Personal Snippets 2 of 4

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In 1962, Sweetie and I attended a TV program in Los Angeles, hosted by Tom Duggan, who Emmy remembered as a TV personality when she lived near Chicago. We shook hands with a guest of that program, former Vice President Richard Nixon, as he ran for Governor of Calif.
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In 1956 to the hospital with infectious mononucleosis, rested a few weeks, that was the end of that, or not. After 45 years I was playing tennis 3 or 4 days a week, and taking long walks. One day I played 4 sets of tennis, next day I couldn’t walk to my car. A long stupid story made short: They now call it “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.” The connection is, I felt the same as when I had “Mono,” and doctors told me that it was possible the “bug” hid away, and reappeared years later. I had that for two weeks, played tennis again; a few months later; then a few months later; then a year later it came again and never left. Now I don’t know if I have eightyitis, fatigue syndrome, or nurseyitis, from taking care of my Sweetie for 9 years. I wish I could still do that last part. (2003)
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In 1957 we bought a Red 1955 Chevy station wagon with automatic transmission, power steering and brakes, and power windows, and took an 8,000 mile three-week trip to visit friends and family in Dallas, Chicago, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and on to Washington DC. On the way home we stopped to see Mt. Rushmore and Yellowstone park. (well, we did spend three or four hours there!). A number of nights we slept in the station wagon. Ronnie on the front seat, and Linda at our feet in back. The motel in Las Vegas cost $16, and Emmy was horrified at the exorbitant cost!
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In 1961 my sister Esther and family were having health and other problems in Chicago, so we helped them move to California. They lived with us for a few months until we were able to help them buy, and get settled in their own home. We put double-deck bunk beds in Linda’s room for Nancy and John, Gus and Esther slept in Ronnie’s room, and Ronnie slept on the living room couch. It became a nightly ordeal to see how long any of us could sit and watch the TV, without making a move. You see, the first one to move very much, was then requested by the others, “While you’re up, just get me a glass of water — get me a dish of ice cream, get me this or get me that … !”
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In 1966 Linda entered Jr. high school, Emmy got a secretarial job, so if ever necessary to work, it wouldn’t have been so long since her last experience. That job, in 1953, was at the B-36 bomber plant, Convair, Corp., Fort Worth. Lytton Industries was just a few miles from our home in Canoga Park. The worst part was her training in Word Processing. There was no little computer those days, her typewriter — no video screen — was connected to a large computer miles away. Terribly difficult. After 50 weeks, she had earned two weeks vacation, that was the end. We went to a restaurant to celebrate, I gave her 100 brand new one dollar bills, still in numerical sequence, as a gift. Linda told the waitress. “Mother just finished her career, this was her gift.” The waitress asked how long she had worked, and when told one year, she sighed. She had been a waitress for 30 years, with no end in sight. My very lucky, hard working, Lovely Lady.
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In 1973 we moved to a condo in Culver City. The ceiling sloped from 8 feet in the bedroom to 19 feet high in the living room, so we built a loft, reached by a metal circular staircase. The nine feet wide loft was “L” shaped, 16 feet over the kitchen, and 25 feet over the living room. Among other legs, two 4” by 12” “legs” were on the dining room wall. A china cabinet was built on both sides and between those posts. I enrolled in a nighttime “shop class” at Culver City High School so I would have the wood working equipment needed to build a hardwood china cabinet, including doors with glass. Bought a circular staircase in a “junk yard” for $100. Cut it to our specifications, a platform was made to connect to the loft. A truck with a crane put it over the balcony, and into the living room. Our favorite of a dozen remodels.
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In 1981 we stopped to see Brother Johnny and wife Betty, in Martinsburg, PA, where I lived from 50 years earlier, to 35 years earlier. Emmy and I enjoyed meeting my school mates from years ago, we visited with Ruthy, Nancy, Betty, and others. Emmy was surprised to find I had attended an all girls school — I didn’t seem to remember any boys. Johnny was terribly ill with cancer, but wanted to attend a family reunion being held in Indiana, so I drove the four of us, stopping in Columbus, Ohio, for over night. At noon the next day we arrived at Flora, Ind. and Johnny enjoyed meeting with family members. Monday we drove straight through to Martinsburg, arriving near midnight. Johnny said that laying on the back seat of the Cadillac was more comfortable than laying in bed at home, there was just enough bumpiness to feel good. He passed away in December 1981.
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Here’s a story Brother Johnny told about the meeting with the teachers the day before school started, when he became Superintendent of Schools at Martinsburg. Johnny insisted that the time he spent in the Principal’s office while he was attended Cove High School, was on-the-job training, he was just learning the business. (Teachers sent him there for being “naughty.”) He told the teachers they should be especially attentive to the needs of the little trouble makers that are in many classes. They need special attention, and should be treated very nicely, “ … because as Mr. Kensinger, Mr. Brumbaugh, and Miss Skyles can tell you, that little trouble maker may come back some day as your Superintendent!” Mr. Brumbaugh, who had been his 6th grade teacher, was now his brother-in-law. I attended Cove High for two years, a couple of years after he graduated, and 35 years before he became the Superintendent. (1970s)
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In about 1948, my Brother was a High School teacher in New Carlisle, Ohio. Each day at noon, as in many towns in those days, they blew the town fire alarm to announce it was noontime. My Brother’s two daughter’s, Lee aged 4, and Meg age 2, would then quickly ride their tricycles to the street corner to greet their Dad, as he came home for lunch. One day they heard the fire alarm and went to the corner and waited and waited. After a while Laura came looking for the girls, and a man sitting on his front porch, who saw the girls most every day, said he could not imagine why they were there so early. When Jesse finally arrived for lunch, he told Laura there had been a fire in town at about 10:00 AM. The girls heard the siren and thought it was time to greet Daddy for lunch.
