paratroopers in his group, he alone was neither wounded nor killed. Here, in an old box of matches, was a twisted and dark fragment of metal. With it was a note held by yellowing tape. It reads, âShrapnel dug out of hip in hospital in Brussels, 1944.â This was a personal souvenir of his fight in the Market-Garden campaign in Holland. The date was September 22, 1944. Again he had been lucky.
But Redmondâs luck faltered at the Battle of the Bulge. His wounds required a year in a hospital bed. Set into a blue leather box was his Purple Heart âfor Military Merit.â A Silver Star. A Bronze Star with Oak Leaf Clusters. Beside it was a certificate of discharge from the military dated October 18, 1945. After that, judging from the contents of this drawer, he simply ceased to exist.
Mixed in with the possessions of Hugh Francis Redmond were a few things of his motherâs, Ruthâs. A small religious pin of St. Jude, her patron saint. On the back is inscribed âApostle of Hopeless Cases.â No other saint could have understood so well Ruth Redmondâs prayers or vigil.
Beneath the drawer was a chest full of old newspapers, a passport, a birthday card to Hugh that was returned. Here and there was a scattering of old Chinese coins.
A box of clues. A life reduced to mystery.
Moments later Bill McInenly went back to the basement and returned with a second, less decorous box. This one was more of a rubber tub, blue and covered with a snap-on lid. It was the kind of container in which one might find beers on ice at a tailgate party. But inside, carefully folded to a perfect triangle, was a musty American flag.
Any telling of Hugh Francis Redmondâs life must begin where the contents of his nephewâs box ends. It is Shanghai, China, on April 26, 1951âjust three days shy of a year after Douglas Mackiernan was gunned down on the Tibetan border. Thirty-two-year-old Hugh Redmond was now living the good life overseas. But that good life appeared threatened as the Communists tightened their stranglehold on activities in Shanghai. All foreigners were under suspicion.
A short time earlier, Redmond had secretly married. His bride was named Lydia, though he affectionately called her Lily. She was a White Russian and a piano teacher, a dark-haired and shapely woman who some would say was a femme fatale. With Redmondâs help she had managed to leave China. Now it was his turn. He prepared to board a ship, the USS
Gordon.
But Redmondâs voyage was abruptly ended even before it began.
Police from Chinaâs dreaded Public Security Bureau boarded the ship, escorted Redmond off, and led him away without explanation. Almost immediately rumors began to circulate around Shanghai and Washington that he had been executed.
The Chinese Communist regime under Mao Zedong had rounded up many foreigners, even missionaries attempting to spread the gospel. But Redmond was a case apart. As a commercial representative of Henningsen and Company, a British concern that specialized in the import and export of foods, Redmond appeared to be little more than a salesmanâhardly a threat to Maoâs regime. Never one to raise his voice, Redmond seemed so ordinary a fellow that even at the smallest of gatherings he was all but invisible. It was no wonder, then, that when the police pinched him off the ship, he literally vanished.
His parents had grown accustomed to long periods without a letter from him. But even they, in time, began to worry when they didnât hear from him, especially his mother. She was a cafeteria worker in a Yonkers public school. But it was not his personal life or business that kept her awake at nights. No, there were things that she knew about him, things that she had sworn not to discuss with anyone, that gave her ample cause for concern. His very life might depend on her discretion.
Ruth Redmond knew only that her son had joined a shadowy element of the War Department called
But Redmondâs luck faltered at the Battle of the Bulge. His wounds required a year in a hospital bed. Set into a blue leather box was his Purple Heart âfor Military Merit.â A Silver Star. A Bronze Star with Oak Leaf Clusters. Beside it was a certificate of discharge from the military dated October 18, 1945. After that, judging from the contents of this drawer, he simply ceased to exist.
Mixed in with the possessions of Hugh Francis Redmond were a few things of his motherâs, Ruthâs. A small religious pin of St. Jude, her patron saint. On the back is inscribed âApostle of Hopeless Cases.â No other saint could have understood so well Ruth Redmondâs prayers or vigil.
Beneath the drawer was a chest full of old newspapers, a passport, a birthday card to Hugh that was returned. Here and there was a scattering of old Chinese coins.
A box of clues. A life reduced to mystery.
Moments later Bill McInenly went back to the basement and returned with a second, less decorous box. This one was more of a rubber tub, blue and covered with a snap-on lid. It was the kind of container in which one might find beers on ice at a tailgate party. But inside, carefully folded to a perfect triangle, was a musty American flag.
Any telling of Hugh Francis Redmondâs life must begin where the contents of his nephewâs box ends. It is Shanghai, China, on April 26, 1951âjust three days shy of a year after Douglas Mackiernan was gunned down on the Tibetan border. Thirty-two-year-old Hugh Redmond was now living the good life overseas. But that good life appeared threatened as the Communists tightened their stranglehold on activities in Shanghai. All foreigners were under suspicion.
A short time earlier, Redmond had secretly married. His bride was named Lydia, though he affectionately called her Lily. She was a White Russian and a piano teacher, a dark-haired and shapely woman who some would say was a femme fatale. With Redmondâs help she had managed to leave China. Now it was his turn. He prepared to board a ship, the USS
Gordon.
But Redmondâs voyage was abruptly ended even before it began.
Police from Chinaâs dreaded Public Security Bureau boarded the ship, escorted Redmond off, and led him away without explanation. Almost immediately rumors began to circulate around Shanghai and Washington that he had been executed.
The Chinese Communist regime under Mao Zedong had rounded up many foreigners, even missionaries attempting to spread the gospel. But Redmond was a case apart. As a commercial representative of Henningsen and Company, a British concern that specialized in the import and export of foods, Redmond appeared to be little more than a salesmanâhardly a threat to Maoâs regime. Never one to raise his voice, Redmond seemed so ordinary a fellow that even at the smallest of gatherings he was all but invisible. It was no wonder, then, that when the police pinched him off the ship, he literally vanished.
His parents had grown accustomed to long periods without a letter from him. But even they, in time, began to worry when they didnât hear from him, especially his mother. She was a cafeteria worker in a Yonkers public school. But it was not his personal life or business that kept her awake at nights. No, there were things that she knew about him, things that she had sworn not to discuss with anyone, that gave her ample cause for concern. His very life might depend on her discretion.
Ruth Redmond knew only that her son had joined a shadowy element of the War Department called
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