The Saga of the Lincoln Diesel...

A Lincoln Continental of the same body style as my diesel

The 1995 Mead Christmas letter included the following: "The highlight of the year was our trip in July.  After many years of studying Hemmings Motor News Bob found a long sought-after car-- a 1984 Lincoln Continental with a BMW diesel engine.  Of course, it wasn’t in a nearby state; it was in Minnesota (but spent its winters in Arizona).  We figured that Minnesota wasn’t too far out of our way as we had planned to attend the Lincoln Zephyr Owners Club meeting in Dearborn, Michigan, to help celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Lincoln Motor Car.  So off we went with stops in Chicago to see Margo’s cousins, on to pick up the car and a quick visit with the Weatherlys in St. Paul, and (driving two cars with portable CB’s), across Wisconsin to Michigan."

The car that motivated that trip is an interesting subchapter in American automotive history.  It starts at BMW in the early 1980's.  They had developed the 528 series which had been quite successful.  Management decided they needed to add a diesel option to the 500 series lineup.  BMW's normal practice at the time was to design their engines but often to "farm out" production to other firms who had the capacity and were willing to meet BMW's rigorous production standards.  One such firm that produced lots of BMW engines is Steyr-Daimler-Puch.  Because of a lack of design capacity at the time, BMW made a deal in which Steyr-Daimler-Puch would both design and manufacture the new diesel engine.  By the terms of the agreement, they would also have the right to market the engine to other customers.  The result of this venture became the BMW 524td turbo diesel automobile.  It displaced only 2.4 liters as opposed to the gasoline counterpart's displacement of 2.8 liters because it required additional capacity in the cooling jackets and BMW had specified the outer envelope as being no larger than the gasoline engine.  The addition of the turbocharger was intended to boost the horsepower of the diesel.  It turned out to be a decent engine from what I have read, with the possible exception of a camshaft that suffered premature wear.

In the same time period, the good folks at the Lincoln Motor Division of Ford concluded that there was a substantial market for a diesel-powered luxury American vehicle, particularly in middle-eastern countries.  They were redesigning the Lincoln and Continental series, so why not make a diesel option available?  As they searched around the world for possible existing diesel options, they realized that the 524td engine would work because of the deal BMW had made with Steyr-Daimler-Puch!  Ultimately, this led to the 1983 option of a diesel-powered Mark VII or Lincoln Continental sedan.  They never really sold very well.   I have read that fewer than 400 units ever left the dealers' showrooms.  The marketing experts had it all wrong.

The Lincoln diesel, based on the BMW 524TD

I was aware that these cars existed and became fascinated with the idea of a large, comfortable American car that would get over thirty miles to the gallon.  I commute twenty five miles each way to work.  This option might provide a nice way to commute.  And so the search began.

After several months of searching in Hemmings Motor News and on eBay, I finally located a car that belonged to a gentleman in Minnesota but had spent all its winters in Arizona.  We negotiated a deal over the phone and that triggered the trip to Minnesota described in the Christmas letter.

The car was interesting.  It was very comfortable but grossly underpowered.  The Diesel engine had been mated to a German ZF automatic transmission, the same as used in the BMW 524td.  The 114 horsepower engine was trying to move a 3,700 pound car.  From 0 to 60 miles per hour took about 13 seconds and left a smoke screen.   It was a fine road cruiser but not much else.  I commuted in mine for about three years without incident.  Then, one day at work, a friend stuck his head in to my office and said, "I love your low rider."  It seems that the air suspension had collapsed!  My car sat very low over the wheels.

I drove the car home that day and researched the cost of rebuilding the air suspension.  The dealers didn't know much about the system, so I ended up buying the replacement bladders and replacing both front and rear units.  Still no luck.  The culprit was the pump and modulator valve assembly.  These were no longer available anywhere, so I left the car where it was parked, next to the house. (Today, there are conversion kits available to convert these cars to conventional springs.  Those kits didn't exist at the time.)

