Literarily Speaking

Author Interview with Randy C. Dockens, Author of 'PARALLEL UNIVERSE SAGA' #authorinterview

thewriterslife July 19, 2026 0 Comments

Today we are interviewing Randy C. Dockens, author of the Christian science fiction series, Parallel Universe Saga (Quill & Quotation Press).

Dr. Randy C. Dockens has a fascination with science and with the Bible, holds Ph.D. degrees in both areas, and is a man not only of faith and science, but also of creativity. He believes that faith and science go hand in hand without being enemies of each other.

After completing his bachelor’s degree in pharmacy from Auburn University he went on to graduate school at Auburn and completed his first doctorate degree in Pharmaceutics. He began his scientific career as a pharmacokinetic reviewer for the Food and Drug Administration and later joined a leading pharmaceutical company as a pharmacokineticist, which is a scientist who analyzes how the human body affects drugs after they have been administered (i.e, absorbed, distributed, metabolized, and excreted).

Through the years, he has worked on potential medicines within several disease areas, including cardiovascular, fibrosis, and immunoscience to seek and develop new and novel medicines in these therapy areas.

He has also had his attention on the academic study of the Bible. He earned a second doctorate in Biblical Prophecy from Louisiana Baptist University after receiving a master’s degree in Jewish Studies from the Internet Bible Institute under the tutelage of Dr. Robert Congdon.

Randy has recently retired from his pharmaceutical career and is spending even more time on his writing efforts. He has written several books that span dystopian (The Coded Message Trilogy), end-time prophecy (Stele Prophecy Pentalogy), science fiction (Erabon Prophecy Trilogy), uniquely told Bible stories (The Adversary Chronicles), speculative fiction (Cities of Light Series), and a combination of science fiction / speculative fiction (Parallel Universe Saga). All his books, while fun to read, are futuristic, filled with science to give them an authentic feel, have a science fiction feel to them, and allows one to learn some aspect of Biblical truth one may not have thought about before. This is all done in a fast-paced action format that is both entertaining and provides a fun read for his readers.

He has also written some nonfiction books as well. One is to show how all humans are connected from God’s viewpoint by looking at biblical prophecy (Why is a Gentile World Tied to a Jewish Timeline?: The Question Everyone Should Ask). This book shows how all scripture is connected and inclusive of everyone. In addition, he and his editor have written two books about writing. The first is on writing techniques themselves and is entitled Mastering the ABCs of Excellent Writing: Creating Vivid and Colorful Stories that Readers Want to Read. This book not only addresses the techniques of writing, but what makes writing unique to each author. It conveys not only how to better hone one’s craft of writing but also the brand an author wants to portray. This helps an author make their writing unique as well as captivating for his/her audience. The second is a companion book to this one entitled Mastering the ABCs of Excellent Self-Editing: Framing Your Colorful Masterpiece to Keep Readers Engaged in Your Story. This is best used in conjunction with the first one. Yet, self-editing, though intricately connected to writing, is a distinct event. The better the quality of a writer’s draft manuscript when it is delivered to one’s editor, the higher the final quality of the manuscript will be for readers, and that is extremely important.

Dr. Dockens still has creative ideas to share so stay tuned!

Dr. Dockens’ latest books are Retrieving the Future & Resolving the Future (Books 1 & 2 in the Parallel Universe Saga Series)

Visit his website at https://www.randydockens.com.

Connect with him on social media at:

╰┈➤ X: www.x.com/RandyCDockens

╰┈➤ Facebook: www.facebook.com/Randy.C.Dockens

╰┈➤ Instagram: Randy C Dockens (@randydockens) | Instagram

╰┈➤ Goodreads: Randy C. Dockens (Author of T-H-B) | Goodreads

Can you share a story about what brought you to this particular career path (becoming an author)?

In high school, I would write stories and poems for school projects for English assignments. One of my poems about the beauty of a sunrise won me a national award through our church’s organization. Yet, I also loved science as well and won our school’s science award at graduation. When I started college, I chose science—pharmacy to be exact. This led me further and further down the scientific career ladder. After graduating with a pharmacy degree, I worked for a year and then went back to graduate school earning a Ph.D. degree in Pharmaceutics with a specialization in pharmacokinetics (i.e., the study of how the body affects drugs: absorption, distribution, metabolism, and excretion, and describing those with mathematical algorithms). Needless to say, this took me farther and farther away from my creative side.

My other interest has always been the Bible. After a number of years, I discovered I could take courses online and entered a master’s program in Jewish Studies through what was then The Internet Bible Institute. This got me interested in biblical prophecy, so I continued my online studies and obtained a Ph.D. in biblical prophecy from the Louisiana Baptist University.

I then contemplated how to integrate my two areas of study together. I at first considered writing nonfiction and did write a manuscript about how the Bible is a continuous story tying all of mankind together which eventually became my book, Why is a Gentile World Tied to a Jewish Timeline?: The Question Everyone Should Ask. Before this one was published, I decided that it might be better to write fiction and incorporate biblical truths into the stories so that readers could be entertained with an intriguing story but at the same time learn something about God or about the Bible they may not have heard before. This got my creative juices to flow again. I have always been a science fiction fan, so most of my stories are either science fiction or speculative fiction with a science fiction feel to them.

