CHRISTMAS 2000

         Rather than write about my experiences this year I will write instead about my dad. Dad always wanted to be more of a big brother to Jerry and me than the usual authoritarian father figure. As I think back, I believe that he achieved his goal. He would organize the neighborhood kids to play baseball and become one of the kids to start us out. When the biggest kids consistently hit the ball out of our small grass area his solution was to cut the bat to half-length. This proved to be a good solution. It equalized the differences in strength between us small kids and the older ones while the high school aged left the field in disgust.

         Dad didn't have an easy childhood. He was the youngest of a large family living in Chicago. Grandfather was a musician. His gigs didn’t give him enough money to provide for the family so he bought a small store with living quarters above and opened a combined tobacco and umbrella repair shop. Grandmother operated the store when he was on tour. Even the combined incomes weren't enough. At this point they saw a real estate ad in a magazine offering to exchange a farm in Michigan for a business in Chicago. The farm was described as 60 acres of bottomland soil, a good-sized house, a barn with other out buildings, a cow, chickens and a mule. Here was the answer to their prayers! Now the family would always have plenty of food and the older members would be able to provide labor for growing cash crops. The papers were signed, sight unseen. The family packed up and took the train to Alligan, Michigan to their new home.

         The farm proved to be less than they had imagined from the ad. The land had poor drainage and the soil was chemically basic enough so that most crops would not grow. The house was smaller than anticipated. The barn and chicken house were dilapidated, the cow too old to give milk and the mule too lame to pull a plow. I never did learn about the condition of the chickens. Neighbors told them that several families had tried to work the farm before them and had failed. The family had to break up, with the older ones moving out. Dad, being the youngest, stayed at the farm until he graduated from primary school. The school had one room and one teacher.

         Being the son of a professional musician, the teacher expected dad to know how to play a number of musical instruments. Before Christmas, when he was in sixth grade, the teacher asked him to bring a violin to class in a week to play Christmas Carols. Dad was too embarrassed to tell the teacher that he was not exactly an advanced student of the violin. When he got home grandfather started him on a week of intensive instruction and had him memorize Christmas Carols: his ability to read the music was limited. At the end of the week grandfather carefully tuned the violin and told him not to touch the tuning pegs. He told dad that the first impression was very important to a musician. When he got to school, dad set up a music stand, put sheet music on it, and pretended to tune the instrument. His performance was apparently satisfactory.

         Dad told me that he was the only one in his graduating class to go on to high school. The rest were needed on their family farms. He left to attend high school in Libertyville, Illinois, staying at the house of his sister Mary and her husband. During this period he worked the evening shift for the railroad in a switch tower. In his senior year he met mom, who lived in Chicago.

         One time he went to Chicago to see mom. While walking down State Street a man appeared, looking furtively over his shoulder. He was carrying a wrapped parcel under his arm. He stepped into a doorway and beckoned to dad. Still looking around furtively he opened the wrapping and showed dad a fur coat. He said that it was worth many hundreds of dollars but that he needed to sell it immediately and would let it go for only $85. Before dad could reply he reduced the price to $65, then $50. Dad said that he had only $20 and change in his wallet. Without hesitation the man thrust the coat into dad's hands and took his $20. Here was a magnificent present for his girl friend! He could hardly wait to give it to her. Mom's father was a tailor. Dad showed the coat to him and asked him how much he thought it was worth. Grandfather pull a tuff of hair from the coat and told dad $2.

         After graduation dad moved to Chicago because the first war had started and the classified sections of the Chicago newspapers offered a wide selection of jobs. The first job that he tried was as a mechanic in a Ford repair shop. The foreman put him to work installing a new muffler on a Model T. The weather had been rainy and the Chicago streets were covered with wet horse manure. The manure was plastered in a thick layer to the undercarriage of the car. When dad hammered on the exhaust system to loosen it the manure rained down on him. When he had finished the job he was covered from head to foot with a layer of sticky, wet manure. That day's work convinced him that thereafter he would stay far away from the occupation of an auto mechanic.

         He saw an ad for a truck driver. This was the era before the driver's license, social security number and the resume. He had been told that the bold person with the confident voice got the job. Dad had driven neither a car nor a truck. When asked if he could drive a truck dad replied with a nod and a confidence inspiring yes. A truck was started and dad was asked to drive it around the yard to demonstrate his prowess. He didn't know how to depress the clutch and was not able to get it into gear. After grinding the gears a while the foreman pointed a finger toward the gate and said, "Out!"