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In addition to learning about IBM machines at Fort Monmouth, NJ, my Major told me to report to a certain building at a certain time. He very gruffly told me to tell him what it was all about, when I returned. Several high-ranking officers said that we were to keep an eye out for spies, were given a secret PO Box to mail a weekly report, and were forbidden to tell anyone that this meeting even took place. My Major had said I must tell him about the meeting, so they gave me a telephone number to memorize, for him to call. The Major had the “screaming mimis” when I wouldn’t tell what happened, so I told him the number. He dialed and firmly demanded they tell him what was going on. His face turned to stone, he came to attention in his chair, and said, “Yes sir! Yes sir!” and hung up. He had no more questions, that was the end of his involvement. (1951)
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In addition to learning about IBM machines, in 1951 I was a secret spy for the FBI, looking for members of the Julius and Ethel Rosenberg spy ring at Ft. Monmouth, NJ. The Rosenbergs had worked at Ft. Monmouth, and had stolen some sensitive information while working there in the 1940s. The Government thought there might still be some Russian spies at Fort Monmouth, in addition to the Rosenbergs. Sounds like an exciting story, but all my weekly reports mailed to the secret FBI PO Box number in a phony town name, said, “Nothing to Report.” In 1953, after I had left the Army, Senator Joe McCarthy focused his Anti-Communist hearings on past spy rings at Ft. Monmouth, NJ. They were both executed as spys on June 19, 1953.
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In Dallas we went to a used car dealer to look for a replacement for our 1946 Oldsmobile. Ronnie was asleep in the back seat, so we carefully parked near the office door. A man asked for our keys to move our car, because it was blocking some other cars. We soon determined we didn’t want to have anything to do with this dealer, but then couldn’t find our car. They said we had already agreed to buy some other car, and ours had been taken to be refurbished for resale. I picked up a large brick, pointed towards the large plate glass window, said I would count to ten, the car with our son sleeping in the back seat had better be back by then. There was no doubt in their mind that I was serious, they ran in all directions — someone found the car and it was brought back — tires screaming. Well, turning rapidly, at least. (1954)
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In early 1960s, we moved to Sierra Vista, AZ (south of Tucson), so I could work on a computerized War Game for the US Army Signal Corp., using an IBM 709 computer located at Ft. Hauchuca, AZ. We “mathematically” described a friendly “Blue” army, and an enemy “Red” army, then “described” the headquarters, the artillery, the infantry, how they worked with each other, and the equipment they used to communicate. We described the terrain where the war was to be fought. We made a list of all the things that could or must happen, determined how often and in what sequence they might or must happen, and made them happen when and if it was necessary, or needed, to complete the battle, then determined the consequence of each action. The next event in the sequence was then modified by what had just happened. On the staff were Ph.Ds, retired Generals, retired Colonels, and me.
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In Dec. 1979 we bought a 1978 Cadillac ($6,500) that our partner in Dallas had leased for two years. They said it was the best (of a dozen) Cadillacs they had owned. We not only believed that at the time, we believed it for 22 years, it had 269,000 miles on the odometer at the end. Both the Parts and the Service Manager at the local Cadillac dealer said, “It’s the best one we ever built.” I looked in my parent’s diaries and found that in 1912 an unnamed auto cost $250, a buggy $25, and a horse $125. A Gray mare cost $205 in 1914. No cost was given for a new Buick in 1923, and a used two-seat Ford cost $10 in 1926. They bought a used ‘58 Olds for $1,400, an almost new ‘61 Olds for $2,000, and in ‘79 Mama bought a brand new mini Olds for $5,881.74.
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In late 1940s I lived in Rockford, about 50 miles west of where my sister lived near Chicago, Ill. One Sunday I was returning home after a visit, when I saw the results of a terrible accident. There were a dozen cars piled in all directions, and a couple of big trucks in the tangle. It was a very foggy, rainy night, and I could not see much. There were already police cars and ambulances on site, other emergency vehicles were headed that way, so I carefully drove past and went home. The next day the news reported that two trucks hauling new cars had tangled at an intersection, and their cargo flew in all directions. With all the fog, the people who reported the accident thought a dozen vehicles had crashed in the fog, when in fact the emergency vehicles were not needed at all, except to clear new cars off the road.
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In Martinsburg, Penna, where I lived 75 years ago, an elderly lady lived in an old house that needed some repairs. The front door was wiggly in the door frame, so as she left the house, she locked the door, then wiggled and waggled and shook the door so hard, that everyone within a block could hear it. Then she carefully picked up the door map, dropped the key — you could hear it drop — then dropped the door map. If anyone wondered which house it was, they could see her prancing down the street.
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One day, after our computer had completed a couple days of military exercises, one retired General on our staff looked at the results and said, “This can’t be right, it just can’t be right.” The appropriate Ph.D. looked down his nose at the General, who said, “I tried to move an Army over this exact part of Europe during WW II, and it took days and days, not hours.” He insisted, maps were reexamined. At a point where the contour lines were close together, the person entering data describing the terrain did not notice this was a high steep cliff, not level ground. What a difference that made when we corrected the data, and re-ran the problem! That proved that cause and effect, based on the information in the database, really did work. I was responsible for the organization of the data files, but not for the accuracy of the contents. (1960s)
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In March 1946 I spent my 18th birthday as a member of the Merchant Marine, on a troopship, SS Marine Cardinal, in the harbor of Singapore, on my way from Manila, Philippines, to Calcutta, India. We were to bring home a shipload of US Military, Army Nurses, Red Cross ladies, and Army War brides, many with their husband on the ship. A portion of one deck was reserved for the husbands who had wives on board, and no one was allowed to even think about observing all the under blanket activity on that deck during the day and into the night! On our return from Calcutta, we again stopped near Singapore overnight, for some repairs. There were hundreds of sunken ships in Singapore’s harbor, and flattened buildings on shore. We were not allowed to leave the ship either coming or going.