Your latest books, Resolving the Future, is a Christian science fiction and is Book 2 in the Parallel Universe Saga. The series explores thems of advanced technology, end-time inspiration, and the idea that human technological advancements cannot overcome God's plan. How did you come up with this very unique idea which turned into a series?

The Parallel Universe Saga is somewhat of an extension to my series, The Adversary Chronicles. In that series, I talk about different dimensions and how those relate to the Bible. In this current series, I take that concept and look at it slightly differently. The common denominator between the two is that higher dimensions allow limitless universes and it is possible they represent the limitless number of decisions we humans make. Travel into the past is prohibited because decisions have already been made which cannot be changed. Yet, future decisions have not yet been made, so we can choose to set our Earth on a different, but planned, path. And, if we can choose one of those alternate Earth’s and utilize their future technology that may or may not be part of the path of our Earth, we can change our destination to either bring those technologies to our Earth faster or bring technology to our Earth that we would not otherwise experience.

With that concept as the primary basis for the novel, I considered what would be such technology that could be brought back to our Earth. I chose Artificial Intelligence (AI). I know we already have AI, but it is in its infancy stage, so I had Declan, the interdimensional interloper and main character of the book and series, bring back plans for a very sophisticated AI. Just as today, there are those who embrace AI stating all the positive things it can do for us and there are those who fear AI and want to limit what it can do, the same is true in this book and series.

Can you tell us about the main character in the book?

Declan Anderson has an outgoing personality and an adventurous spirit. He is employed by Icharus Technologies, a firm which has him go on parallel Earth missions to retrieve advanced technologies that the company can reverse engineer and sell to the public for profit. His personality is the type which tries to be friends with all. He even befriends an AI robot, Lyle, on one of his trips. Unknowingly, this leads to a close friendship between the two and sets both of them on a course that intertwines their lives forever.

Can you tell us about the other characters in the book?

Lyle is an artificial intelligence robot on a parallel Earth that Declan meets in a clothing store. Over time, their relationship becomes close and Declan treats him as his best friend. Their frequent interactions and discussions cause Lyle's programming to advance more than it otherwise would have. Because of their friendship, Lyle returns to Declan's Earth with him and helps him build one of the most advanced AI androids Decan's Earth has ever achieved.

Rose Mathews becomes Declan's girlfriend. She is originally employed by a rival company but comes to work at Icharus Technologies where she and Declan fall in love with each other. She is the one who runs the machine that sends Declan on his missions. She originally meets Declan on a parallel Earth when she worked at this rival company visiting the same parallel Earth Declan visits but from a different timeline. Declan doesn't realize she is from his Earth until he gets back from his mission.

George Hanes is one who is antagonistic to Declan’s plans for a sophisticated AI. He wants to limit what the AI can do but obtains just the opposite of what he desires from the AI they are developing. He and Declan can’t seem to get on the same page. Yet, on an alternate Earth, George and Declan are best friends and are almost inseparable.

What is the main reason people should read your series?

Artificial Intelligence (AI) has become a very hot topic in our newsfeeds today. There are some who are happy with how quickly this technology is advancing while others are very skeptical, and fearful, of such technology and feel it is advancing too quickly without enough safeguards in place. Our society needs to grapple with this concern of such new technology arising quickly in our world. One of the main concerns is how to avoid human bias in a technology that needs all types of information in so many different areas to derive answers and provide information that is required of it. It is my opinion that if we are going to rely on something giving us information that we are going to assume is valid, it should have access to all information and not just information some human decided to supply to it. Only then can it come to valid and unbiased conclusions using all information at its disposal.

This current story can entertain as well as make the reader think and consider which character they would most identify with and how they would expect AI to work in their world. It's a story that can expand one's imagination as well as make one think.

You are a person of enormous influence. If you could start a movement that would bring the most amount of good to the most amount of people, what would that be?

I feel our world is taught to be copycats rather than unique. While inspiration can be learned from someone else and their accomplishments, one should not try to be the same as the other person. Each person’s uniqueness should be developed and praised so that everyone can feel appreciated for what they bring to the world. No one should be made to feel they have nothing to offer.

Yet, we see this far too often in media where actors, podcast influences, or political figures are turned into idols for others to adore and emulate rather than being inspired by them and bring their own uniqueness into play. If one doesn’t do what these influences do, then they feel inadequate by either themselves or by others who compare and critique without positive feedback—only negative.

I see this also in the writing community. There are influencers in this community as well (editors, agents, publishers) who have their own pet peeves and prioritize those over the other aspects various writers bring to the table. Again, the feedback is almost always negative with little positivity. This is one reason I and my editor wrote two books about writing and editing to help budding authors understand the norms but not abandon their uniqueness in how they write. The first is Mastering the ABCs of Excellent Writing: Creating Vivid and Colorful Stories that Readers Want to Read, and its companion book is Mastering the ABCs of Excellent Self-Editing: Framing Your Colorful Masterpiece to Keep Readers Engaged in Your Story. So, hopefully, this is one step in the right direction to help other budding authors see and find their full potential as a writer.