Fast forward a few years.  One day, Mary Ann asks, "What are we going to do with the blue car?"  A reasonable enough question regarding my driveway sculpture.  We decide to list it on eBay, and I am privately thinking that maybe we can get $100 for it and get it removed.  My ad is quite explicit with lots of pictures.  "This car is inoperable, has not been run in years, needs tires and a battery, has new air bladders but they can't be inflated, BRING A TRAILER, etc."  The bidding quickly goes past $100 - $200 - $300 and the car sells for $1,300!  The buyer calls and wants to come right away to pick it up and we make arrangements.  He and his wife drive from Oklahoma in a van and show up the next day.  Without a trailer.  He explains that he is an expert on these cars, owns three others, and that he'll have it running and out of there in no time.  He explains that he has a lot of parts with him.  I get my payment, but I'm not convinced that we haven't adopted a couple of Oklahomans.

That evening, I took Mary Ann out to dinner, and when we came home I saw something unbelievable.  The Lincoln was at its correct level, up off the axles, and it had moved!  That meant it had been running.  The van was gone, as the new owner and his wife had gone to dinner.  We heard them arrive back in the yard a little while later.  About 10:00 PM, I went out to see if they wanted to use our bathroom or if they needed anything.  They and the car were gone!  Poof!

For the next several days, I tried to call the buyer at his home in Oklahoma.  There was no response.  I pictured a wreck somewhere in the Ozarks with the car going over a cliff or exploding in flame.  Finally, about two weeks after his mysterious disappearance, the new owner called.  He couldn't be happier.  The car was running so well when they left that they decided to visit some in-laws in Arkansas and go fishing for a few days.  He said the car exceeded his expectations in every way.  And I and Mary Ann were ecstatic that the driveway sculpture had a fine new home. 

A Lesson in the Value of Silence...

Wilhelm Angele at the telescope of the Von Braun Astronomical Society
Photograph courtesy of The Huntsville Times." (Dooling)

On September 1st, 1996, an obituary notice in the New York Times was titled "Wilhelm Angele, 91, Engineer in Space Program."  The notice went on to describe, "Wilhelm Angele, a member of the team of scientists who began the American rocket program in the 1950's and whose last contribution will help test parts of Einstein's general theory of relativity in a project scheduled for the year 2002, died on Aug. 22 in a hospital in Richmond. Mr. Angele, who was 91, formerly lived in Huntsville, Ala., where he worked at the George C. Marshall Space Flight Center."

Mr. Angele and I became acquainted in 1978, shortly after Margo and I had married and moved to Huntsville.  It had to do with my long-standing interest in astronomy and telescopes.  Not long after we moved to the Rocket City, I became aware of the Von Braun Astronomical Society (VBAS), an energetic local organization of astronomy devotees.  They maintained (and still do) a very nice observatory with a high-quality 16-inch diameter reflecting telescope on top of Monte Sano Mountain which borders Huntsville.  There could be no doubt -- I needed to become a member and gain access to this telescope.

In 1955, when the VBAS was in its infancy, Mr. Angele served as the committee chairman for observatory construction.  That beautiful facility with its fine optics were Wilhelm Angele's babies!  When I joined the club and showed an interest in using those fine optics, I was told that I first had to complete a training program administered by Mr. A.  No one was permitted to touch the telescope until they had been trained, examined, and certified by the builder himself.  My recollection is that it involved four or five 1-hour evening sessions at the observatory.  I signed up for the training.

At the time this was taking place, I was a regular consumer of alcoholic beverages.  I would come home from work in the evening and have at least a couple of highballs before doing any of my evening activities.  So invariably, I would have had a couple of drinks before I drove up the Bankhead Parkway to attend my class with Mr. Angele.  Because I didn't want everyone in the confined space to know I'd been drinking, I'd usually stand off to myself and seldom speak.  I was the quiet guy over in the corner of the observatory.

