‘But Where Is Pearl Harbor?’ Baseball and the Day the World Changed

“I Must Go Dear and Talk to Father”

She had just finished saying goodbye to some luncheon guests and was walking past her husband’s study. She realized something was terribly wrong. His secretaries were scrambling, and two phones were in use. She overheard the phone conversations, and knew there had been an attack. She returned to her room to finish a letter to her daughter. “The news of the war has just come. … I must go dear and talk to father.”

Eleanor Roosevelt did indeed talk to Anna’s father, President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The Japanese had just attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and America was now officially thrust into World War II in “a day which will live in infamy,” December 7, 1941. The attack came at 7:48 A.M.  Honolulu time, while soldiers were sleeping, eating breakfast, or glancing at the morning paper. A fleet of 189 Japanese planes destroyed 18 American naval vessels, killing nearly 2,500 military personnel and civilians and etching into the memories of Americans where they were on that fateful day.1 America was no longer a spectator in World War II.

Many feared an imminent attack on the West Coast. There were four air-raid alerts in San Francisco the evening after the Pearl Harbor attack. The San Francisco Chronicle’s next-day headline read, “Japan Planes Near S.F.,” and citizens were clearly on edge, claiming to spot enemy aircraft and submarines. Ships began arriving with military and civilian personnel from Pearl Harbor, and fears abounded that nearly anyone of Asian descent could be a spy and should be questioned.2

Meanwhile, a game was being played at the Polo Grounds between the Giants and Dodgers – the football teams. Long before there was instant access to information, a buzz began in the crowd. The public-address announcer gave an urgent call for Colonel William J. Donovan to call his office immediately. More announcements were soon made for other government and military personnel. Those in the press box saw the bulletin many fans never heard until they arrived home and realized their world had forever changed.3

Washington would soon begin practicing air-raid drills, and the lights of the Capitol would be turned off. People bought “blackout curtains” for their houses. The Library of Congress moved the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, and copies of the Gutenberg Bible and Magna Carta to a more secure location. Fear and panic filled the country as planes flying overhead gave jitters to those dreading attack.4 

People reacted in shock, fear, and anger. Julia Ruth Stevens, daughter of Babe Ruth, remembered the Babe’s reaction to the Pearl Harbor attack. Ruth loved being in Japan on a baseball tour in 1934, but now, “He was furious. Mother and Daddy had brought back mementos from Japan. But Daddy started throwing them out of the window of our apartment at 110 Riverside Drive. Mother was so concerned that he was going to get arrested for throwing objects out the window that she began to grab things before Daddy could get to them.”5

This dreadful event forever changed the course of world history, and talking about the disruption of baseball is a minor sidebar in comparison. However, baseball is about people whose lives and livelihoods were also disrupted that day. By remembering where they were and what they experienced, we catch a glimpse of America’s story. As Tom Brokaw articulated:

“Farm kids from the Great Plains who never expected to see the ocean in their lifetimes signed up for the Navy; brothers followed brothers into the Marines; young daredevils who were fascinated by the new frontiers of flight volunteered for pilot training. Single young women poured into Washington to fill the exploding needs for clerical help … learned to drive trucks or handle welding torches … Millions of men and women were involved in this tumultuous journey through adversity and achievement, despair and triumph.”6

The nation was stirred to patriotism and a sense of duty in the wake of this attack, and people rushed to enlist. Hitler’s declared war on the United States on December 11 also ignited a spark of American pride. Americans now needed to work together in unity as never before, as Gary Bedingfield noted:

“Industrial giants across the nation – including factories, workshops, mills, and mines – swung into action to produce the necessities of war. The vast automobile industry unhesitatingly switched to the production of military vehicles, turning out a steady stream of military trucks, jeeps, tanks, and airplanes, while manufacturers that were more accustomed to handling refrigerators and vacuum cleaners turned their straight-line production techniques to the manufacturing of ammunition, guns, and other essential war commodities.”7

Some questioned whether baseball should even have continued during this national crisis. Others turned to baseball for a glimmer of hope and support. President Roosevelt’s letter to Commissioner Kenesaw M. Landis – his “Green Light Letter” – affirmed his support that “it would be best for the country to keep baseball going. There will be fewer people unemployed and everybody will work longer hours and harder than ever before. And that means that they ought to have a chance for recreation and for taking their minds off their work even more than before.”8

