It's been a long hiatus and in the meantime, I've sold the place in Streamwood, IL and temporarily moved in with Tom & JaeHi in Goshen, IN.
Where was I? Oh yes. I got involved with the Congregational church in Hartland. Over the several years we had a number of ministers. One was rather bad, and after him it seemed to me that we needed an "antidote". I wound up as one member on a committee to find another minister. We got the Connecticut Congregational central office in Hartford to send us resumes of potential ministers. I have to say that some of them looked like THEY needed help. But we noticed one who, to another member and myself, looked somewhat promising. The other member pointed out one line on the recommendation: "Not very much happened during this mans term at this church except perhaps in the hearts of 5 or 6 members". She said: "Look, see what this says! This means that he brought them to the Lord!" I myself, though a dormant Christian, thought that sounded pretty good. So we took steps to hire the man.
The Congregational church system is very liberal. Their philosophy is that each church is run by the congregation, whatever the congregation wants, that's it. So one congregation can be Modernists, and another can be gospel preaching.
As we interviewed Stanley Albanesius, he shared with us that he had some reservations about infant baptism. But we wanted badly enough to have him as our pastor that we neglected to inform others about this reservation, and ultimately it came back to "bite" us, or rather bite him. (Sorry, Stan).
It was due to Stanley Albanesius that I was revived from my dormant Christian condition, and indirectly also due to him that our whole family ultimately accepted the Lord Jesus as our Savior. For several, including Marjorie and some kids, it came about this way. Evelyn Hohloch was a strong believer in the church there, but never one to be "pushy", nor one who would ever do any "organizing", etc., but very quiet and reticent. Yet she had a strong burden from the Lord to rent a bus (which she did), for a round trip to Boston to a Billy Graham Crusade. Stan was thunderstruck, and thought the bus would never be filled, but it WAS! (Thank you Evy).
The gospel was preached faithfully by Stan every Sunday. But this was against the wishes of many of the congregation. Ultimately, it came to a head, and a vote would be taken. I confess that I am an optimist. Stan was a pessimist by nature, but he called himself a "realist". I thought he would win the vote, but Stan thought otherwise, and so together we made plans for that eventuality, if it should happen: On the occasion of Stan coming out on the short end of the vote, I, by pre-arrangement would get up in that very meeting and announce that next Sunday there would be a meeting in my garage with Stan preaching, plus all the Sunday School classes would continue to meet (I believe with the same teachers) in our house and office rooms over top of the garage. He lost the vote and I made the announcement.
The next Sunday there were more meeting at our house than at the Congregational church in the center of town. We continued to meet regularly in our garage and house from 1963 to 1970. My Dad and Uncle Dave came to one of those first meetings, but didn't return. On rare occasions the whole church would have a "love feast" at our house. Twice there were weddings, and at one of those weddings there were 99 people in attendance.
I heated the garage with electricity, having made a special deal with the power company so it would not be excessively expensive. I had had heating elements embedded in the concrete slab of the garage, and also a temperature sensor in there as well. This, combined with a timer to apply power at off-peak times did the trick. The thermal time constant of the slab was rather large, so we could get away with this arrangement.
During this time I continued to use the garage during the week for electronics production, having at peak, 6 employees plus our kids. Every Sunday we would move things over to make room for the church meeting. Also, on Wednesdays, Ethel Albanesius had an after-school children's bible study, and she led many of those kids to the Lord during those years in our garage.
Having a small business, there were "fat" years, and lean years. Both were rather memorable. I had started out consulting for Regent Controls of Stamford, CT, Wendell Caroll, Pres. Once I had obtained my Masters Degree in EE, in 1961, he wanted to have all 5 of my days, but I wanted to cut him down to no more than 3 days. So finally we parted ways, and I went out and in about 1 week had obtained about 4 or 5 new clients.
After a year or two of this I gradually drifted also into some electronics production, with the goal of making more money. My Dad tried a bit of the production work, but didn't like it. My Uncle Arnold was visiting, and tried it a bit also. Marjorie wanted no part of that kind of work. I have a photo of her and me on this subject wherein our facial expressions tell all. You will get a kick out of it if ever I get around to posting it.
Time to quit.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hartland V
It's hard to tell just what year things happened. I know more where things happened rather than when. One subject I can cover in relation to the kids is money. I wanted them all to be very appreciative of, and responsible for money. Thus I've always been totally against an "allowance", in other words, money received on a regular basis for no apparent reason. So rather than that, I simply gave all the kids the opportunity to work and earn money. I belive it was beneficial. (Not only that, a lot of work actually got done!) Of course, everything done wasn't paid for, but everything to do with the business was.
I got them all to start a savings account at a bank. But I also allowed them to withdraw it. My theory was that if they were not allowed to withdraw it, they would lose interest in it, and feel that it wasn't really theirs.
I also had fun with them with money. I might have already mentioned it, but in the back yard in East Hartland, we got the field plowed, and had a big vegetable garden. But there were always a lot of stones. So one day, I told all the kids, "I'll give you 2 cents for every small stone, and 5 cents for every big stone you pick up and put on the stone wall; you can use the express wagon. This deal is only good for the next 60 minutes." Man, you should have seen those stones fly off the land, onto the express wagon, and onto the stone wall! It was breathtaking! And a lot of fun!
One Christmas Marjorie gave me a change machine, to dispense quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. She gave me that to facilitate paying highway tolls. But I also put it to good use in another way. At times totally unpredictable by me or anyone else, out of the blue, I would announce to the kids: "Money time!" They would all gather round, and I would dispense to each kid an equal amount of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. It was fun for all concerned.
One Sunday afternoon I walked with the kids up to the north end of Old Town Road to the "Skyliner", an ice cream place, and got them all ice cream cones. Then I said to them: "I want you all to remember this day, because it will always be known as 'The Good Old Days'"
For one summer we traded Gifford Jr. for Marlene, one of Chuck & Ellie's daughters in Pittsburgh. Chuck Minster was Marjorie's brother.
I always thought our place in Hartland was a wonderful place to raise our kids. The air was pure, and every cloudless night you could look up and see the Milkey Way. Also, the moral environment was good, due to the Evangelical Lutheran Free Church, which was full of born-again believers. Their pastor called on us about 3 times to get us to come to their church, but for some reason, I didn't. Instead, I joined the Congregational Church in the center of town, and became active in it.
The government of the Congregational Church was indirectly by the congregation. It was governed by the Ecclesiastical Society, which consisted of most of the members, and was founded back in colonial times. In reading the constitution of the organizations, you could easily see that in those early times, they were all very strong believers. However, at the time we moved to Hartland, most were simply what are called "modernists", in other words, not what we would call born-again believers.
To be continued. (I want to continue where I left off next time).
I got them all to start a savings account at a bank. But I also allowed them to withdraw it. My theory was that if they were not allowed to withdraw it, they would lose interest in it, and feel that it wasn't really theirs.
I also had fun with them with money. I might have already mentioned it, but in the back yard in East Hartland, we got the field plowed, and had a big vegetable garden. But there were always a lot of stones. So one day, I told all the kids, "I'll give you 2 cents for every small stone, and 5 cents for every big stone you pick up and put on the stone wall; you can use the express wagon. This deal is only good for the next 60 minutes." Man, you should have seen those stones fly off the land, onto the express wagon, and onto the stone wall! It was breathtaking! And a lot of fun!
One Christmas Marjorie gave me a change machine, to dispense quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. She gave me that to facilitate paying highway tolls. But I also put it to good use in another way. At times totally unpredictable by me or anyone else, out of the blue, I would announce to the kids: "Money time!" They would all gather round, and I would dispense to each kid an equal amount of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. It was fun for all concerned.
One Sunday afternoon I walked with the kids up to the north end of Old Town Road to the "Skyliner", an ice cream place, and got them all ice cream cones. Then I said to them: "I want you all to remember this day, because it will always be known as 'The Good Old Days'"
For one summer we traded Gifford Jr. for Marlene, one of Chuck & Ellie's daughters in Pittsburgh. Chuck Minster was Marjorie's brother.
I always thought our place in Hartland was a wonderful place to raise our kids. The air was pure, and every cloudless night you could look up and see the Milkey Way. Also, the moral environment was good, due to the Evangelical Lutheran Free Church, which was full of born-again believers. Their pastor called on us about 3 times to get us to come to their church, but for some reason, I didn't. Instead, I joined the Congregational Church in the center of town, and became active in it.
The government of the Congregational Church was indirectly by the congregation. It was governed by the Ecclesiastical Society, which consisted of most of the members, and was founded back in colonial times. In reading the constitution of the organizations, you could easily see that in those early times, they were all very strong believers. However, at the time we moved to Hartland, most were simply what are called "modernists", in other words, not what we would call born-again believers.
To be continued. (I want to continue where I left off next time).
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Hartland IV
Most years in Hartland we had a vegetable garden, sometimes a real big one. As I told everyone at the time, I did it not to save money, but to be agricultural. Since I grew up on the farm and had electronics as my hobby, the situation was now reversed; I now had electronics as my occupation, and "farming" as my hobby; whatever. Even later on I got my Uncle Fred to transport two of my dad's chicken coops over, and we had about 25 chickens.
One year I let each kid have a patch of the vegetable garden as their very own, and they grew whatever they wanted.
After a while I was able to raise fantastic vegetable crops. I used my pickup truck to go over to Austin's goat farm in the center of town, and haul in a good bit of goat manure. However, that effort was part of my semi-undoing as it put my back permanently out of whack. Foolishly, I strained it in two ways: over-doing it in loading the truck, and later when spreading it on the vegetable plot, I simply did it by twisting my back rather than my knees.
At some point in time my dad, with Uncle Dave, moved up to Hartland. Dad bought the place from Ted Aagre who moved back to Norway. My sister Barbara and her friend Tesha Lewia had both been living at my dad's place (the old homestead) in Vernon / Rockville, where I grew up. I could tell you a little bit about Barbara: She worked at a museum in Charlotte, NC for some years, and then for some years at another museum in Santa Barbara, CA. She finally wound up working at the Nature Science Center at the Museum of Natural History in NYC. There were always children's school classes going through there, and Barbara was always very much involved.
Once my dad moved to Hartland, things were different, and more fun. What had been Aagre's house came with ALL the land between his house and mine. So I immediately bought a slice of land from my dad, simply to move the property line a reasonable distance away from our place. And then we could take the fence down too, and made a pathway between our two houses. My dad would go for a walk past our house almost every day. The kids would drop in on him every so often too.
We did not have delivery mail service in Hartland. To get the mail, most every day I would hop on my bike and ride down to the Post Office to get our mail from Mrs. Emmons, the post mistress there. One memorabld day I walked. Maybe it was about 1959. I received a letter from the University of Connecticut, regretting to inform me that I had failed a course, thus failing to obtain that Masters degree in Electrical Engineering. It was then, or was it much later, that I identified with that saying, "beware of those two impostors, 'success' and 'failure'". I had failed the oral examination for the Masters degree. (I do not do well in trying to think on my feet; I do much better sitting down; in fact I get most of my best ideas about 4 AM while still in bed). Anyway, after another year or so, I was able to repeat the oral examination, this time passing it, and got my MSEE in June, 1961.
On a different note, I once caught a very strange insect in the garden and I was very curious about him, so I put the little critter in an envelope, still crawling around inside, with my return address on it, and mailed it to the Department of Etymology, The University of Connecticut, Storrs, Conn. About a week later I got a letter from them saying they received the letter, but the little fellow was all totally in pieces and they couldn't identify him
Some summer nights I'd be in my office with all the windows open, working away. With no screens on the windows there would be a zillion insects gathered around the florescent lights in the ceiling, and it seemed each one was different! I never put locks on the windows either.
Oh, sorry, I got ahead of myself. Once my dad moved to Hartland, he gave the old homestead to Barbara and me. We worked to fix it up a bit and tried to sell it without success. So finally I bought my sister's half, and rented it out. Eventually I sold it, and we added a dormer to our house in Hartland, making 6 rooms and a bath upstairs. There were two brand-new bedrooms, and in the front, Patricia had the southwest bedroom, and Yvonne had the northwest bedroom. In the winter, I think some of those bedrooms were rather cold, though all were heated.
Later, my dad gave me money to build an addition to the house, on the north side. There were bolders in the way, and it took some bulldozing to move them. Gladwin Parmalee built the addition, and he had Ron Cari pour the slab. Ron Cari was a contractor who made the news once. His wife was being "courted" by some guy in a convertible. One time he caught that convertible parked out front of their house, and he got one of his cement trucks and filled that convertible with cement!