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In March 1946 we had to wait for another ship to move from our docking space, when my ship first arrived in Manila. When we docked, I noticed the name of the ship that had just left was still shown on a pedestal on the dock, and it was the ship my brother Johnny was sailing on, the SS Flyaway, on its way to Shanghai, China. A couple of days later, near the Island of Corregidor, as we waited for a ship to leave the tanker so we could refuel, the name of that ship was the SS Flyaway. I saw this at the last moment, there was no time for anyone to communicate with the Flyaway and find my brother. He didn’t know I was on the SS Marine Cardinal. (1946)
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In March 1946 when I returned to my ship after visiting downtown Manila, Philippines, the second day we were docked in that city, I saw a newly docked ship, covered with barbed wire, in the dock next to my ship. I knew my brother-in-law was serving as a guard on a prison ship, taking Japanese “Prisoners of War” from Manila to Japan. I ran and quickly asked the gangplank guard if he knew Harold, and he pointed and said, “That’s him, riding on that Jeep, just going down the street.” Harold was also one of the guards at the War-Crimes Trial of Japanese General Homma and General Yomasheitia. (1946)
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You might expect I would do something like this. A Lt. Colonel, one of the officers in charge of the troops on my Merchant Marine ship, was not at all liked by anyone, Military or Ship’s Crew. Once as I walked to my crew dining room, with a tray of pie and cake, I had to pass the Army men lined up for lunch, and they groaned when they saw the goodies that were not for them. This Colonel, standing nearby, reached out and took a piece of cake. The troops hollered and grumbled, as well they should, so I demanded the Colonel put it back. When the troops cheered what I had done, the Colonel got even madder, so I just handed out the pies and cakes to the troops in line, to the sound of even more cheers! The Colonel complained to my boss, who told him to get lost, or at least that’s all I will repeat here. I was a hero to many, but not to all.
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Some months later I had graduated from Army Basic Training at Ft Knox, Ky., was assigned as cadre for the next class of troops. I was dumb enough to re-introduce myself to that Lt. Colonel, when I found he was the Battalion Commander. The next few weeks I was called into my Commander’s office several times to discuss complaints from Battalion headquarters. For example I was accused of speeding past the Colonel in my truck, while I was actually at home on a three-day pass. I then explained the incident on the ship to my Commander, and since everyone at Ft. Knox hated the Lt. Colonel, just as everyone on the ship had, my Commander took care of any further complaints. How does that old story go, “Cast your cake and pies on the chow line, and it will come back to haunt you!”
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In the Army in 1946, I found myself in Akron, Ohio, my home for a couple of years. I checked into a hotel, called a friend. He didn’t answer, so called his friend Silvia. She was no longer the girlfriend, and didn’t know where my friend was. Soon the phone rang, and a voice said, “This is Silvia, why don’t you come visit?” “I’ll be right over, where do you live now?” She gave me an address, I rang the bell, it was answered by a lady who was not Slivia. She said, “Just sit down.” A man walked in and up the stairs, others came down and out. I was naive, but was getting suspicious. I was up and leaving when “Silvia” came down the stairs. The sales pitch started in high gear, as I left. Someone had listened to my call, used her name and part of my conversation, to direct me to the special HOUSE.
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In the Desert where we lived for nearly 25 years (in between travel all over the place), Deglet Noor dates are a big crop. Dates were started there in the late 1800s. I don’t know how old the trees are that we see today. Huge orchards have been dug up, the trees transplanted as decoration, and houses were built by the thousands. Trees grow 100 feet high, and more, and at one time of the year, the fruit clusters are covered with paper bags to shelter them. At the College of the Desert, they have hundreds of trees as decoration, but they do harvest the crop. One time, when the fruit was covered by paper bags, a lady asked me what those funny looking things were, way up there in the tree. I said, “Those are Bag Trees, where the grocery store grows paper bags for groceries.” She said, “Really, I didn’t know that.”
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In the late 1950s, we lived on Hatteras Street in Woodland Hills, CA. One day in 2006 I was typing on the computer, and was listening to the TV. I then heard, “Fallbrook Street, Ventura Blvd., Woodlake Ave, and on and on”, so I stopped typing and looked at the TV to see what was going on in the news. There was a police chase, and the news helicopter was showing the car as it followed those streets. I watched carefully and sure enough there was a news photo of our swimming pool at the corner of Woodlake and Hatteras. It didn’t quite picture the house. I knew my brother often watched Fox News in Indiana, so called and sure enough he had heard and seen the same news item. A year later I visited with Betty, the widow of the man who built the pool nearly 50 years earlier. Betty and her children got a big kick out of the story.
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In the 1980s I was jury foreman for a multi-day trial in US Federal Court in Los Angeles. In spite of an incompetent presentation by the Federal Lawyers, we found the Colombian drug dealer, Guilty. We the jury, were happy our names were not revealed, we didn’t know if the drug dealer’s friends were in the audience. I wrote a long, long letter to the Judge giving my opinion on several subjects concerning the lawyers, the jury, etc. Emmy read the letter and told me I might be put in jail for a letter like this! There were three phone calls from the Judge’s staff discussing different portions of that letter, and they each thanked me for my help. So there!
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In the 1990s I was called for Jury duty in Indio, CA., near where we lived. (I have been called several times over the years, served once.) After a day of being treated like criminals, rather than like responsible citizens, I wrote a two-page letter to the chief Judge. The second day, I wrote him another two-page letter, complaining about the treatment received by the members of the jury panel. He called me into his office, and with a couple other judges present, we discussed my complaints for over an hour. I don’t know if anything was improved as a result, but the judges were sure surprised at my comments on the treatment of jurors, and the lack of Justice, in our so-called Legal system. They were shocked to hear me say that the first thing a judge does, is require a guilty defendant commit perjury, by saying “Not Guilty,” even if they are guilty.
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In the early 1960s I spent a couple of days at the , investigating their need for a computer system to work with the “80 inch” Bubble Chamber, used for Particle Physics experiments. The chamber would be filled with super-cold liquid hydrogen, surrounded by a 31-ton magnet, and with the help of a computer, would provide information on the momentum and mass, of charged particles. We didn’t bid on the job after all, so I never really learned much about Bubble Chambers or the cyclotron. This 80-inch detector was eventually decommissioned in 1974. While we were being given a tour of the cyclotron, someone came running in and said we shouldn’t be “there,” it was still “hot” with radiation. More or less as a joke he added, “You could be sterilized.” One of the men with me, the father of seven, said, “I should have come here years ago.”
