Christmas Past at 901 Union Street...

901 Union Street (Now renumbered to 847 Union Street), Schenectady, NY --
The house where I grew up

The imposing house, about which I have written before, stands on the northeast corner of the intersection of Union Street (County Road 146) and Gillespie Street in Schenectady, New York.  It was a large enough home to contain both our family (3 children, 2 parents, and my maternal grandmother) as well as my father's dental offices and, waiting room, and laboratory.  My brother and I shared a bedroom, my sister Ann had her own room on the third floor, my parents had a bedroom, and my grandmother had a bedroom.  And there were enough bathrooms to handle the needs of 6 people.

Whenever Christmas rolls around, and especially when I see the movie "A Christmas Story," I recall the many rituals and traditions that made Christmas so special in that home that I dwelled in for my first 18 years.  I'd like to share some of those recollections.

Decorating the house was a big deal.  We lived in a neighborhood dominated by doctors and dentists.  It was important to "keep up with the Jones's."  So the decorating started a little before Thanksgiving.  We wrapped the front porch columns with evergreen garlands, framed windows with lights, and had a small lighted tree on the porch to greet the patients unfortunate enough to have scheduled dental work around the holidays.

The "big" tree always occupied the same location -- in the center of the dining room bay window.  These 3 windows had window seats covered with dark crimson corduroy tufted cushions.  Under the seats, in cubbies protected with a grille of ornate spindles resided three cast iron radiators that kept those seats toasty warm.  The tree had to be kept far enough away from those heaters to prevent it from drying out too quickly.  Thus, we could walk (or crawl) around the back side of the tree to keep track of any new gift boxes that might appear in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

The circle encloses the bay widow where our tree always stood.

There was always the ritual of watching our father arrive with the tree strapped to the top of our 1940 Chevrolet, untying it and cutting the base of the trunk just so, and mounting it in its stand ever so carefully to ensure it would not lean one way or another.  Then we'd all help get it through the kitchen door and take it through the butler's pantry to the dining room, shedding needles all the way.  We kids would all help put water in the base to keep the tree alive.  And my father always dissolved aspirin in the water because he had read somewhere that it extended the life of the tree.

A 1940 Chevrolet, similar to
my father's "tree hauling  car

After Mom vacuumed up the debris, we'd all go to the attic to retrieve the several boxes of ornaments to start unwrapping them and reminiscing about their origins or arguing about who got to hang the "best" ones.  Dad would have strung the lights while we were retrieving the ornaments.  Last, of course, was the hanging of tissue-thin strips of lead tinsel (Yes, tinsel was lead before it was aluminum before it was plastic.).  We were admonished to drape the individual strands, never to toss them. 

After the tree doily was placed around the base came my favorite activity.  We set up my brother's Lionel electric train in an oval around the base of the tree.  He had received his train on his first birthday in September 1937.  My dad wanted to make sure he was raised understanding the importance of trains (notwithstanding the fact that my father had never owned an electric train when he was a child).  After all, Schenectady was the home of the main plant of the American Locomotive Company, ALCO.  By the time I was growing up, they had produced over 50,000 steam locomotives!

My brother's Lionel set was pulled by
their 1937 Torpedo locomotive

Church played a huge role in our collective lives.  This was a family of Irish Catholics (My mother's maiden name was McLaughlin.).  And we lived within a city block of St. John the Evangelist Church, a daunting edifice that dominated the city's skyline with its 220-ft. central spire, topped with a 14-foot cross.  So it's only natural that the pace of church-related activities picked up around the celebration of Christ's birth.

All three children in the Mead family attended St. John's parochial school.  We were taught by Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary, a conservative French-Canadian order of nuns.  If you attended St. John's and were a boy, you were expected to be trained as an altar boy and to be a part of the boy's choir.  My brother Bill and I did both.  So at Christmas, our sister Ann would be part of a Christmas pageant while Bill and I were part of an endless series of choir commitments and seasonal Masses ranging from 6:00 AM daily Mass to the Solemn High Midnight Mass that was typically more than 2 hours long.  My mother and grandmother were constantly laundering and ironing our cassocks and surplices that had to be perfect for every service.

It took an army of altar boys for a solemn high Mass in the 1950s

Because we didn't get to bed before about 2:30 on Christmas morning, the opening of presents usually was around 10:00 AM once Bill and I were old enough to be involved in church obligations.  Before that time, we started hounding our parents at the crack of dawn to get up and go downstairs to see what Santa had brought.

The Irish Mail pedal toy I received
shortly after the war

My memory of very special gifts lasts 'til today.  My sister and I each received a brand new 24" Columbia bicycle in 1945 - mine was red, hers was blue.  Electric trains weren't available during World War II, but I received my own Lionel train set in 1946.  I got my own baseball glove in around 1947.  I also received a riding machine called an "Irish Mail" at about the same time.  New shoes (always from Patton & Hall shoes, where my godfather worked) seemed to be a favorite gift.  I almost always wanted something from the A.C. Gilbert catalog.  At various times, I received an Erector set (Size 8-1/2, the ferris wheel set), a chemistry set, and a microscope set.  

The A.C. Gilbert Electric Eye laboratory

In 1949, I received an electric eye set that I played with endlessly.  It was described in the Gilbert catalog that year, "Uncanny! Amazing! Thrilling!  Can you think of anything more uncanny than making a bell ring by striking a match — turning a radio off or on by the flick of a flashlight — making the rising sun operate an alarm? These are only a few of the amazing things you can do with the mysterious Gilbert Electric Eye. By simply waving your hand you can stop and start American Flyer Trains or Erector action models — turn electric lights on and off. Set contains battery box, electric light socket with bulb, RCA Photo-electric tube, RCA Amplifier tube, tube shade, and power unit with variable potentiometer. Operates on 110 volt A.C. only. Packed in blue metal cabinet with illustrated manual of stunts. $13.75. Denver and west, $14.45."  Remember when things cost more in "Denver or West"?