So, I think we all should try and help each other shine and feel better about ourselves. This doesn’t have to detract from our own shining or influence. Yet, portraying positivity without negativity can only lead to happier lives by everyone. Critiquing is always needed but can be done in ways that are not cynical or hurtful. And as they say, a rising tide raises all ships. So, let’s be the tide for our fellow ships.

In Book 1, Retrieving the Future, Declan befriends an amazing humanoid robot, Lyle, on one of his parallel Earth trips and brings him home to create his idea of an ultimate AI. That’s when everything unravels!

Suddenly Declan’s coworkers and company leaders want him dead, his girlfriend Rose is in danger, and the only way to survive is to discover what his missions were really about—a secret conspiracy linking corporate greed to some of Scripture’s endtime prophecies. To discover that connection, the AI he created sends him and Rose on a parallel Earth mission together, a mission unsanctioned by the company’s Board.

In Book 2, Resolving the Future, Declan discovers the secret to his parallel Earth visits …. and it’s not good.

This other parallel Earth lies within a time dilation field which severs his and Rose’s connection to their world. Another way to get back must be found. He discovers why his company’s Board sanctions his trips to parallel Earths and this discovery not only puts his life and that of Rose in danger, but basically everyone he has worked with at his company.

Once he and Rose return to their Earth, all has changed. Only his robot friend, Lyle, has remained unchanged. The AI he created and who sent him on his off-world mission is now in control of the company, has his boss and the Board under its sway, has no knowledge of his unsanctioned mission, and now considers Declan enemy number one. Declan now has to convince a company blinded by greed that they’ve created humanity’s executioner— and do that before there’s no future left to fight for.

The Parallel Universe Saga (including Retrieving the Future Book 1 & Resolving the Future Book 2) is available at Amazon and the author’s website.

First Chapter Reveal: Fighter Pilot's Daughter by Mary Lawlor

thewriterslife July 16, 2026 0 Comments

Title: Fighter Pilot’s Daughter: Growing Up in the Sixties and the Cold War

Author: Mary Lawlor

Publisher: Rowman and Littlefield

Pages: 323

Genre: Memoir

Fighter Pilot’s Daughter: Growing Up in the Sixties and the Cold War tells the story of Mary Lawlor’s dramatic, roving life as a warrior’s child. A family biography and a young woman’s vision of the Cold War, Fighter Pilot’s Daughter narrates the more than many transfers the family made from Miami to California to Germany as the Cold War demanded. Each chapter describes the workings of this traveling household in a different place and time. The book’s climax takes us to Paris in May ’68, where Mary—until recently a dutiful military daughter—has joined the legendary student demonstrations against among other things, the Vietnam War. Meanwhile her father is flying missions out of Saigon for that very same war. Though they are on opposite sides of the political divide, a surprising reconciliation comes years later.

Read sample here.

Fighter Pilot’s Daughter is available at Amazon.

First Chapter:

In the 1920s, when Jack was a child, a framed photograph of his father stood in the living room of their house on Richmond Avenue in South Orange, New Jersey. My grandfather, Edmond Vincent Lawlor, had
come to the United States in the early years of the twentieth century, when he was barely into his teens. On September 19, 1916, he became a U.S. citizen. Not long after, he signed up for Officers Candidate
School at Princeton and got ready to join thousands of others in The World War, later renamed World War I. The picture on the table shows him in uniform, stiff with duty. As a household decoration, it signaled the deep connection between the nation and the family, demonstrated through military service.
Papa, as we called our grandfather, gives a faint smile in the picture.
There’s nothing macho in this expression, no hint he was imagining himself heroic. He was a devout Catholic and would have understood his soldierly commitment as God’s will. Fighting on the side of the
Yanks also gave him a chance to show his affection for America. This was the country that had taken him in, given him a job in a powder factory, offered a new life to his mother and aunt.
World War I was still a pulsating memory when Jack was a boy. For him it would have been a murky tale of faraway places and mysterious danger. The photo showed his father on the edge of all this, an adventurer and a stunningly different person from the cheerful, gray-suited insurance salesman who came home every day at six o’clock.
Papa Lawlor at Officers Candidate School near the end of WWI Edmond never went to the war. It ended by the time he finished OCS. But Iremember that picture of him in uniform, there in the many living rooms of my own early years, a reminder that Papa was not only the mild, affable Irishman we loved, but a man who knew how to use a gun, had been ready to expose himself to violence on behalf of our country.
I say Papa smiles in the photo, but when I look at it now the expression isn’t so easy to read. The face is actually pretty blank. You could say it’s a mask, an empty screen hiding Papa’s feelings, even his sense of
himself as a Navy ensign. The eyes are aimed slightly to his right, off camera, as if he’s not entirely engaged in the portrait. If you keep looking, movement stirs in his face. It’s in the eyes of the beholder, of
course, but he begins to look like he’s ready for something else and can barely stand the still pose. Is this simply his characteristic lack of vanity?
Does he want to get going with the soldiering? Or is he itching to get out of the uniform, go home where he belongs.
As Jack came to the end of his school years, the laughing family and shady streets of South Orange started to look tame. He tried a few semesters at Seton Hall University, not far from home, but his performance was less than impressive. Letters show he was already captured by thoughts of himself far away, across the continent, perhaps the ocean. But he never looked down on his local, New Jersey world. It was the setting of boyhood stories he told us when we were kids. It was the place he gladly returned to after hot summer days in downtown New York, working as a messenger for the Japanese Cotton and Silk Trading Company. South Orange was his mother’s world. It was where Nan Ferris Lawlor presided over his beloved brothers and sisters—“my kin,” as he jokingly called them. In his first uniform, standing on the dappled lawn of the house on Richmond Avenue, he grins at the camera, his arm around her. He looks happy to be so grounded there, and so ready to go away. He wanted adventure. He wanted to go to sea, to learn navigation. And he wanted to fly.
In March 1942 Jack enrolled as a cadet at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy. Established by Congress in 1938, the Merchant Marine Cadet Corps trained sailors for commercial ships that could convert to
military service in times of war. Now, with the demands of World War II pressing, merchant marines were needed for duty in less time than the formal curriculum allowed. Jack spent three months in the class
room at the Academy’s temporary facilities on the Chrysler estate in Great Neck, Long Island. Courses included seamanship, cargo handling, maritime engineering, math, and ship construction. He studied
hard and did well. Letters home, written in an exuberant voice, show how excited he was to be learning the life of a seaman, getting ready to see the world.
In preparing for a naval science exam in the spring of 1943, he wrote his father, “If I don’t pass it at least I tried. I know you’ll be interested to hear this Dad, knowing how disappointed you were with the time I wasted in Seton Hall. I realize that myself now, Dad, more than ever and I’m going to do my best to make up for it.” He was affectionate with his parents and wrote as if pleasing them mattered a great deal. For all
his desire to get away from home and out into the world, his identification with the family was absolute.
Gleeful at what the Merchant Marines were preparing him to do, Jack found talents he didn’t know he had in the seamanship training, especially in navigation. For the signaling course, he had to commit
endless codes to memory. He would have to pass a test that required sending eight words per minute in Semaphore and another eight in Morse. “It’s going to be tough,” he complained, “because there is nothing interesting about it. It’s just plain memory work. But you’ve got to know this stuff on board ship so it’s a good thing.”
Practicing as an able bodied seaman was another story. “Yesterday afternoon we shipped an 800 pound anchor over the side to a barge and there were only three of us to move it. Today we had quite a thrill. They sent Tex and me aloft to paint the masts in a boatswain’s swing. Boy oh Boy but you’re away way up when you do that and when we painted the top part and got down to the spar we had to crawl out on our bellies to paint the end of the thing. God I liked to die. That mast was swaying with the ship and me out on the yard that was bending under my weight. I’m so darn tired from hanging on that I can hardly lift the pen. But I think I’ll live.”
With his six-foot frame, good looks, and rough amiability, Jack made friends easily. Time with his new pals was often brief, as the advanced pace of Merchant Marine training meant assignments were given out
quickly. In letters home he complained at having to say goodbye. “I made quite a friend with this guy Tex. . . . But he’s due to go home in two weeks. Gosh it’s lousy this way your friends come and go so quickly
in a place like this.” As Jack’s first voyage approached, he was glum about the separations. “There are only 4 of us left out of our whole gang since this afternoon, for 3 shipped out then. . . . Boy it really seemed
