Depot gates of Ft. Thomas in Columbus. “We will be wanting a new name for ourselves Tom.”
Tom hacked & spat partly in the illness of drink & partly at my notions. “A new name?” says he. “I can scarce think of my own name now Michael. Sure our mother’s name has done us well til now why change it?”
I must confess to you Sir we did take the name Kelly spelled as such with a K which was our mother’s maiden name when we signed the manifest on board the La Belle Poole at Queenstown harbour & left our father’s name Sugru behind us in Kerry for the scouring Sullivan brothers & prowling Peelers.
Says I, “You heard that Michigan boy in the saloon when we did be speaking to him at the bar rail.”
“What Michigan boy?”
“The veteran Wolverine fellow who fought at Gettysburg & all over the farm as well but then stuck his fist into some drunk officer & was had up for it. You remember Tom he finished up the war in stockade lucky not to have taken the 1 ball in 6 agin the wall for his troubles. Do you not remember him at all Tom?”
I walked on a little into the Depot & Tom followed past a gathering of men & families & some sweethearts seeing off their beaus & honeys. Once inside we stopped & stood we 2 brothers on the laid stone parade ground. The flagpole in the centre of it was topped off with Uncle Sam’s banner which to spite myself I did love mostly for I had fought 3 years under it after all. Red brick barracks where we would live for the next weeks & months bordered this parade ground & in front of one of them was a lazy & drink sore line of smoking men waiting their turn for the receiving office & we would soon be among them.
Says Tom, “I dont remember him at all. I was well spiflicated by then surely.”
My brother had trouble with the words he chose at the best of times his scarred lump of tongue thick in his gap toothed mouth & I did oft wonder why he chose the words he did when simpler ones might have done the job just as well. But that is my brother who once could talk the stockings off the king’s own whore. Old ways die hard in men & I had some pity for him.
I said to him, “Well that fellow told us & I believed him that if a boy had trouble in the War any kind of trouble Tom well then that boy should take on under a new name for surely there was a record somewhere in Washington or some place & it would catch you up eventually. And when that happens sure the lad is given the boot with every penny of wages owed him signing on bonus & all revoked said that Michigan fellow.”
I waited to see how much of the trouble of which I spoke did Tom understand. This trouble you know well Sir (though you may not recall it) for you were there.
“Trouble?” says Tom.
Says I, “The trouble with the Provost Marshal’s mob that day when—” I pointed to his face.
“Sure I remember very little of that day Michael & know of it only what you told me. I know that we are still among the living Thanks Be To God.”
“Yes,” says I. “But our names went down in the Provost Sergeant’s book that day. God knows they may well be on a page somewhere & like that Wolverine boy says come back to haunt us brother.”
Tom rummaged his pockets for the dust of tobacco he had left & rolled a needle. He put a match to it & passed it first to me as is the way with brothers with one burn between them.
Says Tom after taking his pull of smoke, “There does be very little reason I suppose, to risk 13 bucks a month & passage West for the sake of a name.”
“Very little reason at all Tom & every reason to change it.”
Says he, “We have given over our father’s name for our mother’s once before.”
“We have Tom.”
“So will we go with the mother’s mother’s name God Rest Her In Heaven?”
“No finer woman was our grandmother God Keep Her,” says I. “Best pleased to meet you Thomas O’Driscoll.”
My brother gave the pinch to his cigarette dropping the dog end back into the pouch waste not