Characters of "Cold Victory" : J.B. Baronowsky, one of the Candy Bombers
J.B. Baronowsky is a former B-17 pilot who flew on the Airlift throughout the fall of 1948. He became involved in the candy drops to Berlin's children, but he has been yanked off the Airlift by his fiance's father. His soon-to-be father-in-law is a senior VP at General Motors, who could lean on his Congressman.
In this excerpt, J.B. listens to the news from Berlin and it triggers an unexpected conversation with his Dad with serious consequences.
J.B. Baronowskystood in the living room of his parents’ small, single-level house inYpsilanti, Michigan straining to hear the news crackling over the airwaves. Theman speaking was Colonel Howley, the American commandant in Berlin. J.B. knewhis voice well because he’d heard it a hundred times over the Armed ForcesNetwork when he was flying the Airlift. Now, although the static made Howleysound like he was a world away, his elation and triumph had survived the tripacross the Atlantic. “…a vote for Freedom! Mayor Reuter’s party has improvedits hold on power by almost 16%. The SPD won an absolute majority with 64.5% ofall votes cast.”
The reporterasked a question that was garbled by static, but Howley answered clearly. “TheSPD is a democratic party, firmly committed to fighting Soviet tyranny andaggression. This is the party, remember, that voted unanimously againstHitler in 1933. Mayor Reuter is a courageous leader, and I look forward toworking with him more closely than ever in the days and weeks ahead.”
Again, thereporter’s question was unintelligible, but J.B. hung on Howley’s words,“Absolutely, the Airlift will continue! The people of Berlin have made it 100%clear they do not want to be swallowed by the Russian bear. They don’t want tobecome slaves of Stalin. They’re willing to go without heat in their houses andlive with just two hours of electricity a day and to walk to work and eatpowdered potatoes, powdered milk and powdered eggs for as long as it takes tomake Stalin loosen his hold. Let me tell you, it isn’t easy to live in the coldand the dark on half the food we Americans are used to, but the Berlinersprefer that to being prisoners of a system that denies them the right to thinkfor themselves. We could learn a thing or two from these hardy Berliners!”
The reporterthanked the colonel and the station cut off the connection with Berlin to turnto the sports news. J.B. reached up to switch off the radio altogether.
“What are youdoing here, J.B.?” His father’s voice caught him by surprise. “I thought youwere out with Patty all day?”
J.B. turned toface his father with a guilty shrug and a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I know, I mean— I don’t know. I wanted to hear what had happened in Berlin, and Patty and herfolks don’t care. Besides, I needed to get away from them all for a bit.” Heshrugged again uncomfortably and then admitted, “I made up an excuse about yourcar breaking down and how I had to take you and Mom over to grandma’s.”
His father noddedslowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were fixed hard on his son. J.B.avoided them, turning away to pick up the jacket he’d carelessly tossed on thesofa when he came in. He pulled the sleeves straight and folded it over hisarm.
The elderBaronowsky watched him for a moment and then said in a low voice, “Look, Jay, Iknow you’re grown up and you don’t have to talk to me about anything. That’sfine. I don’t want to start running your life. But you ain’t been acting like aman who’s about to marry the girl of his dreams.”
“Dad—”
“Wait!” The olderBaronowky held up his hand. “Hear me out, son. It’s true that your mom and Inever really warmed to Patty, but before you went over to Germany, we agreedthat she made you happy. You were pretty hot for her and glowed with pride whenshe was beside you. Since you came back from Germany, I don’t sense that sameexcitement or passion any more. I don’t see much swagger in having such aswanky girl almost in the sack, either. Did something change while you were inGermany?”
“I didn’t have anaffair, if that’s what you’re asking!” J.B. snapped back defensively.
“Hadn’t eventhought of that. I just asked if anything had changed.”
J.B. couldn’tmeet his father’s penetrating eyes. He looked down and then sank onto thesagging sofa. His eyes were fixed on the old coffee table. Stains of countlesscold drinks that had perspired into the wood marred the surface, yet all he sawwas Kathleen coming out of the fog towards him. For his father, he shook hishead and said slowly, “Nothing specific, Dad.”
His father wentaround to the other side of the coffee table and sat down. “Want to talk aboutit?”
J.B. drew a deepbreath. It would have been easy to brush the old man off, to say it wasn’t anyof his business or it wasn’t important. But it was. He’d hoped that being backwith Patty again would make him forget Berlin and Kathleen. Instead, the more hewas with Patty, the more he missed what he’d left behind. He tried to put hisfeelings into words his father would understand. “We were doing something goodover there, Dad. I was glad to be part of it. Somehow, choosing drapes for ourapartment and selecting the music for the band at the wedding just doesn’t seemvery important.”
“No, but if youloved Patty, you’d still find it all kinda cute,” his father suggested.
“Are you saying Idon’t love Patty?” J.B. gasped out.
“Do you?”
