Chapter 8
The Gallery

Located in La Jolla Village, just one block from the ocean, The Pacific Fine Art gallery was among the best known galleries in the greater San Diego area.

Patricia Rabb began working at the gallery part time, answering the phones and lending a hand with packaging and shipping the artwork.

It was a good way for Trish to occupy her time, and to bring in a bit of extra money. Although she continued drawing Harm Senior's full pay and benefits, as Little Harm grew older, Navy pay was being stretched tighter and tighter.

Within six months, Trish was promoted to the sales floor, and the gallery became her full time job. Trish discovered that she had a knack for picking out successful artists and she made friends with many of them.

In the meantime, Frank Burnett had begun decorating his new home in La Jolla. When Frank dropped into the gallery, he spotted something which he liked more than the gallery's artwork: a lovely blond sales person with beautiful blue eyes.

Although Trish legally remained Mrs. Harmon Rabb Sr., there had been no change in her missing husband's status in over four years. When American forces withdrew from Vietnam and Harm Sr. was not among the returning POWs, Trish had to accept that her husband would never be coming home.

When Frank asked Trish out for coffee, she accepted, and they spent a pleasant hour together before the gallery opened. When he suggested lunch, Trish asked for an extra hour off from work.

Frank's invitation to dinner was a problem. Little Harm was home from school in the evenings and there would be no way for Trish to hide that she was going out on a date.

Tom Boone unknowingly provided the answer by taking Little Harm to a Padre's night game which allowed Trish an evening out of the house.

Following his final deployment to Vietnam, Tom Boone was stationed at Miramar; first as a Top Gun instructor and then as part of the new F-14 Tomcat development program. Boone began spending a lot of his time around the Rabb house, including remodeled the kitchen. Boone also accompanied Trish to Navy functions so that she didn't have to go alone.

There were whispers throughout Miramar about Tom Boone spending time with his MIA best friend's wife, but neither Trish nor Tom cared.

Little Harm idolized Tom Boone, and he was always excited when Tom was invited to the house for dinner. After Trish had cleared the table, Harm and Tom would begin studying the model airplanes which Harm was always building.

Boone pointed to a spot on the rear fuselage of the model of a McDonnell F-4 Phantom. "This is where your dad took heavy ground fire on a mission we flew over Quảng Trị Province on Thanksgiving day, 1969. His aft fuel tank was punctured and he developed a serious fuel leak."

[Details of that mission can be found in my story, "When Your Only Tool is a Hammer."]

"What did he do?" asked Harm.

Boone decided to spare Harm the unpleasant details of the actual event. "Your dad didn't miss a beat. We tanked with a Marine C-130 that was heading for Đông Hà, and took on just enough fuel to reach Yankee Station. Your dad only had enough fuel for one approach, but he came aboard the Ticonderoga with a perfect trap. Your dad got an Air Medal, and I got my drumstick."

Harm handed Boone the model of the F-4, which had the same number- 229, as his dad's Phantom.

"Show me again how to trap in an F-4," Harm asked.

Boone smiled and moved the model along the right side of the kitchen table. "I'm going to cross the bow, and then make a 'break' turn. That's a full deflection snap-roll to the left at a 70-degree angle of bank, and then a chop of the throttles.

Boone demonstrated the head-snapping maneuver with the model, and then handed the model to Harm. "You try it."

Harm performed the tricky maneuver to perfection and gave the plastic F-4 back to Boone.

"Now we fly over the 'small boys', which are our destroyer escorts." Boone pointed to the salt and pepper shakers on the table. "After turning left to establish final approach, we perform the landing checklist. Your RIO will read it to you, and don't skip a thing. I've spotted the meatball, so I want you bring me in."

"Phantom, approach. I have you in the box. Couple up," said Harm.

"Boone. Phantom, two- two- niner, 3.2." For an instant, Tom Boone imagined that he was flying Harm Senior's F-4, Sweet Sarah in the Tonkin Gulf.

"Phantom, Paddles. You have a ready deck," said Harm, who was acting as the kitchen table LSO. "Phantom, you are lined up right...come left," LSO Harm ordered.

Boone looked surprised, but he moved the model aircraft as instructed.

"Phantom, you are on center-line. Call the ball."

"Roger ball." Boone began descending the model gradually towards the deck/table top until he touched down. "Throttles full...three wire."

"FAIR landing," announced Harm. Fair being a grade of average.

"You're a tough LSO, Mister Rabb," said Boone, who normally received higher marks.

"How many traps do you have, Tom?"

"Over 700 in the Fleet, and half a dozen in this kitchen."

Trish came into the kitchen and shook her head. "I want you boys to put away your toys. Tom, come into the living room for cake and coffee. Harm, eat your desert here in the kitchen because after you've finished you are going straight to your room to get started on your homework."

"But mom, Tom's here," the boy protested.