I digress. But let me back up and digress a little more. Another one of my favorite stories: When my dad and Uncle Dave moved to Hartland, they registered to vote. For a good part of his life, my dad was a socialist. He used to vote for Jasper McLevy (the mayor of Bridgeport), for governor. He would quote him: "The Democrats were in power, and all corrupt. The Republicans hadn't been in power for quite a while, and oh how hungry they were!" My dad used to read the paper, and noting all the pages devoted to stock prices comment: "There must be an awful lot of people gambling in stock." Later, once he sold all the land of the farm for building lots and development, he put most of it into stock, and became a registered Republican.
With my Uncle Dave, it was different. He worked in the woolen mill all his life, and once they went on strike, but the business moved south, while they were still on strike. Anyway, as I said, once my dad and Uncle Dave moved to Hartland, they registered to vote. Out of curiosity, I went to the Town Clerk's office, where they, on request, gave you a list of the town's registered voters. I got two lists, one a long one of the registered Republicans, and the other one, a much shorter list of the registered Democrats. My dad was on the first one, and Uncle Dave on the second one. I mentioned this to Uncle Dave, and his eyes just twinkled.
Uncle Dave was a different kind of person. Very, very quiet. He read quite a bit, but my dad said that "Dave couldn't tell you what he read about." He did, however, give a very good speach upon his resignation from his lodge in Rockville, and it greatly surprised my dad.
Well, I must close now.
One year I let each kid have a patch of the vegetable garden as their very own, and they grew whatever they wanted.
After a while I was able to raise fantastic vegetable crops. I used my pickup truck to go over to Austin's goat farm in the center of town, and haul in a good bit of goat manure. However, that effort was part of my semi-undoing as it put my back permanently out of whack. Foolishly, I strained it in two ways: over-doing it in loading the truck, and later when spreading it on the vegetable plot, I simply did it by twisting my back rather than my knees.
At some point in time my dad, with Uncle Dave, moved up to Hartland. Dad bought the place from Ted Aagre who moved back to Norway. My sister Barbara and her friend Tesha Lewia had both been living at my dad's place (the old homestead) in Vernon / Rockville, where I grew up. I could tell you a little bit about Barbara: She worked at a museum in Charlotte, NC for some years, and then for some years at another museum in Santa Barbara, CA. She finally wound up working at the Nature Science Center at the Museum of Natural History in NYC. There were always children's school classes going through there, and Barbara was always very much involved.
Once my dad moved to Hartland, things were different, and more fun. What had been Aagre's house came with ALL the land between his house and mine. So I immediately bought a slice of land from my dad, simply to move the property line a reasonable distance away from our place. And then we could take the fence down too, and made a pathway between our two houses. My dad would go for a walk past our house almost every day. The kids would drop in on him every so often too.
We did not have delivery mail service in Hartland. To get the mail, most every day I would hop on my bike and ride down to the Post Office to get our mail from Mrs. Emmons, the post mistress there. One memorabld day I walked. Maybe it was about 1959. I received a letter from the University of Connecticut, regretting to inform me that I had failed a course, thus failing to obtain that Masters degree in Electrical Engineering. It was then, or was it much later, that I identified with that saying, "beware of those two impostors, 'success' and 'failure'". I had failed the oral examination for the Masters degree. (I do not do well in trying to think on my feet; I do much better sitting down; in fact I get most of my best ideas about 4 AM while still in bed). Anyway, after another year or so, I was able to repeat the oral examination, this time passing it, and got my MSEE in June, 1961.
On a different note, I once caught a very strange insect in the garden and I was very curious about him, so I put the little critter in an envelope, still crawling around inside, with my return address on it, and mailed it to the Department of Etymology, The University of Connecticut, Storrs, Conn. About a week later I got a letter from them saying they received the letter, but the little fellow was all totally in pieces and they couldn't identify him
Some summer nights I'd be in my office with all the windows open, working away. With no screens on the windows there would be a zillion insects gathered around the florescent lights in the ceiling, and it seemed each one was different! I never put locks on the windows either.
Oh, sorry, I got ahead of myself. Once my dad moved to Hartland, he gave the old homestead to Barbara and me. We worked to fix it up a bit and tried to sell it without success. So finally I bought my sister's half, and rented it out. Eventually I sold it, and we added a dormer to our house in Hartland, making 6 rooms and a bath upstairs. There were two brand-new bedrooms, and in the front, Patricia had the southwest bedroom, and Yvonne had the northwest bedroom. In the winter, I think some of those bedrooms were rather cold, though all were heated.
Later, my dad gave me money to build an addition to the house, on the north side. There were bolders in the way, and it took some bulldozing to move them. Gladwin Parmalee built the addition, and he had Ron Cari pour the slab. Ron Cari was a contractor who made the news once. His wife was being "courted" by some guy in a convertible. One time he caught that convertible parked out front of their house, and he got one of his cement trucks and filled that convertible with cement!
I digress. But let me back up and digress a little more. Another one of my favorite stories: When my dad and Uncle Dave moved to Hartland, they registered to vote. For a good part of his life, my dad was a socialist. He used to vote for Jasper McLevy (the mayor of Bridgeport), for governor. He would quote him: "The Democrats were in power, and all corrupt. The Republicans hadn't been in power for quite a while, and oh how hungry they were!" My dad used to read the paper, and noting all the pages devoted to stock prices comment: "There must be an awful lot of people gambling in stock." Later, once he sold all the land of the farm for building lots and development, he put most of it into stock, and became a registered Republican.
With my Uncle Dave, it was different. He worked in the woolen mill all his life, and once they went on strike, but the business moved south, while they were still on strike. Anyway, as I said, once my dad and Uncle Dave moved to Hartland, they registered to vote. Out of curiosity, I went to the Town Clerk's office, where they, on request, gave you a list of the town's registered voters. I got two lists, one a long one of the registered Republicans, and the other one, a much shorter list of the registered Democrats. My dad was on the first one, and Uncle Dave on the second one. I mentioned this to Uncle Dave, and his eyes just twinkled.
Uncle Dave was a different kind of person. Very, very quiet. He read quite a bit, but my dad said that "Dave couldn't tell you what he read about." He did, however, give a very good speach upon his resignation from his lodge in Rockville, and it greatly surprised my dad.
Well, I must close now.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Hartland III
Rarely in any of my previous posts do I recall relating much regarding our vacations, which were always memorable. It's difficult to pinpoint them in time, so I'll just relate some of them, somewhat in order. I believe I related some of the ones wherein there were just the two of us.
However, once we had a bunch of kids, vacations were different. I remember when we were still living at Lake Garda, I bought a big, fancy tent with steel ribbing and a waterproof floor. Also a chemical toilet. We were going to "rough it", and headed north to Maine. This was before the days of the Interstate system, and even before Boston's outer loop, Route 128. So we had to drive right through downtown Boston to get to Maine. We went to a Maine State Park and camped by a lake. In those days, at that park there were no prepared campsites, you had to do it yourself. So I cleared and leveled a spot on a gentle hillside near the lake and pitched the tent, and nearby established the chemical toilet. We went swimming every day and had a great time. One night there was really a torrential rain, with rivlets of water coming down the hillside, and you could feel the water flowing under the floor of our tent! But we kept dry.
Quite often we would make the 500 mile trip to Pittsburgh to visit Marjorie's folks. Once, just to be different, I took a ruler and drew a straight line from Unionville to Pittsburgh, and we followed it as close as existing roads would permit. It was fun, driving through the Pocano mountains of eastern Pennsylvania. Took an extra half day, but it was worth it. In those days, often we didn't have much money, and we took care of eating by stopping at a grocery store for a few supplies, then cooking over a primus stove we took along.
Once my Dad rented a cottage down at the shore on Long Island Sound. So we were able to stay there for several days. The Sound stayed rather chilly until rather late in the season. But it was fun.
We regularly used to go to Rocky Neck State Park to go swimming in the Sound, but one day when we were there, the place was filled with people from New York, and I remember swimming past a floating hot dog. I decided the place was too crowded, and resolved to find a better place. So our next place to try was Hamonasset State Park, which also had campsites. So we camped there once, but it was also crowded. Shirley was not quite a toddler and had trouble sleeping when we camped there. We called her "All day, all night Shirley Ann".
The next place I think we tried was Misquamicut State Park in Rhode Island. I really don't remember that much about it, but it still was on the Sound, not the Atlantic Ocean.
Ultimately we found a really nice place to swim in the ocean. It was a little further, but the beech actually faced the ocean, rather than just on the sound, so the waves were bigger. This was Scarborough State Beach in Rhode Island. It wasn't as crowded, though a lot of people did come down from Boston to swim there. There are movies of the kids there.
Back to Hartland: Not long after moving to East Hartland, I put up a TV antenna. I was up at the peak of the roof putting up the antenna, complete with antenna rotor, so that we could aim it for Hartford, Springfield, Boston, or New York. While I was busy up there (even though I'm scared of heights), guess who came along: A life insurance salesman, who tried to sell me a policy right while I was up there on the roof!
When I was "prospecting" for a house in Hartland, I happened to stop in at the younger Parmalee's place, and asked about the typical weather. Mrs. Parmalee said "It's cooler here all year round". And so it was. One winter I had a large thermometer under the apple tree in the front yard, and early one morning in the dead of winter, the thermometer stood at -25 deg. F. Bu there was no wind, so it wasn't so bad. Typically each winter we would shovel snow as high as the car.
Slippery conditions made interesting driving in Hartland. In the winter, sometimes coming home from work could be a challenge. There was particularly one spot, rather steep, and curved. If you go too slow, you loose traction and will never make it up the hill. If you go too fast, you'll run off the road on the wrong side of the road.
Connecticut has a lot more fog than is typical for the Midwest. I remember one very foggy night coming home from work. I heard on the radio that a plane had landed at Bradley Field, but then got lost on the ground in the fog. They sent a vehicle out to guide the plane in, but it too got lost, so they had to send a man out on foot to guide the vehicle to guide the plane in. That same night, I drove right out from under the fog, and when I got to the center of East Hartland I could see the stars!
But on several other occasions, it was a different story. One night on the way home from work, the fog actually got thicker with higher altitude, and when I got to the top of the hill, I was simply following the yellow line at the edge of the road, because that was all I could see. However, at the intersection of Hartland Blvd (Rte 20) and Mountain Rd, the yellow line ran out, and I had to continue strictly by "dead reckoning" to get past it. You could see your hand in front of your face, but not much past it.
Winter was a fun time for the kids too. They used to take their sleds up to Pell Hill Road and slide down into Old Town Road. One kid would stay at the bottom of the hill on Old Town Road and be the lookout for any oncoming cars.
Which reminds me. At any time of the year they would have fun riding down the stairs in cardboard boxes.
Trips to Pittsburgh were always an adventure. And it would take forever to have everyone ready to start the trip. Neither were the trips without incidents. One classic case I'll never forget: We had gone 5 miles on the start of this 500 mile trip, just to the bottom of the hill, to Granby, and two juice jugs had crashed together and broke, and one kid was already "car sick"!
One tough trip in midsummer, we failed to find a motel with vacancy, and had to sleep in the car and it was terribly hot and muggy. Patricia was quite little yet, and was crying, and scratched her belly with her finger nails. Those marks were still there a month later!
After several years working at Kaman Aircraft Corp., I decided to change the direction of my life. I didn't like being an "employee", especially a "permanent" employee. I felt trapped. In the winter time the only time I saw my place in Hartland by daylight was on week ends.
There was a fellow working at Allen D. Cardwell Electronics in Plainville, Ct while I was working there. He was a consultant. I figured, if he can do it, so can I. So that was my goal. I contacted and had an interview with Wendell Carroll, the owner of Regent Controls in Stamford, CT. The result was a consulting contract whereby I worked for them 4 days per week: Monday and Tuesday in Stamford, Wednesday and Thursday in Hartland. I devoted the fifth day to pursuing that Master's degree in Electronics Engineering. It worked out beautifully, and I had much more time with the family.
Well, of course I have a whole lifetime to write about yet, but it's getting late, so must quit for now.
However, once we had a bunch of kids, vacations were different. I remember when we were still living at Lake Garda, I bought a big, fancy tent with steel ribbing and a waterproof floor. Also a chemical toilet. We were going to "rough it", and headed north to Maine. This was before the days of the Interstate system, and even before Boston's outer loop, Route 128. So we had to drive right through downtown Boston to get to Maine. We went to a Maine State Park and camped by a lake. In those days, at that park there were no prepared campsites, you had to do it yourself. So I cleared and leveled a spot on a gentle hillside near the lake and pitched the tent, and nearby established the chemical toilet. We went swimming every day and had a great time. One night there was really a torrential rain, with rivlets of water coming down the hillside, and you could feel the water flowing under the floor of our tent! But we kept dry.
