Chapter 88

Leroy Horwitz to Grace Mainwaring Nov. 10, 1938

… I wish that I did not have to write to you under such tragic circumstances. You have my deepest sympathies for what I know must be a terrible loss. Your husband was a fine and brave man. It was an honor to know him and to have had his cooperation in documenting the medical services of the Spanish Republic. His ability to speak Spanish and some Catalan was indispensable. Half of our interviews with doctors, nurses, stretcher bearers, and wounded soldiers would have been impossible without his help as a translator. His good humor and steadiness were a source of strength and confidence at all times.

Your husband missed you and spoke of you often. He considered himself the luckiest man in the world to be married to you. If half of what he told Alan and me about you is true, maybe he was. Now comes the hard part of this letter. That isn't to say that it isn't even harder for you to lose your husband. However, you have a right to know how and why he died and no one else knows the whole story. Alan knows most of it, but he wasn't there at the end.

We had all the footage of the field hospitals and Barcelona General that we needed when Franco launched his offensive. It was Alan's idea to return to the field hospital at Pinell de Brai. He wanted to show the Republic's medical services in action under conditions of crisis. Only that kind of footage could convey the urgency of the need for medical supplies to an American audience. We had a duty to the wounded and to la causa.

Van wasted no time in telling him that he was crazy. He had no idea how dangerous it was that near the front lines. If Pinell de Brai were overrun, no amount of dedication to duty would keep us from ending up in an unmarked grave with any other civilians and prisoners of war the fascists felt like murdering. It wouldn't matter then how spectacular his footage was.

I agreed with Van, but Alan wouldn't give up the idea. He really was ass enough to believe that it would be better to die than not get red hot frontline footage. Van and I argued with him for an hour during which none of us raised our voices very loudly or gave an inch.

He finally convinced us that he was going to Pinell de Brai no matter what. He already had the necessary permissions for all three of us. There was nothing to stop him from going alone if he had to and doing the filming himself. I didn't want to give in. However, even temporarily insane, he was still my friend. I couldn't walk out on him. I apologized to Van for letting down our side of the argument. He understood. He hadn't been able to walk out on his friends in the International Brigades either.

Alan asked him what he was going to do. He didn't answer. Instead, wearing a grim and troubled expression, he turned and walked out onto the balcony of our hotel room. For a long time, he just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, watching the sun go down over the rooftops. The set of his shoulders was tense and invited no interruption. We may as well not have been in the room for all the attention he paid us. Twice, Alan glanced at the telephone as though considering calling one of his contacts in the defense ministry and asking if someone else could be our guide and translator. Just before twilight gave way to darkness, Van turned around with an expression of utter disgust on his face.

"You're a fool," he snapped at Alan before stalking off to his room. "I'll try to keep you from getting yourself killed tomorrow … or anybody else."

He never told us why he changed his mind about going with us. Whatever his reasons, it was an honorable thing to do. We set off at mid-afternoon the next day after Van and Alan finally arranged a ride on a supply truck heading for the Ebro crossing at Mora La Nueva. We crossed the Ebro and reached our destination an hour before twilight.

You can be proud of how your husband conducted himself at Pinell de Brai. He spoke to as many of the wounded as he could, chatting and joking with them in Spanish and Catalan. I think he answered a few questions about America. He was unfailingly cheerful and raised everybody's spirits. As Alan and I were filming, the fascist attack on Pinell de Brai and the order to evacuate came almost simultaneously.

We were being bombed and shelled by this time. The screaming and gunfire from the fighting for the town were dangerously close. The wounded and as many medical supplies as possible were placed on the trucks first. Van and I helped as much as we could while Alan took a turn with the camera. Then, Van and I found a place in the next to last truck in line after Alan climbed into the truck ahead of us and only them found out that there was no more room for anyone else.

The convoy made it out of Pinell de Brai safely as darkness fell over the valley. We sat on narrow benches above four wounded soldiers. A doctor was there to care for them. I still see in nightmares what happened next.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

At this point, Mother asked me anxiously if I was sure that I wanted to continue. I wasn't at all. Every nerve in my body vibrated with fear and tension. I'm sure I was pale as marble. Nonetheless, I told her to go ahead anyway. She threw me a look of doubt and concern, but still resumed her reading.

Leroy Horwitz to Grace Mainwaring Nov. 10, 1938 cont.

We would have gotten safely away if not for a stupid accident. The truck behind us backfired. A fascist advance patrol must have slipped through or around our lines. Someone in it must have mistaken the backfire for a shot fired at them. A handful of shots rang out from behind and to our right.

A couple of angry voices shouted something from the darkness that must have been "hold your fire" or "cease fire" in Spanish. I recognized the word fuego. Either way, the firing stopped. Virtually all of it had been directed at the truck behind us. For a moment, I thought we had escaped unscathed. Then, I heard a sharp grunt next to me. I saw Van staring down at the bloodstain spreading slowly across his chest.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Mother hesitated. I wasn't sure that I wanted to hear what came next, but I had no choice. Neither my mind nor my heart could ever rest easy unless I knew the whole truth. I forced myself to tell Mother to go on.

Leroy Horwitz to Grace Mainwaring Nov. 10, 1938 cont.

"Jesus, … help me," he murmured. It was not a curse. It could have been an exclamation of surprise. It could have been a prayer. I don't know for sure and never will. I caught Van as he slumped, and I yelled for the doctor. As I helped the doctor lower Van to the floor, he looked up at me and I could see the fear in his eyes. He knew that it might be all over for him. With a visible effort he said, "tell Grace … I love her."

These were the last words he ever spoke.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

At that point, I gasped my husband's name and broke down. I don't know how long I spent crying in my mother's arms. If they were not as strong as they had been in Paris, I didn't notice. I thought I would never stop crying, but, eventually, I did. Mother tried to object, but, after I rose and dried my tears, I insisted on hearing the rest of the letter.

Leroy Horwitz to Grace Mainwaring Nov. 10, 1938 cont.

He didn't lose consciousness for another two minutes. He could have said more, but I think his last words were enough for him. I don't believe that anything else in the world mattered to him the way you did. He died within five minutes of being shot. There was nothing either the doctor or I could do except be with him until the end.

The doctor believes that the bullet must have nicked an artery causing steady and ultimately fatal internal bleeding. If it is any consolation, your husband felt little or no pain. We brought his body back across the Ebro just before the fascist army reached the bank. He now rests in the morgue at Barcelona General Hospital.

I wish that I could wait to speak to you personally, but it is vital that the film we shot be brought safely out of Spain. It must be edited as rapidly as possible. The funds it will raise for more medical supplies for the Republic are urgently needed.

I am sorry for any pain that what I am about to write next may cause you. Alan asked me to relay his condolences for your loss. He apologizes for his part in your husband's death. He is ashamed for not having the courage to write to you himself. He knows that his arrogance and stubbornness got your husband killed and is broken up about it.

I wasn't much better. I went along with him in the end, however justified my reasons may have seemed at the time. For that I apologize as well. Both of us bitterly regret what happened and would do anything to change it. Instead, there is only one thing we can do for Van. With your permission, we would like to dedicate our documentary to his memory as part of a general dedication to the doctors, nurses, and soldiers of democratic Spain.

Next Week: Two lives. Hub's Christmas guest. Edge of despair. Harry's business.