"I don't care if the Chief of Naval Operations is in the house. I want you to get busy with the books, Mister."

Harm looked over at Boone who shook his head. "In this house, your mom out ranks me. Better hit the books."

"Will you say goodbye to me before you leave?" asked Harm.

"Of course I will."

Boone went into the living room and relaxed while Trish served him pineapple upside-down cake, which was his favorite dessert.

"Thanks for backing me up on the homework, Tom. I swear that Little Harm only wants to do is play baseball. He wouldn't open a book if I didn't keep after him," said Trish.

"Harm's a good boy. He knows that studying is important, but right now baseball seems equally important."

Trish refilled Boone's coffee cup. "It's just nice to know that I have someone on my side."

The rest of their conversation revolved around the Navy: promotions, retirements, transfers, and the occasional plane crash which had resulted in loss of life.

The new F-14 Tomcat was undergoing carrier suitability tests at Miramar and the aircraft's Pratt & Whitney TF30 turbofan engines were a disaster. The TF-30 had been directly linked to 30% of all F-14 accidents, many of them fatal.

Trish knew the wife of one of the aviators who had been killed. "I'll have to visit Maggie Davis," said Trish.

Margret Davis was just 19 years old; nearly the same age as Trish had been when she had married Big Harm. Margret Davis was also pregnant with the couple's first child, just as Trish had been at age 19.

After finishing his dessert, Tom Boone went out on the front porch to smoke a cigar.

The Rabb house was a two bedroom bungalow; small, but cozy, and with a large front yard which was perfect for tossing around a football or baseball. It was the kind of house where a man could raise a fine son, like Harm Junior; but only if that man had a fine wife...a wife like Trish.

Boone put out his cigar and went into Little Harm's room where the boy was diligently working on his homework.

Every inch of wall space in Little Harm's room was covered in photos of Navy aircraft, and Boone saw a large photo of Harm Senior dressed in his Blue Angels flight suit sitting in a place of honor atop Little Harm's desk.

"I've got to shove off," said Boone.

"So soon?" Little Harm was clearly disappointed.

"I'm flying in the morning."

"Can you fly over my school?" Harm asked in an eager voice.

"The last time I did that I got my ass in a sling. Your principal calls base operations every time he so much as hears a Navy aircraft."

"Our first recess is at 0915."

Boone winked at Harm. "No promises. Now, I want you get back to those books. If you want to get into to the Academy, you'll need grade better than mine."

Boone went back to the living room to say goodbye to Trish. It was an awkward moment. Boone wanted to kiss Trish, and he sensed that she wanted the same thing.

Boone couldn't bring himself to do it- not in this house, so he simply said goodnight.

The following morning at 0921, two Navy jets passed low over the Kindred Elementary School in University Heights and rattled the windows.

While Principal Morton reached for his telephone to report the airspace violation, Harmon Rabb Junior stood on the playground and waved at Tom Boone and Bill Ross. The pair of aviators rocked the wings of their two F-14 Tomcats, and then raced away and out into the Pacific Ocean.

As the months passed, Tom Boone began spending even more time at the house, and his overtures towards Trish became less subtle.

Trish was fond of Tom, but she made it clear that if she were to declare Harm Senior dead, she would never marry another aviator.

"I won't give up flying. It's my life," said Boone.

"I can't risk going through this pain again," Trish said plainly.

Tom was clearly hurt, but the rebuff did not change his relationship with Little Harm.

In addition to baseball games, Tom would sometimes take Harm to NAS Miramar and let the boy indulge his love for aircraft. Boone and Bill Ross had even hatched a scheme to take Harm, who was big for his age, up in the backseat of a TA-4F, the trainer version of the A-4 Skyhawk. Their carefully laid plan fell through when Ross discovered a hydraulic leak, and the aircraft had to be sent to intermediate maintenance for repair.

Among the aircraft that Harm saw first hand was an example of the then new F-14 Tomcat.

As soon as he sat down in the cockpit of the Tomcat, Little Harm's face broke into a broad smile. For an instant, Tom Boone could swear that it was Big Harm looking up at him.

"You look good in there, Harm," said Boone.

"I want to fly your wing someday, Tom."

"Rabb's are flight leaders. I'll probably be flying yours."

It seemed as though every aviator at Miramar had known Harm Senior. Little Harm was treated like a prince.

"Your dad is the best pilot I know."

"I flew with your dad in the Blue Angels. No one could handle an F-11F Tiger like Hammer."

"When you need a letter of recommendation for the Academy, just give the word."

"It was a privilege to have served in the same squadron with your dad," said Tony "Tinker" Taylor, who would later become Harm's squadron commander aboard USS Midway during the Gulf War.

At the end of every visit to Miramar, Harm left with armfuls of gifts, some of which the navy would not have approved giving to civilians.

