The Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop

I was attending Mont Pleasant High School in 1957.  One of my best friends was Raymond Jankowski.  He loved not far from the school and we'd often go to his house after school to "Hang out."   I learned that Ray's mother had an affinity for horse racing.  She also enjoyed an occasional wager on the horses.  She would say she was going over to Crane Street to place a bet.  It never occurred to me at the time that this was both illegal and remarkably convenient (as Crane Street was very close to the Jankowski's home on Willett Street.  Legal off-track betting was something unheard of at the time.  This was strictly a local activity (service?) of organized crime.

Fast forward to the summer of 1959.  Now I'm attending the University of Rochester and I'm home for Summer vacation.  My friend Hal Johnson is working for the city Department of Parks and Recreation as a Park Recreation Director.  And his park is not for from Ray Jankowski's house.  So sometimes the three of us are seen hanging out.  By now, Hal and I have developed an interest in betting on the horse races taking place not far away at Saratoga Race Track.  I'm sure this interest was enhanced by our frequent evening visits to BL's Tavern which I've written about in an earlier blog entry.  The proprietor of BL's, Benny Lenciewicz was an avid horse racing fan and engaged daily in wagering on the horses.

So one day, Hal and I decide to bet on the Daily Double at Saratoga.  We ask Raymond J. where his mother used to place her bets.  He informs us that it was the Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop on Crane Street.  That's all Hal and I needed as we headed over to Crane Street during Hal's lunch hour to place what I recall to be a $5.00 bet.

The Ave Maria Religious Gift Shop was not much to look at.  As we walked in, we saw a couple of sparsely populated racks of religious greeting cards and a shelving unit with a few statues, crucifixes, rosaries and votive candles.  In the back of the store was a counter behind which sat a balding gentleman who reminds me today of Danny DeVito.  "How may I help you gentleman?"  We explained that we wanted to put $5.00 on the Daily Double at Saratoga for that afternoon's races.  He was shocked at our request!

"That sounds like somethin' to do wit' gamblin'," he pronounced.  "I don't know nuttin' about no gamblin'.  It ain't even legal.  Now get the hell outta here!"  Needless to say, we left.  We proceeded back to Ray's house, sure that he'd given us some bad information.  When we got there, Mrs. Jankowski, Ray's mother, was home and invited us in.

We shared our story.  She laughed hysterically.  She explained, "You were in the right place, but you should have had me take you in to introduce you.  Nobody is going to accept bets from a complete stranger.  You have to be "connected."  We gave Mrs. J. our $5.00.  She placed our bet, which yielded exactly nothing.  That ended Hal's and my joint gambling careers.

The Meads and a Football "Giant"...

Mel Hein as New York Giants Center

I've written more than once about my parents' closeness to the family of Carroll and Eleanor Gardner.  The relationship started when my father and Carroll (whom I always knew as "Uncle Pink) grew up as next-door neighbors on Eagle Street in Schenectady.  Almost as interesting as the Gardners were some of the people whom my folks got to know through their friendship.  One of these secondary friendships was a gentleman named Mel Hein and his family.  And Mel, whom I called "Uncle Mel" turned out to be a genuine football giant.

Carroll ("Pinky") Gardner had a sister, Marge, who married J. Harold "Hal" Wittner.  Hal was the Athletic Director at Union College, the campus of which was only a block from our house.  He was another of those non-blood-relatives whom the Mead children addressed as "Uncle" Hal.

Hal Wittner had attended Union College in the late teens and early twenties and had been a stellar athlete.  He was Captain of the Union Garnet baseball team both his junior and senior years as an undergraduate.  He had become Union's Director of Athletics in 1938.  When World War II broke out in late 1941, the Navy established an officers' training program called V-12.  Many prominent athletes volunteered to assist the host universities with the physical training aspects of the program.  That is how Mel Hein ended up at Union College in Uncle Hal's department.  He served as Union College's football head coach from 1943 until 1946, when the family left for California.

The Hein family lived on University Place, just about a half-block distance from our house.  They had a son, Mel Jr., whom they called "Cappy."  Cappy was my age and we became fast friends.  Little did I know that my friend's father, "Uncle" Mel Hein, was a true football "Giant."

According to Wikipedia: "Melvin Jack Hein (August 22, 1909 – January 31, 1992), sometimes known as "Old Indestructible",[1][2] was an American football player and coach. In the era of one-platoon football, he played as a center (then a position on both offense and defense) and was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1954 and the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1963 as part of the first class of inductees. He was also named to the National Football League (NFL) 50th and 75th Anniversary All-Time Teams.

Hein played college football as a center for the Washington State Cougars football team from 1928 to 1930. He led the 1930 Washington State team to an undefeated record in the regular season and received first-team All-Pacific Coast and All-American honors.

Hein next played 15 seasons in the NFL as a center for the New York Giants from 1931 to 1945. He was selected as a first-team All-Pro for eight consecutive years from 1933 to 1940 and won the Joe F. Carr Trophy as the NFL's Most Valuable Player in 1938. He was the starting center on NFL championship teams in 1934 and 1938 and played in seven NFL championship games (1933–1935, 1938–1939, 1941, and 1944).