There were only around 7 or 8 people in the group being trained, and we would ascend up a ladder through a hatch to enter the telescope space.  I recall that we alternated entering the upper space and remaining in the larger, lower space because we couldn't all fit in the observatory at one time.  Among the group were a couple of teenage boys, probably 15 or 16 years old, who were constantly talking and distracting those who were trying to hear the teacher.  Several times, Mr. Angele had chastised them to little avail.  On the last evening of our instruction, after the entire group had descended from the telecope chamber, Mr. Angele had had it with these two.  He said he had decided to grant users' cards to everyone in the class except for the two young men.  He chastised them for not listening and for interrupting him constantly.  And then he said, "Why can't you be more like Mr. Mead, always listening and only asking intelligent questions?"  (I had barely opened my mouth, let alone asked any intelligent questions.)

I got my telescope user's permit that night, but I learned an even more valuable lesson -- keeping your mouth shut may give people the impression that you know what's going on!  Who would have known?

By the way, having "the card" wasn't all that I thought it might be.  You had to reserve the use of the telescope and it was booked up several months in advance.  I reserved an evening in October and when the night arrived it was pouring rain.  I did the same for a March evening and it was completely overcast.  I never got to use the scope before we moved away from Huntsville.

A Boy Scout Reminder...

In February, 2010, I posted a blog entry entitled "Happy Birthday, Boy Scouts of America."  I described my experiences with Boy Scout Troop 72 in Schenectady, New York.  Recently, I ran across this newspaper article from the Schenectady Gazette, dated March 23, 1950:

Robert Demarest Wins X-Country Ski Race Held at, Indian Ladder

Robert Demarest rolled in first in a cross-country ski race in which members of Boy Scout Troop 72 participated at Indian Ladder Sunday.  John Tyminski copped second place while Wayne Spaulding placed third.  Members of the troop, sponsored by St. John the Evangelist Church, hiked to Indian Ladder under the leadership of Scoutmaster Ray Rokovich. Carl Schaefer, adviser to Post 72, and District Commissioner Robert Egan.

Boys on the hike were Walter and Arnold Kastarmayer. Robert and Richard Curtis, Robert and Thomas Demarest, Peter Schaefer, David Wagner, Jack Paulson, Edward Douglas, Stephen Spink, Thomas Vetter, William Mead, James Murray, James Dunn, James Earley, Daniel Ryan, James Doxsee, Spaulding and Tyminski.  Twenty-five members of the troop heard an illustrated talk on conservation recently by Ellis Edgar, local photographer, who showed films on the Adirondacks and other state-owned lands.

Jack McGowan, chairman of the troop committee, presided at the session. 

This took place almost a year before I joined the scouts.  My brother Bill was there but I was too young to join.  I surely couldn't have come up with all those names, but it does bring back some warm memories of many good times after I joined Troop 72.

Cuban Adventure...

Guantanamo Bay

I have seen the news today about the opening of the American embassy in Havana after some 50 years of cold-shoulder relations fostered by the Cold War.  I looked back at my previous posts on this blog and realized that I never had posted anything about my involvement in the Cuban missile crisis.  There’s no time like the present.

In early October, 1962, I was serving on the USS Hugh Purvis (DD-709), a World War II-vintage Sumner class destroyer, home based in Newport, Rhode Island.  We were part of Destroyer Development Group 2, a research-oriented organization focused on the development and testing of new naval technology.  We engaged often in supporting the naval research organizations in the testing of munitions, torpedoes, anti-submarine warfare devices, and other hardware.  We also engaged in the “normal” activities of a cold-war naval vessel – training, gunfire exercises, engineering casualty drills, and group maneuvers and exercises.  We lived in two worlds.

I was a junior officer interested in applying to submarine school, and my sub school physical had been scheduled for 23 October, at a location on Gould Island in Newport Harbor at which the navy had a hyperbaric chamber.  This kind of facility was necessary to test a candidate’s ability to equalize the pressure on ones ears as a submarine would descend or ascend.  The only access to the island was a shuttle boat that ran from the navy base on a regular schedule..

