland after the Civil War to be a silversmith at Reed and Barton Silver, a highly prestigious company. And although he had risen to become general manager and holder of the firm’s most important designs, his family was destined to be social outsiders with no chance of acceptance into New England’s social elite. That is, until Russell became the doctor to the doctors. Dottie’s family was so upset at her choice in husbands that she was disinherited from the family’s assets and will. Once Russell became chief surgeon at