Hein also served as the head football coach at Union College from 1943 to 1946 and as an assistant coach for the Los Angeles Dons of the All-America Football Conference (AAFC) from 1947 to 1948, the New York Yankees of the AAFC in 1949, the Los Angeles Rams in 1950, and the USC Trojans from 1951 to 1965. He was also the supervisor of officials for the American Football League from 1966 to 1969 and for the American Football Conference from 1970 to 1974."

How many people do you know that have their own bubble gum card?

On February 2, 1992, Uncle Mel's obituary appeared in the New York Times:
Mel Hein, 82, the Durable Center of the New York Football Giants
By Robert Mcg. Thomas Jr.

Credit: The New York Times Archives

Mel Hein, the great center-linebacker who was the iron man and captain of the Giants teams that won seven division titles and two league championships in the 1930's and 1940's, died Friday night at his home in San Clemente, Calif.

He was 82 years old and died of stomach cancer, his family said.

From the time the big all-American from Washington State stepped onto the field in a Giants uniform for the first time in 1931 until he retired at the end of the 1945 season, he was a legend to Giants players, coaches, fans and opponents. 

Called the Greatest Center

Virtually impossible to get past on offense and all but unblockable on defense, he was widely described as the greatest center ever to play the game.

The Giants owner, Wellington Mara, who grew up awed by the great 1930's teams of his youth, once called him the No. 1 player of the team's first 50 years, and if there has been his equal since, it is the linebacker Lawrence Taylor.

Al Davis, the Raiders owner and former coach who worked alongside Mr. Hein when both were assistants at the University of Southern California in the 1950's and who later hired him as supervisor of officials for the old American Football League, was even more outspoken when he was asked about Mr. Hein last week.

"He was truly a football legend and a giant among men," said Mr. Davis. "Mel was one of the greatest football players who ever lived."

For much of his career, in the days when players were expected to play both offense and defense, the 6-foot-3-inch, 230-pound Mr. Hein was considered indestructible.

After playing virtually all of every game at Washington State for his full four years and then leading the team to the Rose Bowl (a loss to Alabama in 1931), Mr. Hein continued the pattern with the Giants.

The first, and only, sign that he, too, might be subject to human frailties occurred in the championship game against the Packers in 1938. He was knocked out briefly in the first half and had to be carried off the field but returned a few minutes later (despite a broken nose) to help the Giants nail down their second N.F.L. championship. It was the only time in his career that he occasioned a timeout.

Mr. Hein then won the league's most valuable player award for the season, the first time the award was given. No interior offensive lineman has won it since.

For all the glory of his career with the Giants, it happened largely by accident and through a violation of sacred postal regulations.

In 1931 Mr. Hein wrote to several N.F.L. teams, including the Giants and the Providence Steamrollers, offering his services. When the Providence team was the first to respond, offering him a $125-a-game contract, Mr. Hein signed it and mailed it back.

The next day a Giants contract, offering $150 a game, arrived, and Mr. Hein sent a wire begging the postmaster in Providence to intercept the other contract and return it. The official obliged, and the rest is Giants history, A Coach and an Official

After leaving the Giants, Mr. Hein, whose $5,000 salary in 1945 made him the highest-paid lineman in the N.F.L., served as line coach for several pro teams, including the Yankees and the Rams, and then spent 15 seasons at U.S.C. before accepting Davis's offer in 1965 to direct the A.F.L. officials. After the merger of the A.F.L. into the N.F.L., he remained as supervisor of officials for the American Football Conference until his retirement in 1974.

He was elected to the College Football Hall of Fame in 1954 and was a charter member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame when it was organized in 1963.

He is survived by his wife, Florence; a son, Mel Jr.; a daughter, Sharon Wood, and four grandchildren.

Only a Minor Miracle...

I have seen on a number of occasions the hand of God working in my life.  Sometimes, these "demonstrations" of His personal concern and love for me are absolutely amazing.  One such event took place in June or July of 1983, only a few weeks before I became sober for the last and hopefully final time (I recently celebrated 36 years of continuous sobriety.).

I was working at the time for the University of Alabama in Huntsville Division of Continuing Education.  My job was to develop and deliver advanced training courses to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.

Before I had arrived in this job, my predecessor, Bob King, had put together a course in "Environmental Laws and Regulations."  It was taught by two nationally-recognized Attorneys.  One was an environmentalist who was a faculty member at Rice University in Houston, Texas, a gentleman named Jim Blackburn.  He was generally a laid-back Texan, usually attired in jeans and boots.  The other instructor was a member of a prominent environmental law firm in Washington, DC, Morgan, Lewis & Bockius.  His name was Kenneth Rubin.  Mr. Rubin was a graduate of Cornell University with a degree in environmental engineering supplemented by a doctorate in law from Cornell's College of Law.  He had previously served as an EPA attorney and had also spent some time at the Department of Justice.  Ken was a far more formal individual, and was a 3-piece suit kind of lawyer.  These two attorneys were a uniquely different pair.