Quite often we would make the 500 mile trip to Pittsburgh to visit Marjorie's folks. Once, just to be different, I took a ruler and drew a straight line from Unionville to Pittsburgh, and we followed it as close as existing roads would permit. It was fun, driving through the Pocano mountains of eastern Pennsylvania. Took an extra half day, but it was worth it. In those days, often we didn't have much money, and we took care of eating by stopping at a grocery store for a few supplies, then cooking over a primus stove we took along.
Once my Dad rented a cottage down at the shore on Long Island Sound. So we were able to stay there for several days. The Sound stayed rather chilly until rather late in the season. But it was fun.
We regularly used to go to Rocky Neck State Park to go swimming in the Sound, but one day when we were there, the place was filled with people from New York, and I remember swimming past a floating hot dog. I decided the place was too crowded, and resolved to find a better place. So our next place to try was Hamonasset State Park, which also had campsites. So we camped there once, but it was also crowded. Shirley was not quite a toddler and had trouble sleeping when we camped there. We called her "All day, all night Shirley Ann".
The next place I think we tried was Misquamicut State Park in Rhode Island. I really don't remember that much about it, but it still was on the Sound, not the Atlantic Ocean.
Ultimately we found a really nice place to swim in the ocean. It was a little further, but the beech actually faced the ocean, rather than just on the sound, so the waves were bigger. This was Scarborough State Beach in Rhode Island. It wasn't as crowded, though a lot of people did come down from Boston to swim there. There are movies of the kids there.
Back to Hartland: Not long after moving to East Hartland, I put up a TV antenna. I was up at the peak of the roof putting up the antenna, complete with antenna rotor, so that we could aim it for Hartford, Springfield, Boston, or New York. While I was busy up there (even though I'm scared of heights), guess who came along: A life insurance salesman, who tried to sell me a policy right while I was up there on the roof!
When I was "prospecting" for a house in Hartland, I happened to stop in at the younger Parmalee's place, and asked about the typical weather. Mrs. Parmalee said "It's cooler here all year round". And so it was. One winter I had a large thermometer under the apple tree in the front yard, and early one morning in the dead of winter, the thermometer stood at -25 deg. F. Bu there was no wind, so it wasn't so bad. Typically each winter we would shovel snow as high as the car.
Slippery conditions made interesting driving in Hartland. In the winter, sometimes coming home from work could be a challenge. There was particularly one spot, rather steep, and curved. If you go too slow, you loose traction and will never make it up the hill. If you go too fast, you'll run off the road on the wrong side of the road.
Connecticut has a lot more fog than is typical for the Midwest. I remember one very foggy night coming home from work. I heard on the radio that a plane had landed at Bradley Field, but then got lost on the ground in the fog. They sent a vehicle out to guide the plane in, but it too got lost, so they had to send a man out on foot to guide the vehicle to guide the plane in. That same night, I drove right out from under the fog, and when I got to the center of East Hartland I could see the stars!
But on several other occasions, it was a different story. One night on the way home from work, the fog actually got thicker with higher altitude, and when I got to the top of the hill, I was simply following the yellow line at the edge of the road, because that was all I could see. However, at the intersection of Hartland Blvd (Rte 20) and Mountain Rd, the yellow line ran out, and I had to continue strictly by "dead reckoning" to get past it. You could see your hand in front of your face, but not much past it.
Winter was a fun time for the kids too. They used to take their sleds up to Pell Hill Road and slide down into Old Town Road. One kid would stay at the bottom of the hill on Old Town Road and be the lookout for any oncoming cars.
Which reminds me. At any time of the year they would have fun riding down the stairs in cardboard boxes.
Trips to Pittsburgh were always an adventure. And it would take forever to have everyone ready to start the trip. Neither were the trips without incidents. One classic case I'll never forget: We had gone 5 miles on the start of this 500 mile trip, just to the bottom of the hill, to Granby, and two juice jugs had crashed together and broke, and one kid was already "car sick"!
One tough trip in midsummer, we failed to find a motel with vacancy, and had to sleep in the car and it was terribly hot and muggy. Patricia was quite little yet, and was crying, and scratched her belly with her finger nails. Those marks were still there a month later!
After several years working at Kaman Aircraft Corp., I decided to change the direction of my life. I didn't like being an "employee", especially a "permanent" employee. I felt trapped. In the winter time the only time I saw my place in Hartland by daylight was on week ends.
There was a fellow working at Allen D. Cardwell Electronics in Plainville, Ct while I was working there. He was a consultant. I figured, if he can do it, so can I. So that was my goal. I contacted and had an interview with Wendell Carroll, the owner of Regent Controls in Stamford, CT. The result was a consulting contract whereby I worked for them 4 days per week: Monday and Tuesday in Stamford, Wednesday and Thursday in Hartland. I devoted the fifth day to pursuing that Master's degree in Electronics Engineering. It worked out beautifully, and I had much more time with the family.
Well, of course I have a whole lifetime to write about yet, but it's getting late, so must quit for now.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Hartland II
I mentioned the birches in the swamp north of the house. In the winter sometimes there would be an ice storm and the birches would be coated with ice. I've seen them bent over so far that they would almost touch the ground.
We lived in East Hartland from 1956 to 1970. When we first moved up there, I had a regular engineering job with Kaman Aircraft Corporation in Bloomfield, and I was occasionally working towards a Master's degree at the University of Connecticut. At the time we moved up there, we had 5 children: Gifford Jr and Patricia, born in Hartford, Yvonne born in Maryland, and Tom and Shirley born in Bristol.
Shortly after moving to East Hartland, I joined the Congregational church there. And shortly thereafter, our neighbor across the street, who was the treasurer of the East Hartland Congregational church was found to have been embezzeling funds. For some reason, some of the Norwegeans in town pitched in to help solve our problem, including running the offender out of town within 24 hours. When questioned about it, the Norski's said "Oh, we're pretty good Swedes" Apparently that is a Norwegean saying for "tough guys". Note that Norway was under Sweden for a long time. This may explain a little Norwegean ditty: "Ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegean".
We moved in the fall of 1956, at the time of the presidential election, and Eisenhower was running for a second term. Prior to moving, I had watched former President Hoover on TV putting in a good word for Eisenhower. I also remenber hearing an interview on the radio with Kerenski, the Russian Premier prior to the Communist revolution. They asked him, "would you consider returning to Russia?" He said "No, not as long as the Communists are runnng the governement".
Once we got to East Hartland, the election took place. On the eve of the election, England and France invaded Egypt without telling up first. I think we put pressure on them to get out of Egypt.
Not long after moving, a couple of my co-workers at Kaman Aircraft asked if they could come up and stay at our place for 24 hours, to take part in a big amateur radio contest. East Hartland being 1,192 feet altitude gave it an advantage for high frequency propagation. So we agreed, and as part of the deal, they agreed to leave their equipment behind for several weeks for my use, as I still had a Novice ticket, WN1WWO.
In preparation for the move, I had put the place at Lake Garda / Unionville up for sale, without results. So I temporarily gave up, and rented it.
That fall in Hartland, I remember for some reason there were a zillion and one crickets along the south side of our house there.
Our property line came fairly close to the house on the south side. Ted Aagre lived in the house to the south, and his original intention was to sell several building lots out of that land. He and his wife were originally from Norway, but he also was a retired boat buildier from Long Island. He had built our house and sold it to Arthur Aasland. Arthur Aasland was more recently from Norway. He didn't really have a last name, but took the name of Aasland, as that's the region he came from in Norway. I don't believe he attended the Norwegean church, nor the Congregational church either, for that matter. He's the one I got the Norwegean sayings from.
I got Ted Aagre to build for me a couple of bookshelves, which Yvonne has now. There is no back, as they lean against the wall. I was very particular as to the distance between the shelves, so that tall books could be accommodated.
Pretty much every year we had a vegetable garden, and Marjorie started to have flower gardens, especially around the west (front), and south side of the house. One of her main specialties was roses.
There were always a lot of rocks turned up once the garden was plowed. So I came up with a "limited time offer" for the kids to pick up rocks and add them to the stone wall. Let's say I offered 2 cents for a small rock and 5 cents for a large rock. This was a very limited time offer, like one hour maybe. Man, you should see those rocks move like lightening from the field to the stone wall! I belive I have a picture of all the kids sitting on the stone wall afterwards.
Thanks kids for giving me the "nudge" to continue with this history. It's better I do this than waste time watching TV.
We lived in East Hartland from 1956 to 1970. When we first moved up there, I had a regular engineering job with Kaman Aircraft Corporation in Bloomfield, and I was occasionally working towards a Master's degree at the University of Connecticut. At the time we moved up there, we had 5 children: Gifford Jr and Patricia, born in Hartford, Yvonne born in Maryland, and Tom and Shirley born in Bristol.
Shortly after moving to East Hartland, I joined the Congregational church there. And shortly thereafter, our neighbor across the street, who was the treasurer of the East Hartland Congregational church was found to have been embezzeling funds. For some reason, some of the Norwegeans in town pitched in to help solve our problem, including running the offender out of town within 24 hours. When questioned about it, the Norski's said "Oh, we're pretty good Swedes" Apparently that is a Norwegean saying for "tough guys". Note that Norway was under Sweden for a long time. This may explain a little Norwegean ditty: "Ten thousand Swedes ran through the weeds, chased by one Norwegean".
We moved in the fall of 1956, at the time of the presidential election, and Eisenhower was running for a second term. Prior to moving, I had watched former President Hoover on TV putting in a good word for Eisenhower. I also remenber hearing an interview on the radio with Kerenski, the Russian Premier prior to the Communist revolution. They asked him, "would you consider returning to Russia?" He said "No, not as long as the Communists are runnng the governement".
Once we got to East Hartland, the election took place. On the eve of the election, England and France invaded Egypt without telling up first. I think we put pressure on them to get out of Egypt.
Not long after moving, a couple of my co-workers at Kaman Aircraft asked if they could come up and stay at our place for 24 hours, to take part in a big amateur radio contest. East Hartland being 1,192 feet altitude gave it an advantage for high frequency propagation. So we agreed, and as part of the deal, they agreed to leave their equipment behind for several weeks for my use, as I still had a Novice ticket, WN1WWO.
In preparation for the move, I had put the place at Lake Garda / Unionville up for sale, without results. So I temporarily gave up, and rented it.
That fall in Hartland, I remember for some reason there were a zillion and one crickets along the south side of our house there.
Our property line came fairly close to the house on the south side. Ted Aagre lived in the house to the south, and his original intention was to sell several building lots out of that land. He and his wife were originally from Norway, but he also was a retired boat buildier from Long Island. He had built our house and sold it to Arthur Aasland. Arthur Aasland was more recently from Norway. He didn't really have a last name, but took the name of Aasland, as that's the region he came from in Norway. I don't believe he attended the Norwegean church, nor the Congregational church either, for that matter. He's the one I got the Norwegean sayings from.
I got Ted Aagre to build for me a couple of bookshelves, which Yvonne has now. There is no back, as they lean against the wall. I was very particular as to the distance between the shelves, so that tall books could be accommodated.
Pretty much every year we had a vegetable garden, and Marjorie started to have flower gardens, especially around the west (front), and south side of the house. One of her main specialties was roses.
There were always a lot of rocks turned up once the garden was plowed. So I came up with a "limited time offer" for the kids to pick up rocks and add them to the stone wall. Let's say I offered 2 cents for a small rock and 5 cents for a large rock. This was a very limited time offer, like one hour maybe. Man, you should see those rocks move like lightening from the field to the stone wall! I belive I have a picture of all the kids sitting on the stone wall afterwards.
Thanks kids for giving me the "nudge" to continue with this history. It's better I do this than waste time watching TV.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Our move to Hartland
So we moved to East Hartland in the fall of 1956. The air was a lot cleaner there, and any night when there were no clouds, the Milky Way stood out quite brightly as a wide band right across the sky. It seemed like the ideal place to raise children. The moral atmosphere seemed good perhaps due to the presence of the Bethany Lutheran Free Church, which was mostly Norwegean.
Gifford Jr, who had begun first grade in the town of Burlington, continued school in West Hartland by bus, and I think they still had "double sessions". It was tough on him, and for that reason, I don't think he did so well.
The three girls took the larger room upstairs, and the two boys the smaller room. For an office, I used the small room upstairs that had been an extra perhaps kitchen as it had a sink. We could not get a private telephone line as there were not enough phone lines running up to East Hartland. So we had to get a party line, and the only catch was that there was a lady in town there who seemed to spend all her time on our phone line. I was forced to build a little battery operated phone line detector, that monitored wheter the line was busy or not. If it was busy, a red light would remail lit; when the lady hung up, you could hear the relay "click", and the light would go out. I'd grab the phone quickly then, as that was my chance. This provoked the lady as she liked to make a series of long phone calls one after the other.