The Lionel diesel locomotives that I
received in 1950 by saving up $21.50

In 1950, Lionel introduced the diesel locomotive Model 2344P, a New York Central twin unit with their latest technology, Magnetraction.  I simply had to get one for Christmas but my parents said that $42.95 for a toy was absolutely out of the question.  My grandmother came to my rescue.  She told me (without my parents' knowledge, I later found out) that if I would save half the cost, she'd pay the other half. I worked for several weeks, washing and waxing cars and washing windows for every neighbor I knew, and finally saved up the $21.50 to give Nana.  I got the locomotive for Christmas.  My parents were furious with my grandmother, but they didn't make me return the locomotive.

A similar thing happened in 1951, when A.C. Gilbert had introduced their Atomic Energy Lab.  I wrote a previous blog entry about my Grandmother's largesse that Christmas.  It had to have been the biggest surprise I ever had on a Christmas morning.

I feel very blessed to have grown up when and where I did.  There was almost always snow at Christmas time.  I always felt secure in a stable (if somewhat dysfunctional) family.  We had lots of friends and relatives to engage in holiday activities.  It was, in retrospect, a pretty magic time.

A Genealogical Breakthrough...

I have indicated in this blog previously that I am fascinated by my family history and occasionally perform research to push the envelope of knowledge further into the past.  My first interest in tracing my ancestry came from my Aunt Ethel, my father's sister.  She had to trace the family's lineage to a Revolutionary War soldier in order to be accepted into the Daughters of the American Revolution.  After she had succeeded in this effort with the help of many librarians and archivists (There was no Internet in the 1940's.), she provided my family with copies of her research.  I became the keeper of the archives by default -- No one else in the family was particularly interested in these useless facts.

The revolutionary soldier that Aunt Ethel had traced as a direct ancestor was David Mead, who lived from 1762 until 1836.  Her notes described him as, "David  Mead, born 1762, died March 22, 1836. A soldier of the revolution: Fourth Regiment of the New York troops, under Colonel James Holmes; later served in the Second Regiment, Dutchess county militia, under Colonel Abraham Brinkerhoff, and in the Fourth Westchester militia, under Colonel Thaddeus Crane. Later lived in Coeymans, Albany County, New York. He married, abt. 1787, Sarah Williams."

Her notes indicated that David had been born in Stanwich, Fairfield County, Connecticut.  The town of Stanwich was eventually absorbed into what we now call Greenwich, CT.  My attempts to find information on David's birth and baptism failed when I was informed many years ago that any records that might still exist are in Connecticut state records that I could only access by going to Hartford.  I simply moved on to other parts of my genealogy.  As a result, this branch of my family tree lay dormant for many years.

Last week, I decided to revisit my Revolutionary War hero.  Aunt Ethel had theorized that we were descendants of a Mead (Perhaps Oliver?) who had arrived from England in 1698.  I always remembered that date because it coincided with the year that the Iroquois massacred the occupants of my home town, Schenectady, when it was little more than a frontier outpost in the Mohawk Valley.

I entered "David Mead Sarah Williams, Coeymans" in Google and searched.  One thing that popped up was the text of a speech that had been delivered in 1903 before the Tarrytown [New York] Historical Society by a Mr. Marcus D. Raymond, entitled "David Williams and the Capture of Andre."  It sounded kind of interesting, but seemed to be unrelated to my search until I read this, "Then David Williams had a sister, Sarah, who married David Mead..."  Could this possibly be my David Mead?  I have learned that when doing genealogical research, it's dangerous to make any assumptions, so I filed this little anecdotal evidence away.

Another statement in this speech inclined me away from believing that this person was my ancestor.  The speaker described that David Williams had a son, Moses, who was baptized in 1769, for whom Sarah Williams was a sponsor.  The Sarah Williams who is my great-great-great grandmother would only have been 9 years old at the time.  It seemed somewhat strange to me that a 9-year-old child would be a baptismal sponsor.  Again, I simply filed this information away.

My Google search yielded another treasure, and this one is significant.  In the New York Genealogical and Biographical Records, Volumes 31-32, is contained the records of the Church of Christ in Salem, Westchester County, New York.  On December 21, 1786, is recorded the marriage of David Mead to Sarah Williams.  My David Mead would have been 24 years old and Sarah 26 years old.  They were both probably living in Westchester County.  I felt that this marriage record probably involved my two relatives of interest.

Then my search hit upon a mother lode of relevant information -- one of those "breakthrough" moments that genealogists wait for.  It is part of the Schenectady Digital History Archive.  The foreword to the document reads as follows, "This information is from Vol. II, pp. 617-618 of Hudson-Mohawk Genealogical and Family Memoirs, edited by Cuyler Reynolds (New York: Lewis Historical Publishing Company, 1911). It is in the Reference collection of the Schenectady County Public Library at R 929.1 R45. Some of the formatting of the original, especially in lists of descendants, may have been altered slightly for ease of reading."  

The opening paragraphs certainly elicited my interest:
"The earliest traces of the Mead family are to be found in a history of "The Norman people and their existing descendants in the British Dominions and the United States of America," published in London, England, 1874. From that volume, it appears that the name Mead is the English form of the Norman "de Poato," which, translated into the English, is Mead, Meade, Mede and Meads. In 1635 there arrived in Massachusetts many ships from England, and among those arrivals is found the name of "Goodman" Mead (called Gabriel Mead). He is the ancestor of the Massachusetts branch. The most recent discoveries strongly indicate that he was accompanied by his brother, William Mead, ancestor of the Greenwich, Connecticut, Meads, from whom the family in Troy descend.