Mr. Blackburn and Mr. Rubin had a wealth of knowledge and didn't always see eye-to-eye on every environmental issue.  It was this difference in viewpoint that made the course so successful.  The members of the class got drawn into the myriad debates over environmental policy and regulatory issues.  Because of the course's relevancy to Corps of Engineers issues, the Army wanted the course delivered more frequently than we could possibly deliver, as we were limited by the availability of these two incredible teachers.

In 1983, we were asked if we could deliver the class in Anchorage, Alaska, at Elmendorf Air Force Base.  It would be a large class of about thirty students.  Some were from the region's Corps of Engineers, but we also had class members from other state and federal agencies -- Forestry, Interior, Transportation and others.  We scheduled the class, got both instructors on contract, and I began preparation.  There were three separate textbooks in the class and we always purchased the most recent editions.  I ordered them and within a few days I had large cartons of heavy "law books" in my office. I called the local post office and was informed that it would take no longer than 5 weeks for the cartons of books to reach Anchorage.  I alerted the mail clerks at Elmendorf to be on the lookout for six boxes addressed to me at their facility and they agreed to hold them for my arrival.  To be extra certain of the books' safe arrival, I allowed two extra weeks for shipping.

My wife Margo decided to join me on the last couple of days of the class.  We thought this represented a great opportunity for a vacation in Alaska.  I would simply extend my rental car for an additional week.  We'd visit Denali Park to witness Mt. McKinley, drive to Paxson to see the Alyeska pipeline, then down to Valdez, where we might get to see the salmon spawning.  We'd take a ferry boat past Glacier Bay to Whittier, than be carried on a railroad flatcar through a series of tunnels to the western side of the Kenai peninsula.  From there, we planned to drive southwest to Homer and Soldatna, after which we'd return to Anchorage to fly home.

A week before the class was to begin, I called the Elmendorf postal facility only to learn that the textbooks had not yet arrived.  I spoke with Ken Rubin and Jim Blackburn and they advised me not to panic.  As a worst-case possibility that the books didn't arrive in time, they said they could wing it.  They had enough case studies memorized that they could teach without the books.

I flew to Anchorage on a Thursday so I could search for the books on Friday in the event they'd been delivered to the wrong destination. They were nowhere to be found; We would be winging it.  Jim and Ken arrived Friday afternoon and we drove out to Elmendorf to check out the classroom and rearrange it to their liking.

The Captain Cook Hotel in Anchorage
Site of the Coincidence

At the time all this was taking place, I was in the final throes of chronic, acute alcoholism.  I was functioning, but my emotional and spiritual state was desperate.  I had not yet admitted that my life was unmanageable, but it certainly was.  Alcohol was not only available in the Captain Cook Hotel, our residence for the week, it was actually free.  All the political parties in the state were having their conventions in Anchorage that week, and they were all resident in my hotel.  And they all had hospitality rooms with free booze!  I could wlk down a hotel corridor and be a liberal Democrat for a while, enjoying a few liberal drinks.  Then, by simply turning a corner, I could become a conservative Republican and imbibe some of their spirits -- all free of charge.  Every lobbying agency was also represented, so there was no shortage of free liquor.  It was the perfect setting for a raving alcoholic.  I drank heavily all weekend.

On Monday, shaky as I was, I arose, had breakfast, and proceeded with Ken and Jim out to the classroom building at Elmendorf.  I remained most of the day, then returned to the hotel, desperate for my next drink.  I was showing some symptoms of withdrawal and sensed that I was in trouble.  After a couple drinks had settled my nerves, I got on my knees in my hotel room and asked God to give me relief from my dependence on alcohol.  I wanted to wake up with no desire for another drink.  He had other plans.

I drank a few drinks Monday evening while dining with Ken and Jim, being cautious not to make a fool of myself.  On Tuesday, I prayed again that I could be sober completely by the time Margo would be arriving on Thursday.  I drank only a couple drinks that evening, again using the excuse that I needed to "calm my nerves."

On Wednesday evening, Ken and Jim had plans to dine with some members of the class.  I decided to dine by myself and went down to one of the five restaurants in this gigantic hotel complex.  The line was long because of the hour and the fact that the hotel was completely full.  After about twenty minutes, I was seated at a table that could accommodate four people.  It was adjacent to another four-person table occupied by a single individual.  I did something I had never done before and have never done since -- I spoke to that individual.  "Pardon me, but in light of the long line of people waiting for a table, would you mind if I joined you for dinner?"  He most graciosly accepted my offer.

The gentleman, whose name I can't recall (if I ever even knew it) was in town on business.  We made small talk throughout dinner.  I'm sure my dinner was accompanied by one or more alcoholic beverages.  As we neared the end of our meal, God's plan began to become more evident.

