A tale of two people
I have two stories to tell you today. They come from a Southern Cross reader who is as good at lifting things off the Internet as I am.
The first story took place when Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder. Capone had a lawyer nicknamed “Easy Eddie”.
Eddie was very good. In fact, Eddie’s skill kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him well. Eddie got special dividends as well. He and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.
Eddie lived the high life of a Chicago mobster and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.
He did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly.
And, in spite of his involvement with organised crime, Eddie tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son: he couldn’t pass on a good name or a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. He wanted to rectify wrongs he had done.
He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al “Scarface” Capone, clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. So he testified.
Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion and a poem clipped from a magazine.
The poem read: “The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still.”
The second story took place during World War II and is about heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare, (pictured above) a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.
One day, his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realised that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.
The other American fighters were long gone and the fleet defenceless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet, nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.
Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dived into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibres blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.
Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dived at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.
Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.
He reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft. This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action, Butch became the US Navy’s first Ace of WW II, and the first naval aviator to win the Medal of Honour.
A year later, Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town did not allow the memory of their hero to fade and today O’Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
Oh, and by the way, Butch O’Hare was Easy Eddie’s son.
The moral of these stories? You don’t get airports named after you if you go around calling yourself “Easy Eddie”.
As with most good stories, this one benefits from embellishment—but you get the general gist of it.
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