After graduating from Marine boot-camp at Parris Island, South Carolina; I was assigned to the Officer’s Candidate School at Quantico, Virginia. John F. Kennedy was President and the cold- war between Russia and the U.S. was escalating into a nuclear confrontation in the Caribbean, off the coast of Cuba.
I arrived at Quantico not really knowing exactly why the Marine Corps recommended me for Officer’s training. Once I got acclimated to the routine and went through a security purging; I realized that being an Officer wasn’t what I really wanted to pursue as a Marine.
As a country boy who liked operating farm equipment, I preferred to be placed in a construction outfit, where I could get my hands on some of those big machines! So, I requested a transfer into the “combat engineers” platoon. The Commanding Officer was reluctant to approve of the transfer, but eventually, through my persistence, he gave it.
My new location was in the boondocks, along the banks of the Potomac River. This environment wasn’t anywhere near as hospitable as the Officer’s quarters I left, nevertheless I liked it. The first day involved storing my gear and making my bunk. I was assigned the top rack. The bottom rack was neatly arranged and I wondered what character would be occupying it. I soon found out, when this tall, slender, ruggedly handsome, pipe smoking Marine—-with a neatly trimmed, handle-bar mustache-- came over and introduced himself as my “bunk-buddy”—- Marine Corps terminology for partners or ship-mates.
He shook my hand and said: “Howdy…man. My name is James…” He had a grip like a vise clamp! I acknowledged: “I’m John…John Gasparro.” He didn’t give his last name and I didn’t ask. After getting “squared away,” (acquainted) we went to the mess hall for dinner. I noticed that the other Marines—in passing by-- would give James the high sign with: “Hey…Jimmy!” But, he pretty much ignored them with just a casual nod. I wondered why he was so introvert. He didn’t appear to be the type that would be. We chatted about my being transferred from the Officer’s school and he told me that they originally wanted him to be an Officer too. Now we had something in common.
We became good friends right off. He was a bit older than me, so I began to look up to him as a “big brother.” The next day we drove out to the stockade area, where he instructed me on how to operate a TD-18 bulldozer. These machines were all painted olive-drab and were remnants from the Korean War. We took turns pushing aside brush and clearing paths through the dense pine tree forests and swamps; where the amphibious landing craft would conduct training maneuvers. James really had the knack for operating these huge machines and I caught on quickly.
Later that evening, after mess-call, we sat on our foot lockers to have a smoke and “shoot-the-breeze”--a military expression for chatting. He reached into his locker and pulled out this large canister with a bright blue label embossed with three silver stars that read: REESE’S THREE STAR TOBACCO. He also pulled out a carousel of smoking pipes. Some of them were quite elaborately carved and others had--what he called-- meerschaum linings. He told me that his father sent them to him as a birthday gift, from a Beverly Hills smoke shop. He asked: “Ever smoke a pipe?” I said: “No…not yet.” He offered for me to pick one I liked, as a gift from him. I picked one with the meerschaum lining. Then, he showed me how to pack and light it, using stick matches. I was now a pipe smoking Marine! I thought this would be a good opportunity to ask for his last name; so I did. He looked me straight in the eyes and said: “I prefer that you call me Jimmy…but my last name is Cagney.” I was dumfounded for a moment trying to determine if I should pursue this name similarity to the great movie actor of the same name. I asked: “Is there any relationship between you and the actor?” He nodded his head: “He is my father.” I smiled: “Well…how about that!” Then he put his hand on my shoulder and said: “Look…suppose I call you Gus and you call me Jimmy…agreed?” I told him I understood his meaning. We shook hands and called it a night.
As the weeks passed by, we became more familiar with each other’s backgrounds. He would tell me about his working with his father on their farm in upstate New York, where they had horses and raised and bread some cattle. I recall that some of the cattle were prize, Black Angus bulls. The farm was called (Verney Farms). It was situated on a few hundred acres of land in the bucolic countryside of Stanfordville, New York—near the Connecticut border. He talked about the lake on the property-- and since I loved fishing--he invited me to fish there for the big trout and bass that he guaranteed were in there. He also related to me about how his father and mother (Frances) liked to stay in the small, stone cottage near the lake, rather than in the main, family house at the estate entrance. He explained to me about how he and his father weren’t as close as he would like. And, that the reason was mostly due to the extensive traveling his father did in regards to shooting movies and attending affairs in Hollywood. He spoke about his sister (Casey) only in a matter-of-fact sort of way. I assumed that they weren’t close either, and I was beginning to get a picture of the “bitter-sweet” relationship Jimmy had with his family.