tough saying goodbye to those 3 guys this afternoon and we’re a pretty lonesome bunch tonight.” The letter has a prophetic tone to it. There would be a lot of this in years to come. Jack would soon toughen up, learn to slap the guys on the back and say good-bye fast. He knew he might never see them again, and he stopped writing home about it.
Reading this letter about the three guys shipping out so many decades later, I feel badly for my dad. Then I see mornings on the tarmac when Jack is leaving us for some long-term mission. And the sight of a neighborhood comes up, receding in the back window of our car. Friends, then boyfriends wave good-bye. Of course, for Dad and his remaining pals another kind of loss lurked at the sight of the waiting
sea bags and in the last, terse good-byes. Where they were going death lurked right beside the adventures.
On May 11, 1942, he got his shipping papers. Rumors had been circulating that his cohort would have their first orders soon. Jack’s letters are ambivalent about it. Twice he uses the word terrific where
terrible should be. A few paragraphs after announcing the news of the shipping papers, he writes, “It seems terrific to think that I’ll be actually leaving home for such a long time. I keep trying to picture what it’s going to be like. I just dread the thought of the dam last day when I have to say so long to you all.” A week later, he and his pals set out by train for San Francisco where they would be assigned to a ship. In the club car with his friend Ray Barrett he penned a note, posted by the porter from Pittsburgh, describing his sad self in not entirely convincing terms: “Well that dreadful day when I had to leave you is almost past and let me tell you the big tough guy who never got homesick isn’t so big and tough any more and this afternoon at Penn Sta he was plenty homesick. But after we fastened up we had a good chicken dinner for $1.65 less 10% for the uniform. I felt much better. But it was terrific leaving you.”
In San Francisco, before reporting for ship duty, he had the time of his life. He and his friends were treated like visiting celebrities. “I’m in the best place in town, the Hotel Francis Drake, and a gal just took my picture. I’ll send you one.” In the same letter he tells them “our picture was in the S.F. Chronicle. I’ll send you one of those too! The S.F. Chamber of Commerceis having a National Maritime Day and we were picked to pose for the paper.” He sent a clipping along, a photo of himself and a fellow cadet in dress uniform, smiling as they explain the details of a model cargo ship bridge to a San Franciscan named Virginia Haley. It’s hard to tell whether the center of the photo is the ship model, Dad’s grin, or Haley’s legs. At the Persian Room on May 21, he laughs at the camera in the company of an unnamed actress in a white pillbox hat. The next night, at Charlie Low’s Forbidden City, a supper club on Sutter Street, he stands beside a local actress, looking awkward but dapper nonetheless. Another night in the Persian Room, Jack
glances at the photographer while talking with Ray Barrett and another friend from the Academy. Over cocktails and smokes, they’re obviously enjoying themselves, but something serious hovers between them. Ray wrote on the inside of the photo sleeve, “We went to the Academy together and now we’re going to sea together. Need I say more than all the luck in the world to you?” Amid the dancing and cocktails and the photographers, they were having a ball. They were also thinking about what was coming next.
He was assigned to the Grace Line’s Santa Clara. “The ship is a corker—it’s big, fast and well armed (Thank God),” he wrote to the family. “Our stateroom was a mess when we first got into it but today we fixed it up and it’s pretty nice. We have plenty of room, our own bath and lots of closet and locker space. There are three of us in the room and we get along swell. The meals are swell and we eat in the officers’ mess. It’s a break being on a troop ship, because the food is always extra good on them and besides they are well protected.” Earlier, still in San Francisco, he had met some of his superiors and written home, “the officers are swell guys and surprisingly young. We are with the third mate tonight and the girls [Jack’s sisters, Ann and Marg] would go nuts over him. We are learning more than I thought it was possible for me to commit to my thick cranium, just through these young fellars. The skipper is only 35. How about that?” In ten weeks they would be back in New York. Jack was out of his head with excitement but mindful of his attachment to home. In a postscript, he notes “I’m damn happy, but a little lonesome.”
By the end of his first year, Jack had been at sea for nine months.
Still he kept in touch with South Orange regularly. He addresses the household as “Dear Home” and signs his letters “Salty.” Expressions of affection intensify as time, distance grow. On the eve of his first trip to
the Pacific he wrote: “You have said you were proud of me. Well I’m pretty damn proud to call myself one of you.” At times the words have a faint ring of guilt—for being so far from home, for having a great time
at it: “You are the grandest Mother and Dad a fellow could have and I’ll always look forward to the days I can spend with you again.”
Jack was out on a cruise when Edward Haugh, who would soon become his close friend and brother-in-law, entered the Merchant Marine Academy in 1943. Five years later Ed married Frannie’s younger
sister, Mary Ellen. Like a mirror opposite of our own family, Mary Ellen and Ed had four sons, more or less our ages. Much later, after my dad and uncle had become experienced seamen and pilots, after they’d
seen violent action in war, it was the Haugh boys who learned about the most dramatic events, the violent ones. As girls and even women, we were never told those things. Bits and pieces reached our ears, fragments of stories about crashes and escapes through enemy territory. We would wonder, mystified, about where our father had been, how these things happened, what he felt and did. I imagined veiled scenes in dark jungles, Dad slipping through the high growth, his terrified gaze hunting the perimeter. He would be operating on deadly survival instincts, hungry, thirsty, wet. A specter as frightening as the enemies who missed him, he crept in absolute silence, the blue eyes, like flashlights, pointing the way. Or he was down in the sea, clinging to the wing of a plane, waiting for some helicopter to lift him out. These images came and went whether he was home or away.
During the return cruise to New York in early August, Jack’s exhilaration with life as a Merchant Marine came under the cloud of one particular commander. The man threw his weight around, made his presence felt among the cadets, making them do unnecessary things, just because he could. Jack got in his sights and found himself in a power struggle with a personal charge to it. He restrained himself from
