Story 3 - beating the odds
Oh… my, my, my. Where shall I start?
My name is Minnie. I was born in a place called Trelawny Parish on the northeast coast of the island nation of Jamaica in the Caribbean Sea. Jamaica, like Puerto Rico and other islands in the Caribbean is known for sugar cane and rum. Very good money for the plantation owners, not so good for those who earned their living by the sharpness of their machete… you know, those big long knives for cutting your way through the bush? Good for cutting bamboo, too.
My grandfather and grandmom cut cane for that living… as slaves… 30,000 in our parish alone. That was until the Brits passed a law abolishing that abomination in 1838.
For my own dear father and mother, the Lord had other plans. Education was very important. It was because of their tough love that I stayed out if trouble and wanted to teach. I studied hard, learned to love books instead of rum and became a teacher‘s assistant in Falmouth. I dreamed of having my own students and classroom. That dream lasted awhile until I met Adrian.
For Christmas in 1925, my parents took me on a long boat trip to Panama, my first time off our island. Panama is where the Yanks built that canal linking the Atlantic with the Pacific. The U.S. Navy was there to protect this important waterway and so was Adrian, My father happened to know someone working at the Coco Solo base who we visited to exchange gifts. That someone had a friend who worked on a submarine as a cook… yep, that was my Adrian.
Adrian looked so proud and good in uniform. Most men do. Still, my father liked him, he sensed a fire in this man‘s belly, a serious drive to succeed on his own terms, not another‘s. At the same time, Adrian knew when to keep quiet and act respectful.
I wouldn‘t want to play him at cards, my father would say, but I might invest in whatever business he had going.
My mother was more reserved, found Adrian soft spoken, but polite… with motives.
When we returned to Trelawny the letters between us rode back and forth on the same steamer we‘d taken, arriving a week or more later. This went on for almost a year. Adrian rode his submarine, the O-9, out for deployments or missions that could last 2-3 months. And then of course, when he got back, all the letters he wrote stowed under his rack would all arrive at our door at once. It was like Christmas in July.
Then the big day finally dawned. My father had given his blessing and it was time for the three of us to make that final sea crossing together. That night before, my friends from school threw me a bon voyage and a wedding party in the cafeteria on our town square in Falmouth. This was it. I laughed a lot and inside I cried a lot. The Lord had a long life in store for me, but it didn‘t seem to be in Trelawny.
Adrian and I got married in a Cristobal church that spring of 1927. It was to become a busy year. The Navy always has the last word in a family‘s decisions and so when the crew of O-9 got orders for the sib base in New London, Connecticut… (where? my father wrote), it dawned on me that all my eggs from now on would be in one basket… Adrian‘s.
to be continued…