My new-found friend said, "I hate to be rude, but I need to leave to get to a meeting.  I'm fortunate enough to be part of an organization that has meetings just about everywhere that I go."  I immediately thought that he wasn't talking about Kiwanis or Rotary.  I asked, "Are you by any chance talking about Alcoholics Anonymous?"  He said that he was indeed talking about AA.  I asked if he would take me with him.  I informed him that I was in desperate need of help.

I don't recall much about the meeting.  I think it was at a Unitarian church.  It was in a large meeting room to accommodate the crowd.  There were a substantial number of native Americans -- Eskimo and Aleut -- who held their own meeting while the Anglos had theirs.  It was a spiritually charged gathering.  I had begun to sense that this was way more than a coincidence.

On Thursday, Margo arrived and I was completely dry.  Shaky, but dry.  We went to the class on Friday where sahe got to witness the Moot Court that was the highlight of the Rubin-Blackburn Show.  They had prepared a fictitious case in which an older female member of the case was cast as a villainous gold miner, living on the banks of a pristine Alaskan river, and discharging mercury from her mining operation into the river.  They had chosen the most lovable member of the class to play the villain.  Class members were chosen as jury members and as trial and defense attorneys.  It was a great teaching tool.  The books had never arrived.

Denali in Sunshine

Shortly after class had been dismissed, an individual from the postal facility showed up as we were cleaning up the room.  One of our cartons had arrived.  We decided that Margo and I would come back to Anchorage a day earlier than planned, hoping that all the books would have arrived.  We would repackage the books to ship to the twenty or so locations at which the attendees resided.

Margo and I went on our whirlwind vacation, got to see Denali's peak on a rare sunny day, saw moose and bear in the wild, witnessed salmon spawning in Valdez, saw glaciers calving, and got as far as Homer before returning to Anchorage.  We found that all the cartons had arrived and shipped sets of texts to all the members of this special class.

I still had a few more weeks of addiction to survive, but my life had already begun a transformation.  The guy at the next table, that fellow whose name I do not know, had planted a spiritual seed that continues to grow, thirty-six years later.  We have a saying in AA that I think applies.  "A coincidence is a miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous."

Remembering George Martin...

I worked for the University of Alabama in Huntsville (UAH) from 1980 through early 1984.  My title was Associate Director of Technical Studies in the Division of Continuing Education.  The job was fairly straightforward -- Develop and administer graduate-level training courses for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.

The office next to mine was occupied by another gentleman with the same title.  His name was George Martin, and his job was to develop and administer technical training courses for NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center.  George had retired more than once and worked because he loved technology and enjoyed interacting with people.

There are a few wonderful vignettes about this friend that I was thinking of the other day and that are worth relating here.  They have to do with the National Air Races, John DeLorean, and the Apollo program, in that order.

National Air Races -- There was a picture in George's office of a plane in a steep bank rounding one of the pylons at an air race.  On the ground was a Ford sedan of about 1947 or '48 vintage and two gentlemen looking up at the plane.  I asked George about that picture.  He informed me that shortly after he had earned his engineering degree in the late forties, he taught aeronautics at a technical college in Detroit.  One of his senior classes in aerodynamics decided they'd like to build a plane as part of their practical lab.  George had gotten permission from the administration of the school and guided the students in their project.  The plane, which had twin booms and a wide tail was successful enough that they entered it in the National Air Races, held in the late '40s in Cleveland, which is where the picture was taken.  George brought in some of the design documentation from that class in neat, 3-ring binders (so typical of how George did things).

A few days after we had our conversation about the plane, George informed me that he had called the FAA to inquire about the ultimate fate of the plane.  It turned out the the college where he had overseen its design and construction had sold the plane to an individual in the mid-1950s.  That person had flown it for a few years before they had damaged it in some unpleasant incident.  They had sold the wreckage to someone in Mississippi who currently was its registered owner.  It was being restored!

George promptly contacted the then-current owner and explained his connection to their airplane.  Not long after that George made a weekend excursion to Mississippi, where he presented the owner with his cartons filled with drawings, photographs, correspondence, notes and calculations detailing the birth of their prized possession.  He asked for no payment because that's the kind of guy George was.

John DeLorean -- One day while George and I were working together, there was something in the news about John DeLorean.  He had been charged by the US government with trafficking cocaine following a videotaped sting operation in which he was recorded by undercover federal agents agreeing to bankroll a cocaine smuggling operation.  George surprised me by informing me that he had taught De Lorean's brother while teaching at the same Detroit engineering school where he had built the air racer.  George went on to inform me that he was not at all surprised.

He explained that while he was teaching John's brother, John had gotten in trouble with the law over a "Yellow Pages" scam, in which John was allegedly selling advertising in a non-existent yellow pages listing service and collecting payment from duped merchants.  According to George, DeLorean avoided jail time by making financial restitution to the victims.  Small world.

The Apollo Connection -- George had informed me that while he was a Chrysler employee he had worked on the design of the Saturn V rocket that was the backbone of the Apollo program.  One day we were talking about his contribution and I learned that he was responsible for the stress analysis on the fins that surround the bottom skirt of the Saturn V.  The kind of analysis used to calculate stress is referred to as "finite element analysis," and it typically involves hundreds or thousands of interrelated calculations.  Before the use of computers, it was a tedious repetitive arduous process.