The game would continue with its stars overseas and replacement players filling in the lineups. When The Sporting News in April 1942 asked for the opinion of servicemen on whether baseball should continue, they were swamped with replies, including that of Pvt. John E. Stevenson, who declared, “Baseball is part of the American way of life. Remove it and you remove something from the lives of American citizens, soldiers, and sailors.”9

While this book focuses on baseball replacement players of World War II, this chapter recalls the stories of some who left the green grass of baseball diamonds to serve the country at sea, in the air, and in hostile territory. They replaced the roar of the crowd with the fire of weapons. Spikes were replaced with fatigues. They left behind a game and risked their lives for people’s freedom to play it. Many heroes didn’t come home, but these men came back to the ballparks forever changed, and told us their stories.10  

“You’ve All Been Swell”

Cecil Travis was probably on his way to a Hall of Fame career with the Washington Senators (1933-1941; 1945-1947) when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Travis played some outfield and third base for the Senators, but the majority of his career was spent at shortstop. It was his bat that would have propelled him to Cooperstown. A career .314 hitter, he had his greatest season of 1941 but it was overshadowed by the historic feats of Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio. Travis batted .359, second only to Williams (.406) and ahead of DiMaggio (.357), while his 218 hits led the league. His 24-game hitting streak understandably received little fanfare in a season dominated by DiMaggio’s 56-game streak.

 Travis was on a hunting trip with teammate Buddy Lewis when he heard the news of Pearl Harbor. Seventeen days later, on the day before Christmas, he received his induction notice and reported for duty in January, 1942.11 Travis became a member of the Special Forces in the 76th Infantry Division, which pursued Hitler’s forces as they retreated after the Battle of the Bulge. They battled the frigid cold winter, which cost Travis two toes to frostbite.12 While part of the greater victory in war, his baseball career would never be the same.

Travis played until the end of the 1947 season. That summer he was bestowed with gifts, monetary contributions, and appreciations fit for a hero. Fans, ballplayers, umpires, and civic groups celebrated him on Cecil Travis Night at Griffith Stadium. General Dwight D. Eisenhower was on hand, as were the VFW honor guard and a Scottish bagpiper. Connie Mack and Clark Griffith presided over the ceremonies, and the soft-spoken Travis came to the microphone and said, “I’ll never forget this night. You’ve all been swell.”13

“We Sure Grew up in a Hurry”

Ned Martin, a future Red Sox broadcast (1961-1992), was a freshman at Duke University in 1941, and recalled 50 years later where he was when word of the Pearl Harbor attack spread.

“The Depression was over and we were pretty much just concerned with growing up and enjoying ourselves. None of us had much interest in what was happening outside our own little worlds – but, man, we sure grew up in a hurry.” Martin had taken his girlfriend to a movie and when he returned to the dorm, “everyone clustered around a radio. One guy turned to me and said, ‘Isn’t it awful what the Japanese did? They bombed Pearl Harbor!’”14

Martin responded, “ ‘Pearl Harbor? That’s in the Hawaiian islands, isn’t it?’ I figured it was a possession of ours, but what did it mean? I didn’t know. We were just kids, away from home at a big university, with a football team on its way to the Rose Bowl, and the most important thing in the world was having a date for the Saturday night dance. I guess you could say we were kind of dumb.”15

World War II had come to Duke University. “I think that’s when we finally understood it was all over, the whole thing, that our lives were about to change, that things were going to be very different now for people our age,” Martin said. “My time, I knew, was coming.” 16 He enlisted in the Marines in 1942 and later was with the 4th Marine Division in the landing at Iwo Jima in February 1945. “Sad to say, however, I’m not one of the guys who raised the flag that you see in the monument,” he quipped. “I was a radio lineman, stringing wire from our radio emplacement out to the forward lines where we were calling naval gunfire on caves and pillboxes and things like that. I remember being told to be sure we used the right passwords, or else we’d be fired on by our own people.”17

It wasn’t long before Martin realized the horrifying reality of war. “I don’t think we were there 30 minutes when we came upon a shellhole. I looked in and saw it was filled with dead Marines. I mean blown-up Marines, with entrails and … oh, God, I’d never seen anything like that before. Then I started looking around and saw Japanese dead, and pretty soon death got to be common. Corpsmen were so busy ticketing bodies they just couldn’t keep up.”18

An expected nine-day tour on the island became 26, but finally victory came. “I remember the day the word spread: ‘The flag is now flying on Mt. Suribachi.’ Our flag! What a feeling,” Martin recalled.19

“Where is Pearl Harbor?”