The pastor of the Bethany Lutheran Free Church called on us a number of times to get us to go there, but I always declined. Instead, we attended the First Congregatinal Church in the center of town, just a few doors away from our place. In this way we got acquainted with a lot of the people in the town. You know that prior to the Revolution, for some time, the Congragational churches were the official church of the state, and that is the reason that many of them are in the very center of the town, on what one would expect to be community property. They also are the direct descentants of the churches of the pilgrems.
To the north of our house, and still on our property, was a birch swamp, complete with ferns. The other side of the swamp was a stone wall, separating our property from the Stones, an elderly couple. He was legally blind, and when he drove his car, he drove very slowly, in the center of the road. I think he was a retired insurance executive, and he complained to me that he had to provide the finances for his grandchildren to go to college. To the northeast was the hand dug well, the source of our water. The far northeast corner of our lot was a very old dump, with ancient bottles, etc. Today's "collector" items. I had to get rid of it all. We had no trash service, but I got an old truck and hauled all our rubbish up to the town dump, the use of which is free.
The old truck was a 1936 International pickup. It had some unusual features, such as the gas tank was under the front seat. It also had a character all its own (and so does yours truly), and we didn't always hit it off so well. One day it wouldn't start. I tried every known remedy, including cleaning the carburetor. Finally I took the rather desperate step of pouring a little gasoline into the carburetor. I turned on the key, stepped on the starter, and there was a tremendous explosion. I remained sitting on the gas tank, astonished. I opened up the hood. I found the dip stick bent over double. The force of the explosion had driven the dip stick up against the inside of the hood, and bent it over double!
I had spent several hours in this endeavor, without positive results. Finally, it occurred to me. How about the gas? I took up the seat cushion, opened the gas tank cover, and lo and behold! Virtually out of gas.
Pretty little chipmonks lived in our stone wall.
I need to quit now.
Gifford Jr, who had begun first grade in the town of Burlington, continued school in West Hartland by bus, and I think they still had "double sessions". It was tough on him, and for that reason, I don't think he did so well.
The three girls took the larger room upstairs, and the two boys the smaller room. For an office, I used the small room upstairs that had been an extra perhaps kitchen as it had a sink. We could not get a private telephone line as there were not enough phone lines running up to East Hartland. So we had to get a party line, and the only catch was that there was a lady in town there who seemed to spend all her time on our phone line. I was forced to build a little battery operated phone line detector, that monitored wheter the line was busy or not. If it was busy, a red light would remail lit; when the lady hung up, you could hear the relay "click", and the light would go out. I'd grab the phone quickly then, as that was my chance. This provoked the lady as she liked to make a series of long phone calls one after the other.
The pastor of the Bethany Lutheran Free Church called on us a number of times to get us to go there, but I always declined. Instead, we attended the First Congregatinal Church in the center of town, just a few doors away from our place. In this way we got acquainted with a lot of the people in the town. You know that prior to the Revolution, for some time, the Congragational churches were the official church of the state, and that is the reason that many of them are in the very center of the town, on what one would expect to be community property. They also are the direct descentants of the churches of the pilgrems.
To the north of our house, and still on our property, was a birch swamp, complete with ferns. The other side of the swamp was a stone wall, separating our property from the Stones, an elderly couple. He was legally blind, and when he drove his car, he drove very slowly, in the center of the road. I think he was a retired insurance executive, and he complained to me that he had to provide the finances for his grandchildren to go to college. To the northeast was the hand dug well, the source of our water. The far northeast corner of our lot was a very old dump, with ancient bottles, etc. Today's "collector" items. I had to get rid of it all. We had no trash service, but I got an old truck and hauled all our rubbish up to the town dump, the use of which is free.
The old truck was a 1936 International pickup. It had some unusual features, such as the gas tank was under the front seat. It also had a character all its own (and so does yours truly), and we didn't always hit it off so well. One day it wouldn't start. I tried every known remedy, including cleaning the carburetor. Finally I took the rather desperate step of pouring a little gasoline into the carburetor. I turned on the key, stepped on the starter, and there was a tremendous explosion. I remained sitting on the gas tank, astonished. I opened up the hood. I found the dip stick bent over double. The force of the explosion had driven the dip stick up against the inside of the hood, and bent it over double!
I had spent several hours in this endeavor, without positive results. Finally, it occurred to me. How about the gas? I took up the seat cushion, opened the gas tank cover, and lo and behold! Virtually out of gas.
Pretty little chipmonks lived in our stone wall.
I need to quit now.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
East Hartland
I was pretty well set on moving out of Lake Garda. For a while we considered moving to Simsbury, and there was a development there on a high hill we were attracted to. It had a back road down the hill from there called "The Garret Stairs", which I considered might be good in case of fire, as the place was mostly all woods. We had our eye on a building lot there, and we even bought and planted a mountain laural bush on it. But once we considered the overall cost, etc., we came to the conclusion that it was not for us.
So we considered East Hartland more seriously, in spite of the fact that it really wasn't that much closer to work. I had a realtor take me to see several places there. He drove very fast up Old Town Road to a place I think just past Pell Hill Road. I think he drove real fast hoping I wouldn't see the "For Sale by Owner" sign that Arthur Aasland had out in front of his place. The realtor also took me up the road past Fisher's place, to a very high place on the left (west) side of the road. But the place was terribly run down, and I visualized it would take a fortune to bring it into proper shape.
So later, by myself, I went back to Arthur Aasland's place, and we wound up purchasing it directly from him. At the same time I believe we tried unsuccessfully to sell our place at Lake Garda. After moving to our new place in East Hartland, we tried to rent out the place at Lake Garda. It was my first experience in renting. I tried to be careful, and asked for references. One lady originally from Tennessee with a large family wanted to rent, so I asked for references, and she gave one. I called the party up, I think it was a physician in Tennessee, and he was surprised that she had given him as reference. He said that she paid the rent regularly, and that was no problem, but that basically, she and her family just plain ruined the place!
So I didn't rent to her. There was another couple that was interested, and they sounded quite promising, but I don't remember anything about references. If there were, they apparently passed muster. So we rented to them. They asked and got permission from us to paint the place inside. (There went Marjorie's art work). But we did what we had to do. I may have gotten the fiirst month or two's rent, but after that it was amazing the stories I got over the phone from our tenants: "Oh, my mistake, I sent the check to East Hartland, Massachusetts by mistake. Don't worry, I'll correct it right away." Every month something, and often I had to personally go back down there to collect. With all the effort, I often felt that I personally earned the rent money just trying to collect it. But they kept the place neat as a pin.
Based on my expereience with the above two samples of renters, it seemed like there were two kinds: one kind pays rent right on the spot but wrecks the joint; the other kind keeps the place neat and clean, but it's like pulling teeth to collect the rent. Oh, well, that was just my experience at that point.
We moved to East Hartland just as Eisenhower was running for a second term against Adlai Stevenson. The air was much clearer in Hartland than it was at Lake Garda. East Hartland was 1,192 feet above sea level, compared to Simsbury, which I think was about 300 feet. They say that for every 1,000 feet of altitude is the weather equivalent of going 200 miles further North. In the process of checking out East Hartland, I knocked on a number of doors in town, asking a few questions. At the younger Parmalee's place they advised me that yes, it is cooler here, "all year round".
The place we bought from Arthur Aasland was actually built by Ted Aagre, who lived in the next place towards the center of town, on the same side of the road.
More of this later, I need to quit now.
So we considered East Hartland more seriously, in spite of the fact that it really wasn't that much closer to work. I had a realtor take me to see several places there. He drove very fast up Old Town Road to a place I think just past Pell Hill Road. I think he drove real fast hoping I wouldn't see the "For Sale by Owner" sign that Arthur Aasland had out in front of his place. The realtor also took me up the road past Fisher's place, to a very high place on the left (west) side of the road. But the place was terribly run down, and I visualized it would take a fortune to bring it into proper shape.
So later, by myself, I went back to Arthur Aasland's place, and we wound up purchasing it directly from him. At the same time I believe we tried unsuccessfully to sell our place at Lake Garda. After moving to our new place in East Hartland, we tried to rent out the place at Lake Garda. It was my first experience in renting. I tried to be careful, and asked for references. One lady originally from Tennessee with a large family wanted to rent, so I asked for references, and she gave one. I called the party up, I think it was a physician in Tennessee, and he was surprised that she had given him as reference. He said that she paid the rent regularly, and that was no problem, but that basically, she and her family just plain ruined the place!
So I didn't rent to her. There was another couple that was interested, and they sounded quite promising, but I don't remember anything about references. If there were, they apparently passed muster. So we rented to them. They asked and got permission from us to paint the place inside. (There went Marjorie's art work). But we did what we had to do. I may have gotten the fiirst month or two's rent, but after that it was amazing the stories I got over the phone from our tenants: "Oh, my mistake, I sent the check to East Hartland, Massachusetts by mistake. Don't worry, I'll correct it right away." Every month something, and often I had to personally go back down there to collect. With all the effort, I often felt that I personally earned the rent money just trying to collect it. But they kept the place neat as a pin.
Based on my expereience with the above two samples of renters, it seemed like there were two kinds: one kind pays rent right on the spot but wrecks the joint; the other kind keeps the place neat and clean, but it's like pulling teeth to collect the rent. Oh, well, that was just my experience at that point.
We moved to East Hartland just as Eisenhower was running for a second term against Adlai Stevenson. The air was much clearer in Hartland than it was at Lake Garda. East Hartland was 1,192 feet above sea level, compared to Simsbury, which I think was about 300 feet. They say that for every 1,000 feet of altitude is the weather equivalent of going 200 miles further North. In the process of checking out East Hartland, I knocked on a number of doors in town, asking a few questions. At the younger Parmalee's place they advised me that yes, it is cooler here, "all year round".
The place we bought from Arthur Aasland was actually built by Ted Aagre, who lived in the next place towards the center of town, on the same side of the road.
More of this later, I need to quit now.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Lake Garda 1952-55
The house we bought was on Circle Drive at Lake Garda, Unionville, CT. It was just over the township line in Burlington, Ct, but that didn't reflect in the post office address. The house that we bought, I found out later, had been sitting half built for a number of years, but Battistoni apparently bought it and finished it, putting it on the market, and we bought. It had a full basement with a well and electric pump there. The main floor had a kitchen where we also ate, a living room, full bath, and two bedrooms. Upstairs were two bedrooms. The house was surrounded by sand, and in the back, birch trees. There were no neighbors on either side of us, just birch woods. There was no garage, and the driveway was mostly sand. But the kids had a lot of fun in the sand. And there were no more ticks and chiggers.
We were "welcomed" by a strange neighbor across the street. When I drove the truck into our new driveway, he came out and said "You turn around, bear right, and drive on up the hill." He thought I had come there by mistake. We heard that he occasionally beat his wife, and even for a time had her chained to the bed. But he never gave us any trouble. Another neighbor had a wife who was Hawaiian; they had several kids. Another neighbor right down the street on Circle Drive was Nelson, who had been on the USS Topeka with me, but we never found out until after moving away. Still another neighbor on Circle Drive, was a fellow who had been in the German army, and had fought the Russians on the eastern front.
There is a brief movie of our little family there in front of our house at Lake Garda. It was taken by my uncle Arnold Blankenburg, and is in the middle of a large reel of unknown Oakley Kansas people on 16 mm film presently stored at Tom Neill's place in Goshen, IN.
The job with the Allen D. Cardwell Co. turned out to be a little different than expected, in that just as I was beginning there, a bunch of top engineers there quit en masse to start another company in competition, a few towns to the south. The company had originally been a manufacturer of variable capacitors ("condensers" in th0se days), and located in Brooklyn, NY. But at the time I went to work there it was owned by Mr. Soby, and was primarily a miliitary contractor. Shortly after arriving, I was made project engineer of the development and manufacturing of a shipboard radiosonde receptor, to track and record weather balloons launched typically from aircraft carriers. The Navy provided us with an earlier model that had been developed by General Electric, and Cardwell had earlier been manufacturing radiosonde receptors for the Army. I have a picture somewhere of myself standing in front of a developmental large dish antenna on a little tower at Cardwell during that period.
Lake Garda was laid out in typical developmental fashion, somewhat like a maize. One day at work I got an urgent call from Marjorie that Patricia was missing! I lost not time in getting on up the road to Lake Garda. Surprise! At the very entrance to Lake Garda (distance of some blocks from home), there was Patricia. The story may have been that Patricia had wanted to stop there at that tree and gather some nuts, or something, but the answer had been "no".
The Lake Garda developoment was a little confusing to drive around. Once my sister Barbara visited us there, and I remember waiving to her again after she left, the second time she traversed Circle Drive, ha ha. My parents lived about 30 miles away, back at the old homestead in Vernon, and we would visit them every so often, and once in a while they would visit us. My dad had had a prostate operation at age 69, while we were in Maryland, but recovered completely in about a month.