The Elizabeth

William and "Goodman" Mead sailed from Lydd county, Kent, England, in the ship "Elizabeth" in April, 1635. The Mead coat-of-arms, to which it is believed they were entitled, is thus described: Sable, a chevron between three pelicans, or vuln, gules crest; an eagle displayed; motto, "Semper peratus" — always ready. Goodman Mead remained in Massachusetts. William, however, followed the tide of emigration, which at that time was toward the Connecticut valley. The first English settlement was made at Windsor in 1633, and another settlement was made about the same time at Wethersfield, where William Mead settled first, and in 1641 he removed to Stamford with others from Wethersfield. December 7, 1641, "William Mayd (Mead) received from the town of Stamford a homelot and five acres of land." This William is the ancestor of the Fairfield county, Connecticut, family, although family tradition declares that John Mead was also one of those of eastern New York, western Vermont and Meadville, Pennsylvania. He was born about 1600. He married in 1625, and died in Stamford, Connecticut, about 1663. There is no record of his wife, but there is of his three children."

The format of the document beyond this point is a more traditional genealogical layout of generations following one another.  I began scanning down, looking for a David Mead who might coincide with my ancestor.  Then I saw this, "(VI) David (2), son of David (1) and Isabella (Knapp) Mead, was born in 1762, died March 22, 1836. He was a soldier of the revolution, enlisting in the Fourth Regiment of the New York troops, under Colonel James Holmes; also served in the Second Regiment, Dutchess county militia, Colonel Abraham Brinkerhoff, and in the Fourth Westchester militia, Colonel Thaddeus Crane. After the war he settled in the town of Coeymans, Albany county, New York. He married, in 1787, Sarah Williams, born 1760, died June 2, 1849. She was a sister of David Williams, one of the captors of Major Andre, the British spy, so closely connected with Benedict Arnold and his treasure. Five children."  (Emphasis mine)

In addition to the thrill of having extended my family tree back by several generations and knowing when and how my first Mead ancestors arrived -- in 1635, not 1698 as I had believed, I also wondered about that last sentence.  Who was this Major Andre, the British spy?  This had the makings of family lore.

It turns out that it was a HUGE deal.  Major Andre was in cahoots with Benedict Arnold to turn over the fortress at West Point to the British.  This likely would have enabled the British to divide the colonies, isolating New England from the rest of the colonies and would have ultimately led to the defeat of the Continental Army under George Washington.  Andre was caught by three members of the Continental Army while smuggling secret documents from Benedict Arnold to the British leadership on Long Island.  What followed is described in Wikipedia: "André rode on in safety until 9 a.m. on 23 September, when he came near Tarrytown, New York, where armed militiamen John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams stopped him.

A lithograph of the capture of Major John Andre

André thought that they were Tories because one was wearing a Hessian soldier's overcoat. "Gentlemen," he said, "I hope you belong to our party." "What party?" asked one of the men. "The lower party," replied André, meaning the British. "We do," was the answer. André then told them that he was a British officer who must not be detained, when, to his surprise, they said that they were Americans, and that he was their prisoner. He then told them that he was an American officer and showed them his passport, but the suspicions of his captors were now aroused. They searched him and found Arnold's papers in his stocking. Only Paulding could read and Arnold was not initially suspected. André offered them his horse and watch, if they would let him go, but they did not accept the bribe. André testified at his trial that the men searched his boots for the purpose of robbing him. Paulding realized that he was a spy and took him to Continental Army headquarters in Sands Hill."

Andre was later tried by a military court and found guilty of being behind American lines "under a feigned name and in a disguised habit" and ordered that "Major André, Adjutant-General to the British Army, ought to be considered as a Spy from the enemy, and that agreeable to the law and usage of nations, it is their opinion, he ought to suffer death."  He was hanged as a spy at Tappan, New York on 2 October 1780.

Major Andre's hanging

The three captors became instant national heroes.  A special medallion, known as the Fidelity Medallion, was authorized by the Continental Congress and awarded to each of them.  This is the first recognized military medal in the history of the United States.  It was never awarded again.  Congress also awarded each of them a lifetime pension of $200 per month.  This equates to about $6,500/mo. in current value.  David Williams is buried in the Old Stone Fort Cemetery in Schoharie, NY.  The inscription on his obelisk reads: "He with his compatriots John Paulding and Isaac VanWart on the 22nd of September 1780, arrested Major John Andre and found on his person treasonable papers in the handwriting of Gen. Benedict Arnold, who sought by treachery to surrender the military post of West Point into the hands of the enemy. In resisting the great bribes of their prisoner for his liberty, they showed their incorruptible patriotism; the American army was saved and our beloved Country became free." So with a single search and its results, I extended a branch of my family tree by 5 generations, learned the time and means by which my earliest Mead ancestors arrived on these shores, and discovered that I have a great-great-grand uncle who was a genuine national hero.  What a terrific weekend I had documenting these findings in my genealogical records.

A Tribute to Ron Gray...

Ron and Dorothy Gray at the time I first met them

On September 16, 2007, I wrote an entry in this blog describing a visit to the home of Ron and Dorothy Gray in Bridgehampton, NY.  Later, in February of 2008, I wrote of a visit that Mary Ann and I made to Ron and Dorothy's home while Mary Ann spent a weekend with me in Connecticut.  My friendship with the Grays started when the Navy sent me to Groton, Connecticut, as Engineering Officer of the USS Maloy (DE-791), the last World War II era Buckley-class Destroyer Escort.  Ron Gray was the other half of the engineering department, the Damage Control Assistant.  We were also "roommates" in a tiny 10 ft. by 12 ft. stateroom in which he had the upper bunk and I, the lower.  It's fortunate that we really hit it off and became close friends.

Ron left the navy after we decommissioned the Maloy in 1965 and he and Dorothy and their daughter, Kristin, returned to Long Island.  There, he built a successful contracting and home construction business, Graystone Builders, Inc., in Bridgehampton, NY.

