My Father's Autobiography, 1994

My father wrote this for his sons.

***

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

--Or--

If I Had Known That I Would Live This Long, I'd Have Taken Better Care of Myself

By Fred Hoodwin

September, 1994

I am writing this with little or no preparation, some checking of records, and I do not intend to rework it twenty or thirty times as I do with my other articles. This is written for my sons to learn something about my background and history in case they are interested in same. If anyone else happens to be interested, well, good for them. So expect the writing to be less than ideal and the continuity may not be great. What you see is what you get.

Grandfather Albert K. Hoodwin came from what was called Russia in the 1880s. He was supposedly born in 1880 probably in an area now Lithuania or Poland. His parents were Louis and Goldie and the children in approximate order of birth were Marcus (Udwin), Celia (Kurtzon), Albert, Amelia (Karno), Joseph, Hyman (Jack), Charles, Robert, and Tillie (Gershenow).

In the old country, Louis was a manager of a brewery or something like that. In this country, they settled around Three Oaks, Michigan, on a farm there. Eventually, they moved to Chicago on the near South side. In 1913 they resided at 1416 South Trumbull. How do I know this? I have the engraved plate of the wedding invitation for Albert's and Lillian's wedding and the date was Sept. 23, 1913. I thought I remembered Louis died of pneumonia in 1912 but the invitation states "Mr. and Mrs. Louis Hoodwin" so I am not sure.

Goldie I recall as short and stocky, and she died in 1924. I recall sitting in my parents' auto at the age of 5 while they were inside visiting her in Mount Sinai Hospital. The only other recollection about her is Grandma Lil stating that Goldie would mention sometimes that "When Al lived at home, he had roses in his cheeks," in not-so-subtle criticism of her daughter-in-law.

Albert was athletic and a picture exists somewhere of him on a racing or cross-country bike, and he supposedly rode in cross-country events to distant cities. Also, he did some boxing (not paper boxing, I mean).

Part of his work experience took place at the Illinois Paper Box Co., where, evidently, he was employed just prior to moving to Michigan City in 1904 to start the Michigan City Paper Box Co.

Lillian's mother was born Fannie Wallerstein in Riga, Latvia. She married Isaac Weisman and evidently moved to around Vilna (now Vilnius), Lithuania. They emigrated to this country, landing in Boston about 1895.

There were 12 children but only 7 survived. One who died was a twin to Helen who passed when about six months old. In order, approximate, of birth: Rebecca "Bea" (Wallerstein), Morris, Lillian, Rae (Cohen), Harry, Tillie (Gavender), and Helen (Zaret).

Grandpa Ike was a traveling salesman early, but later in his life, he ran summer beach hotels on the south shore of Long Island, American plan (with three meals included); with luck, he would break even. Grandma Lil mentioned that she had to help him financially sometimes. Later, he ended up with twelve or forteen summer cottages he rented out, in Far Rockaway. Isaac lived to be 87, staying alive, it was said, to see Helen Francis and Len Bachman marry. Then he died, in the summer of 1948. Your mother and I drove out to see him early that summer. Your mother had light blonde hair, and first I told Grandpa that she was an Episcopalian, startling him until I reassured him she was truly Jewish.

Great Grandma Fannie died about 1904 in childbirth. Eventually, Isaac courted a widow named Rose Hill with two children, Leona and Charles. Telling Rose he had only three children at home, he married her. Boy, was she surprised to discover the miscount when arriving at the house. Nevertheless, she stayed with him and Leona became part of the family. Leona later was to marry Morris. I don't recall ever meeting Charlie.

Ike's father was alive in 1920, evidently living in the New York area. His name was Aaron and apparently was fairly tall, as Grandma Lil recalled. Morris and Harry went into the lingerie business together and were quite successful. Tragically, Morris died in 1932 of pneumonia. Harry continued on and did quite well. Remarkably, Harry from my mother's side and Bob Gershenow (Tillie) from my dad's side were best friends, Bob eventually moving to New York and later Florida, as did Harry.

Aunt Bea (Rebecca) Wallerstein was like a mother to her siblings and practically raised them. She was a homebody type but her brothers and sisters were more 'modern' and fun loving, especially Harry, Lil, and Helen. Bea married her first cousin Jake Wallerstein, who was in the tavern and, later, movie business in Michigan City. He had a terrible temper and wasn't very popular with many of us. He died around 1941.

Albert K. (Kofke?--a Hebrew name?) set up his factory upstairs in the Mozart building at 109 E. Michigan St., above a laundry. Later he moved the operation to 225 E. Michigan, and a few years later to an old church building at 314 E. 5th Street. In 1920 he bought the Kronthal shirt company building at Detroit and Pine. When he finished enclosing all the available space, he had about 23,000 square feet. The current warehouse building of 18,000 feet brings the total area to 41,000 feet. Grandpa Al not only did the selling but in the early years often helped run the boxes and deliver them by horse team and wagon. Before turn signals were invented in the automotive age, I recall that the truck driver, "T", devised a mechanical arm that he would raise, since his arm could not reach beyond the truck body.