Since Washington D.C. was within driving distance for a weekend liberty pass, Jimmy and I would go there on occasion. One night when we returned, tired and drunk, I crawled into my rack to discover that a snake was crawling around in the blanket! I jumped out quickly and yelled: “snake!” At that moment, the Platoon Sergeant responsible for the prank ran over laughing hysterically at my plight. Jimmy immediately grabbed him by the neck and threw him against the steel locker, yelling: “Get that damn snake out of here before I….!” I thought he was going to smash his face in. It turned out to be a garden snake, and this was the first time I saw Jimmy get angry like that. The Marine Corps was a tough and unruly outfit back in the early sixties--before the Senate investigations. It was good to have a friend like Jimmy around to square things off! I found out later on, that the reason why other Marines taunted me was because they resented Jimmy befriending me and shunning them. I also discovered that before I got there, they would patronize him for money-—which he usually gave them. He wanted to be treated as an equal, but they constantly got in his face about being James Cagney’s son.
One morning, while reading the Washington Post, I came across an article about James Cagney Sr. being in Washington D.C., promoting his recent movie (One-Two-Three)—-a comedy! I considered asking Jimmy if we could go to see his father there. After breakfast, I approached him and asked. He took me aside and explained to me why he didn’t want to see his father now, and that it had something to do with the fact that he was in love with, and planned on marrying a woman Marine who was also stationed there in Quantico. He said that his father considered all women in the military to be whores—-especially Marines! Then he went into his foot locker and showed me this large stack of bank checks, wrapped in rubber bands. He un-wrapped them to show me thousands of dollars worth of checks—-some of them signed by his father’s secretary. He said: “My father has been sending me these all the years I’ve been in the service. They’re for birthdays, and all the holidays. I never wanted “money” from him. If only he would have visited me more often… that’s what I wanted. And, when I get discharged soon, I’m going to give these right back to him!” I could see how upset he was and how he resented his father’s material tokens of affection. I told him about how I felt so let down by my family when not one of them came to see me on graduation from Parris Island. I was so proud that day…but no one to share it with. It seemed to me that he was overreacting by not accepting the checks and not wanting to visit his father, but I didn’t press the issue.
The Christmas holiday was approaching and we were going to get an extended weekend pass. Jimmy asked me if I would go with him to upstate New York to visit our families. The weather report was warning of blizzard conditions along the east coast, but we didn’t care and decided to take the chance. We packed our sea bags, grabbed our smokes and whisky flasks, and went to get his car in the back lot. I was somewhat surprised to see that the car was an old, black, 1940s style Ford coupe, with a rumble seat! He told me that the car worked fine and that it was a gift his father gave him after shooting a gangster movie with it in Manhattan. I got a little concerned when he brought out a cranking bar and went to the front to crank the engine. Seeing the doubtful look on my face, he assured me: “Don’t worry. It’s just a weak battery! We got into the car and it immediately started to hail and snow. I looked at Jimmy again, and he just smiled and said: “We’re goin’!”
As soon as we got passed Baltimore, heading north on I-95, the wind picked up and to make things worse, the one wiper on the windshield stopped because the vacuum hose froze. I had to reach up and toggle the lever back and forth manually to clear the snow from the windshield while he drove. There he was, puffing on that pipe while clutching the steering wheel, and me toggling the wiper arm back and forth. There was a radio in this car and although the sound quality was very static, it was good to listen to “Cousin Brucie” playing those Motown tunes. I lit a cigarette and sipped whisky from my flask, trying to keep warm. There was no heater in the car and it was freezing! As the wind howled through the partially broken, rear window; we followed in the tire tracks of other trucks and cars in front of us. When we reached the New Jersey turnpike, I took over the driving while Jimmy curled up in the back with a heavy woolen blanket. I’ll always remember that certain stink that let you know when you were in New Jersey. It was a strong, chemical stink that came from those refineries and industrial factories along the coast back in the sixties.