For Johnny Pesky, 1942 would be his rookie year in a 10-year career with the Red Sox, Tigers, and Senators (1942, 1946-1954). On December 7, 1941, returning home from church in Portland, Oregon, Pesky walked in the door to see his brother sitting in front of the radio. Pesky would be battling fellow rookie Eddie Pellagrini for the Red Sox’ starting shortstop job in the spring. Pellagrini was at the Strand Theater in the Dorchester section of Boston getting popcorn when he heard a couple of guys talking about Pearl Harbor. “Bombed Pearl Harbor! Wow!” Pellagrini exclaimed. “But where is Pearl Harbor?”20

Pellagrini didn’t see the rest of the movie. Everything changed that day. Pellagrini was drafted first and went to the Great Lakes Naval Training Station while Pesky played his first season with the Red Sox. As he watched players leave for service, Pesky knew his time was coming. “Ted (Williams) and I knew it and we had become good friends. In the middle of the season, we joined the V-5 program for pilots.”21 Ted became a pilot, while Johnny became an operations officer. Pellagrini (1946-1949; 1951-1954), the kid from nearby Dorchester, hit a home run in his first major-league at-bat for the Red Sox. Pesky’s career continued well beyond his playing years with 73 years in baseball, 61 of them with the Red Sox organization.

Williams had just finished season three of his Hall of Fame 19-year career for the Red Sox (1939-1942; 1946-1960), and had batted .406, the last .400 hitter in the major leagues. On December 7, 1941, he was duck hunting in Minnesota. He heard the news on the radio. He later confessed, “Frankly, none of this war talk had meant a damn to me up to then. … Hitler had been giving Europe fits, and things were looking bad all over, but it hadn’t sunk in on me yet. All I was interested in was playing ball, hitting the baseball, being able to hunt, making some money.”22 Ted was able to be deferred from service because he was the main source of support for his mother. His exemption brought criticism from the press, which was nothing new. Eventually he did enlist and spent time in the V-5 program, becoming an expert pilot, gunner, and trainer of other soldiers, but Ted never saw combat … until Korea.

Fighting Jim Crow

Jackie Robinson recalled in his autobiography that it was difficult finding a job as an African American athlete, and the only available opportunity was with the Honolulu Bears football team. He also found a weekday job with a construction company near Pearl Harbor, and played football on Sunday. When the football season ended, Robinson left by ship on December 5, 1941. He was on the ship playing poker when he noticed crew members painting the windows black. They were notified of the attack and that war had been declared.23

Robinson had not been eager to enlist before the attack, and had struggled with getting a draft exemption for a number of reasons. Draft boards in the South had attempted to keep blacks out of military service, consistent with segregationist laws at the time. In Pasadena, California, however, the draft board wanted blacks drafted ahead of whites. Robinson had declared himself his mother’s chief means of support. He also doubted that his bad ankle could endure combat training. Then we also shouldn’t forget the humiliations people of color faced in the American military.24

After Pearl Harbor, however, there was little doubt that the draft board would now call up Robinson. He received his “Order to Report for Induction” on March 23, 1942. At the time he received it, he and Nate Moreland, a fellow black player, were being “teased and tantalized by an opportunity to work out in Brookside Park with the Chicago White Sox, in town once again for spring training.”25 Manager Jimmy Dykes said he endorsed integrated baseball and said other managers would as well. He said Robinson was worth $50,000 to any club. However, on April 3, 1942, Jackie was inducted in the National Guard Armory in Pasadena and then sent to Fort Riley, Kansas, for basic training.26

Robinson recalled, “I applied for Officers’ Candidate School. It was then that I received my first lesson about the fate of a black man in a Jim Crow Army. The men in our unit had passed all the tests for OCS. But we were not allowed to start school; we were kept sitting around waiting for at least three months. … It seemed to be a case of buck passing all along the line.”27 The influence of the newly arrived Joe Louis (who had friends in Washington), changed that, and Jackie later became a second lieutenant.