The day after we first broached the subject, George asked me to come into his office.  There on the desk was a stack of three-ring binders about a foot tall.  "There are the stress calculations for one of the Saturn V fins," he informed me.  I looked at page after page of orderly calculations, all meticulously recorded in George's distinctive precise printing.  "I did every calculation and then it had to be verified by two other guys.  This represents about 18 month's work."  You couldn't help but appreciate what a monumental effort the Apollo program had been.

George passed on a few years later.  A lifelong avid fisherman, he was buried with his favorite rod, reel and tackle box.  I've often wondered whatever became of those precious notebooks that represented so much of a man's life.

The Day the Eagle Landed...

The Apollo 11 Astronauts -- Neal Armstrong, Michael Collons, and Buzz Aldrin

There aren't too many days on which I can tell you precisely what I was doing 50 years ago.  Today, on the 50th anniversary of the first moon landing of the Apollo program, I can.

In 1969, I was living with Forrest Frueh and Jim Mouser at 1212 Woodland Drive in Norman, Oklahoma.  I had returned to school to earn an engineering degree and was beginning my senior year.  Forrest and Jim constituted the entire department of business law in the College of Business at the University of Oklahoma.  We had been living under the same roof for a couple of years.

The latest in technology!

The moon landing began to unfold on a Saturday.  The mission had launched a few days earlier on July 16, 1969.  We had watched the launch on a brand new 21" (!) RCA color television that Forrest had purchased for this very special occasion.  We had a TV room with plenty of comfortable seating in what had originally been the master bedroom in the house.

As I recall, we started watching the landing coverage with Walter Cronkite on CBS at around noon on Saturday.  To fully comprehend how slowly things would unfold, you have to recall the complexity of the mission, its equipment, and its procedures.  There was a three-stage Saturn V rocket that launched the whole operation.  Only the third stage made the trip to the moon.  Upon this stage were mounted a command module (CM) with a cabin for the three astronauts, and the only part that returned to Earth; a service module (SM), which supported the command module with propulsion, electrical power, oxygen, and water; and a lunar module (LM) that had two stages – a descent stage for landing on the Moon, and an ascent stage to place the astronauts back into lunar orbit.

The procedure that the astronauts followed on that day is well described on the Space.com Website (I've corrected all times to Central Daylight Time): "Lunar landing operations for the Apollo 11 crew officially began around 8:27 a.m. July 20, when lunar module pilot Buzz Aldrin crawled through a tunnel separating the command module Columbia from the lunar module, Eagle, to power on the lander.  Four hours later, Buzz Aldrin and his commander, Neil Armstrong, stood in Eagle while it separated from Columbia. At the controls of Columbia, command module pilot Michael Collins turned on the ship's engines and moved it away. He watched as Armstrong and Aldrin fired Eagle's engines for the lunar descent. "Everything's going just swimmingly. Beautiful!" Collins said over radio to Mission Control.

But not everything went to plan after that. Eagle's computer experienced several task overloads that tripped program alarms in the spacecraft. Just after 3 p.m., Armstrong looked outside the window and saw the automatic landing system was taking Eagle to a rocky field. He took control of the spacecraft, steering it down to the surface with just seconds of fuel to spare. Apollo 11 was on the moon.

"Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed," he radioed Mission Control at 3:18 p.m.

The main event, the moonwalk, began at 9:39 p.m. when Armstrong opened the hatch of Eagle and backed outside, watched by Aldrin. He carefully moved down the ladder, turning on the TV camera on the way. His first step took place at 9:56 p.m. "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind," he radioed Earth.

Armstrong quickly moved to take samples from nearby Eagle, and Aldrin followed him on to the surface. The moonwalk lasted 2.5 hours, in which time the men picked up several rock samples, deployed science experiments, erected a flag and took a phone call from U.S. President Richard Nixon. Eagle's hatch was closed, astronauts inside, at 12:11 a.m. the next morning."

Buzz Aldrin with U.S. Flag on Moon

The astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin actually slept for several hours after the lunar walk and before the lift off of the ascent module.  I recall that it was some time around noon on Sunday before they left the moon's surface. And all this time, the newscasters had to find subjects to fill their coverage programs.  There were interviews and discussions of the hardware, reviews of the history of the space program -- unending diversions to fill the time until the module would ascend to rejoin Michael Collins in the Command Module for the return to earth.

The astronauts used Eagle's ascent stage to lift off from the lunar surface and rejoin Collins in the command module. There was some concern that the ascent engine might not ignite correctly because Aldrin had bumped a circuit breaker and damaged it earlier, but the ascent engine started as planned.  They jettisoned Eagle before they performed the maneuvers that propelled the ship out of the last of its 30 lunar orbits on a trajectory back to Earth.

The whole world breathed a sigh of relief that they were on their way back home.