telling the guy off when he demanded that a course, checked for accuracy several times already, be backed up with a series of alternative routes—a job that called for meticulous, time consuming calculations.
Jack took a deep breath and performed the useless task but swore he would get out of this man’s clutches. Landed in New York again in September, he and his buddies proceeded to the Merchant Marine
office downtown to sign up for another trip out, but the functionary in charge refused to put them together on a different ship. Word had made its way from the dock. Jack and his best friend, George Roper, decided “to hell with them.” As Merchant Marine cadets, they had already been sworn into the Navy on reserve status. The Navy could give them something the academy couldn’t. They could learn to fly. The next day the two of them walked north to the Naval Recruiting Office
and enlisted for active duty.
In the Merchant Marines, the cadets had been introduced to the ancient discipline of navigation. Always good at math in school, Jack, George, and my uncle Ed had taken it up like naturals. Mathematical
representations were as real to them as the ground itself. Even in retirement, their desks were littered with compasses, rulers, pencils and scraps of paper covered with calculations. The practice of charting seas
gave them confidence in moving through watery space, like it was lined and readable as a series of roads. Success at plotting a course at sea, as Uncle Ed explained not long ago, rattled their imaginations. They wondered how it would be to navigate the sky.
In the autumn of 1942, Jack and George began flight school at the Naval air station in New Paltz, New York, north of West Point. Ed came up the following year. Jack’s notes for the first course, in a folder la
beled in block print “Aircraft Identification, Mr. Oakley,” show he was already dedicated to learning everything he could about airplanes. In a careful hand he lists “Four main wing and plane relationships,” “Wing Descriptions,” and “Tips.” He copies the markings for Navy and Army aircraft alphabetically. A hand-drawn graph, the boxes neatly ruled, identifies the names of airplanes with their wing and tip configurations; engine and armaments; tail and fuselage surfaces; speed, ceiling and load range. Forty-two different planes appear in the six-page chart.
Photos, cut from catalogs and neatly taped to the notebook pages, show the Grumman G-21, the F4F Wildcat, the Martin PBM-3 Mariner (a “flying boat”), the Vought-Sikorsky OS2U-1 Kingfisher, the SB2U-3
Vindicator (“a dive bomber”), and many others. British planes appear—the Hawker Hurricane IIc (“with bombs slung under the wings”), and the Handley Page Halifax. A page is set aside for Japan’s Kawanishi
Type 94 (a bomber for which “no information is available on the location of the bomb bays”); another for Germany’s Dornier DO 17 (“a reconnaissance bomber”) and the infamous Messerschmitts—the ME
110 and ME109F.Captions indicate the wing and tail markings and the all-important size, speed, and range specifications. For survival’s sake, Jack would have to get these in his head. Notes in the margins indicate he was memorizing speed, altitude, and bombing capabilities of all the aircraft.
In March 1943, he wrote his father, “I’ve got almost four hours in the air now and I ought to solo in seven or eight, which should be some time this week . . . I’ve got a damn good instructor and he drums those
fundamentals into us all the time. I’m due to go upstairs to learn a series of ‘spins.’” Upstairs referred to four thousand feet, a dramatic, new level. The excitement of flying so high, of getting to take the airplane to the limits of its capacity, continues a few days later: “Boy those spins are something. We climbed to 4000, cut the motor and turner her nose straight up and put the rudder hard left and bingo! Down she goes nose first spinning like a top. We do two complete spins and come out of it.”
Shortly after, he made his first solo. The plane was an Aeronca Defender. He told his brother Edmond about it later, but no description of this prime moment appears in the letters. Soon he sent his
mother an account of what flying alone was like. “Walt, my Instructor, let me go out over our area alone yesterday afternoon for a whole hour.
You can’t see the area from the field so I had quite a time for myself. First I practiced high work and went up over the cloudbank at about 7,000 feet. You never saw anything so beautiful in all your life just you
the plane and the sky and those big white pillows below you. Super stuff.” Already he felt confident enough with the aircraft to start fooling around. “After that, I went down very low and practiced forced landings and made sure the fields were pastures and Boy you ought to see those dam old cows run. When I realized how much fun it was I tried dive bombing them and hot dog if ‘Bossie’ didn’t dam near give birth to a goat. Oh you should of seen them go—” He signs the letter “Orville Wright.”
Training continued into the summer of 1943 at Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where he started doing acrobatic hops; then at Bunker Hill, Indiana, where his enthusiasm grew explosive. “The flying is really terrific,” he wrote his mother and father. “There are three stages you have to get through. First you have A stage, that’s just safe for solo and then B stage, that’s ‘S’ turns and slips to circles and wingovers. Then in C stage you really start flying. That’s acrobatics and night flying and those acrobatics include everything, slow rolls, snap rolls, Immelman’s and inverted spins and falling leaves and every other tough one you can
think of.”
During those months at Chapel Hill, Jack went through a rigorous athletic program, including a week each of track, swimming, football and boxing. The cadets were graded for each sport. Competition for strong marks was high. On August 5 he wrote his parents, “I got my boxing marks yesterday and today. I didn’t make out too good yesterday. I lost my fight but today I made up for it. I won by a T.K.O. (that means they had to stop the fight because the guy I was fighting was pretty badly cut up).” Without another word about this, he moves on to his successes in football. He had made the battalion squad, a first for his
platoon. His father must have written expressing concern about the August 5 account of leaving his boxing opponent “pretty badly cut up.”
On the thirty-first, Jack wrote, “You sounded a little worried about my reaction to that fight I had. Well it’s O.K. Fact is I’ve made pretty good friends with the guy since and he wasn’t hurt too much anyway.”
