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Show Symphony of Freedom An Interpretive Biography by Ann Taylor "Mack was on Wake Island that fateful Sunday morning of December seventh." Plop! Plop! Great white bubbles rose and fell with a solid plop. A huge vat of rice was slowly boiling in preparation for the Japanese Officers' mess. A solitary man in a dirty cook's apron and hat watched the mixture as though fascinated by the vitaminless goo. His blue eyes rounded the room as a beacon light would search for intruders. Suddenly, stealthily, he raised a large can marked Epsom Salts and dumped the contents into the boiling rice. A sly grin showing unbrushed yellow teeth spread across his bewhiskered face, and "Young Mack" was once again in the midst of a fight for freedom. Mack was on Wake Island that fateful Sunday morning of December seventh when Japanese planes gained altitude along with the rising sun. He crouched in a foxhole and shuddered with Mother Earth as the bombs from Tokyo came hurtling down, down upon American-held soil to snuff out American-made lives. Mack ground his teeth along with three hundred of Uncle Sam's brave Marines as he stood with them in that bitter moment when the laps forced Wake Island to her knees. The very moment Mack saw the American flag lying on the ground he became determined to put it once more at the top of the pole where the hated white flag with the red rising sun now victoriously fluttered. Mack had a weapon with which to fight those laps, a weapon called experience, and he'd had lots of it. His fight for freedom goes back as far as his early childhood days to the night when he climbed out of his bedroom window, mounted his father's beautiful black saddle pony, and clad only in his night shirt, proceeded toward the big city of Ogden, ten long miles away. However, the pony was not so much inclined toward freedom, for later she deposited the lad rather ungently upon his unprotected bottom five miles from home and Mother's protecting arms. His lust appeared to have been dulled until the tender age of fourteen when once more he made his way outward to see the world. This time he got as far as San Diego where he attempted to join the Navy. Being a tall and husky lad, he almost succeeded. He would have enlisted probably had not his father entered the scene at the most inopportune time. He came home reluctantly and his parents succeeded in salving his itch for freedom for a time by promising him a share in the family farm. World War I was his salvation from the life of a "hayseed." Mack joined the army the day he turned eighteen and marched his way merrily into the thick of things. It was in the heat of a battle in France that he stopped a bullet with his left hand. Everyone thought that he was ready to settle down when he returned, minus the use of his left hand and the fire in his eyes which seemed to have been put out by his terrible experiences in that war to end wars. The blaze was rekindled however by a beautiful young lady. He wooed and won her much as he did everything else. She was like a jewel set high on a pinnacle and he had but to climb up and get her. He was much too clever for that; therefore he began a campaign whereby she came after him. She chased him until he caught her, and Mack tied himself down with a wife. But the bonds were not so strong as they should have been and he broke loose not long after. Once more in search of adventure he breezed his way to California. There he became a newspaper reporter for the largest publisher in San Francisco. He was intrigued with the work, a fight against untruth, lawlessness and corruption. He returned to his page eight home town determined to establish and carry on the crusade for the common people. He made use of the freedom of the press perhaps as no other man has ever done. Farmers, friends, relatives and businessmen joined in contributing money and time toward establishing the newspaper to be called The Ogden Post with Mack as editor. He was pleasantly surprised to discover as an assistant a woman who had beauty as well as brains. He couldn't resist the temptation of such a combination he married her. The combination proved a great success. Mack uncovered the news and his wife edited it while the contributions rolled in. Mack collected the filthy lucre as the contributors accumulated "stock," and it was then that the urge for movement and freedom once more got hold of him. With the money, but without his wife, Mack set out for greener pastures. Hawaii proved a lovely place for him to stay. He found a job and put to use his abilities as a journalist. However, the waving palms and white sands soon played a song of discord upon his ever taut nerves and his feet began to dance again. The old adage, "the murderer always returns to the scene of the crime," proved correct and Mack turned homeward. His old friends were not hostile toward him. Indeed, he married another childhood sweetheart and they embarked upon the sea of matrimony to sail along for five short years. They picked up three little sailors on the way and all was well for awhile. Mack was feeding his chickens one bright day when he noticed the birds winging their way northward toward Alaska. He watched the little feathered friends they flew so high. If only he were that free, away from the smothering, sluggish earth, up there where one could fly far, far, far. Mrs. Mack the third brushed a tear from her swollen red eyes. They had found her late husband's clothes on the bank of the angry, rushing waters of the river. They said his body might never be found; his "swim" had proved fatal. Mack had once more shed the bonds of responsibility, this time not only as a husband but as the father of three, and he now flew with the birds northward to Alaska. Alaska, the land of golden opportunities. For seven years he pushed his way about, a farm hand here, a fisherman there, and now and then an entertainer in a saloon. By means of hook and crook, Mack soon had pocketed much. Intending once more to pluck the goose of all its feathers the wanderer returned home. It was a man back from the grave that walked into his old home that fateful day. His widow of seven years promptly fainted. Maybe it was the shock of seeing a dead man returned to life or maybe it was the fact that she had collected and spent his insurance. She recovered immediately upon sight of the bankroll her dear husband was carrying. The conscience of young Mack would give him no rest until he had bought back the worthless stock he had sold years before, and so it was that the summer of 1939 found him broke but debt-free. He tried to be a good father to his three children. He tried to make a success of his third marriage. He tried in vain. Realizing that in order to be happy he must be free, he decided to go back to the Pacific. He boarded a tramp steamer, landing on Wake Island as one of the employees of a large construction company. "Old Mack" sat listening to the radio that Tuesday in 1941 when the United States declared war on the treacherous laps. The reports were that Wake Island still held out. The Marines were fighting desperately against great odds and it was feared they would soon be overpowered. Mack's father passed a remark that brought forth a chuckle of grim humor from the anxious members of the family: "I feel sorry for the Japs if they ever capture Mack he'll give 'em more hell than a fleet of battleships." Yes, Mack is giving them hell. Maybe he can't blow up an ammunition dump the Japs protect them too well. Maybe he can't shoot a high and important officer he hasn't a gun. But maybe they did trust him to slave in their kitchen. He can cook and scrub and bow to the Imperial Sons of Heaven, but they will pay for it. lust wait until they finish that bowl of rice saturated with Epsom Salts. Young Mack's fight for freedom is going on! page nine |