It was a unique moment in which the entire nation was united in an immense sense of pride and accomplishment.  A visionary president had laid down a challenge ten years before and we as a nation had accepted and run with it.  There aren't a lot of times in U.S. history that are as unifying.  And this one unified us in a joyous way rather than a shared tragedy.  It was as if every American had a kid on the winning team in a national championship.  What a very special moment it was.

The Rewards of Genealogical Research...

In late February of this year, I posted an article called "Interesting Genealogical Findings..."  In that entry, it was clear that I had learned a fair amount about my great-grandmother, Mary Jane Duffy, who married James L. McLaughlin, my mother's paternal grandfather.  I expressed my frustration at the constantly-changing names that Ms. Duffy used over a period of years as evidenced in this list of references I had compiled:

The main problem I had in February was that I hadn't established her parentage.  My grandmother McLaughlin had informed that her mother-in-law had "come from Malone, N.Y."  Several years ago I had written to the Catholic Church in Malone hoping to locate a baptismal record for Mary Jane Duffy, who probably would have been born around 1850.  That search turned up nothing.

Last weekend I decided to continue looking for some original source material regarding Ms. Duffy.  I turned to a Website called Fulton History, where you can "Search over 47,059,000 Old Newspaper pages from US  & Canada."  I don't recall the exact combination of search criteria I entered but I discovered an article in the social column of a Malone, New York, newspaper from 1922, the year Mary Jane Duffy died.  The text gave me shivers: "Mr. and Mrs. Phillip Duffy, of Elm Street, and Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Duffy, of West Street, and Daughter Gertrude, returned home from Schenectady last night, after attending the funeral of their sister, Mrs James McLaughlin, who died in that city last Saturday.  Mrs. McLaughlin was formerly Miss Jennie Duffy of Malone,  The funeral was held at Whitehall on Monday morning."

The reason I was so excited was that I now had other family members for whom I might search to determine Mary Jane's parents.  I need not go into the gory details, but I'll let this picture tell the story:

By the way, those little green leaves you see on certain boxes are indicators that Ancestry.com has located some possible source material that might help find even more connections.  What fun this is when you break through a brick wall!

And with this breakthrough, I have now identified all my ancestors back 4 generations.  I now know all my great-grandparents and great-great grandparents.  It's interesting that I have an English surname while the majority of my ancestors appear to be Irish and French.

The Price You Pay for Shade Trees...

I have lived in the same house for the last 35 years.  It's not just that I don't like moving.  I like the place.  One reason is the abundance of shade trees.  Our 2 acres of God's green earth is covered with dozens of oak, maple, hickory, dogwood, poplar, cottonwood and sweet gum trees.  We are blessed.  Until they drop stuff or fall over.  Then they are a huge pain in the rear.

Every autumn, as I rake and blow the detritus of another season, I seriously entertain thought of stripping the place and putting up plastic props.  Then spring arrives with the emerging signs of life and I love my trees again.

A couple of weeks ago, another Elder Statesman bit the dust.  I'd been watching him for several years, concerned that he might succumb to a swift breeze and fall on my shop.  I even had a tree man out to give me price to cut it down and he assured me it was not going to fall toward my shop.

When it did blow over, it missed the shop by a scant few feet.  I contacted a fellow who was recommended by an acquaintance, but he had trouble showing up to do the job.  After concluding that he wasn't going to work out, I contacted a neighbor whom I recently learned was a tree removal contractor.  I called him on Thursday.  He came that evening and gave me a price.  It was fair.  The tree is now gone.

The Buick Banjo is Finished!

Today, I finished the banjo that I started to design and build in November 2012 -- nearly 7 years ago.  Better late than never!

What took so long?  Largely, it was distraction with other projects.  And then, there were those pesky navy spoons.  Somewhere, I got the goofy idea of using old navy spoons to make the clamps that put tension on the drum head that produces sound in the banjo.  Normally, these brackets are rather simple:

I had decided to do something a little more fancy that would pay tribute to the years I spent in the U.S. Navy:

I searched eBay for weeks to find my first batch.  They had to be teaspoons, I learned.  Tablespoon handles were much larger.  I learned that there were several patterns of navy silverware.  Then I learned how easily these spoons break when you try to form the hook that goes over the edge of the tension hoop.  Then I miscounted the number of replacement spoons I needed to replace the ones I broke.  Finally, I had to ask my friend Dan Shady to do all the tedious silver soldering that attaches a square nut at exactly the right angle to the back of the spoon.  All this takes time, but mostly, I kept getting distracted by changing priorities.

I bought a tailpiece a few weeks ago that turned out to be junk and wouldn't work on my "Buick" banjo.  Then I ordered a replacement that arrived yesterday.  

I already had acquired a bridge and a set of d'Addario strings.  So today, I was ready to perform the final assembly and set-up.