Robinson continued to battle the Jim Crow military as he was not allowed on the segregated baseball team, was accused of irritating white commanding officers, and faced court-martial for refusing to move to the back of an Army bus (a case he won before he was given an honorable discharge).28 This foreshadowed the years to come, as Robinson broke the color barrier in major-league baseball, a game that despite the lack of playing talent during the war years refused to recruit African Americans.

“Nothing Was Important Except the War”

Jerry Coleman was a second baseman for the New York Yankees (1949-1957) as well as a Ford C. Frick award recipient at the Baseball Hall of Fame for a lengthy broadcasting career, most famously with the San Diego Padres (1972-2014). In 1941, however, he was, like many high-school kids, playing baseball and dreaming of college. Playing for Lowell High School in San Francisco, Coleman had his eye on a scholarship from the University of Southern California. He had already been visited by Yankees scout Joe Devine, who persuaded him to join the Kanely Yankees, the San Francisco-area semipro team Devine used to farm talent and evaluate prospects. The Dodgers also expressed interest.29

“Then came a Sunday when I was playing in a semipro baseball game at Alameda. They stopped everything around the third or fourth inning. Someone announced that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor,” Coleman recalled. “That ended my plans to attend USC. The war had started, and nothing was important except the war. No matter what you were doing, for kids 17 years old, the questions were, ‘What am I going to be?’ ‘What branch of service am I going to go into?’ All of us wanted to do something to support our country, to join the military.’”30

Coleman was anxious to turn 18 and go to flight school, but that was six months away. This gave him a chance to sign with the Yankees for $2,800 (given to his mother so she could, among other things, buy her first refrigerator) and be assigned to the Wellsville Yankees of the Class D Pennsylvania-Ontario-New York (PONY) League.31 But Coleman’s proudest day was April 1, 1944, when he received his pilot’s wings. He flew 57 missions in the Solomon Islands and the Philippines in a two-seat Dauntless dive bomber,32 earning two Distinguished Flying Crosses and seven Air Medals.33 Coleman also served in Korea.

“It Teaches You”

“In the first days after Pearl Harbor, the question wasn’t whether 1941 was baseball’s most historic season. Instead, the question was whether it would be the last,” Dominic DiMaggio reflected.34 Dominic wanted to enter the Navy in 1942 but eye tests showed he needed to wear his glasses, which was not acceptable by naval standards. He maybe had a chance at the Army, his doctor concluded, but Dominic persuaded him to write a letter to the War Department stating that his athletic ability made up for poor eyesight.35 “I wanted to be on the water. I love the water. I guess that comes from being raised in San Francisco. I just didn’t want to be at home playing baseball while all my fellow countrymen were out fighting and serving their country. I wouldn’t have felt right about that.”36 Dom (nicknamed the Little Professor) also concluded, “I do believe that anyone who goes into the service, for even a short period of time, picks up a lot more for their future as far as living and understanding things a great deal better, a maturity, so to speak. It teaches you. It’s another avenue of learning.”37

When Pearl Harbor broke out, Dominic’s brother Joe was married with a child and in little danger of being drafted. But throughout 1942, “cries of ‘draft dodger’ followed him around the American League parks, despite the fact that his marital status pushed him well down the draft list. By the end of the year the Yankee Clipper was ‘morose’ over fans’ treatment by him, and in February 1943 he voluntarily joined the armed forces.”38 Much of his military time, however, was spent playing baseball, to which Marine George Paulson remarked, “Joe DiMaggio did a lot more good with a bat than he could have done with a rifle.”39He received his own training table, ate the best steaks (gaining 10 pounds over playing weight), received passes when he wanted, and accepted gifts from generals.40 Joltin’ Joe demanded combat duty to help his image, but was denied. His baseball playing contributed to the morale of soldiers, which gave them a much-needed lift.

Brother, Can You Spare Some Scrap Metal?

