Em shook his head and laughed as he said, “Let me ask next time.”
The mood in the room instantly became warmer. Cannon told them that, indeed, that was part of his story, but he was unsure where to begin.
Kikimo emerged from behind a row of shelves and poked Sergeant Cannon’s arm. “You tell them about day you meet me.”
Sergeant Cannon looked at her and said, “That’s as good a place as any. Thanks, Mama Kiko.”
Sergeant Cannon began to speak, and the airmen settled into their chairs. “In 1922, when I was just sixteen years old, I enlisted in the United States Army.” He explained how the army was having difficulty enlisting new recruits. The economy was strong, and war had been so recent that any able-bodied young man could enter, no matter how young, even at sixteen. He left home and found himself in Biloxi, Mississippi, before he could change his mind. He spent months training as though the war had not ended. He began to wonder what in the world could he have been thinking. After basic training, he remained in the mosquito-infested South for three long hot summer months. When he saw the notice on the bulletin board while visiting the base hospital, he stopped to read the alluring words, “Are you tired of the mosquitoes?” He was instantly interested. As he read the second line, which was written in much smaller print, he became aware of the need the author must have felt was necessary to get anyone to keep reading. The notice was offering a chance of adventure. Leave the mosquito-infested coast and reach out into a new territory. “Come to Alaska,” the paper read. The army was looking for volunteers to accept duty in Alaska. Construction was underway in a remote section of the US territory. Airfields were being cleared, and a major port was establishing itself.
Young Jeffrey Cannon was sold. It sounded like adventure to him, and as long as he stayed here in Mississippi, he could not see it happening. Two short weeks later, he was on a train, headed for the Pacific Northwest. From San Francisco, he would travel by naval vessel to the islands just west of mainland Alaska, in the Bering Strait. After weeks at sea—it seemed as if the navy enjoyed tormenting their army counterparts—the small ship arrived, and young Jeffrey said to himself, “No, I guess there won’t be many mosquitoes here.” He was led into a large metal building and shown to the food preparation area—because it could hardly be called a kitchen. That was the day he ate the best fish he had ever eaten.
Kikimo looked about the same then as she did now. Whether she ever had teeth was questionable. When she smiled at young Jeffrey, he began to feel slightly homesick. She immediately put him at ease with her warmness and affectionate, motherly smile—even though it was toothless. “Oh, look. You just a baby. You have no whiskers. What this army do? Put babies up here at top of world.” She slid a plate under his nose and put her hands on his shoulders. “You eat now. Mamason take care of you. Make you fat like seal.”
So this was how Jeffrey Cannon met Mama Kiko. For the next few months, he enjoyed her cooking more than any other part of Alaska. After all, there was not much to enjoy in the barren, icy Alaskan islands. Mama Kiko became the mother he never had. She seemed to adopt him because of his youthful appearance. She called him her baby. Young Jeffrey allowed her to mother him. He was so lonely and homesick for a place that had never actually felt like a home. Back in Kentucky, his mother had died when he was only six years old. He hardly had any memory of her. For this reason, he allowed Mama Kiko to “adopt” him.
He remained excited about the adventure he was sure to have up here at the top of the world. However, after months of loneliness and watching eighteen hours of dark turn to eighteen hours of light per day, he wondered if any excitement were even possible in such a remote place. As June approached and the daylight seemed endless, he thought he might die of boredom. Then he began to hear rumors announcing that the president of the United States, Warren G. Harding, was coming to pay a visit. The president was supposed to be on a fishing holiday but had decided to check on the progress of the Aleutian Island’s ports and airfields. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen to young recruit Cannon. Little did he know just how exciting things would get.
As the day of President Harding’s arrival drew near, preparations were made, and banners were even hung. No one knew where the banners came from, but they were hung outside the one and only building on site. On the day of the arrival, all personnel were to be at attention near the airstrip. This did not please the ninety-three men who had all volunteered for this assignment. Young Jeffrey was near the front row when he saw the plane drop from the clouds and begin to descend toward the newly constructed airfield.
The plane was small. At first, Jeffrey could not believe just how small it was. With the mountain range behind it, the plane looked miniscule. As it descended even farther, it became aware that something was amiss. The plane was rocking back and forth a little too much. Having never seen such a small flying vehicle before, no one seemed to realize just what trouble the aircraft was having. Then the plane’s wheels touched the ground. It bounced directly back into the air. As it wobbled from left to right, it descended once more. The wheels touched the ground again, and the pilot lost all control. Before anyone could react, the plane veered left of the strip and began to spin on a patch of ice near the water’s edge. In a matter of seconds, the plane disappeared completely into the water. The entire formation of soldiers ran to where the water was swallowing the small plane. Young Jeffrey was the first one to reach the downed craft. He did not hesitate at all. He jumped into the icy waters. He was followed by at least three others. When he would remember this later, he could never remember feeling the coldness of the nearly frozen water.
He felt like he was moving through molasses. It took forever to reach the metal doors. The plane’s tail was starting to sink. He could see the president trying to free himself from his restraints. The pilot did not seem to be conscious. The other soldiers were at the door with him and pushed young Jeffrey aside. The door came open, and before he could reach up to grab the handle, the president was jumping out. The other soldiers were trying to lead him back onto the ice while the rest of the men watched. Cannon looked once again at the doomed pilot and reached for the door. Pulling himself into the plane was very difficult. The next few moments were very intense. The restraints that were holding the unconscious pilot were nearly impossible to unhook with his freezing fingers; however, he managed to get them loose enough to pull the pilot through. He screamed for someone to help, but when he looked back through the door, he was alone inside the sinking craft. He pulled the poor pilot toward the door of the aircraft, screaming, “Wake up! Wake up!” How could it be that no one was returning to help? He was starting to panic. As he pulled the pilot toward the opening, the entire plane plunged farther under the numbing waters. The opening was half submerged. Young Cannon lurched forward with his entire strength, trying to push the pilot through the opening. He felt as though he was pushing watermelon through a keyhole. Just when he began to make a little progress—both of his feet were now dangling in the water—two hands grabbed the pilot. The hands pulled the pilot free and reached back for Jeffrey. The plane creaked loudly and began to roll onto its side. It suddenly sank a couple more feet. Jeffrey was thrown into the rear of the craft. He looked toward the opening and realized that he was going to have to go underwater to free himself. Without taking time to think, he dove into the icy water and frantically grabbed hold of the doorframe. He pulled his entire weight forward and kicked his heavy feet. Just when he reached the opening, he lost consciousness.
He later learned that the plane had broken into two pieces. The rear section of the plane had practically dissected him. The metal had ripped through layers of clothing and sliced him from his shoulder, down across his back, to just above his tailbone. The force of the plane had pushed his body to the surface where he was rescued along with the pilot and the president of the United States.
When he awoke, he was lying in a bed inside the building. His surroundings assured him that he was still in Alaska. He immediately asked how long he had been unconscious. He was told that he had been out for almost forty-eight hours. He remembered everything up to when the president jumped out. Everything