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In the early 1970s we decided we must plan ahead for retirement. We found a class that would give Emmy information about buying, managing, renovating, and selling a building for a profit. Sweetie did so much more and so much better than anyone could expect. On a street lined with apartments, she went door to door asking if anyone wanted to sell, and hit the jackpot. We completely renovated the 17 units — new carpet, paint, reworked all bathrooms and kitchens. Among all the other things, Sweetie “antiqued” 17 sets of kitchen cabinets. Beautiful. Eighteen months later we sold it for about 170% of what we paid for it. Well, actually we traded it (an IRS expression) for a 39 unit building, sold that one for a great profit a couple of years later, and on and on, and the rest is history, But give credit where credit is due, “The rest is HERstory!”
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In the late 1960’s I obtained the multimillion dollar contract to provide computer programs for the installation and initial operation of the CLETS – California Law Enforcement Telecommunications System. There was one large computer system in Sacramento, and one in Los Angeles, with connections to law enforcement agencies all over the State of California.
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In the mid-1930s my Dad would stop at a large bakery and for a dollar would buy a bunch of loaves of bread that were a week old, at least, that he would feed to the pigs. Among the huge amount of bread, there would sometimes be some “sweet rolls” still in the wrapping. If they weren’t too old, we would take some to school for our lunch, and we were considered the rich kids for the day, because we had “store bought” goodies to eat! They were not nearly as delicious as the rolls Mama baked.
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In the mid-1950s, Emmy became a Tupperware dealer. It seemed she was her own best customer, and we still have a number of the items she was stuck with when she quit a couple of months later. She didn't like the drive to Glendale, or wherever, at night and hated asking women to have parties for her. (I was baby-sitting our kids.) The part she did not like to talk about, and that I won’t go into detail here, was the rude, crude, and boorish manner that so many ladies treated her at the Tupperware parties. After all she was just a working lady, not at all as "worthwhile" as those in the audience. We could never figure why they did that, but I didn’t want my Sweetie treated that way by anyone, regardless of who or what they were. The “who” I don’t remember, the “what” I will not mention.
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In the mid-1950s I spent a few weeks with the WHIRLWIND at Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the SWAC at University of California at Los Angeles, and the JOHNNIAC at The RAND Corp. All were hand-built computers created in the late 1940s. I was not an expert, but few people have seen, let alone spent time working with all three. The WHIRLWIND contained 12,500 tubes, and 23,803 crystal rectifiers. In July 1950 the SWAC was the fastest computer in the world. The JOHNNIAC’s memory consisted of 80 special "Selectron" vacuum tubes, each of which held 256 bits of data. It was later replaced with 4,096, 40-bit words of magnetic core storage. Many years later I remember the monthly rent for that size memory (equivalent of 196,000 characters), was about $20,000 — Google says $6,000, but who’s counting! That was monthly rent, not purchase price. Today that amount of memory would cost a dollar, perhaps.
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In the mid-1950s while working at the RAND Corp., in more than one case I was mentioned in someone’s dissertation as the one who helped with the calculations. It seems I could make the IBM card machines do a great variety of calculations, that no one had done before. Usually dissertation calculations required something like a Freiden Calculator, or a Comptometer. I will always remember when one man opened the package containing his Ph.D. diploma from Harvard, and saw it was printed in Latin. He exclaimed, “All those years, and all that work, and I can’t even read my diploma!”
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In the mid-1950s, while working at the RAND Corp., IBM asked for my comments on features that should be included in the design of what IBM later called the Stretch Computer, the IBM 7030 DPS. I wish I could remember what I told them, maybe I should be famous. A few years later I was hired by CEIR Corp. to sell computer time on a Stretch Computer scheduled to be installed on Wilshire Blvd. I was sent to Arizona for a year to work on the War Game at the US Army Signal Corp. until the computer was installed, but IBM canceled that whole line of computers, and it never was installed at CEIR, on Wilshire Blvd.
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In the mid-1990s one day I played 4 sets of tennis, went to the doctor for a long scheduled stress test. They didn’t like what they saw, checked me into the hospital and inserted two stents in my heart. The whole thing was made worthwhile by the pretty red-haired nurse who gave me a bath the next morning. I said she could cause a lot of problems in a Heart Hospital. After an operation the patient might wake up and see her, and think he had died and gone to Heaven. And it only cost $9,600 for the two stents! Not to put them in, just the cost for those two very small pieces of metal! You can imagine how small a stent is, it must fit inside the artery, and be pushed here and there to where it is needed. Medical costs in this country are so high because these days a $5,000 funeral is delayed by a much more expensive heart procedure, or operation. I didn’t say I was against spending that money, just that it happens that way.
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In the mid ‘60s, my boss took me to a meeting about a secret idea, being developed at a think-tank near Boston. What I was doing there I haven’t the slightest memory. They were trying to design a cube, that was to be defined as billions of addressable, identifiable spots. For a ship or an airplane, you could define what was at each of those billions of spots, then by computer, slice that simulated object at any point, and “see” each and every wire, bolt, tube, and piece of the object as it would appear, if you really did cut at that place. At that time, all the computers in the world combined could not have done that job. These days, even a laptop or two might be able to do it. Never heard another word about this, at that time, very secret idea. My brother the College Math Professor has heard of the idea, but nothing more.
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In the winter time my overcoat was kept in the various offices where I worked in the Los Angeles area. Each winter, more times than I could count, someone wore the overcoat to somewhere that was cold. And that overcoat, purchased at Richmond Brothers in Cleveland, for $22.50 (probably half of my net worth) in 1948, is still worn each winter, now by my son-in-law, a Vice President of Disney. Looks great, really.