Ron describing some of the features of a home he had built
during my visit in 2007

One of many magnificent homes built by Graystone Builders, Inc.

I was fortunate enough to see some of the homes that he and Dorothy built.  They will remain as a lasting tribute to Ron.  Dorothy called yesterday to let me know that he passed away earlier this month.  He had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease a few years ago and had suffered greatly.

Even though I hadn't seen Ron regularly for many years since we established our friendship, he had a strong influence on me.  From the moment I made his acquaintance in the close confines of a small combatant ship, three things were evident:

• Ron was loyal to a fault.  He never once to my knowledge failed in that trait.  He loved his country, navy ship, crew, family, friends with an undying passion.
• Ron Gray took immense pride in his work.  He was a perfectionist.  He demanded that same attitude from his subordinates.  Sloppy work was not tolerated.
• He was unflappable.  As Damage Control Assistant, Ron was responsible for firefighting and de-flooding, among other things.  When we ran drills or had actual incidents, Ron remained outwardly calm in the presence of danger and turmoil.
• He listened.  More than once, I noticed that he spent much more time eliciting information from others rather than dominating a conversation.  That's a very powerful personal trait.

I learned a lot from Ron and hopefully will not forget the lessons he shared with me.  Rest in peace, my Friend.  And may God comfort Dorothy and Kristin as they move on without your strong presence.

A Stormy Hiking Trip...

Picture of me taken on the Stormy Hiking Trip

It was the Fall of 1977.  I had been dating Margo Burge for only a few weeks after having been introduced by Jim and Linda Schmitt.  The Schmitts and I had known each other for several years and Jim had gone backpacking with me on numerous occasions.  It seemed perfectly fine then, when one evening after the Schmitts had hosted a nice meal for Margo and me, that the four of us decided to do a backpacking adventure together on Thanksgiving weekend.  Thanksgiving would fall on November 24th.  We'd drive to the Nantahala Outdoor Center in Wesser, North Carolina, and get a shuttle to Stecoah Gap on the Appalachian Trail.  Then we'd hike south toward the outdoor center, taking two days, and spending the night at the Sassafras Gap Shelter, about seven miles from our starting point.

A sign on the AT describing the section we hiked

We'd be hiking generally uphill the first day, going from 3,165 ft. elevation at Stecoah Gap to about 4,330 ft. at the shelter, on top of Cheoah Bald.  On the second day, we'd hike generally downhill, through a section that was known to be the steepest part of the AT at the time, the "Jump-Up," before concluding our hike with a hearty meal at the N.O.C. (2,051 ft. elev.)  It would be an easy two-day hike to introduce the girls to backpacking.

The next several weeks were spent planning for the trip, buying boots and packs for the ladies, and deciding what clothes to pack.  I told Margo that the weather in Western North Carolina could be quite dramatic in the Spring and Fall.  We'd need to prepare for balmy weather as well as extreme cold.  We included gloves, long underwear, hat, and a down jacket in our plan, as well as shorts.  Who knew what to expect?

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the excited hiking party left Pass Christian, Mississippi, in the Schmitt's car.  We arrived in Wesser late that night and stayed in the Motel that was part of the N.O.C.  The next morning we got up and had a hearty breakfast and got hooked up with our shuttle driver.  The weather was spectacular -- clear, sunny skies and temperature in the mid sixties -- perfect hiking weather.  We drove to Stecoah Gap, where the driver dropped us off with all our gear and we watched him disappear back down the two-lane road.  Our car would be waiting for us at our destination.

We were on the trail by 10:00 AM.  It wasn't long before I heard the first jibe, "I'm sure glad I packed a down jacket."  Followed not long after by, "I'm really going to need those warm gloves."  This got old in a hurry, but I kept my mouth shut.  I had seen on the bulletin board at the Outdoor Center that a cold front was coming through along with potential snow flurries and much lower temperatures.  It was good that no matter what, we would be prepared.

The view of Stecoah, NC from Cheoah Bald --
The view we never saw because of snow and fog

Along about 1:00 PM, it began to cloud over and the temperature started to drop.  Not long after that, we felt the first hint of drizzle.  We stopped and added a layer of clothing and put on ponchos.  Soon the drizzle had turned to sleet.  By the time we reached the top of Cheoah Bald, we were in a blinding snow storm.  According to our guidebook, there was a lookout point with a "spectacular view of the town of Stecoah, far below."  We saw snow.

After a short search, we located the shelter.  We tied our tarps across the open front of the structure to defend against the wind and snow.  By now, we had several layers of clothing on and no one was complaining about having brought so much.  

The current Sassafras Gap shelter that has long-since
replaced the one in which we froze

Not long after we arrived at the shelter, we heard voices and soon three men dressed in shorts and t-shirts appeared headed north, the direction from which we had come.  We told them they were still 6 miles from the parking lot where they informed us they had left their car.  We offered to let them stay with us and share clothing, sleeping bags and food, but they insisted on hiking on.  I have often wondered how they ever made it down that sometimes steep trail in the dark so lightly dressed.  It had to have been a miserable experience.

We put our sleeping bags close together so we could benefit from each other's body warmth.  After a very quick dinner of freeze-dried something, we decided to turn in, still talking about the northbound hikers.

As dawn greeted us, it was 17° F.  The wind had died down.  Our tarps had worked fairly well, but Jim and I had failed to put our boots inside our sleeping bags and they were frozen stiff as boards.  I was nominated to get up first and get a fire going in the now snow-filled fire pit.  We had had the foresight to gather some kindling and firewood when we found the shelter, so it wasn't long before we had a fire going.  We got our things thawed out, somewhat dried, and packed after a breakfast cooked on our trusty Svea 123 camp stoves (Do they even make those any more?)