This is the first evidence of Jack’s capacity for combat. The athletic schedule at Chapel Hill was aimed at sharpening reflexes for just this purpose. In late August he described to his mother how wrestling was
simultaneously training in hand to hand combat: “This hand to hand is the coldest stuff man ever thought up. It was explained to us this morning as the ways of quickly killing or disabling permanently a man with
only the weapons God gave us. We’re being taught to gouge out a man’s eyes and bite off his ears and bite into his jugular vein in his throat and every conceivable dirty stunt in the books.” If the “dirty stunts” seemed repellent to Jack and the detailed description a way of absorbing the shock, they must have been nothing short of shocking to his mother.
Why he would submit this information to her is something of a mystery.
Sharing scenes of violence with women was not a practice he would continue. During these years as a young flyer, everybody in the family served in the crucial role of audience for his adventures.
Jack’s preferred vision of military life at this point was far and away a vision of flying, of trying out the heights and lows, the angles and spins an airplane could take. Ground combat was distasteful and not for him.
In June of 1944, he earned his wings at the Naval air station in Pensacola, Florida. At this point, a cadet could chose to continue with the Navy or to shift to the Marine Corps, and Jack chose the Marines. That fall he found himself on the west coast again, this time in southern California.
At the Marine Corps air station in El Toro he underwent a combat conditioning course. “You would think we were going through infantry school instead of being aviators. It’s very much similar to Chapel Hill
only a lot tougher. We start at the crack of dawn and do close order drill, exercises and bayonet drill until sundown. And then to bed and no kidding I’m there by seven. It’s doing good, I guess.”
But El Toro meant more flight school too. By now he was tired of being a student. “Well here we are again,” he wrote in early January of 1945, “back in school. How do you like it? Gee I haven’t done a damn
thing but go to school since the beginning of the damn war. But this time I think I’ve got something because these jokers say that they are going to teach us how to fly every airplane the Navy uses, from primary trainers to the big 4 engined flying boats. This month alone we will be flying Avengers, Hellcats, Hell divers.” He had been through seventy two weeks of flight training, almost a year and a half as a student. As a professional aviator, he would go back to “school” periodically to learn the technology of new aircraft. Later training, however, was more about refining skills he already had, skills that would eventually come to be recognized as those of a master aviator.
Jack had been away from home for some time now. He wrote that he missed the holidays with the family. “I don’t expect we’ll get a transcontinental for a couple of months yet, but I’ll get there by gosh. If they
won’t send me over seas I’ll get there by hook or crook.” Aware of the ambivalence in his phrasing and the muddiness—won’t instead of don’t and the open-ended meaning of there—about what he really wanted next, to go home or “overseas,” which meant to the war, he adds in parenthesis, “to New York I mean.” In spite of Jack’s exhaustion with being a student, it’s pretty clear as he virtually chants the names of the airplanes he is about to get his hands on that what he wants most is to fly and fly some more. The implication is strong that he wanted not so much to go home but to get further away.
In all Jack’s letters written from the Merchant Marine Academy, from Navy flight school, and Marine Corps training, references to the Catholic religion in which he was raised are sparse and formal. From Navy pre-flight school in Chapel Hill, North Carolina in September 1943 he described a field mass he attended at the base stadium. It was a solemn high pontifical mass, “very pretty and very impressive . . . I sang
in the choir and we sang the mass of St. Basil and it sounded pretty good.” But the event is also memorable because his girlfriend Ruth was visiting from New Jersey. They’d been engaged since before he’d left the Merchant Marines, but the relationship wouldn’t survive the long separation to come.
Later that month the base chaplain, Father Sullivan, asked Jack to manage a fund raising campaign with his outgoing battalion for the construction of a church. Jack spent a week with a friend giving “pep
talks” and canvassing. The priest “almost jumped out of his pants” when they handed over $444.60. Other stories sent home remind his parents that he’s still a good, practicing Catholic son; but none of his writing
expresses a deep or conscientious sense of devotion. In a postscript, he notes, “The chaplain is a grand guy. Have been to Sacraments” and “Still taking pills and saying Hail Marys.”
If pressed, Jack would undoubtedly have declared the whole project in which he was engaged—learning to be a warrior for the good guys—the deepest sacred duty he could perform. It was the sort of credo he
would maintain throughout his military career. God, Christ, and the Virgin seemed to loom for him in a distant sphere. Signs of their benevolence or wrath might be legible in this-world phenomena, but they
existed elsewhere. Although he kept an image of Our Lady of Loretto—patroness of aviators—in the cockpit with him, it wasn’t until after retirement that he showed a personal, more intimate connection with Catholicism. Maybe it was there in him earlier, but the letters suggest that for the young pilot, the more abstract, the more formal his religion, the better it would work for him.
In May of 1945 he finally set out for the war, to the site of one of the bloodiest conflicts, Okinawa. Assigned to Marine Fighter Squadron 222 of the Second Marine Air Wing, he left San Diego on a troop transport.
He had been waiting for this, for the chance to get beyond the dress rehearsals of training to the sites of real action. Excitement beat like a drum. He knew, of course, what horror lay ahead. The terror was fuel,
already sharpening his senses.
The well-ordered life at sea, like the round of days on the base, held up a steady, familiar, world. The repetition of chores, drills, and meals flattened shipboard experience. Behind the lulling rhythms, however, an eerie, Melvillian, spell dragged along. One hot day near New Guinea, when they couldn’t take looking at the gunmetal and the horizon anymore, Jack and a few others climbed over the edge for a swim.
Shortly after, the voice of the commander boomed from the deck, ordering them back on board. Reluctantly but quickly they did as he said. The officer walked them across deck to the opposite side of the ship and pointed into the water. It was boiling with hammerhead sharks.