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In third grade I said, “If you cut a tree, plant a tree, if you dig a hole fill a hole, when you buy a car deposit $25 to get rid of it when it becomes junk.” I remember the grade and comment so well because the car salesman’s son was going to beat me up because cars were already too expensive at $650 each. (mid 1930s)
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It has often been said that I talk too much, and I guess I’ll agree with that. When my Sweetie was not doing the best, I would try to make people laugh, as that made her laugh also. Several times, in a restaurant, at the Malibu Pier, or in a store, I would approach a couple, when the lady was pretty and nicely dressed, and say to the Gentleman, “Wow, am I lucky you are here, usually I’m the only one here with a beautiful lady.” Usually the lady was so pleased, but often acted like she hadn’t had a complement for months. My Lady had complements day after day. Once a mother was standing with her parents and friends, and we admired the tiny baby in a stroller. The mother said the baby was two weeks old. I responded, ”Two weeks! I have bread that’s two weeks old!” From the reaction you would think Bob Hope was back in business. It’s not what I say, it’s the reaction that counts. (2000s)
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Jake Rabinow, a friend and a man I worked with several times, was the inventor of many computer related products, at one time held the most patents of any living American. A visit to the private museum at his office in Rockville, MD, that contained working models of many of his inventions, was more fun than visiting the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, DC. (1964)
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Just remember, when you are considering a political situation, either to vote for or against it, or to write about it, it is just as important to know what you are against, as it is to know what you are for.
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Linda tells this story: At some time in her early years she was drawing pictures, and asked me what she should draw. I said a vase of flowers, or something like that, but she said she wanted to draw something harder than that. She then followed my second suggestion, and worked for a while before it dawned on her that drawing a picture of a rock was not what she had in mind when she said she wanted to draw a picture of something hard. And yet another Linda story: She was about five, we had just moved to Archwood Street, and she wanted to go for a walk, and asked where she could go. It did take a little thinking on her part to try and determine how on earth she was going to, as I suggested, “… walk halfway around the block.” (1960)
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Most likely a million men think their wife is the most beautiful, I am the one whose opinion was correct. Years ago friends said Sweetie reminded them of Marilyn Monroe. Even after she had been ill for years, people stopped us as we walked in the mall, and complemented Sweetie on her beauty, and her mode of dress. I didn’t pay them to say that. Even though her mind was slipping, she always enjoyed hearing that. Of course I never missed a day of telling (more than just telling!) her that. Several times, while we were in McDonald’s, Del Taco, or wherever, ladies (always ladies) came to our booth and told me how nice it was that I was taking such good care of her. That made me proud, I tried, I’m glad it was obvious to others. I always thought they hoped to be taken care of so well, if ever needed. Now that I am available … ! (2004 )
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My answer to, “Where were you when President Kennedy was shot?” Good reviews of my adventures teaching the computer class for NASA at Marshall Space Flight Center, reached the RCA office. For the next few weeks I conducted classes for many engineers. One day, at coffee-break, we saw the reactions of those who had already heard the news, the TV was showing the street patterns the President’s cavalcade followed, the President was in the hospital. Class reconvened, there were discussions about why the Kennedy cavalcade turned on the street that passed the School Book Depository. I had lived in Dallas, knew the street pattern, drew a map to illustrate they needed to make that turn, to drive to the convention center (President was to give a speech). Isn’t it interesting, the first I heard a hint of a conspiracy in the death of our President, was before he had died. (1962)
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My brother Jesse, a Ph.D. college professor for nearly 50 years, says my brain was not cluttered with the things they teach in college, so it was available to accept and process new ideas about computers. I’ll agree with that! Wait a minute, did he mean my brain was empty? He loves to watch ball games involving Ohio State University, where he received his Ph.D. I said the advantage of my not graduating from college includes the right for me not to care who wins a ball game. He laughed! One day OSU, where Jesse got his degree was playing Penn State University where brother Johnny (deceased many years ago) got his degree. So who was I supposed to cheer for? As a Navy officer from WW II, Jesse admits he would have a real problem if Navy ever played OSU in a football game. Which school would he cheer for?
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My Brother Paul was awarded a Bronze Star Medal for his heroics on Dec. 20, 1944, while fighting in the Battle of the Bulge. On Dec. 24, Brother Jesse’s ship (he was a Naval Officer) was shelling Iwo Jima, and sank two Jap ships. Neither got a scratch. Paul never talked of his heroics in WW II. They lived just a couple of miles apart, but Jesse never knew of Paul’s Bronze Star, and the battle, until it was mentioned at Paul’s funeral. I learned about his Bronze Star in an unusual manner, in 1947. I was a Battalion clerk at Fort Sill, OK, one day I saw a book on the Colonel’s shelf, labeled “The 28th Division.” I knew that was Paul’s division, so when I found the notation of Paul's action, I asked the Colonel if he was aware of it. He said, “Yes I remember that action, and I have wondered why your last name seemed familiar.”
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My Brother Paul needed to know when to fill the water tank for his cows. I suggested that a flag be put on a pole that was attached to a float, then held by a chain attached to a weight on the bottom of the tank. The float would be at the depth so that when the water level fell below the desired level, the flag would fall over. When he looked to the pasture and did not see a flag, he knew it was time to fill the tank. I suggested that he let the pump motor gas tank become empty, measure the depth of the water, put in a cup of gas, and when the motor stopped, measure the water depth to see how many inches of water was pumped with a measured amount of gasoline. Both ideas worked just fine, but it’s too bad I didn’t patent the ideas.
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My Daughter-in-law Hagar wanted to name her daughter, some version of the name Joan or Joann. I suggested that since my mother was named Anna Marie, the Great-Granddaughter should be named Joanna Marie, and that was that! (1975)
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My Father had an extreme hatred for anything that came out of Hollywood. He was very unhappy when a theater opened just a block or so from our home in Martinsburg, PA. Each year the Cove High School held what was called Farmer’s Week. During that time there were band concerts, plays, and art exhibits for the parents to come and enjoy. One year they played a Hollywood made, Blondie and Dagwood movie. I don’t know what my Dad thought it was, but he was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Later, when he found it was a Hollywood movie, he was so embarrassed to think anyone saw him laugh at such a horrible exhibition. About ten years later, when I worked at the RAND Corp., the daughter of Penny Singleton, was a secretary that I worked with. Penny played the role of Blondie in the Dagwood and Blondie movies.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My favorite Nike (the shoe) story happened at UCLA during a LA Times Book Festival. As Sweetie and I walked up a steep hill, we passed three slowly walking elderly people. The man was wearing a pair of shoes that advertised in large letters, "NIKE." I said, "If they knew you were going to walk this slowly, I'll bet they wouldn't have sold you those shoes." From their reaction, and the reaction of others nearby, you would think Bob Hope was at his best.