Before driving Little Harm home, Boone cautioned, "For god sake, don't tell your mother that you're keeping live 20 mm cannon shells in your bedroom."


Dinner with Frank had been wonderful. Because Frank had no prior military service, for the first time in years, Trish spent an evening with a man who wasn't constantly talking about the Navy or flying, or discussing someone who had been killed in a plane crash.

After dinner, Frank drove Trish to his new home in La Jolla, which had recently been completed.

Unaware that the woman he was courting had accepted a marriage proposal on a second date, Frank was biding his time. Even so, as Frank and Trish walked through the house, Frank imagined her and her young son living with him.

Their relationship moved forward, though slowed by the difficulties they faced with Little Harm, who didn't hide his contempt for Frank.

Frank wasn't an aviator. He wasn't even in the Navy. And he was old; at least 12 years older than Trish. More so, Harm was convinced that his father was alive and would return home. Until that happened there was Tom Boone, who was everything that Harm aspired to become.

Trish's outlook was different. She was a young woman with a lifetime ahead of her. The thought of continuing to raise a child alone was frightening.

More frightening was knowing that she had to begin making hard choices; choices which she knew that her son would not approve of.

In the meantime, Tom Boone had been promoted to deputy squadron commander of VF-2, the "Bounty Hunters".

Before deploying to the South China Sea aboard USS Enterprise, Boone met with Trish and laid his cards on the table.

"I won't pretend to be a replacement for Harm Senior- I could never be that. I would be a loyal and faithful husband to you, and do everything in my power to be a fine father for Little Harm. I swear before god almighty that I would love and treat Little Harm as though he were my own son."

Trish had to tell Tom no.

"Fine. If you want to marry the used car salesman, all that I can say is more power to you."

Boone left the house abruptly, and without saying goodbye to Little Harm, who wouldn't see Tom again until he graduated from flight school.

For Trish, marrying Frank meant not only security, but a lifestyle far beyond anything the Navy could offer. Frank had been diagnosed with a heart problem, but claimed to have been in excellent health for many years. It was a risk that Trish was willing to take. When Frank proposed, she accepted.

In order to remarry, Trish hired an attorney to begin the death in absentia proceedings. An absence of five years was normally required, but could be waived in extraordinary cases, which her attorney successfully argued.

A civil declaration of death in absentia was meaningless to the US Navy, as well as to Harmon Rabb Junior. Refusing to believe that his father was dead, Little Harm refused to attend the wedding ceremony.

With the boy on his grandmother's farm in Pennsylvania, Trish and Frank enjoyed a long honeymoon in Bora Bora. Once she and Frank came home, Trish quickly shifted into the life of a wife and mother.

Although there was no longer any reason for her to work, Trish enjoyed spending time at the gallery. When the owner decided to sell the business, it was Frank who suggested that they buy it.

Patricia Burnett had never attended college and had no management experience, but she proved to be an excellent business woman. The gallery began turning a tidy profit, which Trish insisted be put into a living trust for Harm Junior.

Frank had no objections, and he contributed a portion of his Chrysler stock to his stepson's trust fund.

Under Frank's guidance, the fund continued to grow so that Frank had once joked, "In another year or two, Harm can buy his own F-14."


Much of the story had taken place in what seemed another life. Even so, when Trish and Mac pulled up in front of the gallery, she felt as if it had all unfolded yesterday.

Several cars had already been parked when the young valet stepped up to Trish's Jeep. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Burnett."

"Hello, Jimmy."

A second valet approached the passenger side. When he opened the door he was dazzled by the gorgeous brunette who stepped out.

Jimmy had to park the Jeep, but the other young man was free to follow behind Trish and Mac, and he quickly opened the front door of the gallery for them.

When Jimmy returned, his friend said, "I've never seen a woman so beautiful. Who do you think she is?"

"I don't know, but you can bet that she doesn't date guys who park cars for extra cash!"

Once inside the gallery, Trish's assistant, Marianne, pulled her aside.

Marianne Thomas was an archetypal girl-nerd: medium height, slight of build, thick glasses, and dressed to deflect attention.

Trish rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but there seems to be a problem with the caterer," and Trish excused herself.

"Champagne, Miss?" a passing server asked Mac.

"Sparkling water."

The server turned the tray and handed Mac a champagne flute which was indistinguishable from the glasses the other guests were using, something which Mac appreciated.

Trish was shaking her head when she returned. "I'm sorry that I had to leave you alone."

"It's alright. What was the problem?"

"A simple matter of where to position the last few tables."

Mac imagined that Marianne, Trish's assistant, would have dealt with such a mundane detail, but obviously she could not.

Trish and Mac began to make their way through the crowd. Trish introduced Mac to the other guests, including a middle aged woman who was wearing an exquisite Komarov black 3-piece pant set, with elegant Christian Louboutin low heeled pumps. Her hair was fixed to perfection, and any single piece of her jewelry was worth more than Mac's SUV.