Once in a great while we would make the 500 mile trip and visit Marjorie's folks in Pittsburgh. Once or twice they came up and visited us.
Gifford Jr. became friends with little Wendy Suizdak, who also lived on Circle Drive. One day they were in the woods playing with fire, but it got away, and the Fire Department had to come and put the fire out.
Sometimes there was quite a bit of "pressure" on me at work, and my nerves were not quite up to it, whether due to latent effect of the Chorea illness I had suffered years earlier, or due to lack of sufficient B vitamins, I don't know. Occasionally I had to take a day off from work just to settle down my nerves. Eventually it went away. Some time after this period, I applied a (probably wrong) philosophy of my own: I decided I could be either "fat and happy" or "thin and nervous". So later I opted for the former, and actually did put on a little too much weight. But I was no longer nervous at that point.
As time went on I started to join a number of organizations, including the Unionville Congregational Church, the Burlington Historical Society, the Burlington Republican Town Committee, etc. Before I realized it, I was committed to every evening. So I simply quit it all.
Marjorie had a "blast" in decorating our house, and I wish I had taken color photos of her work. She did a mural on Gifford Jr.'s bedroom wall, with a full wall of a "cowboy" scene, rather spectacular. And in the kitchen, the entire, at least one, wall was of hand painted autumn leaves. I thought it was great. It was our first real house, and it was our own.
On March 17, 1954, Tom was born. At work, they put on the blackboard, "Patrick Neill born", thinking it would be appropriate, but I said, "We already have a Pat." So that name didn't fly. He was a big baby. Eleven pounds something. Marjorie hadn't been too careful with her eating.
Some of us accompanied the final product for shock testing at the Naval Research Laboratories in Washington D.C. Other activities I was involved in: I took and passed a series of tests to be regestered as a Professional Engineer in Connecticut. Also, I started taking evening classes in advanced electronics towards the goal of a Masters Degree.
Towards the end of our time at Lake Garda, I began to acquire more land next to us, and behind us. (Remember the Monopoly syndrome).
Our main project was nearing completion, and the smart thing to do would be to look for a better job. This I found at the Kaman Aircraft Corporation, in Bloomfield, Ct. The commute was a bit far, but I was ready for a change, and I got nearly the pay I asked for. Near my first day on the job was August 19, 1955. This was the day of a hugh flood in Connecticut. That night we went to Unionville to get groceries. On the way back I noticed that the river was only one foot below the bridge. The next day the bridge was half submereged, and helicopters were hovering over the river looking for people who might have been floating away in portions of their houses.
The flood was spectacular in Unionville, which was a disaster area where no one was allowed. Later, we found that on the north side of the river, an entire line of houses were washed away. The most memorable view I have is one place where not only the house was washed away, but the building lot also: There was the front walk, there was the driveway, and instead of a house, there was the new river bank!
I rather enjoyed the change and the new work at Kaman Aircraft, though the commute was longer.
On Jan 14, 1956 Shirley was born also in Bristol Hospital. When I came in to see them after the fact, Marjorie was on oxygen. The doctor made light of it. Ha. But I took it pretty serious. But there were no problems fortunately.
I became somewhat dissatisfied with the environment at Lake Garda. Certainly it was better than southern Maryland where we had been, but I felt it could be greatly improved by a move.
I had remembered East Hartland, where my sister Barbara had been a Girl Scout Councellor while I was growing up. One time we went up there and visited her, and that evening we could see northern lights. But one of the main attractions there was that there was a church where the gospel was preached, and attended by many of the inhabitants. I didn't have the intention of attending there myself, but felt it would be a most positive influcence on the neiighborhood.
Well, it's getting late and I must quit for now.
We were "welcomed" by a strange neighbor across the street. When I drove the truck into our new driveway, he came out and said "You turn around, bear right, and drive on up the hill." He thought I had come there by mistake. We heard that he occasionally beat his wife, and even for a time had her chained to the bed. But he never gave us any trouble. Another neighbor had a wife who was Hawaiian; they had several kids. Another neighbor right down the street on Circle Drive was Nelson, who had been on the USS Topeka with me, but we never found out until after moving away. Still another neighbor on Circle Drive, was a fellow who had been in the German army, and had fought the Russians on the eastern front.
There is a brief movie of our little family there in front of our house at Lake Garda. It was taken by my uncle Arnold Blankenburg, and is in the middle of a large reel of unknown Oakley Kansas people on 16 mm film presently stored at Tom Neill's place in Goshen, IN.
The job with the Allen D. Cardwell Co. turned out to be a little different than expected, in that just as I was beginning there, a bunch of top engineers there quit en masse to start another company in competition, a few towns to the south. The company had originally been a manufacturer of variable capacitors ("condensers" in th0se days), and located in Brooklyn, NY. But at the time I went to work there it was owned by Mr. Soby, and was primarily a miliitary contractor. Shortly after arriving, I was made project engineer of the development and manufacturing of a shipboard radiosonde receptor, to track and record weather balloons launched typically from aircraft carriers. The Navy provided us with an earlier model that had been developed by General Electric, and Cardwell had earlier been manufacturing radiosonde receptors for the Army. I have a picture somewhere of myself standing in front of a developmental large dish antenna on a little tower at Cardwell during that period.
Lake Garda was laid out in typical developmental fashion, somewhat like a maize. One day at work I got an urgent call from Marjorie that Patricia was missing! I lost not time in getting on up the road to Lake Garda. Surprise! At the very entrance to Lake Garda (distance of some blocks from home), there was Patricia. The story may have been that Patricia had wanted to stop there at that tree and gather some nuts, or something, but the answer had been "no".
The Lake Garda developoment was a little confusing to drive around. Once my sister Barbara visited us there, and I remember waiving to her again after she left, the second time she traversed Circle Drive, ha ha. My parents lived about 30 miles away, back at the old homestead in Vernon, and we would visit them every so often, and once in a while they would visit us. My dad had had a prostate operation at age 69, while we were in Maryland, but recovered completely in about a month.
Once in a great while we would make the 500 mile trip and visit Marjorie's folks in Pittsburgh. Once or twice they came up and visited us.
Gifford Jr. became friends with little Wendy Suizdak, who also lived on Circle Drive. One day they were in the woods playing with fire, but it got away, and the Fire Department had to come and put the fire out.
Sometimes there was quite a bit of "pressure" on me at work, and my nerves were not quite up to it, whether due to latent effect of the Chorea illness I had suffered years earlier, or due to lack of sufficient B vitamins, I don't know. Occasionally I had to take a day off from work just to settle down my nerves. Eventually it went away. Some time after this period, I applied a (probably wrong) philosophy of my own: I decided I could be either "fat and happy" or "thin and nervous". So later I opted for the former, and actually did put on a little too much weight. But I was no longer nervous at that point.
As time went on I started to join a number of organizations, including the Unionville Congregational Church, the Burlington Historical Society, the Burlington Republican Town Committee, etc. Before I realized it, I was committed to every evening. So I simply quit it all.
Marjorie had a "blast" in decorating our house, and I wish I had taken color photos of her work. She did a mural on Gifford Jr.'s bedroom wall, with a full wall of a "cowboy" scene, rather spectacular. And in the kitchen, the entire, at least one, wall was of hand painted autumn leaves. I thought it was great. It was our first real house, and it was our own.
On March 17, 1954, Tom was born. At work, they put on the blackboard, "Patrick Neill born", thinking it would be appropriate, but I said, "We already have a Pat." So that name didn't fly. He was a big baby. Eleven pounds something. Marjorie hadn't been too careful with her eating.
Some of us accompanied the final product for shock testing at the Naval Research Laboratories in Washington D.C. Other activities I was involved in: I took and passed a series of tests to be regestered as a Professional Engineer in Connecticut. Also, I started taking evening classes in advanced electronics towards the goal of a Masters Degree.
Towards the end of our time at Lake Garda, I began to acquire more land next to us, and behind us. (Remember the Monopoly syndrome).
Our main project was nearing completion, and the smart thing to do would be to look for a better job. This I found at the Kaman Aircraft Corporation, in Bloomfield, Ct. The commute was a bit far, but I was ready for a change, and I got nearly the pay I asked for. Near my first day on the job was August 19, 1955. This was the day of a hugh flood in Connecticut. That night we went to Unionville to get groceries. On the way back I noticed that the river was only one foot below the bridge. The next day the bridge was half submereged, and helicopters were hovering over the river looking for people who might have been floating away in portions of their houses.
The flood was spectacular in Unionville, which was a disaster area where no one was allowed. Later, we found that on the north side of the river, an entire line of houses were washed away. The most memorable view I have is one place where not only the house was washed away, but the building lot also: There was the front walk, there was the driveway, and instead of a house, there was the new river bank!
I rather enjoyed the change and the new work at Kaman Aircraft, though the commute was longer.
On Jan 14, 1956 Shirley was born also in Bristol Hospital. When I came in to see them after the fact, Marjorie was on oxygen. The doctor made light of it. Ha. But I took it pretty serious. But there were no problems fortunately.
I became somewhat dissatisfied with the environment at Lake Garda. Certainly it was better than southern Maryland where we had been, but I felt it could be greatly improved by a move.
I had remembered East Hartland, where my sister Barbara had been a Girl Scout Councellor while I was growing up. One time we went up there and visited her, and that evening we could see northern lights. But one of the main attractions there was that there was a church where the gospel was preached, and attended by many of the inhabitants. I didn't have the intention of attending there myself, but felt it would be a most positive influcence on the neiighborhood.
Well, it's getting late and I must quit for now.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
1950-52 Maryland, NATC cont'd
Another thing, prior to our getting electricity: I got an old ice box, and cut a hole in the side of the house for it. Every few days, I'd stop on the way home and buy a cake of ice. Worked real well too. But I had a little "interchange" with the seller of the ice. He would always give me a lot of coins for change, and he had a bunch of slot machines there, hoping I'd spend the change there, which I never did. Apparently it made him angry. His pricing of the ice was strange because he charged more per pound for a large block than a very small block. I called him on it, and he got even madder, saying "I don't want your business anyway!"
I may have mentioned that shortly after I began work at Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, the Korean War started, and things there started humming. Besides receiving offers from firms in Connecticut, I received another offer from the government, for a GS-4 position. I showed it to my boss, who said, "I think we can beat this." And he did, and I got a decent raise, to a GS-5, which actually would be normal for a recent graduate.
Our property straddled the right-of-way for the defunct Washington to Cape Lookout Railway. It had been graded I guess all the way down to the cape, but no tracks were ever laid. Our shack bordered one side of the grade, and the outhouse was just a few feet beyond the grade on the other side. The sspring of 1951 I put in a vegetable garden, hauling chicken manure from a chicken farm willing to give it away for nothing.
In the beginning, we had no next door neighbors at all, but after a while, the previously mentioned "hill-billy" neighbors moved in, but they were friendly. It was a couple and their teen age daughter. One late evening we heard a lot of hollering next door, and a sound like someone in their kitchen trying to quickly rustle up a big kitchen knife. Next, their back door slammed, the car started with a lurch, and as it was "gunning" out of their driveway, there was a big explosion, and a sound of buckshot hitting the side of the car. (I was mindeful that there was only 1/2" or 1/4" of Gyplap on our house as a buckshot stopper). But the next morning, the lady next door was very nice about it and apologized for all the hub-bub. And a day or so later, I heard the man of the house singing "Never speak harsh words to your ever-loving husband; he may leave you never to return", - - a verse from one of my favorite songs entitled "The Wreck of the ole '97". (A railroad song, and as a matter of fact, I think he may have worked for the railroad, but I'm not sure; they didn't believe in "fast time" (daylight savings), and neither did the railroad, nor Virginia at that time).
At work I did testing of electronic armament control systems, in the division called "Armament Test". Occasionally my work would take me over to another hanger where there was another division called "Electronic Test". There there was an engineer by the name of Doganzis, and when he did a test, everyone called it a "Doganzis Special", and it would be somewhat spectacular, making use of oceans of oscilloscopes, oscillograph recorders and the like.
With my wife Marjorie, two little kids plus one on the way, I was very disinclined to participate in any test flights, and as a matter of fact I was successful in avoiding them all. Test flights crashed on occasion, and in fact, the test pilots were all military, but still somewhat nervous about it (though of course always trying not to show it). One test pilot, having to crash-land his plane, took 1/2 hour just to sign his name. My bosses boss and a bunch of others took a Grumman "Wigeon" plane for a trip out west on business, and flew into a mountan; all aboard were lost. In those days, even typically there would be several airline crashes per year, and often it would be flying into mountains.