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My first "Letter to the Editor" was in the student newspaper at Indiana University. Something about the lack of enthusiasm on the part of the cheer leader squad at a football game. A few weeks later I was at some gathering where I was meeting some of the beautiful female cheerleaders. When the subject of that letter came up, and was discussed in anger, I knew there was no way I could deny that was my name, so I quietly disappeared before I got in trouble. After all, not all of the cheer leading squad were female. A few months later, an article in the Chicago Tribune Sunday Magazine section, referenced the letter, but did not mention my name. (1948)
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My first remembrance, on my first day in the Merchant Marine (as a “Ships Steward”), was when the Chief Steward left the ship, he told me to make the salads. Even today that would result in nothing of great excitement, but I hadn’t the slightest idea what a salad was, let alone how to make twenty of them. Doubt if I had ever heard the word, or had seen an actual salad. I remember Mama digging dandelions from the lawn, and eating them, mixed with some other stuff, and there was always lettuce to eat. When the very mean, and very drunk steward returned and found no salad, he chased me with a butcher knife. I was assured by others that I really was in danger. I thought the Captain was in charge, and complained to him, but the union runs things on a ship, and they were unhappy when I bypassed their authority. (1946)
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My first ship “SS Phillipa,” had a permanent 2 degree list, so since the war had ended, they finally junked the ship. I was out of a job, the chief steward was unemployed, and he had told the union bosses about the stupid steward who had reported him to the Captain. I convinced them that I didn’t know any better, they told me I must follow union rules, exactly. Everyone was standing around, berating me, and threatening me, so I was the only one paying attention as the clerk wrote a job on the blackboard. Under union rules, the first person to the window, got the job. Following union rules exactly, I went over and got the job. Now my problems escalated, a dozen others had been waiting to get a job but I had distracted them. I left the building very quickly and ran. I never went near the Union Hall again. (1946)
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My Grandmother, on my Mother’s side, was born on June 28, 1876, near Allerton, Ill. Charlotte Centennial Thomas Black, (my middle name is Thomas) was married to Charles Black on January 1, 1896, and died at Delphi, Indiana, on May 6, 1951. During her lifetime she created over 100 beautiful pastel drawings which were given to sons, daughters, grandchildren, and most anyone who might ask for one. Grandma gave me a picture years ago, and we got a second one when my Mother died. If you notice, the year Grandma was born and her middle name, have a connection. Do you see the connection? Can you spell Centennial? It was held on July 4, 1876, less than a week after Grandma was born.
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My little two-piece, take-apart bicycle would easily fit in the trunk of my car. I had computer systems installed at California Institute of Technology, and at the University of California, among other places, and visited other college campuses. The parking on these campuses was far from the offices I needed to visit, so I brought the bike with me, put it together and rode across the campus, carrying my briefcase. Everyone got a big kick out of that, and it sure made it easier to call on the customers, and check on the computer systems. I found the students to be so much different than I remembered during the few months I spent at a University. Then it dawned on me, I went to school with bomber pilots, tail gunners, tank drivers, prisoners of war, etc., military veterans from WW II, attending college under the GI Bill. We were a very different collection of people. (1960-70s)
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My “original” family (my Sweetie was not yet my family), were crossing some part of the state of Pennsylvania, back in the mid-1930s (seems there are five mountains, one after the other) when the brakes on the 1927 Buick overheated. This is a situation where having three daughters was of no help at all, but the four boys did help cool the brakes, a little!
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My parents visited us two different years while we lived in Dallas, in 1953, and 1954. Emmy really had to laugh when Papa said, as he entered the house, “Just put us in a room by ourselves.” Meaning out of our way, etc. With only two bedrooms in a tiny house, that wasn't too easy to do. They slept in our bedroom, we slept on our secondhand sofa bed, and later we really felt sorry for other friends, because they had slept on it, but they had never told us how terribly lumpy and bumpy the mattress was.
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My problem when my three older brothers left for the Army, college, etc., was that the farmers in the neighborhood only looked at my name, and not at my age — 13, 14, 15 years. They thought a Humberd was a Humberd, and even if he was a kid, and if he was 4, 6 or 8 years younger, so what. The man with the thrashing machine, was the worst. He kept hollering at me to throw more wheat, more wheat, and said there was no way I could overload his machine. Well, as the men in the barn kept throwing the sheaves my way, they (we) stockpiled one here and there, then pushed them all into the machine, and stopped it dead. When he started to complain, the others told him to forget it. Would you believe that his son Bill, will be one of the first to read this! (1940s)
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My Sweetie had the walls of our home covered with paintings. Daughter Linda was an artist for a couple of years, and her beautiful paintings grace our wall. Sweetie decided to paint her own masterpieces, but soon settled on Paint-by-Number, and they were very nice. We moved to Sierra Vista, Arizona, where I worked on the computerized war game. Emmy looked at the blank wall in the living room, and decided this was her “Sistine Chapel Ceiling.” She bought a paint-by-number mural that was at least 6 feet by 10 feet, and did a beautiful job — the epitome of her artistic achievement. The scene was a large tree limb, complete with leaves, and birds on the twigs. When we sold the house to Tom and Willie (no not that kind of Willie, this is the beautiful kind), they lived here the next 15 years, and painted the other walls in the house, but never painted over this masterpiece. Willie lives in Tucson, and we still Email and talk on the phone. (1961)
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My Sweetie was the greatest shopper, therefore my rule, “If my Sweetie wants, I will buy it.” Two examples. She had looked for living room couches for a couple of months, then decided on the exact manufacturer, size, and fabric. It would take six weeks to get them, but at the last moment she decided to stop at a different furniture store. As she described what she was looking for, the salesman said, “Come look at this.” In the back room, just taken off the showroom floor that morning, were the exact couches she had planned to buy, completed with the exact fabric. They had just reduced the price in half, and they were delivered and installed that afternoon. One time she decided on the bedroom furniture, then found the manufacturer had stopped making those pieces. A few days later, in the classified ads, she found exactly what she wanted, at 25% of the price new. My Beautiful lucky shopper.