After packing, we began our descent.  I think I made most of it on my fanny.  The rain before the snow had coated the ground with ice which was now snow-covered and treacherous.  It was a case of grabbing trees for stability as one slid down the steep leaf-covered icy incline.  We were too busy trying to remain upright to carry on much of a conversation, but at one point, Jim said to me, "I'm afraid the girls will never do this again."

Three or four hours later, the trail leveled out and before long we were sitting at a table in the warm dining room of the Nantahala Outdoor Center.  We ordered some homemade soup and bread.  Much to Jim's and my surprise Margo and Linda began talking about what equipment they would need for the next trip!  And there were many, many more.

Barin Field

William Mead Accepting His Promotion to
1st Lieutenant about June, 1960

My brother Bill was a Marine Corps aviator.  He went through the Naval Air Cadet (NAVCAD) program, accepting a Marine Corps commission in December 1959.  After serving in two Marine fighter squadrons (VMF-122 and VMF-235) and a Marine helicopter squadron (HMM-262), he found himself assigned to the Naval Training Command in Pensacola, Florida.  During his time in training squadrons VT-4 and VT-5, he became involved with Barin Field.  That's how this story begins. 

While serving in Training Wing 5, Bill was told that he would be operating out of Barin Field.  Officially, the correct title is "Naval Outlying Field (NOLF) Barin," located near Foley, Alabama.  According to Wikipedia, "An auxiliary airfield for NAS Pensacola and NAS Whiting Field, NOLF Barin originally consisted of twin airfield complexes. The West Field was established on the site of the original Foley Municipal Airport that was constructed in the mid-1930s and leased by the U.S. Navy in 1942. An adjoining parcel of 656 acres was also purchased by the Navy for construction of a similar, but not quite reverse, mirror image runway complex that would become known as the East Field.[2] On 2 July 1942, the new facility was designated Naval Auxiliary Air Station (NAAS) Barin Field in honor of Lt. Louis Theodore Barin (20 August 1890 – 12 June 1920), a Navy test pilot and one of the pilots of flying boat NC-1 during the Navy's transatlantic flight in May 1919.

Today, the East Field is still used as NOLF Barin, a satellite airfield for Training Air Wing FIVE (TRAWING 5) at NAS Whiting Field and Training Air Wing SIX (TRAWING 6) at NAS Pensacola. Two runways and the original centerfield flight line complex are still maintained, although the original 1940s/1950s-era hangars and control tower have been demolished and removed."

When my brother was first assigned to fly out of this once abandoned and then reactivated field, the hangars had long since been overgrown with kudzu, partially collapsed, and were unusable.  Essentially, there was a usable runway and a "temporary" structure that was used as an operations center.  It had all the appearances of a temporary setup.  On the runway was painted a section approximately the length of an aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington (CV-16) on which the trainees would make their first arrested landing at sea.

Barin Field East, showing the carrier landing zone
painted on the runway

When Bill was at Barin Field, student pilots were flying the North American T-28 "Trojan" aircraft.  They would prepare by making numerous simulated landings guided by a Landing Signals Officer (LSO) on that painted patch of runway.  Only when the trainers felt it was safe were they allowed to fly out into the Gulf of Mexico to land on the Lexington for the first time.

I once asked Bill if he had ever lost a student while at Barin Field.  He immediately got very emotional as he described a case in which a student was making a bad approach.  Bill advised the student to level out, circle the field, get back in the pattern, and try a new approach.  The student ignored his instruction, tried to tighten his turn toward the runway to save the approach, experienced a "low wing stall," and crashed.  (In descending turns, the lower wing stalls first.)  My brother wondered why the student had ignored his direction and he took the incident very personally.

Bill often talked about Mrs. Gruber's Boarding House in Foley, Alabama, where the staff and students ate lunch practically every day.  Apparently Mrs. Gruber took very good care of these future aviators whom she knew would probably be serving off the coast of Viet Nam in the not-too-distant future.

He also spoke of the informality observed at such a remote location.  At one point, the squadron was commanded by a Marine Corps Colonel who relaxed the dress code for the training staff.  Often, in the searing heat and stifling humidity, Bill went to work in fatigue shorts, a khaki t-shirt, and fatigue cap with his insignia.  No long trousers or pressed shirts were required.  This led to an amusing story that my brother enjoyed sharing.

It seems that a family from the Midwest was on their way to a Florida vacation in their private Beechcraft Bonanza.  They had refueled in Mobile and shortly after takeoff encountered engine trouble.  The pilot spotted the runway at Barin and made an emergency landing.  He taxied up to the shack and emerged to ask what airport he was at.  Entering the shack he noted that the walls were completely papered over with Playboy centerfolds.  No one was in any kind of proper military uniform.  When told that he had landed at a military base, he could not believe it.  They had to convince him of the fact.  That's how informal it appeared to an outsider, even though the officers and enlisted staff did their jobs in a very serious manner.

I never got to visit Barin Field while Bill was there.  I did get several rides in T-28s.  He was obligated to fly a minimum number of cross-country hours per month to maintain his "currency" and would often fly to Norman, Oklahoma, to visit me or take me to Pensacola for a weekend or holiday.  I miss the camaraderie that we enjoyed in those visits.

The 1950's Rock & Mineral Collection

I grew up in Schenectady, New York, exactly one block from the Union College campus.  As a kid, I played and rode my bike with friends all over the campus.  I grew up with many playmates who were the children of faculty members.  And, as I have written before, I got to know many faculty members personally.  As a result of one of these faculty friendships, I developed an early interest in rocks and minerals.  While I was still in junior high school, I was allowed to audit a freshman geology class being taught by Dr. Edward S.C. Smith.  Even before that opportunity, I had begun a small collection of rocks and minerals that exhibited the properties of a diode -- allowing electricity to pass in only one direction.  I used these minerals in building experimental crystal radio sets.