But the pilots also would have fun. I was there when the first jets came out, and they got a kick out of putting them through their paces. I remember one guy flying a jet to St Louis in just a couple of hours; unheard of in those days. His comment: "Gotta hurry".
As time went on, I felt the need to get more land (maybe like Monopoly, you know). It was cheap, and now I was making more money, so I got the lot next door to the North, and the two lots behind our original one plus the new one. And I fenced them all in. The following year I planted a big potato field with no fertilizer. I planted a peck of seed potatoes, and in the fall harvested a peck of potatoes. So much for that.
In my spare time, I built a shortwave transmitter, put up a long antenna over the potato field, went up to Washington D.C., and took the amateur radio test for morse code and a license. I didn't make the required 13 words per minute for a full licence, but did make the five words, and so obtained a "novice" class licence, and was given the call letters WN3UBI. I went on the air and "worked" hams within a 200 or 300 mile radius.
For some reason the kitchen drain emptied into a large hole in the back yard, and became even more full due to heavy rain. Little Patricia was out there, slipped, and fell into the hole over her head! Marjorie, who was expecting our third at that time, saw what had happened, and rushed out to rescue, but instead she herself slipped and fell on the ground. It could have been a double tragidy. But fortunately, she was not injured, and immediately pulled Patricia out safely.
I was not happy with the mail service, and thought to do someting about it. So I wrote up a petition, and went door to door around the whole area collecting signatures, finally presenting it to the post office. But at the same time, so that it wouldn't simply get lost in the Post Office burocracy, I also sent a copy with covering letter to the local newspaper. It went on the front page, saying that "a group headed by Gifford Neill" got up the petition, etc. Ha! I was the "group". It did bear fruit, but not too long before we were to leave the area.
Later I got promoted to GS-7. With all this wonderful new money, we got a TV set, and were able to watch Jacky Gleason, among others. Also I watched General Eisenhower giving a speach relating to his deciding to run for President. We got an oil-burning stove also at some point. Also for a while I had a truck, and was able to put on a 6' x 8' addition to the back of our little house. To save money, I built it out of slabs I got for nothing from the lumber yard, and covered it with tar paper. At some fairly early point in time, I had decided not to build a regular house here, but rather keep my eyes and ears open for a better position in Connecticut. I didn't care for the environment, both physically and morally here. Physically, the place was full of ticks and mosquitos. Morally, there was lots of heavy drinking and gambling. Not a good place to raise children.
On June 27, 1952, Marjorie said it was time, because of the pains, so we all piled into the car quickly, even leaving all the doors and windows open (it had been hot), and buzzed up to the hospital in Leonardtown. According to the then standard operating procedure, I was sent home with the kids. We got hope just in time before the big storm broke, and shut all the doors and windows. Meanwhile, as I learned later, big things were happening in Leonardtown. The storm hit there too, and knocked out all electricity in the hospital! But it came on again just as Marjorie was about to deliver Yvonne. They kept her in the hospital a week to 10 days, and then we brought them home. The next day, as I came home from work, Marjorie came running out to open the gate as usual. However, the day after that, she was "flat out". Too soon a change.
Generally speaking, she always said that the times she was pregnant were the times that she felt the very best!
Shortly after Yvonne's arrival, while I was at work, Marjorie's mother appeared, with a basinet, baby clothes, and legal forms giving Mrs. Holzer the legal care of the newborn, if only Marjorie would sign! Marjorie "sent her mother packing" pretty fast!
I guess I had neglected to say that after Patricia was born in Connecticut, Mrs. Holzer also had appeared with the same sort of deal while Marjorie was still in the hospital, and my Dad did the same thing then, "sent her packing"!
Now with a wife and 3 kids, there was a big incentive to improve our lot. I thought I had something lined up in Connecticut, but it never did materialize. So we took a little vacation up to Connecticut, and searched the newspapers, finally landing a job with the Allen D. Cardwell Mfg. Co., in Plainville, Ct. Then the thing to do was to find a house. Driving around the source of employmnet in ever increasing concentric circles, I came to a wonderful spot atop a hill somewhere in Bristol. (I never could find that spot again). But I couldn't find any suitable places for sale there. Finally, I found a couple of houses in Unionville, though one was actually just over the line in Burlington. After all the bargaining, we bought the one just over the line in Burlington, at a development called "Lake Garda".
Going back to Maryland, I gave notice and put the place up for sale: "$1,680 or better offer". The "better offer" was so that if there were several buyers, they could bid it up. Turns out psychologically I don't think it works like that. People read it as "or best offer", and would offer less. But I did shortly get the $1,680, and we were on our way.
Well, this is enough for one sitting. Time to go.
I may have mentioned that shortly after I began work at Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, Maryland, the Korean War started, and things there started humming. Besides receiving offers from firms in Connecticut, I received another offer from the government, for a GS-4 position. I showed it to my boss, who said, "I think we can beat this." And he did, and I got a decent raise, to a GS-5, which actually would be normal for a recent graduate.
Our property straddled the right-of-way for the defunct Washington to Cape Lookout Railway. It had been graded I guess all the way down to the cape, but no tracks were ever laid. Our shack bordered one side of the grade, and the outhouse was just a few feet beyond the grade on the other side. The sspring of 1951 I put in a vegetable garden, hauling chicken manure from a chicken farm willing to give it away for nothing.
In the beginning, we had no next door neighbors at all, but after a while, the previously mentioned "hill-billy" neighbors moved in, but they were friendly. It was a couple and their teen age daughter. One late evening we heard a lot of hollering next door, and a sound like someone in their kitchen trying to quickly rustle up a big kitchen knife. Next, their back door slammed, the car started with a lurch, and as it was "gunning" out of their driveway, there was a big explosion, and a sound of buckshot hitting the side of the car. (I was mindeful that there was only 1/2" or 1/4" of Gyplap on our house as a buckshot stopper). But the next morning, the lady next door was very nice about it and apologized for all the hub-bub. And a day or so later, I heard the man of the house singing "Never speak harsh words to your ever-loving husband; he may leave you never to return", - - a verse from one of my favorite songs entitled "The Wreck of the ole '97". (A railroad song, and as a matter of fact, I think he may have worked for the railroad, but I'm not sure; they didn't believe in "fast time" (daylight savings), and neither did the railroad, nor Virginia at that time).
At work I did testing of electronic armament control systems, in the division called "Armament Test". Occasionally my work would take me over to another hanger where there was another division called "Electronic Test". There there was an engineer by the name of Doganzis, and when he did a test, everyone called it a "Doganzis Special", and it would be somewhat spectacular, making use of oceans of oscilloscopes, oscillograph recorders and the like.
With my wife Marjorie, two little kids plus one on the way, I was very disinclined to participate in any test flights, and as a matter of fact I was successful in avoiding them all. Test flights crashed on occasion, and in fact, the test pilots were all military, but still somewhat nervous about it (though of course always trying not to show it). One test pilot, having to crash-land his plane, took 1/2 hour just to sign his name. My bosses boss and a bunch of others took a Grumman "Wigeon" plane for a trip out west on business, and flew into a mountan; all aboard were lost. In those days, even typically there would be several airline crashes per year, and often it would be flying into mountains.
But the pilots also would have fun. I was there when the first jets came out, and they got a kick out of putting them through their paces. I remember one guy flying a jet to St Louis in just a couple of hours; unheard of in those days. His comment: "Gotta hurry".
As time went on, I felt the need to get more land (maybe like Monopoly, you know). It was cheap, and now I was making more money, so I got the lot next door to the North, and the two lots behind our original one plus the new one. And I fenced them all in. The following year I planted a big potato field with no fertilizer. I planted a peck of seed potatoes, and in the fall harvested a peck of potatoes. So much for that.
In my spare time, I built a shortwave transmitter, put up a long antenna over the potato field, went up to Washington D.C., and took the amateur radio test for morse code and a license. I didn't make the required 13 words per minute for a full licence, but did make the five words, and so obtained a "novice" class licence, and was given the call letters WN3UBI. I went on the air and "worked" hams within a 200 or 300 mile radius.
For some reason the kitchen drain emptied into a large hole in the back yard, and became even more full due to heavy rain. Little Patricia was out there, slipped, and fell into the hole over her head! Marjorie, who was expecting our third at that time, saw what had happened, and rushed out to rescue, but instead she herself slipped and fell on the ground. It could have been a double tragidy. But fortunately, she was not injured, and immediately pulled Patricia out safely.
I was not happy with the mail service, and thought to do someting about it. So I wrote up a petition, and went door to door around the whole area collecting signatures, finally presenting it to the post office. But at the same time, so that it wouldn't simply get lost in the Post Office burocracy, I also sent a copy with covering letter to the local newspaper. It went on the front page, saying that "a group headed by Gifford Neill" got up the petition, etc. Ha! I was the "group". It did bear fruit, but not too long before we were to leave the area.
Later I got promoted to GS-7. With all this wonderful new money, we got a TV set, and were able to watch Jacky Gleason, among others. Also I watched General Eisenhower giving a speach relating to his deciding to run for President. We got an oil-burning stove also at some point. Also for a while I had a truck, and was able to put on a 6' x 8' addition to the back of our little house. To save money, I built it out of slabs I got for nothing from the lumber yard, and covered it with tar paper. At some fairly early point in time, I had decided not to build a regular house here, but rather keep my eyes and ears open for a better position in Connecticut. I didn't care for the environment, both physically and morally here. Physically, the place was full of ticks and mosquitos. Morally, there was lots of heavy drinking and gambling. Not a good place to raise children.
On June 27, 1952, Marjorie said it was time, because of the pains, so we all piled into the car quickly, even leaving all the doors and windows open (it had been hot), and buzzed up to the hospital in Leonardtown. According to the then standard operating procedure, I was sent home with the kids. We got hope just in time before the big storm broke, and shut all the doors and windows. Meanwhile, as I learned later, big things were happening in Leonardtown. The storm hit there too, and knocked out all electricity in the hospital! But it came on again just as Marjorie was about to deliver Yvonne. They kept her in the hospital a week to 10 days, and then we brought them home. The next day, as I came home from work, Marjorie came running out to open the gate as usual. However, the day after that, she was "flat out". Too soon a change.
Generally speaking, she always said that the times she was pregnant were the times that she felt the very best!
Shortly after Yvonne's arrival, while I was at work, Marjorie's mother appeared, with a basinet, baby clothes, and legal forms giving Mrs. Holzer the legal care of the newborn, if only Marjorie would sign! Marjorie "sent her mother packing" pretty fast!
I guess I had neglected to say that after Patricia was born in Connecticut, Mrs. Holzer also had appeared with the same sort of deal while Marjorie was still in the hospital, and my Dad did the same thing then, "sent her packing"!
Now with a wife and 3 kids, there was a big incentive to improve our lot. I thought I had something lined up in Connecticut, but it never did materialize. So we took a little vacation up to Connecticut, and searched the newspapers, finally landing a job with the Allen D. Cardwell Mfg. Co., in Plainville, Ct. Then the thing to do was to find a house. Driving around the source of employmnet in ever increasing concentric circles, I came to a wonderful spot atop a hill somewhere in Bristol. (I never could find that spot again). But I couldn't find any suitable places for sale there. Finally, I found a couple of houses in Unionville, though one was actually just over the line in Burlington. After all the bargaining, we bought the one just over the line in Burlington, at a development called "Lake Garda".
Going back to Maryland, I gave notice and put the place up for sale: "$1,680 or better offer". The "better offer" was so that if there were several buyers, they could bid it up. Turns out psychologically I don't think it works like that. People read it as "or best offer", and would offer less. But I did shortly get the $1,680, and we were on our way.
Well, this is enough for one sitting. Time to go.
Monday, February 25, 2008
1950-52, Maryland, NATC
The other night I had written a large paragraph covering a little-known footnote in my life, and I accidentally hit an unknown key, and the paragraph disappeared forever! I hope it doesn't happen again soon.
The "footnote": I forgot to mention that while we were living at that lady's place in Scotland, MD, I needed to wash some clothes with no washing machine. We did, however, have a large wash tub. Wanting to get the most effective results with the least effort, I did what to me just came naturally, and with marvelous results, both from the standpoint of a clean wash, and minimal use of my personal energy. I simply TROD out the wash, i.e., I took off my shoes and stockings, rolled up my pant legs, and after putting in the laundry, water, and detergent, stepped into the tub and proceeded methodically to walk over the clothes. Of course the lady thought I was "nuts", and probably Marjorie might have been a little embarased for me, but also she was somewhat used to me by now.
I mention this also, because I did laundry the same way after we moved into our new house, (one-room shack, just built). The next door neighbors, the other side of the fence, were genuine hill-billies from Virginia, but they had also never seen the likes either. So I guess I was a side-show. Oh well.