J.B. dropped hishead in his hands and scratched at his scalp with his fingernails. Withoutlooking up, he muttered, “All she seems to care about is how things look.It’s all about appearances. Does this match that? What’s the latestfashion? What colour is in vogue now? What will the neighbours think of this orthat? And the bigger the price tag, the better it is. Is that right, Dad? Islife just about money and fashion and prestige?” He looked up to meet hisfather’s eyes.
The elderBaronowsky didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, went over to the sideboard, andpulled out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He filled the glasses, broughtthem back to the sofa and nudged his son with one hand.
J.B. took theoffered glass but didn’t drink. Instead, he put it on the table and tried toexplain, “I’ve tried to tell her about Berlin — the conditions people live in,the way the kids went wild when we dropped the candy, the presents they andtheir mothers gave us — handmade things like knitted socks or old books andlace napkins, anything that had survived the bombing. They didn’t have enoughto eat, but they kept trying to give us presents!” Although he soundedexasperated, what he wanted was for other people to feel the same amazement andincomprehension that he did. Instead, most people just said somethingmeaningless like: “That was nice of them.” Patty, on the other hand, hadresponded with, “I hope you didn’t keep any of that junk! We don’t want toclutter up our beautiful house with dirty, old stuff.”
His dad’sresponse took him by surprise. “The Poles would have treated you the same way.In Europe, you never take anything without giving a gift in return. If someoneinvites you to dinner, you bring them flowers or wine. If someone gives you abirthday present, you offer them coffee and cake. Because you are bringing thesupplies in, the Berliners want to give you something back. Otherwise, theywould feel humiliated.”
“That’s it!That’s just what it is!” J.B. exclaimed. It was a relief to have the mysterysolved and he wondered why he hadn’t talked to his dad about this earlier. “Ithink the biggest thing I learned is that they weren’t all Nazis. … Most of theGermans — just like most Americans — didn’t care much about politics until itwas too late. … It’s because of what theNazis did that the Berliners don’t want to bow to Stalin. They know what adictatorship is, and they’ve had enough. Helping them is the right thing to do.That’s why I’d rather be flying the Airlift than designing trucks for GM.”
His father noddedand asked the question J.B. dreaded, “And Patty? Where does Patty fit into allthis?”
“I don’t know! Shecertainly doesn’t want to hear about Germany or Berlin or what I did there. Shedoesn’t care about any of it.” J.B. took a deep breath and admitted,“Sometimes, I get the feeling that she doesn’t care all that much about me,either. I’m just part of the furniture. I have the right looks to fit into herliving room — yeah, maybe her bedroom too — but is that all I am? A body to putinto her perfect home and bring home the bucks so she can live in style?”
“Don’t marry her,Jay.”
Despite hiscomplaining, the answer shook J.B. “Hey, Dad! That’s pretty stiff medicine!She’s made wedding plans — a second time now! Her family has spent a fortune ona wedding gown, shoes, flowers, band, catering and all that—”
“No one askedthem to,” the senior Baronowsky reminded his son. “That was their choice.”
“Yeah, I know,but she’s been patient while I was away. If I break up with her now, she’ll goto pieces!” It was a frightening scenario.
“Listen to me,Jay,” his father interrupted his thoughts. “It’s the rest of your life you’retalking about. If you aren’t crazy about her now, you ain’t gonna be crazyabout her after she’s gained forty pounds and is spending your money like itwas water.”
True, J.B.thought, but if he broke things off he’d trigger a tempest of recriminations.
His father hadn’tfinished, “I know divorce is becoming fashionable in some circles, but theChurch does not recognise it. In the eyes of God, once you give your vows toPatty and take her to your bed, you are bound to her and her alone — forsakingall others — until death takes one or the other of you. You may sin. A lot ofmen do. But you will never be free of her to find a woman who could make youhappy. She will make you miserable, Jay — your whole life long.”
J.B. dropped hishead in his hands again. Then he noticed the untouched vodka, picked up theglass and threw the alcohol down his gullet with one toss. Shaking his head, headdressed his dad, “If I break off with Patty, that snazzy job at GM goes up insmoke, too.”
“I thought youjust told me you’d rather be flying the airlift than designing trucks?”
J.B. opened andclosed his mouth, swallowed, and then pushed the shot glass across the table,“Can I have some more of that?”
His father gotup, poured them both another shot of vodka and handed J.B. his glass. Stillstanding, he reminded his sitting son, “You never wanted that job, Jay. Youwanted the job at the Michigan Aeronautical Research Centre.”
“Yeah, but thatjob’s long gone, Dad. They gave it to their next best candidate as soon as Iturned them down.”
“So, you can goback on active duty with the USAF. I know!” His dad held up both hands as if insurrender. “They pay peanuts! Still, you could volunteer to go back on theAirlift.”
J.B. looked downat the table. Kathleen was coming at him out of the fog, and in the background,the kids were waving wildly in happiness.
“That’s what youwant, isn’t it?” his father drummed the message home.
“Yeah,” J.B.admitted, looking up at him.
“Then don’t letsomething as inconsequential as a dumb blonde and her temper tantrum get inyour way. You’ve got more important things to do with your life, Jay.”
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