In the days leading up to October 22, it was clear that something big was happening.  Lots of ships got underway.  The Purvis was among the last ships left in port.  Rumors abounded.  On the 22^nd, I had the duty, along with my colleague, Lt. Louis Grassini.  We watched President Kennedy’s speech on the wardroom TV.  The president notified Americans about the presence of Soviet missiles in Cuba, explained his decision to enact a naval blockade around the island of Cuba, and made it clear the U.S. was prepared to use military force if necessary to neutralize this perceived threat to national security.  We now understood why Newport looked like no man’s land.

I asked the executive officer if I should proceed with my physical the next morning and was assured that we were not going to get underway, that we were being held back for some important research, and that I should proceed to Gould Island as planned.  I did so, but when I returned to the ship around noon, I realized that we had lit off boilers, that our mooring lines had been “singled-up,” and that the ship's crew was busily taking on stores.  By 1:30, we were underway for Cuba.

Our role, once we arrived in Cuba on 26 October, was to serve as a gunfire support ship for the US Marines who were spread out along the fence line to defend the base in the event of an attack.  There were four destroyers deployed to cover three gunfire positions.  We would patrol along the shore of Leeward Point or along Windward Point, or in the Bay itself.  On the fourth day, we would tie up to a pier to replenish supplies and fuel.  We did this for a several days until the situation was resolved.  The Soviets agreed to dismantle the Cuban missiles in return for the US agreement to not invade Cuba.

There are a few items I recall from that time:

Komar-class torpedo/missile boat

1.       The Navy Exchange had thrived on selling cut gemstones to crews of ships which used Gitmo as a training center.  Every ship leaving overhaul on the east coast proceeded to Guantanamo for “Refresher Training.”  The exchange had an enormous supply of quality gemstones that they didn’t want the Cubans to get if they were to take over the base (When we first arrived, there was a real concern that open warfare was about to take place.  The Cubans had amassed a large army surrounding the base.).  Suddenly, the exchange was selling gemstones at enormous discounts.  I, as an Ensign, earning $222.50 per month, had no money to spare on such items.  Many of the senior crew members and officers took advantage of the situation.
2.       When we were in the bay, we could see the tips of Soviet surface-to-surface missiles sticking out among the trees on the mountainsides surrounding the base.  It was apparent the if something broke loose, our ship would be a sitting duck for the rocketeers.
3.      When we were on the patrols off of Windward and Leeward Points, it was common to be harassed by Soviet-built Komar-class torpedo/missile boats that were now part of the Cuban navy.  We were not permitted to fire first, so we had no choice but to watch these fast craft approach, first by radar, then visually.  They sometimes came in two’s or three’s.  They would approach at high speed, then make a hard turn within a few yards of our beam, and then disappear in the direction where they had started.  It was nerve racking, not knowing their intentions.
4.       When we were alongside the replenishment pier, it was common for the off-duty officers to head for the Officers Club.  We were required to carry side arms while off the ship, so we’d be issued a holster with a .45-caliber automatic and several clips as we crossed the quarterdeck.  But when we arrived at the O-Club, the management wisely felt that we should surrender our weapons before imbibing.  So we handed our holsters and pistols to a little Cuban lady who ran the cigar stand at the club’s entrance.  When we left the club, because most of us had overindulged, the guns would be given to the driver of the truck that returned us to our ship.  I always was amused that we were voluntarily handing our weapons to a Cuban citizen for “safekeeping.”  At the club, all drinks were $0.10.  That’s right.  A dime a drink.  Movies were free.  Dinner could be had for less than $5.00.  It was Ensign’s paradise except that there were absolutely no women in sight except for the Cuban cigar lady.
5.       There was a real concern about Cuban “frogmen” because of a training facility not far from the base where the Cubans allegedly trained their underwater demolition teams.  As a result, I was required to wear a belt of impact grenades and spend a good part of all night watches patrolling the main deck looking for frogmen in the water when we were in the bay.  We had bright lights rigged to illuminate the water around the ship in hopes of spotting any such swimmers.  None showed up.
6.       For reasons I never understood, some of the ships participating in the blockade and related activities received the Navy Expeditionary Medal.  Others did not.  The Purvis was one of the fortunate ships whose crew got to wear this medal.