Pearl Harbor caused a time of national crisis that affected all of American life and society, including baseball. The household names who were the faces of franchises now served overseas. Back home, replacement players attempted to carry the game forward. Gasoline rationing and travel restrictions meant spring training was held in the north, while cabs and hotels were limited and meals often eaten en route. Players carpooled to games. Road trips were condensed to save mileage. You could get admission to a game with a contribution of scrap metal. Blackouts were common for fear of attacks by enemy planes, and air-raid directions were printed on each seat. The Chicago Cubs were to install lights at Wrigley Field in 1941, but after Pearl Harbor they were donated to the war effort. Wrigley would not have lights for 47 more years.41 Ed Barrow, president of the Yankees, offered up Yankee Stadium for use as a bomb shelter.42 Fans reportedly threw 148,644 foul balls back (apparently someone was counting), and with rubber in short supply the “balata” ball concoction created a brief Deadball II era. Some games were held at 10:30 in the morning so night workers could catch a game, and players took 10 percent of their salaries in War Bonds.43

The Pearl Harbor attack also had a direct bearing on the history of the St. Louis Browns franchise. Donald Barnes, majority owner of the Browns, and William O. DeWitt, general manager, planned to move the team to Los Angeles because they were unable to draw fans in St. Louis. The majors had been stable with the same 16 teams since 1903. Cubs owner Philip K. Wrigley also owned the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League and agreed to sell his California holdings to the St. Louis group. LA civic boosters were even underwriting the expenses. Major-league teams would benefit from bigger crowds in Los Angeles – even the visiting teams would profit. Everything looked like a go and Barnes was going to seek approval at the major-league owners’ meetings in Chicago on December 8, 1941.44 December 7 changed those plans.

DeWitt recalled the event years later: “We were in Cominskey Park watching the Bears and Cardinals. … Somebody came in and said, ‘Gee, they just had a flash on the radio that the Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor.’ Me, I didn’t know where the hell Pearl Harbor was; I never heard of Pearl Harbor. Everybody started, ‘Buzz, buzz …’”45 Moving a franchise was now out of the question since the continuity of the game itself was now in question. Club owners voted down the move.

A Winning Team

Hugh Mulcahy was the first major leaguer to enter military service in World War II, being inducted into the Army on March 8, 1941, nine months before Pearl Harbor and the day he was to leave for spring training. He served until December 5, 1941, when he turned 28, the cutoff age for service, and like Hank Greenberg was discharged. Pearl Harbor changed that two days later and Hugh was back in the military. His career with the Phillies (1935-1940; 1945-1947) was so filled with losses that he earned the nickname “Losing Pitcher” Mulcahy. When drafted he was fresh off his 1940 season of a 13-22 record but a good 3.60 ERA, demonstrating well that he played for some awful Phillies teams. Mulcahy served in the 101st Field Artillery Battalion, 26^th Infantry Division. Mulcahy humorously summed up going from the Phillies into the military: “At last I’m on a winning team.”46

We’re glad you were, Hugh.

BOB LeMOINE, a native of South Portland, Maine, grew up watching the Red Sox and NBC’s Game of the Week on a black-and-white television. He dreamed of one day becoming a Red Sox announcer. While other kids imitated star players on the ball field, he imagined Ned Martin calling the game. Bob joined SABR in 2013. He currently works as a high school librarian, which gives him ample opportunities to exclaim“Mercy!” in tribute to Ned. He lives in Rochester, New Hampshire.

 

Notes

1 Doris Kearns Goodwin, No Ordinary Time, Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt: The Homefront in World War II (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994), 288-290; history.navy.mil/branches/teach/pearl/aftermath/facts.htm.

2 Tom Clavin, The DiMaggios: Three Brothers, Their Passion for Baseball, Their Pursuit of the American Dream (New York: HarperCollins, 2013), 146.

3 Frank Graham, Jr., “The Day War Came to the Polo Grounds,” Sports Illustrated, October 24, 1966. Retrieved from  sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1079199/index/index.htm

4 Bill Gilbert, They Also Served: Baseball and the Home Front, 1941-1945 (New York: Crown, 1992), 34.

5 Peter Kerasotis, “Home, at the Other House that Ruth Built,” New York Times, March 10, 2014 [online edition]. Retrieved from nytimes.com/2014/03/11/sports/baseball/yankees-home-at-the-other-house-that-ruth-built.html?ref=sports&_r=2.