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My yearly joy was buying Christmas presents for Sweetie. For years, since she was an excellent seamstress, one of the main gifts was the “fabric” of the year, such as the very first double-knit polyester, ultra suede, and quiana. One year, starting in October, I bought a small gift at each major city I visited before Christmas. As I remember there were 17 gifts, from such places as Boston, Dallas, Denver, Helena, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Oakland, Palo Alto, Philadelphia, Phoenix, Portland, Sacramento, Salt Lake City, San Diego, San Francisco, San Jose, and Seattle. I don’t guarantee those were each a Christmas Gift city, that year, but that’s what I remember. That was not an unusual three months, she had to put up with my almost weekly travels for many years. I often bought small gifts, but not from every trip. Some gifts were very special, very private! Of that you can be sure.
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Near our home in Penna., Tussy Mountain was a thousand feet higher then the foot of the mountain. I had paid $5 to buy a bike so I could travel to various farms to earn my 10¢ to 15¢ per hour. One day I biked part way up Tussy, pushed the bike the rest of the way. I knew that the downhill ride would be more fun. By the time I was half way down, my brakes gave out, and I was going too fast to stop or to jump off. As I flew past a car going in my direction, I hoped my tires were OK. When I finally stopped, the car I had passed stopped. The man said he was going 25 MPH when I flew past him. He had followed me so he could pick up the pieces and take me to the hospital. Both of us were thinking the ride would end the same way.
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On busy days, when both Brother Johnny and I were working at a nearby farm, the mother would ask one of the neighbor girls, Ruth, Betty, or Evelyn to help cook mid-day dinner, as we ate like hogs after all the hard work. I always hoped that Betty would be the selection for the day, she was my favorite. As luck would have it, Johnny got “there” first and married Betty in Dec 27, 1947, and they were married 34 years before Johnny died. While he was ill, I suggested that his widow would go to the younger brother, but neither of them agreed to that. I always said that Betty not being married, was a terrible waste of natural resources. She was a lovely girl, and is a lovely lady to this day. Betty was not Johnny’s only connection to the farm where we worked, the youngest son Robert, became a physician, was Johnny’s tennis partner for years, and his Medical Doctor in his last years.
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On butcher day on the farm, I always wanted to find a place to hide, I hated the whole idea, my brother Johnny loved it. There were chickens being killed for lunch or dinner most every day, and I tried to stay away from that also. But in early spring when the smell of frying ham wafted its way to the field where I was plowing with the team of horses, it all seemed worth while. As special as my Mother’s fried ham was, her sister-in-law Helen, and Mama’s mother (my Grandmother), were the very best when it came to ham and gravy, when I worked on their farm. What could have been different I don’t have any idea, but it was my favorite meal, and still is. (1930s)
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On Linda's first birthday in 1955 we moved into a new house in Encino, Calif. These houses were built on what had been part of the MGM Movie studio We were told they had just finished filming “Moby Dick,” some temporary buildings were still there. Across the street from our house was the large estate of Edward Everett Horton, a then famous movie star. When the Ventura Freeway was built, it went through his estate and wiped out his stables, the guest houses, all but the main house, which has been replaced by apartment buildings in the half-century since. Over 50 years later, the palm tree that was three or four inches high when we planted it in front of our house, is now higher than the roof. The house cost us $16,500, would sell now for $600,000. Stupid housing prices.
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On December 7, 1941 I was in bed with the mumps. I had the radio near my bed, so I heard the announcement of the bombing at Pearl Harbor. As was the case with 150,000,000 other Americans, I had never heard of it. My brother Paul was already in the Army, and brother Jesse was old enough to be drafted, so news of the war was of more than a little interest to my family. A couple of years later, Jesse and brother-in-law Harold (Mary’s husband), fought in the Pacific War. Brother Paul and brother-in-law Gus (Esther’s husband), fought in the European side of the world. Johnny and I were too young to be in the fighting war, but spent time, separately, in the Merchant Marine (we almost met in Manila). Then in 1946, we were together in the Army, he in the upper bunk, me in the lower, or vice versa, one or the other. I made sure he behaved, right.
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On the day of Emmy’s 70th birthday, there were three advertisements in the Palm Springs Desert Sun, each about 2 by 4 inches, and each included a picture of the celebrated one. Ronnie’s ad said, “Mom and Grandma Emmy. How do we love Thee? One million and Seventy ways and counting! Love from Ronnie and Hagar, Joanna, Peter and John.” Linda’s said, “Happy 70th Birthday to our Mom and Grandma Emmy, Love from, Dan, Linda and Christiana.” Mine said, “Darling Emmy, You’ve always been the greatest, and always will be. Happy 70th and love forever, Jim” (1997)
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On the Fourth of July of 1944 I lived and worked in Akron. A men I worked with, came by and said he was driving to Buffalo, he would drop me off in Cleveland. As soon as he dropped me off, I reached for my wallet, and found I had only a dollar or two in my pocket, and no wallet. To make a long story short, I finally got to downtown Cleveland, and to the Stadium for the free fireworks show. They were firing a ball that exploded and a flag was attached to a parachute. A few of them had misfired, and landed on the roof. Having more guts than brains, I climbed, pushed open a door to the roof, gathered some fireworks, climbed down to the seats. People wanted to buy them for two dollars, but how did we know they weren’t going to explode. Now I had enough money to spent the night, and get a bus back to Akron.