In 1913, Lillian decided to visit sister Bea in Michigan City, and made the long train trip on the New York Central and Michigan Central railroads. After graduating high school, she went to work for her father and often related how he would angrily fire her on Friday but then rehire her on Monday.

In Michigan City, Lillian met Albert, and they soon decided to marry. Instead of returning to New York, they opted to marry in Chicago at his parents' home in Chicago. Early pictures show Lil behind the wheel of an open touring sedan, with Al, four doors, and Jay and Bea in the back. Lil was a good driver but after Al was killed in the train-auto accident, she never again touched the wheel.

On June 23, 1915, their first son was born and named Louis Frank. As years passed the middle name "Frank" was forgotten and Lou finally took the middle initial "W" from his mother's maiden name. During World War II, he had occasion to obtain his birth certificate and was astonished to 1earn his true middle name, but decided to stick with the "W" anyway.

On April 16, 1919, I was born also at the Presbyterian Hospital on Chicago's near west side. It has since been rebuilt and is now Rush-Presbyterian. Harriet and I were there in the '70s to visit her father Albert, in for a minor problem. I inquired, but nobody remembered me. The name on my birth certificate was "Frederick" with no middle name, named for Grandma Fannie. My middle initial "G" was given to me by Fred G. Mueller, owner of Camp Indianola when I was 16. He and I agreed that it would appear more favorable to have one.

At the time the family lived on Charles Street, just off Franklin. It could be the same house Mayor Cliff Arnold resided in many years later. When I was about 6 months old, we moved to 119 E. 8th Street, across from where the phone company building was built in the '20s.

The home was a two-story duplex with a common big front porch. The other half was occupied by Andy and Mary Gill with their sons Tom and Paul. Andy was the legendary football coach at Elston Senior High (Gill Field named in his honor). Mary was also a teacher. The sons were fine persons--Tom became an Army colonel during the war. Paul served as a Navy Commodore, marrying Phil Sprague's sister. Tragically, both men died relatively young.

My earliest recollection was at the age of three, standing on the sidewalk crying because some dastard bastard was stealing my kitty-cart. Two other incidents: (not remembered but related often by my mother):

Mom told the babysitter to stay right behind me since I usually was into much mischief. So all afternoon I climbed the front stairs, walked down the hall, went down the back stairs, back to the front stairs, and kept circling endlessly. The poor girl was plumb worn out following me every step of the way.

The folks bought a bushel basket of apples in the country. Noting that some were riper than others, they opted to give them to the Gills. I toddled next door and informed our neighbors that my parents were going to give them some rotten apples.

Once my dad was listening to some violin music on the Victrola in the living room. Thinking the record had ended, I took the needle head off and turned off the machine. Dad didn't appreciate my "help," chased me around the dining room table, and whacked me a few times.

When the phone company was going up across the street, I became an early entrepreneur and set up a lemonade stand for the construction workers. Shrewdly, I figured a great way to operate on a 100% profit margin by walking into the Star Grocery nearby on Franklin and saying the magic words: "Charge it." But when big brother Louis found out, he made me go back and pay for the lemons.

In an earlier incident, Mom and an aunt were walking down Franklin when they spied a three-year-old boy lying on the sidewalk kicking and screaming in a king size tantrum. My aunt said: "Boy, if it were my kid, I'd kill him!" Guess what--it was Louis!

I also recall Mom (too tiring to keep calling her "Grandma Lil") teaching me the ABC's from a portable small blackboard.

About 1926 we moved to the Sheridan Beach Hotel at Stop 2, Lake Shore Drive and Lake Street. Eventually, the folks and an architect came up with a set of plans for a home on Coolspring Avenue on a lot they had purchased. The house resembled the home the Henry Winskis owned catty-cornered from Sinai Temple. Work was supposed to start the week after Dad was killed in 1928. The lot eventually was sold to Morrie Kozin, of the M&M Restaurant.

I had been attending the old Central School, a two-story red brick building at 8th and Spring. The folks impressed on me the necessity of not telling the teachers that we had moved or I would be transferred to the old Elston grammar school at 4th and Pine. Of course, I couldn't keep the secret and soon was transferred to the less desirable entity.

After reaching third grade, either I began to impress the teaching staff how smart I was and quick to pick up most courses, except writing and deportment, or more likely, by double promoting me, they would rid themselves of a lively brat--let the next higher teachers handle me. Anyway, by the time I reached 7-2 in Elston Junior High, I was two years ahead of my original classmates.

In kindergarten, I had Miss Armstrong, who had taught Maurie Rubin years before and lived to teach in Sinai Nursery School about 50 years later (I had her there.--SGH). "Cutie" Karpen was in my class--Elizabeth still lives on the beach in the old Karpen cottage at Stop 7. Martin, the father, ran the Karpen furniture factory near the prison till his brothers kicked him out. My crush in kindergarten was Marge Ohming, although I doubt she ever knew it. Jean Robinson Vail was also a classmate. There were five other children we were friendly with: Sam, Doris and her twin sister, Jay and Dick, closest to our ages. Jay and I entered the Army together, also with Art Fogel from the beach, and a little later, Bobbie Hoodwin.