"Amanda, this is Sarah MacKenzie. Sarah, this is Amanda Cartwright. Amanda is the President of the La Jolla Woman's Club," said Trish.

"It's nice to meet you, Sarah. Is your father Donald MacKenzie, the owner of International Art Inc. in Monterey?"

Mac smiled. "I'm afraid you have the wrong MacKenzie."

"Sarah's father is a decorated Marine Corps veteran," said Trish.

"How nice. Sarah, I must say that your pearls are lovely. I have a strand from Mikimoto...although a bit larger."

"Thank you, but Trish-"

"-is envious of them," Trish cut in. "I only wish that Frank had such good taste in pearls."

"I'm sure that you do." Amanda spotted a friend waving from across the room. "There's Darlene. I simply must speak to her. Trish, please excuse me. Sarah, it was wonderful meeting you."

"Likewise," answered Mac, who handed her now empty glass off to a passing waiter.

"Amanda is one of my best customers. She owns several properties and is constantly redecorating them."

"She seems nice...I suppose."

"Amanda is old money. She reminds me of the mother of your friend Clayton, the well dressed young man who works for the State Department."

"Mrs. Porter Webb."

"Yes, that's who I'm thinking of. Now, let me introduce you to some of my artists.

The gallery's artists were an eclectic collection, whose styles included Contemporary, Abstract Expressionism, Cubism, Art Deco, Art Nouveau, and Post-Impressionism.

Mac was attracting attention among the artists; male and female. One of the male artists asked Mac if she was a model, or if she would be willing to pose nude for his art class?

His offer was politely refused.

As Mac looked at the displays of fine art, she thought of her apartment and the wall above the breakfast nook which was screaming for something to adorn it.

Mac spotted a simple painting of a bowl of fruit which would be perfect.

The artist was a young woman named Sally Rand, who Mac took an instant liking to. After a bit of small talk, Mac wrote the check.

Trish smiled. "Sally is special. I have some of her work myself. She's is going places in the art world."

Marianne announced that luncheon was being served and the guests made their way to the patio at the rear of the gallery, which offered a lovely view of the Pacific Ocean.

The weather was comfortable, and there was a gentle offshore breeze.

Frank had been right: the plated lunch the portions were tiny, and Mac, who had regained her appetite, considered asking for a second plate.

At the conclusion of the luncheon, Trish addressed her guests.

"I want to thank all of you for coming. In order to operate an art gallery in the world today, there is one key component, great artists who you believe in and are willing to fight for by promoting and selling their work. Collectors are important, however, artists are the life blood, and without them a gallery means very little apart from a nice smile and maybe a glass of wine."

The showing had been a success. After the last of the guests had departed and the artists had packed up, Trish and Mac relaxed in Trish's office.

Mac noticed that Trish had only a single photo on her desk; a framed 8 X 10 of her pinning Harm Junior's wings of gold onto his white jacket.

"What do you think of the gallery?" asked Trish, who was sipping her second glass of champagne.

"You have a fine group of artists, and their body of work was impressive."

"I meant, what do you think of the gallery as a business?"

"I can see why you've been successful. The location is excellent, and you seem to have a broad client base. You should be proud of what you've accomplished."

"The gallery has been a labor of love, but it is taking up a tremendous amount of my time. Frank's health, although fine for now, is likely to deteriorate over the next several years. I'd like to begin spending more time with him, and less time behind my desk."

"I thought that Marianne..."

"Marianne is a barely adequate assistant. She is not up to the task of managing this business. Besides, I'm not just looking for a manager. I'm looking for someone to eventually takeover the gallery. Sarah, I want that person to be you."

Mac was caught totally off guard. "I don't have a background in art, and I have no experience running a business."

"Harm mentioned that your previous billet in the Marine Corps included logistics. That's a solid management base. As for art, you'll learn as you go, just as I did."

Mac shook her head. "When I left JAG last year for private practice and I was lucky to be reinstated. I can't contemplate a career change again."

"If it's a matter of money, you'll earn far more here than your pay rate as an O-4."

"It's not only money. I like being an attorney, and I love being a Marine."

"You'll always be a Marine, but you can't stay on active duty forever. With the gallery you'll be working towards owning your own business, and financial security far beyond any military pension."

"I'm flattered, but why me?"

"When Frank and I leave this world, I'd like the gallery to stay in our family." Trish leaned forward and looked directly at Mac. "You can make that happen for me, Sarah. You and Harm can pass the gallery on to your own children."

You could hear a pin drop inside the office.

"Trish, you're talking to me as though I were your daughter in law. I'm not, and neither of us have control over that."

Before Trish could respond, a flustered Marianne poked her head into the office. "Excuse me, Trish, but there's a problem with..."

Trish heaved a sigh. "I'll be right there, Marianne."