It was not too effective, to walk 1/4 mile into the woods across the road to get water from a spring. Johnny Wise, the blacksmith across the road suggested a solution. He had an earth auger with pipe extensions whereby one could manually drill for water. But he had loaned it out to Mr. Kupcheck up the Three Notch Road a mile or so. So we waited some days, and some more days. Eventually, I stopped in on the Kupchecks on my way home one evening. He and his wife were from Slovokia. He grew poppies and smoked a pipe. He hadn't gotten around to drilling for water, but since I was waiting for the use of the mechanism, he may have just lent it to me, being very cordial.
I was all excited. First chance I got, I started drilling for water, and at the same time, sent to Montgomery Ward's for a $4.50 pitcher pump, on credit, along with a driving "point" that incorporated a check valve. After a few days of spare-time boring into the ground, I really did hit water-bearing sand. Success! I removed the drilling mechanism, and having gotten sufficient piping, borrowed Johnny Wise's sledge hammer, and drove the point well into that patch of water-bearing sand. Then I screwed on the pitcher pump. Then, as everyone with the experience knows, I got some water and primed the pump. Again, success! We had our own source of water, just 100 feet from the house. We were so happy.
I furnished the house with a lot of used furniture bought very cheaply. I got a little wood-burning stove (I think that was new), and all that winter we kept warm and cooked with wood scraps I obtained free from a local sawmill. On the way home from work one day I spotted a large steel barrel abandoned by a road crew who had been tarring the road. The barrel had been used to hold road tar, but was now empty. I took it home, and constructed an elevated holder for the barrel (wooden crosspieces for legs), and mounted it in the rear of our house. Then with hoses and things, I ran an outlet line through the wall into the house. I took a large handbasin, and pounded out a hole in the middle of it with a ball peen hammer. Then I took one of Gifford Jr.'s wooden blocks, and whittled it down on one side to form a plug for the hole. Under the house, I made a V-shaped drain with two boards. Every evening after work, I carried buckets of water from the pump to the barrel, and filled it. Thus we had running water in the house.
A few odds and ends before I continue, but forget them. Down at the end of the peninsula, where the Patomac joins the Chessapeake Bay, there is a marker with an enscription that follows..
(Please note, I'm making up some of the names & dates so they may not be accurate, but I've always wanted to go back and take a photo of the actual marker).
"Site of the First United Church of Christ, built 1723, burned by the British, 1783
Rebuilt 1793, burned by the British 1813.
Rebuilt 1825, burned by Federal troops 1863."
There were some charred timbers there.
One of the other things I wanted to mention was about Johnny Wise. Several things, in fact. One was he used to keep all sorts of "thing" in each corner of his blacksmith shop. When asked why, he repeated an old saying: "Everything comes into use in 7 years". (I like that saying; it justifys a pack-rat like me).
Another "snapshot" of his personality: He told me that one day he was eating some stewd tomatoes cold, out of the can, and a salesman stopped in on him, and "got after him" to buy a kerosene stove. I don't know that he bought it though.
Back to our situation across the street. Not long after we moved into the house, I wanted to have the kids to be able to roam free, so I fenced in the large lot using cheap 2 x 4's and chicken wire. I put in a driveway gate consisting of another 2 x 4 NOT put into the ground, but made a receptacle for it using another hole next to the terminating post on the other side. The receptacle hole was lined with stove piping. Often Marjorie would see me coming, run out and open the "gate" for me.
Note, I had told Oliver Wise (the carpenter), of my grandeouse plans to some day have an automatic gate opener. When he saw how I was greeted upon coming home, he commented: "Well Mr. Neill, I see that you have gotten your automatic gate-opener."
When growing up I used to read "Moon Mullins" in the funnies. I remembered one case where "Kayo" the mean little kid was so small that his bed was one of the drawers in a chest of drawers. Now we also were quite short of space, and that idea looked pretty good to me, so we put Gifford Jr. to bed in one of the drawers of the chest of drawers. Worked O.K. P.S., he was a little kid, but not mean.
Recall we now had "running water", but no electricity, telephone, nor mail service. But within the fiirst year, electric service came by, and we got it. Also a telphone. One of the first things I got was a used washing machine. It had a very small diameter separate spinner to wring the clothes dry. Open at the top, and dangerous too. Should you put your arm in there while it was spinning, it would twist off your arm in about 2 seconds flat. But it worked for us.
I wanted to get an electric pump and have real running water, but the flow from the driven point was to slow to support it. So I decided to bore down deeper. But in doing so, I broke off the pipe connection about 10 or 15 feet below ground. And temporarily we were again reduced to me going into the woods to get a little water.
At this point, I borrowed money from my Dad, and hired well diggers to dig a proper well, which they did. Then I sent to Sears or Wards and ordered a 1/2 horse jet pump, and started digging a trench from the house to the new well, with a gradual incline up from the well to the house. I bought a lot of piping, plus a check valve to put at the bottom, in the well. Then I started screwing piping together, going from the well to the house, to the corner of the house. I made a hole in the floor in the corner, screwing on a 90 degree elbow, and coming up into the kitchen portion of our humble abode.
At this point, laughing to myself, because I knew it wasn't the proper way to do it (and I didn't know the proper way, which would take too much time and money to find out), I then screwed the jet pump onto the end of the pipe. At the outlet of the jet pump I screwed on more piping to the next corner of the dwelling, where I put a "tee", and a large diameter pipe vertically up almost to the ceiling, and capped it. Continuing from the "tee", I ran piping over to the home-made basin, and connected it to the existing faucet that had been previously fed by the barrel outside. I wired up the jet pump. And we had running water for real, with a vengance! I say this last phrase because about the smallest thing we could fill when turning on the faucet was a pitcher. But we lived with it.
Well, I'd better quit for now.
The "footnote": I forgot to mention that while we were living at that lady's place in Scotland, MD, I needed to wash some clothes with no washing machine. We did, however, have a large wash tub. Wanting to get the most effective results with the least effort, I did what to me just came naturally, and with marvelous results, both from the standpoint of a clean wash, and minimal use of my personal energy. I simply TROD out the wash, i.e., I took off my shoes and stockings, rolled up my pant legs, and after putting in the laundry, water, and detergent, stepped into the tub and proceeded methodically to walk over the clothes. Of course the lady thought I was "nuts", and probably Marjorie might have been a little embarased for me, but also she was somewhat used to me by now.
I mention this also, because I did laundry the same way after we moved into our new house, (one-room shack, just built). The next door neighbors, the other side of the fence, were genuine hill-billies from Virginia, but they had also never seen the likes either. So I guess I was a side-show. Oh well.
It was not too effective, to walk 1/4 mile into the woods across the road to get water from a spring. Johnny Wise, the blacksmith across the road suggested a solution. He had an earth auger with pipe extensions whereby one could manually drill for water. But he had loaned it out to Mr. Kupcheck up the Three Notch Road a mile or so. So we waited some days, and some more days. Eventually, I stopped in on the Kupchecks on my way home one evening. He and his wife were from Slovokia. He grew poppies and smoked a pipe. He hadn't gotten around to drilling for water, but since I was waiting for the use of the mechanism, he may have just lent it to me, being very cordial.
I was all excited. First chance I got, I started drilling for water, and at the same time, sent to Montgomery Ward's for a $4.50 pitcher pump, on credit, along with a driving "point" that incorporated a check valve. After a few days of spare-time boring into the ground, I really did hit water-bearing sand. Success! I removed the drilling mechanism, and having gotten sufficient piping, borrowed Johnny Wise's sledge hammer, and drove the point well into that patch of water-bearing sand. Then I screwed on the pitcher pump. Then, as everyone with the experience knows, I got some water and primed the pump. Again, success! We had our own source of water, just 100 feet from the house. We were so happy.
I furnished the house with a lot of used furniture bought very cheaply. I got a little wood-burning stove (I think that was new), and all that winter we kept warm and cooked with wood scraps I obtained free from a local sawmill. On the way home from work one day I spotted a large steel barrel abandoned by a road crew who had been tarring the road. The barrel had been used to hold road tar, but was now empty. I took it home, and constructed an elevated holder for the barrel (wooden crosspieces for legs), and mounted it in the rear of our house. Then with hoses and things, I ran an outlet line through the wall into the house. I took a large handbasin, and pounded out a hole in the middle of it with a ball peen hammer. Then I took one of Gifford Jr.'s wooden blocks, and whittled it down on one side to form a plug for the hole. Under the house, I made a V-shaped drain with two boards. Every evening after work, I carried buckets of water from the pump to the barrel, and filled it. Thus we had running water in the house.
A few odds and ends before I continue, but forget them. Down at the end of the peninsula, where the Patomac joins the Chessapeake Bay, there is a marker with an enscription that follows..
(Please note, I'm making up some of the names & dates so they may not be accurate, but I've always wanted to go back and take a photo of the actual marker).
"Site of the First United Church of Christ, built 1723, burned by the British, 1783
Rebuilt 1793, burned by the British 1813.
Rebuilt 1825, burned by Federal troops 1863."
There were some charred timbers there.
One of the other things I wanted to mention was about Johnny Wise. Several things, in fact. One was he used to keep all sorts of "thing" in each corner of his blacksmith shop. When asked why, he repeated an old saying: "Everything comes into use in 7 years". (I like that saying; it justifys a pack-rat like me).
Another "snapshot" of his personality: He told me that one day he was eating some stewd tomatoes cold, out of the can, and a salesman stopped in on him, and "got after him" to buy a kerosene stove. I don't know that he bought it though.
Back to our situation across the street. Not long after we moved into the house, I wanted to have the kids to be able to roam free, so I fenced in the large lot using cheap 2 x 4's and chicken wire. I put in a driveway gate consisting of another 2 x 4 NOT put into the ground, but made a receptacle for it using another hole next to the terminating post on the other side. The receptacle hole was lined with stove piping. Often Marjorie would see me coming, run out and open the "gate" for me.
Note, I had told Oliver Wise (the carpenter), of my grandeouse plans to some day have an automatic gate opener. When he saw how I was greeted upon coming home, he commented: "Well Mr. Neill, I see that you have gotten your automatic gate-opener."
When growing up I used to read "Moon Mullins" in the funnies. I remembered one case where "Kayo" the mean little kid was so small that his bed was one of the drawers in a chest of drawers. Now we also were quite short of space, and that idea looked pretty good to me, so we put Gifford Jr. to bed in one of the drawers of the chest of drawers. Worked O.K. P.S., he was a little kid, but not mean.
Recall we now had "running water", but no electricity, telephone, nor mail service. But within the fiirst year, electric service came by, and we got it. Also a telphone. One of the first things I got was a used washing machine. It had a very small diameter separate spinner to wring the clothes dry. Open at the top, and dangerous too. Should you put your arm in there while it was spinning, it would twist off your arm in about 2 seconds flat. But it worked for us.
I wanted to get an electric pump and have real running water, but the flow from the driven point was to slow to support it. So I decided to bore down deeper. But in doing so, I broke off the pipe connection about 10 or 15 feet below ground. And temporarily we were again reduced to me going into the woods to get a little water.
At this point, I borrowed money from my Dad, and hired well diggers to dig a proper well, which they did. Then I sent to Sears or Wards and ordered a 1/2 horse jet pump, and started digging a trench from the house to the new well, with a gradual incline up from the well to the house. I bought a lot of piping, plus a check valve to put at the bottom, in the well. Then I started screwing piping together, going from the well to the house, to the corner of the house. I made a hole in the floor in the corner, screwing on a 90 degree elbow, and coming up into the kitchen portion of our humble abode.
At this point, laughing to myself, because I knew it wasn't the proper way to do it (and I didn't know the proper way, which would take too much time and money to find out), I then screwed the jet pump onto the end of the pipe. At the outlet of the jet pump I screwed on more piping to the next corner of the dwelling, where I put a "tee", and a large diameter pipe vertically up almost to the ceiling, and capped it. Continuing from the "tee", I ran piping over to the home-made basin, and connected it to the existing faucet that had been previously fed by the barrel outside. I wired up the jet pump. And we had running water for real, with a vengance! I say this last phrase because about the smallest thing we could fill when turning on the faucet was a pitcher. But we lived with it.
Well, I'd better quit for now.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Maryland 1950
So I was off to Maryland, starting work there as a GS-3, hired by mistake at a low rate as a student-aide trainee, the government thinking they were hiring me just for the summer. I had to leave the family behind with my folks until I could secure a place for them to live.
New hires were put up on base (Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, MD) in what functioned also as Bachelor Officers Quarters barracks. I used all of my spare time to search out a suitable place for my family to live on what amounted to $3,000 per year. I found something way down the peninsula in Scotland, MD, where there was a lady willing to rent to us one bedroom with kitchen and out house priveledges for a small sum.