I found junior and senior high a little tougher; though getting A's and B's, I never made the honor roll of all A's. In Junior high, I went out for the Black Pirates football team, as did Bud Ruby. I continued on in high school in my sophomore and senior years. In the last game of the season in my last year, safely ahead of Elkhart 28 to 0, with two minutes to play, Andy Gill finally put me in. I distinguished myself by getting penalized for hitting an opponent on the helmet and making two tackles. After the game, the Elkhart coach asked Andy who was that big Irishman he put in at the end to rough it up. I was 15 at the time.

Bud Ruby calls me his oldest friend -I'm six months older but we were close friends from about the time we were three years old. However, he attended different schools, and, for high school, attended Alton Military Academy, in Alton, Ill. I stayed out of college for one year, so when Bud also chose the U. of Wisconsin, he was one year behind me.

The traumatic experience of my early years happened on August 27, 1928, when my father was killed in a train-auto accident at the 6th Street bridge. At noon, he was driving two factory girls home for lunch. A railroad engine was humping freight cars across the street, but the watchman supposedly on guard was hoisting a beer in a nearby tavern. Besides Dad, one girl was killed and the other lost a leg. The latter, Teresa Granacki, later returned to work in the punchboard department.

I was nine and Louis,13. He certainly remembers Dad much better than I, but we both keenly missed his guidance and love during our formative years and ever after. Dad was highly respected and universally well regarded. I had one man tell me much later than he remembered A1 Hocdwin as being almost saintly, quite an outstanding statement of praise.

Dad was active in Sinai Temple from its founding in 1913. He customarily picked up Sunday school students and drove them to the rented quarters. He was active in other Temple affairs but never sought office. I have some condolence letters sent to Mom from various business and community leaders. A fellow Rotarian wrote as follows: "Al Hoodwin was a man liked by everyone who knew him. He was admired for his sunny disposition, his friendliness for everyone and his high ethics."

Much to her credit, Grandma Lil took charge of the business one week after the accident and ran it mostly on sheer guts and nerve, knowing little about box business. She persuaded customers to stick with the company and often fought with the superintendent and other help to get things done. She held out till 1929 when Jack Hoodwin took over. He had had a farm and orchard in Florida and had not been overly successful, though the only Hoodwin to have attended college. He was an architect whose main accomplishment seems to have been dropping out of the fledgling Chicago Bridge and Iron Works after working there a month. That company went on to become a multimillion dollar enterprise and Jack could have become a millionaire very easily. He did design homes in Chicago for a while, including the homes for the George Kurtzans and Joe Hoodwins.

For many summers, Louis, for a while, and I, for 10 years, spent many happy times at Camp Indianola at Madison, Wisconsin. There I learned to swim, sail, motorboat, horseback ride, and engage in all the sports. Fred Mueller was good at instilling discipline and order. We marched in military order to mess three times daily. At night, we conducted retreat, the lowering of the flag, dressing formally weekends in cavalry, navy, or campcraft (scout) uniforms. We could go from columns of two into four abreast in turns closely resembling West Point marching. We had to keep our cabins spotless and neat, and pennants and medals were awarded for the best; Louis always won a medal for this.

Bud Ruby also went to Indianola, as did Orson Welles, though I don't remember him. I made many friendships there that continued at the University when I entered college. Micky McGuire, a full blooded Hawaiian counselor, taught us the hula and "My Little Grass Shack in Hawaii." He played halfback for the Badgers, barefoot, and was very fast and talented.

I learned to blow the bugle later on, and incurred the wrath of the head counselor for swinging "Assembly" when swing became popular in the '30s. The last two years I became a counselor. I was paid $100 the first year, but only $50 the second. I quit after that, figuring that that was no way to get rich.

In high school, I made friends with a boy from Canada, Bruce Keay. Then Howard Harris joined us and we became a triumvirate, seldom apart.

I should mention here that after the accident, we moved to Sherman Apartments #15 and stayed there 12 years till moving to Mrs. Harris's cottage at Stop 8 on the beach. Her sons were Howard and Bernard, and were good friends for years.

After a succession of Polish maids, Mom hired Mattie Lee, an older black woman who had worked for the Rubys and Shons. She knew all the gossip and sometimes the phone would ring, Mattie would answer it, and hold a conversation for several minutes before calling "Mrs. Hoodwin, Fay Ruby is calling." I refer you to an article I did earlier--she was a a real character.

In high school, I was active in many activities including Hi-Y and the Senior Play ("The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde; I was the minister, of course). Others: the Discussion League (debating), the Elstonian (yearbook), and the Crimson Comet newspaper (I was editor for a while). High school was an enjoyable experience for me: good friends and a good learning experience.

Deciding I was too young at 16 to start college, I stayed out for a year. I took a couple of courses; then in February, 1936, during a bitter cold spell, Mom said, "The hell with it! Let's go to Florida." So we took the train to Miami Beach and stayed there till April. This was lots of fun, also, and I found some kids my age whose company was great.

