CALIFORNIA: Born to Fight

A year ago this week, tough, tobacco-chomping Major Gregory Boyington, U.S.M.C. was a happy man. Pale and skinny from Jap prison rations, he sprawled on a bunk aboard the destroyer escort Reeves anchored in Tokyo Bay. Hero Boyington (26 confirmed planes) had just heard that he had won the Congressional Medal of Honor. He had also eaten his first American food in 20 months—eight eggs, two orders of ham, two helpings of mashed potatoes. He patted his stomach, said, "This is okay. I like it."

But last week, after a year of being hauled across the nation's front pages, as hero, starry-eyed lover, and writer of torrid prose, Lieut. Colonel Boyington was not so happy. In a San Diego court, seeking to recover $8,000 from an old flame, Mrs. Lucy Malcolmson (TIME, Jan. 21), Pappy drummed his stubby fingers, listened to his letters offered into evidence: "Dearest Cuddle Bum. . . . Baby, what a bundle of love is coming to you. . . . Honey, will you still love me if I never get to be America's leading ace?"

Two days of this and the court decided Mrs. Malcolmson had not misused any of the $20,000 Pappy had sent her to keep in trust for his three children by a previous marriage. Lucy Malcolmson broke into tears, switched to a joyous laugh. Gathering up his honey-haired new wife, ex-movie actress Frances Baker, Pappy limped glumly past Lucy, muttered, "Congratulations." Said Mrs. Boyington: "I hope you enjoyed the money." Said Lucy: "Sorry it had to happen."

As Pappy left the courtroom Lucy's lawyer came up to return his "fraternity pin"—his blue-ribboned Navy Cross. Lucy no longer has her three-carat engagement ring Pappy gave her. "I hocked it to pay his bills," she explained.

To Pappy, peace had been something less than wonderful; to peace he had been something less than wonderful, too.