One day, while talking to Dr. Smith, I was lamenting the idea that I couldn't collect rocks from distant locations.  He asked why not.  After all, we had a mail system.  He suggested that I write a post card (Who remembers those?) to a company that controlled some mines from which I wanted samples.  He even helped me compose a brief message explaining my interest in rocks and minerals.  I think our first "target" was the New Jersey Zinc Company.  It was at the time the largest producer of Zinc in the country.  Several of their mines -- the Franklin Mine, Sterling Hill Mine, and Buckwheat Pit -- had been producing high-grade Zinc ore for over half a century.  In the area of the Franklin and Sterling Hill mines, 357 types of minerals are known to occur; these make up approximately 10% of all the minerals known to science.  Certainly they could spare a few ore samples.

Wurtzite Ore

 I was very specific in my request.  I had researched the rocks from which Zinc was smelted -- Zincite, Franklinite, Sphalerite, Smithsonite, Wurtzite and others.  I asked for them by name.  Off went my postcard in the mail.  And I waited impatiently for a response.

First came the letter.  It was signed by a senior official of the company.  He expressed admiration for my interest in geology.  He then informed me that two crates of ore samples, all labelled with the location from which they originated, were en route to my home.  Within a couple weeks, I opened the newly-arrived crates to find dozens of gleaming examples.  This became the core of my substantial rock and mineral collection.

I built several long shallow boxes out of thin plywood in which to mount my specimens and their labels.  And I began sending literally dozens of postcards over the next several months.  I'd pick an element, research its sources, determine who controlled the ore supplies, and send a few postcards.  More often than not, they resulted in boxes or crates full of mineral samples.

After I had saturated the U.S. suppliers of minerals, I began extending my requests into Canada.  It wasn't long before I was sending cards to Africa, South America, and even countries behind the iron curtain.  I recall samples arriving from both Poland and Czechoslovakia, both part of the Soviet bloc.

One example stands out in my memory.  I had read an article in Life magazine about a fellow named Charles Steen in Moab, Utah.  Mr. Steen had hit the jackpot, finding a rich uranium deposit during a time when the Atomic Energy Commission kept uranium prices artificially high so that valuable U.S. reserves would not be sold overseas.

Wikipedia describes it this way, "Despite the fact that his three sons, Johnny, Andy and Charles Jr. were all less than four years old and his wife was expecting another child, Steen borrowed $1,000 from his mother and headed for the Colorado Plateau, determined to strike it rich. After being in Colorado for several months the Steens moved into a tarpaper shack in Cisco, Utah. Steen and his family were struggling to get by and were often hungry so Charlie made the decision to move his family to Tucson, Arizona. Steen worked as a carpenter in Tucson for about a year before he returned to his claims in Utah. He and his family once again packed up and headed to their claims. This final trip back to Utah would be the most detrimental for the family because Minnie Lee, Steen's wife, contracted pneumonia, and her medical bills consumed the $350 remaining from the sale of Steen's trailer.

Steen could not afford the standard radiation-detecting equipment used by uranium prospectors - the Geiger counter. Instead, he used a secondhand diamond drill rig and his geologic training for his prospecting. At the time, each prospector had his own idiosyncratic theory about where to find uranium. The uranium industry was composed primarily of individual prospectors and geologists who would attempt to find a large deposit and either mine it for themselves or mine it for a large company (such as Union Carbide) who would transport the ore from the mine to the uranium mill where it could be converted into yellowcake. Steen's theory on uranium deposits was that they would collect in anticlinal structures in the same manner as oil, which others on the Plateau dismissed as "Steen's Folly."

On July 6, 1952, Steen hit it big but he didn't realize until three weeks later. He was drilling down through the layers of sandstone when his drill bit broke off at a depth of 197 feet, just 3 feet short of his goal. Finding this massive deposit of uranium ore only became apparent when he took a piece of the blackish core he found while drilling weeks earlier back to Cisco. He stopped to fill up his jeep and decided to have the core tested by a friend with a Geiger counter and they found that the piece made the Geiger counter needle go crazy. The high grade uranium deposit was located at Big Indian Wash of Lisbon Valley, southeast of Moab, Utah. (Coordinates: N 38.19000 W 109.26000). Sometimes recognized as one of the most important deposits of any kind found during the last century, Steen named the claim the "Mi Vida" mine (My Life). The Mi Vida mine was one of the first big strikes of the uranium boom. Steen made millions off his claims, and provoked a "Uranium Rush" of prospectors into the Four Corners region, similar to the Gold Rush of the 1850s in California."

Uraninite - a uranium ore like samples
I received from Charles Steen in the mid-50's

I sent one of my postcards to Mr. Steen, addressed personally to him.  I received a personal letter back, encouraging me in my interest in geology.  It turned out that he had earned a B.A. in geology in 1943 at the Texas College of Mines and Metallurgy (later the University of Texas at El Paso).  His letter was followed by several crates of ore samples, each in a small cloth bag that included its label.

When I got to high school, my collection had grown too big for our house and I kept part of it in a detached two-story garage building.  While at Mont Pleasant High School, I took a course in Earth Science under Donald Stone.  The school had a small collection of rocks and minerals which came under Mr. Stone's care.  After he was instrumental in my entering the Westinghouse Science Talent Search, I decided he would be a great custodian of my collection, which had grown to over 800 examples.  It took several trips with a school pickup truck to move the heavy boxes.

Mont Pleasant High School, Schenectady, New York

Several years later, long after Mr. Stone had retired, I stopped by Mont Pleasant to see if anyone was still thewre from my days as a student.  I asked about my rock and mineral collection, but no one was even aware of its existence.  Nonetheless, even if it is long gone, I wouldn't have traded the experience of assembling it for anything.

The Duesenberg Model SSJ...

Back in 2008, I posted a blog entry that included the following:
“The Duesenberg shown here used to reside in my home town of Schenectady, New York:

It belonged to Perry Egbert, who was the Chairman of the Board of the American Locomotive Company at the time -- early to mid 1950's.” 