At our hotel, entertaining nightly were the Ritz Brothers, a very funny trio who went on to star in some Hollywood films. Jerry Lewis admits stealing liberally from their act. Their father, Pa Ritz, took shine to Mom, and I might have become the fourth Ritz brother with a little luck.

In September, 1936, I followed in Uncle Louis's footsteps and entered the University of Wisconsin at Madison, a beautiful school in a beautiful city and a beautiful state. Eventually, I majored in commerce and graduated with a Ph. B, same as a B A, only without a foreign language requirement.

Also same as Louis, I joined Phi Sigma Delta fraternity, and as a sophomore, was elected president, serving for two years. I went out for freshman football in the spring under famed Notre Dame Four Horseman coach Harry Stohldreher. Years later, we met in a Chicago theatre and he still remembered me. I was before my time in that I preferred playing defense, but, in those days, you played both ways. An assistant coach said I did okay, but at 175 pounds, I could see no future in varsity ball.

In my sophomore year, the outgoing Master Frater talked me into a stupid activity--running for sophomore class president. I came in third with 88 votes, and completely messed up my scholastics. Also, it reinforced my distaste for politics and politicians. The winner had about 250 votes, as I recall.

In my junior year, I became friendly with Jerry Glaspiegel and we studied together for our accounting courses. Later that year and in my senior year, I dated Jean Ettenheim from Milwaukee. She eventually married and divorced a dentist, having four children.

For the sidewalk-painting and the monkey-catching episodes, I refer you again to articles in the red notebook, hopefully you are maintaining.

After graduating in 1940, I went into the factory and was put to work on the various machines, same of which I had worked on in 1936. By the time I retired, I could run most of equipment, many times having to operate them when employees didn't show. The exceptions were the printing presses and the setting of the wrappers. I also was forced to drive the truck often, including trips to Chicago. Once, our driver was injured in Chicago, and I had to go in at night and bring back the truck. Usually, I helped load the truck for the Chicago loads, once or twice a week. When I retired, two persons were required to replace me. I figure it was not so much that I was a super superintendent, but that the ones hired in my place couldn't cut it.

December 7, 1941, changed everybody's life, including mine. In May, 1942, four or five of us drove to Dayton and enlisted into the ground crew of the Army Air Corps at Patterson Field. We figured it was much preferable to getting drafted into the infantry. Since my eyes were 20-200 or worse, I had to fake the test. On entering the test room I glanced at the chart and memorized the top two lines. Without my glasses, I could hardly see the chart.

In a few days, several of us were shipped to Indianapolis to the Indiana Fairgrounds and we were quartered in the 4-H barracks, a great deal compared to other possibilities. We were to set up the 46th Air Depot Group, and I soon was put to work as a typist-clerk. In 5 weeks I made corporal--in the regular army in peacetime, it could take three or four years. We got every other weekend off and I hitchhiked home. The first time I walked in the house, Useless barked at me until she recognized me and came cowering up to apologize.

In August, we were transferred to the Syracuse Army Air Base, still under construction, the second location in a row we opened up. Syracuse was a great city and we were treated nicely by everybody. In the winter for one week, the thermometer stayed at 20 degrees below zero.

I was assigned special service duty and became the assistant manager of the theatre, great duty. Here I made sergeant, and would have made staff sergeant if I hadn't signed up for Officer Candidate School. In April, I left for Wilmington, NC, for the AntiAircraft Artillery School, formerly part of the Coast Artillery, and part of the Ground Forces. (I was to serve in all three Army branches). My biggest problem at first was my lack of infantry close-order drill training. In the air corps, we got zilch - I actually had more schooling in this at Camp Indianola.

After a few weeks, I was transferred to the specia1 training detachment, more commonly known as "Boot School." For two weeks, we did nothing else but march and practice commanding marchers. Sometimes you braced so much, your arms would fall asleep. At the end, I could equal or top any graduate of West Point.

Midway in boot school, I became ill with "glandular fever," which I think could be called hepatitis today. In the hospital two weeks, I attended a program organized by the Red Cross. One of the singers was a patient called Buddy. He sang "Good Bye, My Coney Island Baby" and later he became famous--he was Buddy Hackett.

I finally returned to a new battery (company) and chose the 90 millimeter AA gun as my specialty, over the 40 mm., and, believe it or not, searchlights. The 90 required knowledge of trigonometry and algebra, and we worked with the calculators and radars. Now that I had the military down pat, I found I had to really apply myself to handle the math. The three-month course (90 day wonders) had been lengthened to four months; so with boot school and the hospital, it took me five months to graduate. Being super cautious, and since I told Mom how hard the courses were, on the day I graduated as a Second Lieutenant, in what has to be a first, Mom sent me a congratulatory wire addressed to "Officer Candidate Fred G. Hoodwin."

Happily, I was sent to Camp Haan, Riverside, California. On the way out there, I stopped in Michigan City and bought a 1940 Ford V-8 for $1,000. Before enlisting, I had sold my 1940 Plymouth ($600 cost) for about $300, because who would want autos during the war with gas and tire rationing? Boy, was that ever incorrect! My first car, a 1929 Ford Model A, which cost me $55 in 1936, also was selling for about $1000 during the war.