         A friend taught him how to start and stop and how to shift gears. With this minimal amount of skill he applied to the Checker Cab Company for a job. He was able to drive one of their cabs around the block. The company must have been desperate because with only this demonstration of skill he was given a uniform, a booklet of instructions for cab drivers and a brand new cab. He was told to "Go out and make some money". Full of enthusiasm dad didn't travel far until he was hailed: his first fare! The fare was a well-dressed gentleman carrying a large suitcase. He said, "My train leaves for New York in half an hour." Dad responded, "The depot is on the other side of Chicago. This is the rush hour. There is no way that I could get you there in half an hour". "Try anyway", said the passenger. "If you get me there on time I'll give you a good tip". Dad took off at a good clip. The street had a pair of streetcar tracks with a single lane for cars and trucks on outside lanes. Dad was traveling next to a streetcar going in the same direction. At the end of the block the street made a sharp turn to the right. For sharp turns the mid region of a streetcar moves into the car lane, a fact that dad didn't know. The streetcar collided with dad's cab and pushed it over on its side. The window glass broke (this was before safety glass was mandatory) and shards of glass were everywhere. Shaken, dad stood up, reached up, opened the driver's door and climbed out. He opened the passenger door and helped his fare, now pale faced, to climb out. He tried to brush some of the larger shards of glass from his passenger's now tattered suit, then he climbed into the rear compartment to retrieve his suitcase. He glanced at the fare meter, now stopped. "That will be twenty five cents, sir". The pale gentleman looked down at his tattered suit and immediately turned red. "What! If I didn't have to be in New York immediately I would sue your and your company!"

         At this point dad decided to marry mom, and so had to look into another type of employment. Mom convinced him to go for his first interest, to become a doctor. She would work as a secretary to support them while dad went to school. This worked for over a year, until mom became pregnant with me. This was in the mid twenties, and there was prejudice against pregnant women in the work force. When mom was far enough along to show, she was forced to quit work and dad had to drop out of school. He needed to find a job quickly that paid well. After carefully analyzing the classified ads he found that the highest paid jobs were for bricklayers, and these were in high demand. Wasting no time he bought a bricklayer's overalls, a new set of tools and a new tool bag. So equipped, he appeared at one of the jobs advertised in the paper. The masonry contractor took one look at dad's new overalls, his shiny new tools and tool bag and told him to get off his job immediately. Not to be daunted, dad borrowed a shovel of mortar from a cooperative hod carrier and spread this over his new overalls, tool bag and tools. Dad looked more convincing for his next try. The foreman put him in a line of bricklayers and stood back to see how skilled he was. Watching the actions of the other bricklayers out of the corner of his eye, dad got out his trowel and took one load of mortar. The foreman jumped foreword. "Stop. You're no bricklayer. Get off of my job!" Eventually dad found a compassionate contractor who took him on as an apprentice. His difficult time in getting started in masonry had great impact on dad; he resolved that his boys would never have to go through a similar ordeal. When we each turned 15 dad arranged to have us apprenticed to the union. As he presented me with his old tools and tool bag he explained the importance of starting out with old tools.

         Dad became a successful masonry contractor until the depression set in and eliminated all construction. The only job he could find was an Illinois State highway patrolman. In that era corruption was rampant not only in Chicago but all over the state. Dad was offered the job only if he would give back in cash his first two-week's pay. He was allowed to pay this in installments over a two-month's period so that his family would have money to live on. The job didn't last long. In a few months the landslide that brought Roosevelt into office also brought democrats into office and they had their own people take the jobs. Dad had a job that branded him a republican and so was not eligible to buy a state job.

         Dad saw his first airplane at age 10in 1911. He described it as looking like the Wright Brothers planes. At that age he decided that one day he would fly one of these. He waited until both of his sons were out of school and had good jobs before pursuing flying. In 1949 he was ready. A year old Luscombe was for sale for the price of a new car. The family car was 10 years old and worn. The choice was to keep the old car and buy the plane or buy a newer car. Mom finally made the decision: the old car would stay. Dad and mom used to fly along the West Coast. The story I remember is that they were flying over mountains in Oregon and needed to make a pit stop. They spotted a small landing field with several planes and a small hanger and restaurant. The field had a good slope with mountains rising around it. The wind was pretty strong and noting the direction of the windsock, dad landed as always against the wind, which happened to be downhill. He had a hard time getting the plane stopped even with the strong wind. When he taxied up to the restaurant and climbed out he noticed the occupants looking at him. When he and mom entered the restaurant, the field owner said that they had always wondered if it were possible to land downhill and dad had answered their question.

         This ends the stories about my dad, at least in this year's Christmas letter. We wish you health and happiness in the New Year, and many stories you can share in years to come.

Jim (aka "Fat") and Linda too!