      7.       The ship ran out of cigarettes.  The ship's store hadn't had time to fully replenish their stock while in Newport.  The crew was rolling their own really crude cigarettes using the paper from the plotters in the Combat Information Center and pipe tobacco.  It's amazing that no one died of asphyxiation!  

I look back on this incident and reflect on how naïve I was as a young Ensign.  At the time, I don’t think I fully comprehended the gravity of the larger situation.

The Ellises of Jay Street...

The Ellis Building, on the right, at the intersection of State Street
and Erie Boulevard, in Schenectady, around 1968

I recently published a blog post about Alan and Corinne Luke, two friends of my parents.  It has triggered memories of several other couples with whom my parents socialized -- what we today might refer to as "hung out with."  One of these couples was Bill and Eleanor Ellis.  A search for Bill (or William D.) Ellis in Schenectady, New York, yields very little.  What does show up are a number of newspaper articles describing golf tournaments in which he (Uncle Bill to the Mead children) was either an official or a participant.  A search for Eleanor Ellis in Schenectady results in the same findings.  And indeed, my memory of the Ellises is that they were people of liesure.  They lived in a beautiful building on Jay Street, near the main Post Office in our fair city.  I believe it was the apartment building now at 49 Jay Street.  The numbers in the addresses may have changed since the 1950's, when I last visited the Ellises.  I don't believe they had any children, and as a result they really showed their affection for the Mead kids whenever we visited them, which was fairly often.

49 Jay Street

One measure of how close my parents were to their acquaintances was whether the friends got invited to Lake George in the summer when my folks rented a cabin on Basin Bay.  The Ellises were there every year, which tells me they must have been close friends.  I once asked my father if Uncle Bill Ellis worked and was told that he maintained his rental properties, one of which was the "Ellis Building" at the northeast corner of the main intersection in town -- Erie Boulevard and State Street.  Apparently the Ellis Building was a source of drama in the 1970s.

According to information on Schenectady's digital archive site, "The Ellis Building was built around the time that the Erie Canal was dug through that part of the city in 1825 and was considered to be one of the last surviving buildings from the Canal era. From the beginning, public sentiment was against the proposal. One local attorney who opposed the demolition of the buildings argued that it would "increase the size of the hole on our main street," and pointed out that the buildings "form a façade that gives our main street the appearance of a street rather than wasteland."   The proposal in question was to demolish several older building to create downtown parking along both Erie Boulevard and State Street.  The discussion continues, "By 1974, the city's Urban Renewal Agency [URA] had taken title to the Ellis building and was now insisting that these buildings make way not for a parking lot, but a "modern office building or a shopping complex."  But the city still felt that it would need the Bucci building to create a parcel that would be large enough to entice developers. The owner of the building, Earl Bucci, fought the city for years to prevent them from taking his property through eminent domain. The sentiment of the of the city was expressed by Councilman Ray Vacca who said, "Fight them" which was followed by Councilman Charles Seber who suggested that the city should "Demolish the building and let them take us to court." Councilman Erwin Shapiro thought that even though the building had three tenants, it looked bad and that "a vacant lot would look a lot better."  A number of residents continued to fight to keep the historic Ellis building and sent in an application to have it listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Wayne Harvey, vice chairman of the Schenectady Bicentennial Commission pointed out the irony of a city being nominated as a National Bicentennial Community while seeking to tear down so many buildings that were linked closely to the city's history. He said visitors could be taken to the site of the old train station or the Ellis Building to view the plaques and the pictures of what was once there and the city could say, "Isn't the plaque interesting?" or "Are not the pictures great?" The visitor would then be told by the city, "We had the building but we tore it down."  But the city council remained determined to get rid of these buildings. One exception was Councilman David Roberts who thought that the city should at least have a proposal for redeveloping the properties before rushing to demolish them. Later he stated that he had "been 'besieged' by phone calls from residents all urging preservation of the building."  But after owning the building for a number of years and allowing it to deteriorate further, the city stated that they just didn't have the money to sustain the building. After years of protests (and urging) from residents to save the building, Councilman Erwin Shapiro admonished the "anti-demolitionists for 'doing a great injustice to the city. When you let the city spend a great deal of money to buy the building knowing that it was to be demolished, you've done a great disservice to the majority of the city taxpayers, you should have come forth earlier.'"