Camp Haan, an AA installation, was 60 miles from L.A. and we took advantage of the good times there frequently. A funny thing happened to anti-aircraft in the fall and winter of 1943: the Allies achieved aerial superiority over the Axis powers, and suddenly there were 10,000 Second Lieutenants in AA too many. So the Army switched us to the Transportation Corps, a spin-off from the Quartermaster Corps, in the Service branch. Most of us had never heard of TC and knew as much about transportation as about nuclear physics. Nevertheless, I and a bunch others were transferred to San Francisco, certainly a great town to be in if only we could stay there and not get shipped with a port battalion to some God-forsaken south Pacific island.

Returning to commissioning dates, I became a Second Lt. Sept. 9, 1943. On March 8, 1945, I made First Lt. The end of April, 1946, I became a PFC poor f--- civilian, as the expression went.

In San Francisco, I was assigned to Fort Mason, the famed Port of Embarkation. The date was Feb. 1, 1944. The division was called TD Troop Movement and Equipment Division. I ended up under a Major Drummond who had me trying to supply some personal requests from personnel overseas. This was a cockamamie deal and I opted for the deal known as Cargo Security. You sailed over on merchant ships and were in charge of guarding the army cargo till discharged, something the ships' first mates routinely handled in peacetime. In other words, probably quite unnecessary. The great part of it was you got to return to the USA when unloaded, beating hell out of the poor Joes stuck over there for the duration.

My first trip was on the Norway Victory, faster and better furnished than the Liberty ships being made in great volume. We left early in April and arrived in Milne Bay, New Guinea on May 12. There, I ran into a fraternity brother, Les Grubin, who had already been overseas for nearly two years. Some of our cargo was discharged, and then we were ordered to Finchhafen, further west on the upper coast of New Guinea. Finished there the middle of June and returned to Fort Mason the end of the month. For this trip, I was awarded the American Theater and Asiatic-Pacific Theater campaign medals, plus one bronze service star on the latter medal (ribbon) for service in a combat zone.

Early in July I was assigned to the John F. Shafroth, a Liberty ship. Liberty ships made about 9 knots as compared to the Victory's 16. The joke was that the garbage thrown over the stern floated past, in the same direction. This was the trip that my sense of humor almost did me in, permanently.

We unloaded on Guadalcanal in August, and the mixed cargo include many cases of beer. You can imagine what happened when the thirsty Marine stevedores reached it. The pilfering was outstanding, so in my report on returning to Frisco, I wrote that if we could have had more guards, the Marines would have been "sadder Budweiser."

Somehow the Colonel in charge didn't think that was very funny, chewed my fanny out massively, and quickly assigned me to another Liberty, but this one to load 9000 tons of Air Corps bombs, 500 pounders, plus their primers and detonators. So my job as Cargo Security Officer clearly was to be very alert that no scoundrel snuck down the gangplank hiding a bomb under his clothes. The Francisco Morayon left Benicia Arsenal the end of August, '44, and headed out through the Golden Gate, eventually reaching Hollandia. New Guinea, in September.

We sat around there for weeks, and finally convoyed up to Leyte in the Philippines, which had been invaded by "Dugout Doug" MacArthur's troops a month earlier. A lone "Check-point Charlie" Jap plane came over every evening and after a while we didn't bother to go topside to watch the AA fire from our ship and dozens of others. We joked about needing parachutes, not life jackets. Some time later, the joke no longer seemed funny.

Finally, around Xmas, we headed up in a convoy for Mindoro, near Luzon, which was to be the next invasion target. We were promised 24-hour air cover, which we duly received. Trouble is, it was 12 hours of U.S. cover and 12 hours of Jap. About 10:00 A.M. the suicide Kamikaze planes showed up. One dove into the funnel of the ship next to us and it disappeared in a huge explosion and cloud of debris. Evidently, it had a similar load to ours and the stress went up a couple of thousand degrees. Our Navy gun crew was superb, and eventually in the four or five days we were en route, the gunners shot down four Japs, a great record.

One day, a Jap fighter was shot down by one of ours and was heading for the #1 hatch where the touchy primers and detonators were stored. At the last instant, it exploded and only a small part of the aluminum fuselage landed on the deck. Later many of us made watch bracelets from the debris. Again I must refer you to the red book for a more complete coverage of this fateful trip. It lasted 6 months by the time I shipped back in a Navy transport from New Guinea. I think that was the one I got terribly seasick--see another article for details.

Arriving back the 9th of March, I wangled a two-week emergency leave by getting Mom to play sick--otherwise they would have shipped me right out again. My fourth trip was on the Justo Arosemena leaving the middle of July, 1945. This Liberty ship touched Eniwetok, Palau, Manila (I saw Les G. again), Russell Islands, Guadalcanal again, Noumea, New Caledonia (a French possession) and back to Frisco in July. I picked up more ribbons and stars along the way.

The fifth and last trip was on the Ocala Victory from end of July eventually landing on Saipan. On August 14, my roommate, the radio operator, poured himself a drink early in the p.m. When I asked him how come, he said, "Oh, the war is over--the Japs surrendered!"

