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.
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