The snow eased up a little and in the wee hours of the morning, we arrived in Dutchess County, New York. I got out at my parent’s home in Pleasant Valley, while Jimmy drove on up to the farm in Stanfordville. It was the typical holiday season with the trees, the lights, the booze and all the gift exchanging. At the end of our stay, Jimmy came by and we had lunch with my mother before heading south. She made spaghetti and meatballs, and with that great Italian bread from my father’s bakery and a little wine; we had a wonderful “home-cooked” meal. My mother was so excited to meet Jimmy. I recall her saying: “He is such a good looking man! But…he doesn’t look anything like his father.
On the trip back, we talked about many things. It was then that he told me that he and his sister (Casey) were adopted when they were babies. He confided in me in regards to his feelings for his high school girl friend (Heather), whom he had be exchanging love letters with since enlisting. He said that it was very difficult for him because he didn’t love her the way he loved the woman Marine (Jill) at Quantico. He wanted my opinion. I told him that I had a high-school girl friend too, but that I probably wouldn’t marry her. He went on about how he felt bad about leading Heather on all those years, and now he would have to face her when he returned. My advice to him was, not to be sentimental, but to do what his heart felt was right. He was also concerned about how his father would react if he married Jill. Considering his comment about women Marines being whores, I could understand Jimmy’s concern.
After being back at the base for a while, we got into our usual routine of going to the base canteen at night to drink beer and “shoot-the-shit”—-(military slang for buddy talk). On this particular night, I finally got to meet Jill. She was a corporal! She had a slender, well proportioned figure, and a classic, fashion model’s face. They hugged and kissed and we all settled down at a table and ordered pitchers of beer. We drank and smoked, and she told these great jokes! I remember laughing so hard at one of them that I sprayed beer out through my mouth and nose all over us. I could see that she had great affection for Jimmy. As the night wound down, she actually drank us under the table. That night, Jimmy told me that he was going to marry her and that they were both being discharged around the same time.
Shortly thereafter, I was transferred to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Jimmy and I parted company and vowed to keep in touch. The nuclear confrontation with Russia was getting hot and there was word going around that my platoon was going to mount-out to Cuba soon to enforce a “blockade.” This later came to be known as the time that the world came to the brink of nuclear destruction—-or, “The Cuban Missile Crises.” Towards the end of the following year; I returned from the maneuvers in the Caribbean Islands. On the afternoon of November 22nd, 1963; I was passing by the rec-room and I noticed all the hysteria on the TV. They kept saying: "The President has been shot!" I sat down, frozen in time, in a state of shock. And then the tears came. Finally, Walter Cronkite announced: "...John F. Kennedy...has been assassinated...the President... is dead...." I cried along with the whole nation.
With a little more than a year left in my four year tour of duty; I volunteered to go to the Far East, where the conflict in Vietnam was heating up. The Communists from the North were bombing Da Nang, and there was talk of war...again! That year, I was part of an amphibous assault on Monkey Mountain--to stop the North Vietnamese from bombing the air strip. Eventually, and by the grace of God; I survived to return home in one piece...along with a (purple heart).
In order to readjust to civilian life; I needed a job, so I got hooked up with a guy who ran a gas station in town and I also had ideas of going into the gas station business myself. I called Jimmy, who was now married to Jill and living in South Portland, Maine--and operating his own (SHELL) gas station! We discussed being partners in the business. I had some other ideas too, like going to Hollywood and becoming an actor. His advice was to stay away from Hollywood, and all those “fruitcakes” out there. He broke the golden rule: “Never tell a Marine what not to do.” I went to Hollywood; spent several years there; got involved in several aspects of the film industry, and eventually, disillusioned with the “new” Hollywood; I returned home to a more simple and sane life.
I started my own construction business and was in contact with Jimmy often by phone. Occasionally I would visit the farm in Stanfordville. His father was there at times, and when I would mention Jimmy to him, he would get nasty and avoid conversation. There was a strange woman there who was taking over the family affairs and the farm, along with her husband. Jimmy called me and told me how they had the police come and remove him from the property when he went there to reconcile with his father. This was after I recommended that he do this before his father died, so that he and his family would not be left out of the will, and that he could inherit the farm that he so loved—-and was entitled to! The story of this family tragedy that unfolded was presented in a lengthy Life Magazine article titled: [The Female Svengali] dated March, 1984.
I tried to give Jimmy advice on reconciling with his father, since Mr. Cagney’s health was failing and his days were numbered. Jimmy was concerned that the outsiders would inherit the farm and the estate and that he and his family would be left out. He was aware that they had already obtained the (power-of-attorney), and he was under much stress from what was happening as he feared that he was going to lose everything—-including his father’s blessing. This turmoil also caused him to be separated from his wife Jill at the time.