I went over to Tinian, next to Saipan, and surprised Jerry Glasspiegel, a finance captain there. We had a nice visit, and one day sailed a catamaran in the lagoon there--an experience many people dream of forever. The ship returned through the Panama Canal to Baltimore, and I had to talk the authorities into letting me entrain back to Frisco where my car and other belongings were, in mid October. The next few months I had pier duty or troop movements, checking in returning troops. Finally, I was sent to Camp Atterbury in southern Indiana in February and was discharged as of the end of April. Four eventful years, memorable, but I was happy to get out and resume civilian life.

After a month or so of relaxation and renewing home ties, I returned to work at the plant, gradually taking over as plant superintendent. Uncle Jack was still in charge but he was to retire in the early '50s, with Louis assuming control. Louis was and is accounting oriented and did much of the bookwork himself. He doesn't know a screw driver from a monkey wrench, but watched the administrative details carefully. In all these years, being conservative, he never borrowed a cent for business purposes, a very rare phenomenon in business. At the same time, he made some speculative personal investments that came in big, establishing a solid base for his affairs. The company was and is strong financially, though never a roaring success.

As for me, I never was really trained for my job but had to pick it up as I went along. For one thing, I hated and still dislike the building itself--there is no room for expansion. A semi-truck cannot be accommodated, the floors are poor, as is the elevator, which is too small. Thank the Lord, we finally built and expanded a decent warehouse. You should have seen some of the monstrosities we had prior to erecting the one near the prison.

I evolved my own system for keeping track of inventory and production records--which should be done now by computer--Maybe Al will finally get around to doing same, including computerizing payroll. Everything I knew, I taught carefully to my successor Rick, who, when I retired, dropped everything for his own system best described as instant chaos. He and his successors actually lost track of thousands of boxes, many of which were stolen by crooked employees.

In 1946, Louis and I bought a 1932 Chris-Craft speedboat, twenty-two feet long, and with a mahogany hull. We put much money and labor in it, but it never did run right. We did have lots of fun with it, nevertheless, and also lots of friends on account of it.

In September of that year, Eleanor Fox (later Fogel) introduced me to a pretty young blonde named Ruth Keller. Her folks lived at Stop 11, 3 stops down, but they returned to the west side of Chicago shortly after, where they operated a successful girdle shop and factory.

In 1947, we started dating and finally became engaged with wedding plans set for December 27 in Chicago. Ruth was quite artistic and also had a lovely trained dramatic soprano voice. We honeymooned in Acapulco, and then moved into her folks' cottage, which they had recently remodeled. By 1949, Ruth tired of living with her folks, especially her mother. We built a five-room house in Edgewood, the second new home there since WWII. Unfortunately, the fifth room was a dining room instead of a bedroom, and there was but one bath. When you children came along, it was obviously inadequate. Ber Kottler bought the home from us when we built the home on Kenwood.

Not until after we were married did I find out that Ruth was subject to severe migraine headaches. They would occur randomly and would play havoc with our plans. She took much strong medication and I even wound up giving her shots. I think I counted seven or eight psychiatrists she went to. A trip to Mayo Clinic and a quack in Houston shed little light on her problem. Of course, any domestic bickering or other difficulties did not help the situation.

However, upon becoming pregnant with Andrew, she felt great; with Shepherd, not as good, and with Robin, she had a rough time of it, including a bladder infection. I have always believed that all the medication she took while carrying Robin caused his health and physical problems.

In 1956, after Robin was born, I took Ruth and Andy to go for a ride in Lou's sixteen-foot speedboat. It had been having problems with water in the gas. Still tied up at the dock, I raised the engine hatch for a few moments and unfortunately, closed it. When I tried to start the engine, there was an explosion and flash of fire. Evidently, gas fumes in the bilge had exploded. All of us, including Rusty, the Cocker Spaniel, went to the hospital in an ambulance. Ruth stayed in for a week but Andy and I were kept two weeks.

In 1957, Ruth decided we needed a new and bigger home. We bought the lot on the corner of Maple and Kenwood for $10,000, with help from the Kellers. We found a plan in a booklet we liked for a split-level and gave it to architect Norb Schaaf, who developed the plan very artistically. Sadly, I wasn't smart enough to realize how much over our heads we were getting into. We could have bought the Scholl home, 2000 feet, on Maple (later owned by the Youngs--SGH) for much less money, but Ruth didn't like it.

We ended up spending $75,000, including furnishings, a vast sum in those days and eventually causing the divorce because the Kellers had to give us so much help. But the home was beautiful with a great layout and I really loved it. Nevertheless, the headaches the contractors gave us were the worst experience of my life, next to the divorce.

In February, 1962, Ruth announced to me that she wanted a divorce to allow her to strike out on her own and seek a career as a singer. I was stunned, even though we had had some problems, largely about money that her foIks had given us towards the house. I considered this ironic since the new home was completely her idea, an extravagance she knew we couldn't afford.

That month she took the first of three trips to California, staying with her brother and sister-in-law, Sheldon and Bitsy. As a matter of fact, the first trip preceded her divorce announcement. I told Louis and Grandma, of course, and they, too, were surprised. The Kellers were very much opposed to it and called me often urging me to fight it.