Demolition of the building

The demolition contractor chose the first day of Spring in 1975 to begin the job. On the following day the Schenectady Gazette featured a picture of the Ellis Building being torn down with the caption titled: "Super Spring Cleaning." However, Earl Bucci continued to fight the city's attempts to take over his property, eventually taking it to the state's highest court.  By 1976 the city was insisting that they needed both sites to attract a developer.  The new plan: A rail transportation center with a 900 car parking garage. Soon after the city found a developer, the firm was indicted for fraud by the county, although the charges were later dropped. In the end, Bucci lost his court fight and the city started demolition in August 1978. Unfortunately the city was never able to interest a reputable developer in the site. Later modest landscaping improvements were added — despite the mayor's protests; in the end the buildings were sacrificed for fewer than fifteen parking spaces. Plans being drawn up now would place an office building on the site as part of the new Western Gateway Transportation Center."

A parking lot now resides on the site of the "Ellis Building"

Uncle Bill had inherited his wealth from an uncle, William D. Ellis, his namesake, who was the last President of the Schenectady Locomotive Works before it became the backbone of the American Locomotive Works in 1901.  That uncle left an estate of over $2 million in the early years of the twentieth century.

Unfortunately, Uncle Bill had a tragic dark side.  He was an alcoholic who struggled with his addiction throughout his adult life.  Sometimes when we would visit Aunt Eleanor in her apartment on Jay Street, Uncle Bill would be gone.  He had gone to a "farm" to be "dried out," and she was more than willing to share that with our family.  As was common in those days, an alcoholic could go through life with periodic episodes of sobriety, punctuated by binges and periods of detoxification.  All my recollections of Uncle Bill are of that pattern.  I never heard of his finding long-term recovery.  He passed away in 1980, so obviously he had lived through all the drama of "his" building's demolition.

Aunt Eleanor died in 1992.  In the Schenectady Gazette for March 10, 1992, was the following:
"A private service will be held for Mrs. Eleanor Rice Ellis, 84, formerly of Balltown Rd., who died Sunday at St. Clare's Hospital after a long illness.  Born in Chicago, Illinois, Mrs. Ellis lived in Schenectady most of her life.  She was a former member of the Mohawk Golf Club.  Her husband, William D. Ellis, died in 1980.  Survivors include a nephew, Robert J. Raab, of Chicago.

Burial will be in Vale Cemetery.  There will be no calling hours.  Arrangements are by Daly Funeral Home, 242 McClellan Street."  Rest in peace, my beloved "non-relatives."  I often wonder how your path crossed that of my parents.

The Cardboard Fort...

H.S.Barney Co. in 1937

In my home town of Schenectady, New York, there were three substantial department stores -- The Carl Company, Wallace's Department Store, and the H.S. Barney Company.  This was in the 1940's.  There was full employment because of war production at both ALCO and General Electric.  All three stores had thriving toy departments, but the best of the three was Barney's.  Toys were on the fourth floor.  And Miss Mayer, the department manager, always ordered the right stuff.  We, the Mead children, loved to go visit Miss Mayer.

A similar cardboard fort

My brother Bill was about 6 years old when he saw the CARDBOARD FORT at the Barney's toy department.  It was close to Christmas.  He hinted to my parents about how much he needed that fort, but he couldn't be positive that they understood its importance.  Then he had his stroke of genius.  He'd buy the fort and give it to my mother for Christmas.  She wouldn't have the time to play with a fort.  She'd most certainly give it back to Bill with her thanks for such a lovely gift.  And thus was born the Mead Family Tradition of the CARDBOARD FORT.

