Word: hayostek
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...Just like MacArthur." said Frank Hayostek, after he got out of his plane at New York's Idlewild Airport, "I shall return." But that was what reporters and newsreel cameramen had told him to say. Actually, Frank had little hope of returning to Ireland and his Dingle Bay romance (TIME, Aug. 18), which now smoldered as sluggishly as peat in a Kerry bog. He explained: "She turned me down because she is too much devoted to her family, her farm and County Kerry. Sometimes." he added thoughtfully, "I wish someone would shoot those cows of hers...
...more shy." Frank seldom got to see her alone at all. When Frank left after two weeks, Breda was not even there to bid him goodbye. She was in the fields of her beloved farm. "If God had wanted us to be married," mused Frank Hayostek, "that's how it would be. The way it happened, maybe God tried to tell me something I don't yet understand...
...bless you." He added his address-184 Iron Street, Johnstown, Pa.-stuffed the note into a small aspirin bottle, corked and taped it. Then he kissed it gently and tossed it into the sea. The small notion bobbed out of sight and, almost as soon, out of Frank Hayostek's mind. It was Christmas night...
Your Loving Friend. Eight months later, a letter came to Frank Hayostek back home in Johnstown, Pa. "I have found your bottle and note," the blue, slanting script told him. "I will just tell you the whole story. I live on a farm at the southwest coast of Ireland. On Friday, Aug. 23, 1946, I drove the cows to the fields beside the sea and then went for a walk on the strand called 'The Beal.' It is an inlet of Dingle...
Your Good Pen Pal. Last week, with a round-trip ticket and $350 extra in his best suit, some nylons and a musical powder box in his valise, and reporters and photographers surrounding him, Frank Hayostek boarded a plane to fly to his blue-eyed colleen...