Powder Monkey of Cape Fear

Episode 1


I suppose you could say I stumbled over my inheritance. After all, I stumbled over everything else in life. I stumbled over my college grant and wound up majoring in horticulture instead of theater. I stumbled over my job making television commercials when a favor to a friend turned into a career. Planning was obviously wasted on me.

Let’s go back. It was not too long ago that I received a call from my grandfather Thomas, age 89, saying that he would like to see me before he “moved along in the great scheme of things”.

Grandfather Thomas Wilfred Donnalson was the colorful old man of the family who was always fond of saying things like that, or “It’s Earth, y’know – no one’s gettin’ out alive.”

I was named for my eloquent grandfather, as he was named for his grandfather and he was named for his. The last name, however, seemed to change with every voter registration. Grandfather Thomas’s grandfather was Thomas Wilfred Donnallton and his grandfather was Thomas Wilfred Donnally, and before him the enigma of the family, Thomas Wilfred Donny, 1698-1763.

The finer points of a cloudy family history, missing certain parts and shrouded in mystery, had been pretty boring to me even as a child. Now at twenty-six I had other things on my mind; but being a dutiful grandson, I made some time and headed down to Grampa Tom’s place in Wilmington.

As I pulled my Jeep off Oleander, the familiar off-white sand and long-needle pine trees reminded me of earlier days visiting Grampa. The house had since become his ‘Hermitage’ and was sorely in need of repair.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” I said aloud, noticing the overgrown yard and neglected porch. Grampa’s boat sat in the yard, not looking very seaworthy.

“Don’t sell ‘er short,” said a scratchy voice from within. “She’s withstood everything Ol’ Lady Nature could throw. Come in, Tom.”

“Grampa Tom?” I said, pulling open the storm door.

“Come in and sit down. There’s a few things to go over and I feel something powerful pulling at me.”

“How are you doing?” I tried to sound like I could do something about it if the answer was bad.

“Oh! Me? I’m doing great! I just can’t stay long. Got places to go and I’m packin’ light. No one takes a knapsack into heaven.”

I smiled – I was in the right place. Gramps was his old enigmatic self.

“What’s up, Grampa?”

“Sit down. There’s history to impart.”

I pulled up a straight-backed chair, the only one in sight, and sat down to await the ramblings of the colorful old dodger with a patient smile.

“Don’t gimme that smile; that’s your father’s smile, I’d know it anywhere. It’s that ‘Go on, rattle away’ smile I always get from him. Listen up, this is important.”

“OK, OK, sorry,” I said, pulling my chair a half-inch closer and trying not to do my father’s cynical smile.

“Why do you think you’re a Donnalson?” He flashed an elfish twinkle.

“Never thought about it.” It was true. I hadn’t.

“Why not a Donnallton or a Donnally or” he paused to be sure he had my attention, then said with great import, “a Donny.”

The old man sat back, smiling, waiting for the light bulb to go off in my head. When it didn’t, the luster faded from his face.

“Alright, boy, I can see I’m in for it. It was easy for me to change it to Donnalson. It was wartime, records were slippery – Giuseppe Verde became Joe Green due to anti-Italian sentiment, Viktor Schmidt became Vic Smith, and so on. Lots of people changed their names, but I changed it because Donnallton was getting a bit familiar in these parts.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason that my grandfather changed it from Donnally and his grandfather changed it from Donny – Blackbeard’s treasure.”

My eyebrows went up.

“I see I have your attention.” He sat back with a satisfied smile.