Louis asked me how I felt about the divorce, and, for a period of about six weeks, I couldn't give a determinate answer. Finally, I came to the conclusion that if she no longer wanted me, then I didn't want her.

The lawyers moved me out of the house, although on her next two trips west, I returned to stay with the children. In April, the Jack Winskis across the street gave a party and I was invited. Harriet Stumer also was there, in the process of being divorced by her husband Mike. We greeted each other as the "two rejects" and struck up a relationship on those oommon grounds. Her divorce wasn't final till the summer while she negotiated financial arrangements with Mike. When we were to marry the following January, she said Mike should buy me a very expensive gift since I saved him about $40,000 in payments he would have had to make.

Ruth's lawyer was Phil Cagen, a very close friend of Lou and Pat's. He turned out to be a complete bastard (ending the friendship!). I never saw so many shenanigans--motions, two changes of venue (in a divorce!), till we ended up in the court in Crown Point. In the meantime, not too happy with my lawyer, Harriet convinced me to switch to A1 Blieden, who was more aggressive.

In May, Ruth was having second feelings, especially since the entertainment world was not anxiously awaiting her debut. With her folks' urging, she called me from the West Coast to discuss a reconciliation. I turned her down since she had trashed me earlier, and I had finally arrived at a reasonable peace of mind status.

The rest of the year turned ugly and I won't go into further details.

The divorce was granted early in January and she got custody of the children (even though not having seen them since October) (She was mostly in the hospital or in bed at her parents' apartment recuperating during this time.--SGH). She also got the house and $80 a week support. I was relieved that the ordeal was over, and Harriet and I married two weeks later.

On February 17, a Sunday night, we were stunned when the Rabbi called to inform us that Ruth had passed away that evening. She had been in Weiss Memorial Hospital, and the cause of death was listed as nephritis, a kidney disease, plus cystitis and pyelitis. Evidently, the disease had been there for years and nobody knew it. All the many medications she took certainly did not help her condition.

She was buried in Westlawn Memorial Park in Norwood--I attended the funeral at Pisers, on Chicago's north side, but didn't go to the cemetery.

I called A1 Blieden that Sunday night and he arranged for me to pick up you children the next day. So now Harriet and I were living in a two-bedroom, one-bath house with four kids and two dogs. It was hairy going for a while, but in April, we bought the house at 239 Belmont Court. Bud Ruby lent me enough money for the down payment and furnishings--I paid him back in three years, plus interest that I insisted on paying.

Being flat broke, I was helped greatly by Harriet carrying much of the burden till I could get back on my feet financially.

Life goes on and all of us survived. I know you boys missed your mother's love and guidance, but Harriet was there to keep things on an even keel as much as possible. Robin now regards Harriet as his mother since he hardly remembers Ruth. She has taken a real interest in him, although her relationship with you older boys is not as close, understandably so.

I have always been active in organizations, and in 1948 joined the M.C. United Jewish Welfare Fund as secretary-treasurer. It was the year of the birth of Israel and many of us worked diligently to raise the goodly sum of $75,000, most of which went to the infant state. I served in that capacity for two or three years.

In 1947, I joined the Lions Club and became the Tail Twister within several years. Also, I became active in B'Nai B'rith--it turned out that I started through the chairs in both organizations at the same time. I was attending so many committee meetings that eventually I tired of the meeting bit. I served as lodge president in 1952-53 and as Lions head in 1953-54. While head of the Lions, we sponsored the first collegiate football game ever in Michigan City, between Ball State and Valparaiso.

During my lodge tenure, the new Sinai Temple was built and I was active in that drive. Also, in 1953, I was appointed to the LaPorte County Selective Service Board and eventually became chairman. I served on it for twenty years, proud of my duty on it till the latter part of the Viet Nam war when it finally became evident that we had no business there in the first place.

Also, I put in time on the Temple board and in the early '70s, on the Pottawattomie Country Club board. I have remained active in the Lions, doing several stints as program chairman (monthly) and just put in two years as assistant chairman for the Entertainment books drive.

Almost forgot to mention that I was hooked into going thru the chairs of the Edgewood PTA, serving two years as president. As far as charities and tax-exempt institutions go, I have always supported same and in 1993 contributed over $3,000 to them.

Working in the business, Louis and I have gotten along reasonably well. We have had our share of disagreements, naturally, a couple of big ones with yelling and not talking for weeks. When we were kids, Louis, as the older brother, very normally teased me and I was upset, also quite normally. If I had been the older, I am sure I would have done the same.

However, most of the time we got along fine and he was always very honest as far as financial matters were concerned. In 1979, he offered to buy me out when I reached the age of 62 in April, 1981. After much thought, I accepted his offer but to finalize on December 31 of '81. The financial part appeared fair, with the pension from the fund to be paid in 1982. It had not been my idea to retire, but as I thought it over, I figured why not? Working was fine, but many times I wearied of the hassle, especially fighting with the union and experiencing all the problems with the employees. In the '70s, our labor turnover was about 250%, and absenteeism drove me up the wall. Many times I had to step in and do some cutting or drive the truck. Once my foreman walked out with no notice in the midst of our Xmas rush. From Lou's viewpoint, he got rid of my large salary and could afford to hire two to replace me and still save money. Of course, he ended up with a poorly run factory much of the time.