6 Tom Brokaw, The Greatest Generation (New York: Random House, 1998), 9, 12.

7 Gary Bedingfield, “When Baseball Went to War,” in Todd W. Anton and Bill Nowlin, eds., When Baseball Went to War, (Chicago: Triumph Books, 2008; ebook edition), 21.

8 William B. Mead, Even the Browns: The Zany, True Story of Baseball in the Early Forties (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1978), 36.

9 Bedingfield, 22.

10 Both Bob Feller and Hank Greenberg had notable memories of Pearl Harbor. Due to space limitations, these portions were excluded as both players are mentioned elsewhere in this book.

11 Guy Curtright, “Cecil Travis Is Still a Local Standard,” Cedartown(Georgia) Standard, October 7, 1999, 2B.

12 Rob Kirkpatrick, “Cecil Travis,” sabr.org/bioproj/person/4d5ab420

13 Rob Kirkpatrick, Cecil Travis of the Washington Senators: The War-Torn Career of an All-Star Shortstop (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co., 2009), 153-154.

14 Joe Fitzgerald, “Ned’s patriotism will never flag,” Boston Herald, December 6, 1991; 098.

15 Ibid.

16 Ibid.

17 Curt Smith, Voices of the Game: the First Full-Scale Overview of Baseball Broadcasting (South Bend, Indiana: Diamond Communications, 1987), 383.

18 Ibid.

19 Ibid.

20 Bill Parrillo, “Baseball, Too, Felt the Shockwaves of Pearl Harbor. Their Careers Rescheduled, Some Players Went to Battlefields, Others Played on Service Teams,” Providence Journal, December 8, 1991, C-1.

21 Ibid.

22 Ben Bradlee, Jr., The Kid: The Immortal Life of Ted Williams (New York: Little Brown & Co., Ebook edition, 2013), 231.

23 Ibid.

24 Arnold Rampersad, Jackie Robinson: A Biography (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997), 89.

25 Ibid.

26 Ibid.

27 Jackie Robinson, I Never Had It Made (NewYork: Ecco, 2003), 13.

28 Rick Swaine, “Jackie Robinson,” sabr.org/bioproj/person/bb9e2490.

29 Jerry Coleman and Richard Goldstein, An American Journey: My Life on the Field, in the Air, and on the Air (Chicago: Triumph Books, 2008), 28-29; Peter Golenbock, Dynasty: the New York Yankees, 1949-1964 (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1976), 157.

30 Coleman and Goldstein, 29.

31 Coleman and Goldstein, 31.

32 George Vecsey, “Jerry Coleman, 89, Yankee Infielder, Fighter Pilot, and Voice of the Padres.” New York Times, January 6, 2014 [online edition]. Retrieved from nytimes.com/2014/01/07/sports/baseball/jerry-coleman-yankees-infielder-and-padres-broadcaster-dies-at-89.html?_r=0.

33 “Jerry Coleman,” Marine Corps Sports Hall of Fame. Retrieved from usmc-mccs.org/sports/hof/2005-coleman.cfm.

34 Clavin, 143.

35 Clavin, 149.

36 Clavin, 157.

37 Clavin, 159.

38 Steven R. Bullock, Playing for Their Nation (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2004), 100.

39Bullock, 99.

40 Bullock, 100-101.

41 Gerald Bazer and Steven Culbertson, “Baseball during World War II: The Reaction and Encouragement of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Others.” Nine: A Journal of Baseball History and Culture, 10, no.1 (2001), 123-124, 129.

42 Mead, 35.

43 Tom Infield, “When America Counted on its Pastime … Baseball Answered the Call, Came Marching into Battle,” The Daily Oklahoman (Oklahoma City), September 26, 1992, 97.

44 Infield, 195; Mead, 33-34.

45 Mead, 34.

46 C.Paul Rogers III, “Hugh Mulcahy” sabr.org/bioproj/person/243755f5; Gary Bedingfield, “Hugh Mulcahy,” Baseball in Wartime. baseballinwartime.com/player_biographies/mulcahy_hugh.htm