Then, on a cold winter morning in February of 1984, while I was purchasing lumber; my brother came over to me and said: “Did you read the papers this morning?” He went on to tell me that James Cagney Jr. died of a massive heart attack at forty two years of age. Supposedly he was trying to call me from Washington D.C., at the time. To this day I regret not going to see him personally during this time. And, it took me a couple of days to accept the fact that he was actually gone.
His body was cremated and in the eulogizing, the outsiders--who now ruled the estate--claimed that Jimmy was: “…a no-account man…a jack of all trades and a master of none….” This was not true . The Life Magazine article exposes all the sordid details.
The fact that the father lived long enough to witness his own son’s untimely death before he died in 1986, was another part of the tragedy. The next ten years were mired in legal battles with Jimmy’s family trying to secure some equity for the two grandchildren (James IV and Cynthia). After the mother (Francis) died, all of Mr. Cagney’s immediate and extended families were left completely out of the “revised will.” Eventually, the legal battles subsided, there was some justice, and the farm was sold to a wealthy entrepreneur, who totally renovated it.
Unfortunately, this story of another “American Tragedy” is very common among the social elite, and Hollywood celebrities. It’s a legacy that they all face because of the “destructive” power of Fame and Fortune.
James Cagney Jr. was one of those rare individuals who kept his distance from the so-called “Rat Race,” but in the end—-due to the overwhelming heartache of a broken and divided family—-he became one of its casualties.
I will always remember “Jimmy” as a loyal Marine, and one of the few, true friends I’ve had the privilege of knowing.
I'm so sorry that Jimmy was not able to reconciled with his father and that he died so young at 42 year of age. Jimmy was a product of a severely divided family. Very sad indeed! Thank you for sharing his life with us!
Sandie
Reviewed by Ronald Legere
2/7/2019
I can relate as was friends with them. I was in President Kennedy funeral march 1 or 2 behind his horse, Lot of memories since reading your memoir,
I thoroughly enjoyed reading a story of true friendship which brought out little-known facts, at least on my part, of the actor's strained relationship with his son. Also, very well written!
Reviewed by mares wright
7/17/2014
This is a great story and it brings back fond memories of Marine Corp Schools Quantico. I was a friend of Jill's and James Jr. Jill and I were housed in the same barracks at the Women Marine's company. We would hang out on the weekends at Jame's off base apartment and drink lots of bear, eat pizza and burgers and laugh all night. This was great for me, being an African American stationed in a racially segregated area of Virginia. I could not socialize at public places where my white friends hung out and they could not socialize where the black population partied. Jimmy's apartment became our second home. He and Jill were the perfect couple and vey much in love.
A great story. Although greater, because it is true. And a true tragedy, like you said, “… very common among the social elite, and Hollywood celebrities.”
There are a couple of editorial changes I would make and a couple of the periods are misplaced, otherwise your story is very well written. These true stories are the best. I didn't know that Jimmy Cagney lived that long. I always pictured him as a 1930s actor who died in the 1950s.
My uncle, 92, a World War II Air Force veteran, has his adopted son watching over him and his wife, and handling their financial affairs. They had three children, and adopted Jeff in San Francisco. My uncle's other son was killed when he crashed and experimental aircraft in front of his father.
I have written a story here about my friend for three years, Herb Morrison. Herb was famous for greeting the Hindenburg and witnessing its explosion in 1937. And like Jimmy Cagney, Jr., was much more than that single event that changed his life.
I am holding a story I heard recently from a nurse who has just married the son of Deborah Padgett and the great-nephew of Mme. Chang Kai-shek. She and I may write a book about her experience.
I hope other people read and write comments about this story as I have. It's a keeper.
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This is not a drill. The attack on Pearl. They were the ghost planes of the night, deadly, illusive, sharp-clawed Black Cats. The Memoirs of ARM H.P. Lawrence, a Pearl Harbor survivor, Black Cat, and decorated war veteran.
TRUE STORY. Bella survived an abusive powerbroker father with organized crime ties, a drug-addicted mother and a physically/sexually abusive brother. Shocking & inspirational. When she couldn't cry, she tattooed a crying angel to cry for her.
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Copyright © 2013 by John Gasparro