I installed the tailpiece and made the needed adjustments to get it in exactly the right position.  Then, I installed the third (center) string.  This gave me some tension to hold the bridge in place.  I then had to determine the exact location for the bridge so I would get a perfect octave note when I pressed the string down at the twelfth fret.  Then, I slowly added the other strings.  With each string installation I filed the v-shaped groove in the nut (the bridge near the tuners) until the string clears the first fret by a few thousandths of an inch.  The objective is to have a "low" action for ease of playing without producing a "buzz" when the string is plucked.  After a couple of hours of careful filing and testing on each string, I think I've got it about right.

I'm very happy with the results.  Now, I need to practice in preparation for my trip to West Virginia in October to take Old-time Clawhammer Banjo classes at the Augusta Heritage Center.

A D-Day Connection...

USS Maloy (DE-791)

D-Day, the beginning of Operation Overlord, the invasion of the Normandy coast by some 150,000 allied troops*, took place 75 years ago.  I was 4 years old and don't remember the event.  I'm sure that at the time I had no conception of its importance.

Fast forward to April, 1964, almost twenty years later.  That month, I reported aboard the USS Maloy (DE-791), as its new Engineer Officer.  The Maloy, I was soon to learn, had played an important role in the invasion, acting as a flagship for a PT Boat squadron.  The squadron commander, Commodore Campbell D. Edgar, USN, of Cazenovia, New York, was aboard Maloy for the major portion of the assault on Omaha Beach.  According to a letter written by Maloy sailor Kenneth Surprise to his parents in Lowell, Indiana, "We got off to a good start on D Day by knocking down a JU88 with our guns, and since then we've seen plenty of action!"  While on patrol off the Nazi-held Channel Islands, the Maloy came under the fire of heavy shore guns.  Although the German gunners fired 38 rounds at the vessel, she maneuvered too quickly and the heavy shells splashed harmlessly in the sea nearby.  On another action, Surprise said, his ship went in close to one of the islands and again the shore emplacements opened up on her.

"Their first salvo straddled us, showering shrapnel along our starboard side and hitting some depth charges," he related. "It was close enough for me!"
Later the Maloy stood off St. Malo, France, within sight of the bombing and subsequent surrender of Cezambre, a fortified island which held out long after German forces on the mainland gave up.

"That was some show!" Surprise declared.  It must have been "some show" indeed.  I can't even imagine the sea between England and the Normandy coast covered with over 5,000 vessels!

I became aware of Maloy's involvement because there was a plaque in the passageway aft of the officers mess recognizing Maloy for her D-Day service.  Whenever I walked by that plaque, I reflected on the sacrifices made by thousands of allied citizens during the Normandy invasion.  To this day, I feel an incredible sense of gratitude for their collective courage and devotion.  God bless them all, the living and the deceased.

* According to Wikipedia, "The total number of troops landed on D-Day was around 130,000 –156,000, roughly half American and the other half from the Commonwealth Realms."

Memorial Day, 2019...

Midshipman Richard W. Vaughn - 1967

On this Memorial Day, my thoughts are of all the young people I served with who made the ultimate sacrifice for our great country. One was a young man named Richard Vaughn, whom I taught at the University of Oklahoma in 1965 and 1966. He was from San Luis Obispo, California. He had received a NROTC scholarship, elected to attend OU, and rose to the position of Midshipman Battalion Commander, the top position a Midshipman can attain within the organization.  Richard had selected the Marine Corps option at the end of his sophomore year and had subsequently trained for a Marine Corps commission under the able teaching of Marine Lt. Col. Tullis Woodham and Gunnery Sergeant William Bingaman. 2nd Lieutenant Vaughn was the epitome of a young marine officer -- handsome, physically fit, and exuding the "command presence" that we tried to develop in all our young officer candidates. When he was commissioned in June of 1967, he looked like a recruiting poster for the Marine Corps -- fit, energetic, proud in his brand new dress blues.   

After completing his Officer's Basic School at Quantico, on October 11, he proceeded to the 1st Battalion, Ninth Marines and his tour of duty as an infantry officer in Viet Nam. On December 6, less than two months into his tour, a Viet Cong rocket or mortar ended his life. He was buried with full military honors in the Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Bruno, California, surrounded by other heroes. Richard's death epitomizes the the huge loss that the country suffers when our best and brightest are taken at a young age. He clearly was destined to do great things had he lived. The year after Richard's death, his mother established a memorial award to be perpetuated at OU. Each year, the outstanding Marine Officer Candidate would be presented with his or her highly prized Mameluke Sword in Lt. Vaughn's memory.   

Let's never forget to honor his memory, and that of so many others who gave us all their most precious gift.

The Mighty "Big Boy" Rolls Again Under Steam Power!

Almost exactly five years ago, I published a post entitled "An Important Event for Railroad Fans..."  In it, I described a gigantic locomotive, the Union Pacific "Big Boy" that was manufactured in the 1940's by the American Locomotive Company (ALCO) in my home town.  In fact, I just measured it on Google Maps and my home was just 1.2 miles from the birthplace of these giant machines.