I read yesterday that the sister car to this one (There were only two of this model ever built) sold this weekend for $22,000,000 at the Gooding auction at Pebble Beach.  You read that correctly -- $22 million!!!

I did a little searching and found a French Web site, entitled "The Pages of Lex," on which there was substantial background on these two remarkable cars.  The article even mentions Perry Egbert.  With due credit to the author, here is that article (I beg the author's forgiveness for any misinterpretation in my somewhat clumsy translation from the French.):

"Courtesy of The Pages of Lex, A French Web site

The two Model SSJs together,  Gable's on the left, Gary Cooper's on the right

At that time, Groucho Marx swears by the Mercedes SSK that he modified to regularly beat the Duesenberg of Clark Gable and Gary Cooper at the "grand prix of the red lights" in Hollywood. Embarrassed by this state of affairs, our two lads ask Augie (Duesenberg) to build a car capable of beating Marx's SSK.

Duesenberg then built two cars from two Jenkins roadsters. Officially christened SSJ, as shorter SJ models, these two roadsters are in fact normal SJs, cut at the front bench seat to bring the wheelbase to 125 inches, 17-1/2 inches shorter than the so-called “short” chassis.  This is enough, thanks to the weight gain achieved, to beat any SSK, but, even if Clark Gable is satisfied, Gary Cooper does not want to stop there.  He orders a special engine from August Duesenberg to get his way.

Augie remembers his work on the engine with "ram's horns" and that's how the most powerful car in the world, the 400 hp Duesenberg SSJ, is born!  On this model, the displacement is raised to 448 cubic inches, the compression ratio to 8.1: 1 and the engine speed to 5,000 rpm.  The valves are enlarged and reinforced by double springs, the aluminum pistons are specially built by Jahns Racing and the engine is equipped with two Shelber double body carburetors.  He needs three fuel pumps, one mechanical and two electric pumps, to draw the fuel from a 37-gallon tank.

The bodies of both cars are identical and they are aluminum. The design is by Herb Newport and the manufacture is entrusted to La Grande.  To save weight, chrome accessories, headlights and side spare wheels are removed.  Only one spare wheel is embedded in the rear panel.  The wheels are 17-inch, instead of 19” for the “normal car.“   Because of attention to these details, these cars present an impression of power and speed that is not easily surpassed.

Model SSJ

The weight of Gary Cooper's car reaches nearly 5,100 lbs., 1,100 lbs. more than that of Clark Gable, because of the heavier engine and reinforcements added to the chassis to support the power.

Once ready, Gary Cooper drives his car to the Los Angeles hot-rod runway.  Groucho Marx would have done better to stay at home that day; his defeat is a foregone conclusion.  We do not know the actual performance of these cars.  It is estimated that Gary Cooper's SSJ can reach 175 miles/hr., accelerate from 0 to 60 miles/hr. in 7 seconds and from 0 to 100 miles/hr. in 13 seconds or less!  We no longer know the price of these machines.

Originally painted in two-tone brown, Gary Cooper's SSJ is now treated in two shades of gray.  It has long been part of the Briggs Cunningham collection that loved to ride for hours at 55 mph along the roads of the Pacific coast between Los Angeles and San Francisco.  Clark Gable's SSJ was painted in two shades of brown.  It was Charles Cord, the son of Erret, who delivered it in the fall of 1935, to the studios of the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer where Gable had just finished "Mutiny on the Bounty"; It must have been a comical scene to see a buccaneer of the 18th century take possession of the latest product born of the most sophisticated luxury car manufacturer.  It was in this car that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard disappeared from Mayfair Hall on January 25, 1936 to make one of the most famous nocturnal journeys in the history of show business -- it was the perfect car to titillate the paparazzi.  In 1947, the car was sold to MGM Music Director George Stoll, who had it repainted in beige.  He then sold it for $2,500 to John Troka.  It then passes into the hands of D. Cameron Peck, one of the largest American collectors, who gives it in 1951 to Perry Egbert, Attica (New York). The latter sells it to Alfredo Ferrar, in Cleveland (Ohio).  It is painted bright red and light gray.

The Duesenberg Model SSJs are among the most beautiful cars of the firm.  They represent a perfect summary of the life of the Duesenberg brothers and their contribution to the automobile. There is no doubt that Fred Duesenberg would have been proud of his little brother's work."

I was about 11 years old when the Clark Gable car "lived" in my home town of Schenectady.  It was stored in a garage near Erie Boulevard, I seem to recall on Ferry Street, not far from the main plant of the American Locomotive Company.  My brother and I would ride our bicycles down there and look in the window at this wonderful artifact.  I only recall seeing it one time on the road, going up Union Street past our house.  I did hear at one time that Mr. Egbert had had an accident in the car somewhere on the New York State Thruway, but I cannot attest to that.  It still holds a very special place in my memory.  I am, after all, a "Car Guy."

Frank Priest and the Penguin Collection

I've seen the quote, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”  The origin is uncertain, but I have found it to be evident in my life, especially during the last 35 years.  Those are the years during which I have learned to live a happy, joyous, and free life through the twelve step program of recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous.

Early in my sobriety, my employer sent me on an assignment to Hughes Electronics in El Segundo, California.  I spent several months there.  My AA colleagues in Huntsville suggested that I get to lots of AA meetings while in southern California and that I would be wise to find a local sponsor while out there.  A sponsor is an individual who has accumulated a few months or years of sobriety and who assists a newcomer in navigating through the twelve-step recovery program.