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Once I was a substitute on a bowling team at work, but even I don’t believe this story. I went home early one day, not feeling well. Someone phoned and begged me to show up at the alley or the team would be scraped for the season. I felt horrible. I just dropped the ball two feet in front of me and watched to see if it would get the whole way down the alley. From early in the first game into the second I bowled 10 strikes in a row, plus a few more. Adding my 35 point handicap, I bowled the high score for a game, and a series for the season, so won the league’s big prize money for the whole year, and I only bowled that one night. Sweetie and I had bowled a few times earlier, but I don’t think I have bowled since. (1965)
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One day as I left a store, two elderly ladies were sitting outside the store, next to their cart waiting for someone to pick them up. In the cart was a large mirror. I went around and looked in the mirror and said, “Wow, what a wonderful picture you bought, who painted it, Michelangelo?” They laughed so hard they almost fell off the bench. As I parked in a parking lot, sitting in the passenger seat in the car next to me was a very nice looking, well dressed elderly gentleman, who almost looked like he could be someone famous. He had the window down, so I went over and said, “I think it would be easier if you were in the driver’s seat,” and he laughed. I said, “Oh, I thought you were from England and forgot which side of the car was the drivers side.” And he laughed some more.
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One day I reached over to pat Emmy on the fanny, as I have been known to do a million times, and Emmy got one broken rib, one cracked rib, and one night at Eisenhower Hospital. Forgot to mention we were on our bicycles at the time, and Emmy was so excited at being the center of attention, the bike fell, and she hit the handlebars. At the hospital they questioned each of us to make sure I had not attacked her. Little did they know how often I did attack — WOW! Five weeks later she sneezed (Never laid a finger on her!) and broke the rib even worse than the first time. It was so painful she thought she was having a heart attack. Again to the hospital for X-rays (not overnight), and six weeks of pain and discomfort, careful moves and no sneezes — and very little fanny patting! (1986)
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One day I was driving on a freeway in late afternoon, the lanes were filled to capacity, but since we were moving 20 miles per hour, I considered us lucky. For those of you who haven't visited San Francisco, be assured that it is indeed a beautiful city, in a beautiful natural setting. In some parts of the city, block after block of white row-houses, rise and fall over the never-ending hills. Many places there are few trees, so the result is sometimes almost bleak and monotonous, but usually more than a little exhilarating. Sometimes the rows of houses look like giant centipedes are eating San Francisco. But whatever, it is rightfully world-famous for its beautiful city-scape, situated in the midst of phenomenal natural beauty. This was the scene that makes San Francisco famous, and that is why Tony Bennett “… left my heart in San Francisco …, etc.”
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One day the lady at the rental car desk wore a badge that said "Trainee." I smiled and said, "That's a nice name, what do you call the other one?" Oh, I’ve used that joke a dozen times, and always got a laugh, not a slap. Of course I must be careful. One time a very well endowed lady, who I had played tennis with many times, arrived for our tennis match with a shirt with a message of some kind. She said, “Do you like my message?” I said, “No, but I love the message board!” The other day the cashier in the bank bent down to her counter, and I could see her belly button. I laughed and said, “That’s beautiful, did you know that when you got dressed this morning.” She laughed and admitted she had no reason at all to complain when a man got the nice view.
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One morning they trimmed the 95 foot high Palm Trees that line the street where we live. All that remained was just a small bunch of green leaves high above the street. This reminded me of the time, fifty years ago when I worked on a Computerized War Game, with a retired Colonel, who had been a Corporal stationed at Pearl Harbor, on that fateful day. His mother had recently visited him in Hawaii, and asked her son, “Why do they put all those little Palms way up on top of those tall poles?” Up to then, the only Palm Tree she had ever seen was a Potted Palm in a hotel lobby.
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One special project with which I was involved while working at RAND Corp. made use of spherical trigonometry, and many, many hours of computer time on the IBM 701 computer, to display all airplane flights on a map of the US, so we could create realistic training presentations for the Air Defense RADAR operators, at all hours of the day, every month of the year, for all parts of the US. In addition to other responsibilities, I had to find, and/or create data concerning each and every scheduled flight of all the airlines for a year, a years worth of flight data from the US Air Force, and reports of air traffic from small airports throughout the US, then create the data files needed to complete this project. (1956)
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One time we stopped for a moment among some trees along the highway in Santa Barbara, as we drove to San Francisco. Sweetie said, “Oh, look at that beautiful moon!” Then Ronnie, Linda, and I looked, then looked again, then laughed with our Sweetie after we pointed out that was a Union 76 gasoline station sign as seen through the heavily leafed trees. Their sign was a big orange ball, so it really did look like a full moon, through the trees. We all agreed with her until we looked the second time.
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One time while visiting Minneapolis in the winter time, somehow I was elected driver for a group of five men. As it seemed to be on most every wintertime trip to that city, the streets and the freeway were splotched with ice and snow. During the conversation someone asked about the families of the others in the car. Imagine my concern when it was determined that the men in the car had a total of 22 wives, children, and grandchildren (27 people represented, including husbands). That is more responsibility than I cared to have while driving a strange car, on strange roads, that were smudged with ice and snow. (1965)
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One true story I would tell at computer class, or a sales presentation: “Several times I have flown from Seattle to Sacramento, with a change of planes in Reno. One time, while waiting for my plane, I decided to gamble, and there is good news and bad news. The good news? I doubled my money. The bad news? I only bet a nickel.” Another story I have told many times, is about the night I went to the “Hot Tub” a couple of doors from our home, and when I returned, I told Emmy, “There’s good news — there’s a lady in the hot tub without her bra, and there’s bad news — I need one as much as she does!”
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One year, in the 1970s, while visiting my mother in Winona Lake, IN, Emmy had insisted that I make a video tape of my mother, but we couldn’t find a camera anywhere in Winona Lake or Warsaw. The next time we were in town, I found that the TV store nearby had a club that I could join for $100, and then rent a camera for about $50 per day. I offered to join the club, but he said someone was using the one and only camera, but maybe it would be back later that day. He called me a couple of hours later, and when he found that I wanted to prepare an oral history of my mother, he didn’t require the $100 to join, and only charged $20 for the use of the camera, plus the cost of a tape. A very nice man.
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