Whenever someone in the family wanted something special for some occasion, we'd simply buy it for another family member.  They would express delight over their "cardboard fort!"

I had shared this story with Mary Ann not long ago.  Today, Lo and Behold, I received a cardboard fort from Goldie, my Golden Retriever, as a Father's Day gift!  I opened a large bag and retrieved a gun that launches tennis balls, then a bag of tennis balls, then a chew toy, then another, and then some smoked chew bones, and a large ball with a rope strung through it, and then some Greenie teeth cleaning snacks!  Just what I had hoped for -- my very own cardboard fort!

One really cool gift I received is a "Selfie Stick."  Here's a picture of my cardboard fort loot taken with the stick...

The Lukes

703 Union St. in Schenectady -- The last residence of the Luke family

One of the questions that I find myself asking over the years is how my parents and some of their friends initially met.  One couple with whom they were quite close were Alan and Corinne Luke, and I have never known how the Lukes and Meads became acquainted.  Alan in particular had a significant influence on my brother, as he had attended and played football at the Naval Academy, had served in the navy during World War II, and introduced both my brother Bill and me to the Naval ROTC scholarship program.  We both applied for and were awarded Navy scholarships due to "Uncle" Alan's influence.

My recollection is that the Lukes had two children, a daughter, Helen, who passed away at a rather young age, and a son, whose name I believe was Richard.  Alan had left the Naval Academy because he had become convinced that the Washington Arms Conference had pretty much eliminated the possibility of future naval wars.  He had somehow associated with the Reporter Press, a legal printing firm located in Walton, New York, and was a very successful sales representative.  He was extremely personable and never met a stranger.

Both Alan and Corinne were active in animal protective organizations.  For several years, they both served as honorary directors of Animal Protective Services of Schenectady, Inc.  All the time I remember visiting them, they had standard poodles -- first a black male named "Java," and later one of Java's offspring, another male named "Javert." (Named for the police inspector in Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, who becomes, over the course of the novel, obsessively concerned with the pursuit and punishment of the escaped convict Jean Valjean.)

Uncle Alan was an individual whom I would describe as a "binge student."  He would develop an interest in some narrow subject and obsessively study it for months.  Some of these topics included the British Royal Family and the Civil War.  I recall him and my sister Ann discussing the finer points of the Royal Family for hours.  His interest in the Civil War led to a months-long trek during which he toured dozens of historic sites and battlefields with Aunt Corinne during the Civil War centennial years 1961-65.  When I was in college at Rochester, I always looked forward to visiting the Lukes when I would return home.  I could always count on a scintillating conversation, tips on good books to read, insight into current events, and a few stout beverages.

Uncle Alan had a superb sense of humor and loved practical jokes.  He and my mother incessantly played jokes on each other.  He even trained the dogs (He called them "the boys.") to participate in some of his antics.  On one occasion, during a cocktail party with some of Corinne's most distinguished friends, Javert descended the stairs with a bra in his muzzle.  We all knew who trained him in this "retrieval."  Once, when I was visiting, Uncle Alan dropped a bottle of gin, which smashed on the tile floor.  Without hesitation, he said, "Quick, Corinne, bring the vermouth!"

There is an ultimate cosmic connection with regard to the Lukes.  Corinne passed away in 1972.  Many times in this blog, I have mentioned the Gardners, "Pink" and Eleanor, who were another couple in my parents' social circle.   Uncle Pink had passed away in 1969.  As fate would have it, Alan Luke eventually started dating Eleanor Gardner.  They married a couple of years later.  Alan died of cancer in 1976.  I visited Eleanor in about 1984.  She shared a lovely thought.  She said, "I'm a very lucky woman, Bob.  I had the privilege of being married to two of the most wonderful men who ever lived."