ALCO built a total of 25 of the so-called 4000-series locomotives (numbered from 4000 through 4024).  They last saw service in July, 1959.  But the current Union Pacific management has a sense of history.  They have a "Legacy Operations" organization that collects and restores rolling stock and locomotives that defined the railroad.  This is the group that undertook the massive job of restoring engine 4014 during the last five years.  They had hauled it from Pomona, California to Cheyenne, Wyoming after bartering with some lesser locomotives to get it back from a museum operation.

Five years of effort have paid off handsomely.  This weekend, 4014 took to the rails again under its own power for the first time in nearly 60 years.  Accompanied by Union Pacific Challenger Number 844, the two mighty machines are headed for Ogden, Utah, where they will participate in the celebration honoring the 150th anniversary of the completion of the transcontinental railroad.

It's been fun following the train on Facebook pages devoted to its memory, the memory of the individual locomotives, or the event in Ogden.  YouTube is flooded with great videos of the two giants as they roll toward their celebratory goal.  And I'm damn proud of what my home town was capable of producing in its heyday!

My heartfelt thanks go out to the management of the Union Pacific for supporting this effort and the men and women who labored so hard to see it succeed.

Charlie and Brenda Part 3: Recovery and Undying Love

Charlie and Brenda Stroud

Within the last few weeks I've written about my recently departed friends Charlie and Brenda Stroud.  In my first post, I discussed how I got to know Charlie and the love of his life, Brenda.  My second post dealt with the years that Charlie and his family competed successfully in the Great American Race -- a rally for vintage automobiles.  Now, it's time to describe the years after Charlie suffered his brain aneurysm in June of 2003.

For several weeks after Charlie was stricken, he and Brenda remained in Livonia, Michigan, where Charlie was hospitalized.  He underwent several surgical procedures to relieve pressure and stop the bleeding in his brain.  His condition was slowly improving, but he was unconscious for days at a time.  Eventually, he and Brenda returned to Huntsville, where he entered a HealthSouth rehabilitation facility.  That's where I first saw him after his attack.  It was a shock to see him.  He only occasionally knew who I was when I visited.  The robust and vigorous Charlie Stroud was now a frail, aged shell of a man.  He was terribly feeble and often incoherent.  I, quite frankly, did not think he would make it.  My friend Charlie was no longer the man I knew.

But Brenda knew better.  She never gave the slightest impression of losing hope.  Every time I visited Charlie in rehab, Brenda was by his side, usually holding and massaging his frail hand.  She often had to assist in feeding him.  And he must have gotten good care, because it wasn't too many weeks before Charlie Stroud began to respond.  He started walking up and down the rehab facility corridors.  His speech became recognizable.  He began recognizing old friends and their names.  And within a few months, Charlie was released to go home with frequent visits to facilities for physical therapy and other medical/psychological services.  Brenda was his primary and always caregiver.  She took on the assignment with a vengeance.

Soon, Charlie was involved in a Pilates class for his physical development.  Brenda brought home a karaoke system.  She and Charlie would sing together for hours at a time, regardless of how it sounded, simply to develop his mental and vocal skills.  They danced and went for walks.  Brenda took him everywhere so he could redevelop social skills.  It was in a lot of ways as if she was raising a child.  And Charlie responded to the love and to all the activities.

Charlie and Brenda, in foreground, enjoying the music
of Microwave Dave and the Nukes

In November, 2009, Charlie and Brenda came to our home for a day of celebration.  Mary Ann's gift shop, "Ebabe's Gifts," had been open for a full year.  We had food, outdoor music by Microwave Dave and the Nukes, a local blues band, and lots of activity in the gift shop.  I couldn't help noticing how healthy Charlie looked and what a good time he seemed to have.  However, even on his best days, Charlie had almost childlike behavior patterns.  On this particular day, I had left my workshop open.  At one point, I noticed that Charlie had wandered off and saw him walking toward my workshop.  When I went in to see what he was up to, he had started my drill press, found a piece of scrap lumber, and was drilling a series of holes along the edge of the wood.  "Watcha doin' Charlie?" I asked.  "Drilling holes," was the reply.  Nothing could be simpler.  He stood and drilled holes for ten minutes, one after another, in several pieces of scrap wood.  When he got bored with this activity, he shut off the drill press and went back to the music of Microwave Dave.

Charlie, Brenda, and family celebrating Charlie's 90th birthday

We saw Brenda and Charlie infrequently over the last few years.  We had dinner at their home a couple times and had them up to our home a couple of times.  Brenda was Charlie's Angel, always watching and protecting him, sometimes from himself.  Their mutual love was radiant.

Then one day, I heard from a friend that Brenda had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  What a shock!  This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen.  She was much younger and should survive Charlie, but now it seemed she would be the first to leave us.  And so she did in May of 2018.  It was a sad time, but one in which we could rejoice that she and Charlie had enjoyed so many happy years together.

I learned at the time of Brenda's passing that Charlie was going to live with family members in Texas.  I knew little more.  Now that he has gone to be with his beloved partner, we know that Charlie was bathed in love by his family in his twilight months.  Bye, Charlie.  We'll meet on the other side.  I wonder if they have cigars over there...