A “shark shooter,” as Uncle Ed Haugh told me, would normally be stationed at a lookout point high above the deck when sailors were swimming in Pacific waters. Protecting the vulnerable crew, the shooter kept a close eye off the gunwales, ready to fire at any moment. If this protection was in place, it didn’t dispel the commander’s terror at sight of the enormous, T-shaped fish, thronging too close to the splashing men.
The hammerhead shark story was in our heads, told more than once, so vivid was it in Dad’s memory. He was a good storyteller. He knew how to pace the action, when to pause, when to raise and lower his
voice. Making a collective character of the swimmers, he showed with wide eyes and eager shoulders how dangerously naïve they were. The commander, deep voiced and rigid, was right, he told us, not because
the hammerheads proved him to be, but because he was the commander. With loose-minded people like his younger self to teach and supervise, the commander had to convey that his word, his order, was reason in itself. Jack’s heart was not revolting now, as it had to the arbitrary power of the Merchant Marine officer in the summer of 1942. He had grown up, become a professional; and the wartime context demanded that everybody do precisely as they were told. The scene looks ominously symbolic of the enemy waiting over the horizon, a threat that hadn’t crossed the threshold of visibility for Jack quite yet. But to our ears as children, the episode was like an allegory of the horrible things that could happen if you chose not to follow your leaders, whether they were parents, or teachers, or ship commanders. Outside the boundaries of our ruled lives, nature and the world’s violent passions came snapping at your heels. Better to stay on the boat, as Chef repeats in Apocalypse Now, his voice mechanical, dehumanized with fear.
In all those years of sailing, flying, fighting and bombing far from home, pitched against nature and other people, was my father on the boat or off it? Following orders, he kept his place. He knew to stay near
the boat and climb back aboard when commanded. But in later years he would often have to operate as an irregular, out of anybody’s reach, untraceable, courting danger. In this sense he seemed regularly off the boat. And that meant he was unreachable for us, at home, too. Being off the boat was at some level a choice for Jack, like it is for Captain Willard, just returned to Vietnam at the beginning of Apocalypse Now, describing his feelings about home: “When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle.”
VMF222 would be credited with shooting down fifty-three Japanese planes during the Battle of Okinawa. Jack flew the F4U Corsair, a carrier-based fighter aircraft he’d been trained to operate at El Toro.
The Corsair was armed with Browning machine guns on the wings. It could shoot missiles and drop bombs.
The Battle of Okinawa lasted for three months, until May 1945. At this point, the U.S. forces had established bases to be used as launch sites for a major attack on the Japanese mainland. The plan was
scrapped, of course, when the atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki; but the bases remained in place. Jack and his fellow pilots lived in improvised quarters—tents and later quonset huts—not far from the airfield at Awase.
From February until May of 1946, the war now over, Jack was as signed to “Special Service” with the Fourth Marine Wing. This meant duty in Northern China. Among Dad’s medals is a long yellow bar with
a red stripe at each end, the China Service medal. Marines had been posted to China since September 1945, helping accept the surrender of Japanese forces. The situation was complicated by the civil war that was building between Chang Kai-shek’s central government and the expanding Communist movement under Mao Tse Tung. Stalin, still America’s ally, was supporting Mao. The United States hadn’t taken an
overt military position in this struggle, although the hope was that Chang would prevail. For ordinary marines on duty in China, the scene was sometimes difficult to read.
Jack was housed in U.S. facilities at Tsingtao, on the coast southeast of Beijing. He and other marines shared the rough quarters with foreign nationals posted on commercial and diplomatic missions since
before the war, and with members of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. (The UNRR was formed in 1943 by Roosevelt; the “United Nations” were the WWII Allies. The mission was to provide economic aid and relief for nations damaged in WWII.)
Among the international community in Tsingtao, Jack met a Russian woman named Vlada, who he went out with a few times, but either he decided for himself or he was told to stop seeing her. Dating a Soviet
citizen had become a problem, and Jack did as he was told. One night Vlada came knocking at his BOQ door. He didn’t answer. She knocked louder and shouted into the night, “It is I, Vlada.” He still didn’t answer.
Eventually she went away. As Dad told the story, it was clear he thought it was funny. He did a comic imitation of Vlada’s accented, dramatic English. It’s hard to know if he was laughing at the time. My sisters and I never thought to ask this question. Were her antics laughable? Or had he distanced himself from her anyway, before the new rule came about, because she was demanding, too serious about him? Did Vlada’s foreignness mean he didn’t need to take her seriously, whether she was funny or not? I think of Vlada, wonder what she was going through that night. Who had she thought she’d found in Jack? What did she think, walking away from his door? Did she remember him for long? And what of Jack in his own eyes? Did he see himself still as a gleeful young pilot, ready to leap the oceans, explore jungles continents away from South Orange? Or had he grown some armor he hadn’t had before the war, a toughness about the heart that would recede and then strengthen again in the tough years to come? If Vlada could be dismissed with a laugh, how ready was he to open his heart seriously to anybody—and to
any woman—back home?

About the Author:

Mary Lawlor is author of Fighter Pilot’s Daughter (Rowman & Littlefield 2013, paper 2015), Public Native America (Rutgers Univ. Press 2006), and Recalling the Wild (Rutgers Univ. Press, 2000). Her short stories and essays have appeared in Big Bridge and Politics/Letters. She studied the American University in Paris and earned a Ph.D. from New York University. She divides her time between an old farmhouse in Easton, Pennsylvania, and a cabin in the mountains of southern Spain.

You can visit her website at https://www.marylawlor.net/ or connect with her on Twitter or Facebook.

# Fighter Pilot's Daughter # First Chapter Reveal