As things turned out, I was living in an apartment in Inglewood that my employer had rented.  To avoid the worst of the morning rush hour traffic, I started attending an AA meeting at 6:45 AM in the town of Hawthorne, which was very close to the Hughes plant.  I would drive to Hawthorne before the traffic was too dense and enjoy the fellowship, splendid coffee, and fresh donuts of the Attitude Adjustment group of Alcoholics Anonymous each weekday morning.  Then I would proceed directly to the Hughes facility a few minutes before the workday started.  It was a great arrangement.

At that time, this AA group was an interesting mix of three-piece suited aerospace executives and street people all of whom shared the same challenge - remaining sober for another 24 hours.  The unwritten rule was that this would always be a group focusing on positive themes for the day.  It was generally upbeat and had an optimistic outlook.  It was in this environment that I first encountered Frank Priest.  (In AA we have a tradition of anonymity, but since Frank is deceased, I'm sure he would have no issues with my using his full name.  He once told me he was about as anonymous as sliced bread, whatever that may mean.)

I had only been attending this meeting for a few days when I took note of this older gentleman who often shared his thoughts and who clearly was a fervent believer in the power of the twelve-step program of recovery from alcoholism.  He evidently had been sober quite a while (I learned later that at the time he had 37 years sober.).  I decided to ask "Frank P." if he would consider being my sponsor.

When I asked Frank, his response took me by surprise.  "How many meetings have you been to this week?"  I told him I'd been to about 10 or 12 meetings.  "What kinds of meetings?  If I decide to sponsor you, you'll attend the meetings I tell you to."  In most areas, there are different kinds of AA meetings -- speaker meetings where a recovering alcoholic shares their story, discussion meetings at which members share their experience or thoughts on some suggested topic, etc.  Frank had strong views on which kinds of meetings were beneficial for newcomers.  Ultimately, Frank became my sponsor.  He also became a dear friend.

I also got to know Francie, his wife of more than thirty years.  He had actually become sober before they met, bur Francine Priest was a devout believer in the Alanon program for family members of alcoholics.  She attended several meetings a week.  She and Frank were also active in many recovery oriented charities throughout the South Bay area.

Frank was a senior executive with Northrop Corporation, whose headquarters were located in Hawthorne, very close to the AA meeting place.  He was one of the three-piece suit contingent each morning.  Frank began not only advising me which meetings I should be attending, he would frequently pick me up after work at the Hughes facility and take me to dinner and thence to a meeting of his choice.

One evening he took me to a meeting adjacent to a city-run detoxification clinic.  Most of the people in this meeting were in the first 48 hours without a drink.  The place reeked of stale booze and sweat.  Very few participants could speak coherently.  After we left the meeting, I asked Frank why he had taken me there.  "We'll be going there every week, as I have for the past several years.  It's important that we never forget how bad it could have gotten."  Moments like that made Frank a very special and treasured sponsor.

One evening, Frank picked me up in his Cadillac to take me to dinner and a meeting.  We began cruising toward Downey as I asked him where we were going.  "We're going to West Covina to a men's group meeting.  You're tonight's speaker!"  I was petrified.  I didn't feel ready to share my brief story, but Frank knew better.  The meeting was in an auditorium-like setting.  Across the stage curtain was a giant banner proclaiming "The World Headquarters of Sobriety!"  I opened my comments noting that there was no issue with humility in this group.

One weekend, Frank acquired a reservation for a weekend retreat at Manresa retreat center.  He gave that pass to me as a gift.  I got to attend my first (of several) AA retreat.

One time years earlier when Frank was on a business trip, someone gave him a set of salt and pepper shakers in the shape of two penguins.  Someone in his office started the myth that Frank collected penguins in any form.  Soon the penguin collection was underway,  By the time I befriended Frank and Francie, they had set aside a "Penguin Room" in their Torrance home.  There were penguin statues, stuffed penguins, penguin art, wind-up walking penguins, ash trays, lighters. calendars and penguin emblazoned dishes.  But one of the most incredible penguin items was hand made and very special.

As Frank had accumulated his years of sobriety, he had made hundreds of friends in the recovery communities of southern California.  One happened to be a recovering sculptress.  On Frank's thirty-fifth AA birthday, she had made a skating rink using a glass mirror as the pond's surface, surrounded by hills of sculpted clay, complete with pine trees.  And on the skating surface were thirty-five skating penguins in every imaginable pose - spinning, dancing, speeding, and fallen.  And each year, this lovely lady gave Frank another skating penguin to add to the rink.  It was one of the most treasured of all the aggregated penguins.

Frances "Francie" Priest
1929-2008

After I left California, we corresponded for many years.  Frank and Francie remained active into their advanced years, always supporting recovery organizations and activities.  Frank died in 1994.  He was 73 years old.  Francie, who had been his loving bride since 1951, lived until 2008.  Her obituary spoke of her moving to Los Angeles from Kansas in 1949: "There she lived with her brother Jerry & Lucille Tholen and their family in Westchester, and worked as a secretary on the Loyola University campus. Through Jerry & Lucille, Francie met Frank Priest, the love of her life, as he was attending Loyola on the GI Bill. They married in 1951, raised 4 children and lived in Torrance California. Francie was a very active member of the school PTA, Girl Scout and Boy Scout organizations. Francie and Frank enjoyed many years of bridge and travel together and opened their home to countless friends, and friends of friends over the years. Francie became very involved with the House of Hope in San Pedro, and served on their board or as a Regent for over 15 years. Since 2005 she was an active patroness of the Special Children's League, South Bay Committee. Francie was perhaps best known however, as a great supporter for over 50 years of the Friends of Bill Wilson. She will be missed by all who ever knew her. Predeceased by her siblings; husband, Frank; and daughter, Leah Ann. Francie is survived by her children, Elaine, Mike and Tom and their spouses, David, Kellie and Laura; and grandchildren, Ryan and Katie. We miss your sweet ways, your wisdom and gentle humor."

I asked Frank Priest to be my sponsor in 1984.  I received so much more than I ever could have expected.  “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”