The superintendent situation as I write this still isn't settled as Albert is about to make another change.

In July of '82, Louis paid me the pension from the fund and I put the lump sum into Fidelity Investments, which I had been using for about six years. In August, just like I knew what I was doing, I put much of the investment into Magellan, which proceeded to double and triple over the next few years. (That was the beginning of the bull market.--SGH)

My current investment with Fidelity exceeds four times what it was in 1982, this is with my withdrawal of thousands of dollars needed to live on in the last twelve years. I have two money funds, a muni bond fund, and two growth funds, in and out of the rollover. Also, I have had several other investments and IRA's currently.

In 1981, Harriet and I went to Florida to get a place to stay. We purchased a townhome in Palm Beach Gardens and picked out the furniture. Then she dropped a bombshell, announcing she did not want to live in this home. When the opening skirmishes of World War III had ended, we kept the place to rent out. I stated what the hell, real estate there had been going up $10,000 a year, and so we could not possibly lose. Then Harriet observed what if real estate doesn't go up and maybe even goes down in value? I snarled, "What the hell do you know about it?" Guess who was right? A few years ago after all the hassles of being landlords, we unloaded the home at a loss.

We rented later in 1981 the condo in North Palm Beach and ended up buying it and its furniture. In November, I stupidly lost my balance stepping to a dock at the warehouse and fell to the ground, fracturing my wrist. In a cast for four months, I played no golf the first season in Florida, but the following fall, we joined the North Palm Beach Country Club, a village-owned golf, swimming, and tennis facility.

Early in the '80s, I participated in a roast for Mayor Cliff Arnold. 1985 was my big year for performing, MC'ing a Lions 60th anniversary party at the Club and joining in a roast for Bud Ruby. I have videos of both events, which I believe you have seen. In 1986 I started writing articles and letters for the News-Dispatch and Beacher. To date, there are 51 letters to the Anvil Chorus, 37 to Viewpoint, 30 to the Beacher, 16 unpublished, for a total of 134. The N-D makes it difficult for me now to publish anything in Viewpoint, and the Beacher quit accepting my contributions.

I have covered about everything I can remember. The recent years since you grew to manhood, there is little point in my reviewing, since you know it first hand. Recalling big news events: Skidding off the Roeske avenue bridge at Xmas time 1970 (a car accident--SGH). My trip to Europe in 1973. Grandma Lil passing the same year. Operations for prostate and a hernia in 1974, cataracts in the '80s. Harriet's health in the '70s, worsening in '79, depression treatment continuing until the present. Her osteoporosis and fractured vertebrae in 1992; her fall and fractured pelvis in 1994.

The crowning event that this saga ends with is my three sons and granddaughter surprising me in Florida for my 75th birthday, a super wonderful event I shall remember with pleasure for my remaining days!

With love,

Dad

***

NOTE FROM SHEPHERD:

In 1984, I was working with a psychic therapist, who did a fascinating workshop called "Getting in Touch with Your Guides." We were all doing an exercise to get a message from the other side. I desperately wanted to contact my mother, but wasn't able to get past my blocks at the time. Finally, I told the psychic and she said, "No wonder my right arm is shaking." My mother was trying to write through her, since she couldn't get through me. The psychic had long ago made a rule that she wouldn't allow anyone to be channeled through her except through her writing hand. She started rapidly writing a message that even looked like my mother's handwriting. Because I'd been doing a lot of therapy around the issue of my parents' divorce, I wanted her comments on it. She wrote, "Very young, I knew I was dying. I thought that if I could be free of the marriage, I could be free of the death. My illusion. I also wanted him to be free of me. I wanted it all. No one gets it all. Do you understand?"

I also discussed the divorce with my father, and came to realize that, as with most human relationships, they both had a valid point of view, and both made mistakes. That's how we grow.

The therapist had had no way of knowing some of this, like the fact that her best friend Shirley Goldsmith also lost her husband from kidney disease and told me that, looking back, Ruth had had symptoms from around the age of 17. These few lines were a profound summation of their divorce from a higher perspective.

My mother was 17 in 1942, just as the Holocaust was going into full swing. She had visited Poland with her mother and brother in 1930 for her uncle's wedding. She was very sensitive and must have been picking up on the nightmare happening there. I recently got that her illness was about her taking on that energy and trying to heal it, especially as it hit her mother in 1945 when she received the telegram telling her that most of her family had been murdered. The kidneys remove toxins from the body; with her disease, the poisons overwhelmed her and created enormous pain, especially in her head (migraines).

I worked a lot with my father as he was passing over. I had gotten from my mother years before that the two of them would not meet to resolve things right away after he passed, that he would first handle his other main relationships so that they could devote some in-depth energy to theirs. And that's what happened. Not long ago, they connected, healed their relationship, and rediscovered the underlying love that brought them together. It has been quite beautiful.