I hopped into that same trusty old 1936 Ford V-8 4-door, buzzed back to Connecticut, loaded up my family (we were now four), and went back to Maryland to settle in. It was a little rough living in that way. The lady turned out to be not all that friendly. It was a rather long commute miles-wise, and therefore cost-wise. So I joined a commuting group which helped some. But one day, driving down the Three Notch Road, not that many miles from the base, I saw a sign, "Building Lots for Sale, $200, terms if desired".
It looked like the solution to our problem: Close to work, and a place of our own. I sought out the owner and gave him a down payment to get a lot I had selected across from a blacksmith shop. To give you some numbers that are probably wrong, lets say the lot was 200' wide by 400' deep, or 1/4 acre. But there was no electricity going past the place. I was all excited. No electricity? Big deal! We could get along without that. Both of us had had the experience. Me while growing up, and Marjorie summers when her mother put her out on a farm.
I was on the way from work going back down to Scotland to pick up my family and drive the 400 miles back to Connecticut to put them in "storage" with my folks while I intended to build a small place on one corner of the lot that would later be our tool shed. I would do this little construction while living out of my car. I had gotten acquainted with Oliver Wise, a carpenter across the road from our building lot, and stopped in to share the news with him.
It turned out much different than I expected. The story is long, but I'll tell it. Oliver Wise and his wife lived in a nice place right next door to the blacksmith shop owned by Oliver's brother, Johnny Wise, an old bachelor in his 70's. Now the Wise's sister had years earlier moved to Alaska, to an island I think near Ketchican, and had married an original Russian by the name of Sobeloff. They had the only general store around on that island, and were quite wealthy. Then about the time of the above events, he had died, and Mrs. Sobeloff wanted to return to Maryland.
Now Mrs. Sobeloff was afraid of flying, and insisted on travelling on the surface. Furthermore she didn't want to travel alone, and also she had obviously a lot of business to "wind down" there. So she sent six $100 bills in the mail to her brother Olver Wise and his wife, and asked them to come up to Alaska to help her with the transition, which they agreed to do. So about that time they would be gone about one month.
Some years earlier, Oliver Wise had build a very nice tool shed on the edge of his property, and he and his wife lived in it while they were building their nice place. So Oliver very kindly offered to let me and my family live in his tool shed (it was a comfortable place, well built), while he and his wife went to Alaska to bring his sister back. And it worked out beautifully. So I didn't have to take the family back to Connecticut again, and I didn't have to live in the car.
I took all the time off from work that I could get without loosing any pay, and began to build as fast as I could. I put the place on cinderblocks, using pine lumber for framing, and Gyplap (US Gypsum Co.) for the walls. The roof was originally to be double pitched, but to same time and materials, I just made it single-pitched, and covered with tarpaper. It was 10' x 20', with a door and two windows in the front, and a door and one window in the back. I build an outhouse in the back, and attached an office to it where I could study. Johnny Wise showed me a spring in the woods behind his place where we could get good drinking water.
So we were all set! I hadn't QUITE finished when the Wises returned from Alaska, so Oliver helped me finish up especially hanging the doors. And so we were finally established in southern Maryland.
More later.
New hires were put up on base (Naval Air Test Center, Patuxent River, MD) in what functioned also as Bachelor Officers Quarters barracks. I used all of my spare time to search out a suitable place for my family to live on what amounted to $3,000 per year. I found something way down the peninsula in Scotland, MD, where there was a lady willing to rent to us one bedroom with kitchen and out house priveledges for a small sum.
I hopped into that same trusty old 1936 Ford V-8 4-door, buzzed back to Connecticut, loaded up my family (we were now four), and went back to Maryland to settle in. It was a little rough living in that way. The lady turned out to be not all that friendly. It was a rather long commute miles-wise, and therefore cost-wise. So I joined a commuting group which helped some. But one day, driving down the Three Notch Road, not that many miles from the base, I saw a sign, "Building Lots for Sale, $200, terms if desired".
It looked like the solution to our problem: Close to work, and a place of our own. I sought out the owner and gave him a down payment to get a lot I had selected across from a blacksmith shop. To give you some numbers that are probably wrong, lets say the lot was 200' wide by 400' deep, or 1/4 acre. But there was no electricity going past the place. I was all excited. No electricity? Big deal! We could get along without that. Both of us had had the experience. Me while growing up, and Marjorie summers when her mother put her out on a farm.
I was on the way from work going back down to Scotland to pick up my family and drive the 400 miles back to Connecticut to put them in "storage" with my folks while I intended to build a small place on one corner of the lot that would later be our tool shed. I would do this little construction while living out of my car. I had gotten acquainted with Oliver Wise, a carpenter across the road from our building lot, and stopped in to share the news with him.
It turned out much different than I expected. The story is long, but I'll tell it. Oliver Wise and his wife lived in a nice place right next door to the blacksmith shop owned by Oliver's brother, Johnny Wise, an old bachelor in his 70's. Now the Wise's sister had years earlier moved to Alaska, to an island I think near Ketchican, and had married an original Russian by the name of Sobeloff. They had the only general store around on that island, and were quite wealthy. Then about the time of the above events, he had died, and Mrs. Sobeloff wanted to return to Maryland.
Now Mrs. Sobeloff was afraid of flying, and insisted on travelling on the surface. Furthermore she didn't want to travel alone, and also she had obviously a lot of business to "wind down" there. So she sent six $100 bills in the mail to her brother Olver Wise and his wife, and asked them to come up to Alaska to help her with the transition, which they agreed to do. So about that time they would be gone about one month.
Some years earlier, Oliver Wise had build a very nice tool shed on the edge of his property, and he and his wife lived in it while they were building their nice place. So Oliver very kindly offered to let me and my family live in his tool shed (it was a comfortable place, well built), while he and his wife went to Alaska to bring his sister back. And it worked out beautifully. So I didn't have to take the family back to Connecticut again, and I didn't have to live in the car.
I took all the time off from work that I could get without loosing any pay, and began to build as fast as I could. I put the place on cinderblocks, using pine lumber for framing, and Gyplap (US Gypsum Co.) for the walls. The roof was originally to be double pitched, but to same time and materials, I just made it single-pitched, and covered with tarpaper. It was 10' x 20', with a door and two windows in the front, and a door and one window in the back. I build an outhouse in the back, and attached an office to it where I could study. Johnny Wise showed me a spring in the woods behind his place where we could get good drinking water.
So we were all set! I hadn't QUITE finished when the Wises returned from Alaska, so Oliver helped me finish up especially hanging the doors. And so we were finally established in southern Maryland.
More later.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
1950 & Maryland
I wasn't in the dorm more than a few weeks at most when I got a call to come home! Marjorie had started getting pains, and went right ahead and took certain pills the doctor gave her to take just before delivery! It later turned out that she really wasn't ready to deliver, and they were just false labor pains. But it was too late. She had already taken those pills.
So I took her to Hartford Hospital (with my textbooks), and waited there. And waited. And waited. I don't know what I learned from my textbooks, but I suppose something. Finally they wheeled out both mother and daughter. The only thing wrong was, they were both "out", stone cold! Not a good way to start life. So much for "modern" medicine and all the drugs. The day was May 9, 1950, and I've never had a problem remembering it, but for a rather rediculous reason. I used to read the funny papers, and one comic strip was "The Gumps". One day he said "Today is May 9th, Min's (Minerva Gump's) birthday". It just stuck in my mind.
I was ready to graduate with a Bachelor of Science in Engineering (EE major), with 15 extra credits, including several at the graduate level. They decided that I didn't need to take final examinations after all, and in fact was being considered for graduation "with distinction". I took a special test for that, but came up short. Oh well.
One of my graduate level courses was Microwave Techniques, and another was Pulse Circuits. I was particularly interested in Microwaves, and wanted to get a job in that field because it should be good in the future. But nobody was hiring. In fact on the engineering bulletain board was a clipping saying there were 20,000 (or some such number) surplus engineers. Furthermore, our wonderful president, old Harry Truman said right out "I think there's going to be a depression that will make your hair curl!"
Truman is the same president, while I was working for George Horning in Oregon, who got on the radio and said, "To relieve the meat shortage (there were still price controls left over from the war), I considered sending the Army out onto the range and commender the beef on the hoof, but ultimately, and very reluctantly decided to end price controls on beef."
Harry is the same one whose Secretary of State publicly said that "Korea is not within our sphere of vital importance", or something to that effect, implying to the Communists, "do whatever you want".
Another snapshot, and these are things people always forget: The Korean was was going full blast, and somewone asked him, what about using the atomic bomb? Our president's response? "Oh, I think that's up to the commander in the field if he wants to use it!!!!!!!!!!!" As soon as he said THAT, (I believe it was Clement Atlee), the British Prime Minister immediately hopped a transatlantic plane and came right to Washington to straighten him out. Then common sense prevailed. One of my coworkers later made the comment "Churchill has more brains in his cigar than Truman has in his head."
I have dirgressed. Pardon me. My mother wanted me to go to work on tobacco that summer, and wait until jobs opened up in the fall. But I couldn't stomach that idea. I also applied at a lot of places. In addition, I applied for positions as research assistant in combination with pursuing a Master's degree at The University of Illinois Champeign, plus other universities, including one in Tennessee. The later accepted me, but only after I had relocated to Maryland, working full time at the Naval Air Test Center, so it was too late.
I must go now.
So I took her to Hartford Hospital (with my textbooks), and waited there. And waited. And waited. I don't know what I learned from my textbooks, but I suppose something. Finally they wheeled out both mother and daughter. The only thing wrong was, they were both "out", stone cold! Not a good way to start life. So much for "modern" medicine and all the drugs. The day was May 9, 1950, and I've never had a problem remembering it, but for a rather rediculous reason. I used to read the funny papers, and one comic strip was "The Gumps". One day he said "Today is May 9th, Min's (Minerva Gump's) birthday". It just stuck in my mind.
I was ready to graduate with a Bachelor of Science in Engineering (EE major), with 15 extra credits, including several at the graduate level. They decided that I didn't need to take final examinations after all, and in fact was being considered for graduation "with distinction". I took a special test for that, but came up short. Oh well.
One of my graduate level courses was Microwave Techniques, and another was Pulse Circuits. I was particularly interested in Microwaves, and wanted to get a job in that field because it should be good in the future. But nobody was hiring. In fact on the engineering bulletain board was a clipping saying there were 20,000 (or some such number) surplus engineers. Furthermore, our wonderful president, old Harry Truman said right out "I think there's going to be a depression that will make your hair curl!"
Truman is the same president, while I was working for George Horning in Oregon, who got on the radio and said, "To relieve the meat shortage (there were still price controls left over from the war), I considered sending the Army out onto the range and commender the beef on the hoof, but ultimately, and very reluctantly decided to end price controls on beef."
Harry is the same one whose Secretary of State publicly said that "Korea is not within our sphere of vital importance", or something to that effect, implying to the Communists, "do whatever you want".
Another snapshot, and these are things people always forget: The Korean was was going full blast, and somewone asked him, what about using the atomic bomb? Our president's response? "Oh, I think that's up to the commander in the field if he wants to use it!!!!!!!!!!!" As soon as he said THAT, (I believe it was Clement Atlee), the British Prime Minister immediately hopped a transatlantic plane and came right to Washington to straighten him out. Then common sense prevailed. One of my coworkers later made the comment "Churchill has more brains in his cigar than Truman has in his head."
I have dirgressed. Pardon me. My mother wanted me to go to work on tobacco that summer, and wait until jobs opened up in the fall. But I couldn't stomach that idea. I also applied at a lot of places. In addition, I applied for positions as research assistant in combination with pursuing a Master's degree at The University of Illinois Champeign, plus other universities, including one in Tennessee. The later accepted me, but only after I had relocated to Maryland, working full time at the Naval Air Test Center, so it was too late.
I must go now.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
1948-50 Cont'd
For my Junior year at the University of Connecticut, we lived with my parents place in Vernon, and I commuted, as I have already mentioned. Marjorie was expecting our firstborn. Let me state one thing right here. She was always happy to be "expecting". Even she felt better during those times more than any other. Strange maybe, but true.
Somewhere I have a picture of her "expecting" Gifford Jr., taken in Providence during a visit to Great Aunt Louise Blankenburg's place. In the picture, Marjorie looks both proud and happy!
And that tells it all.
In those days, hospitals always sent the father-to-be home. We were NOT welcome at the hospital! So during that nail-biting time, I went home, and while waiting for the telephone call, a very long wait, I pulled one of the heads off the V-8 Ford, as it had blown a head gasket and I had to replace it.
Marjorie and I were both young and full of energy, ready for anything. It may have been that November Thanksgiving vacation from school that we decided to make a 1,000 mile round trip visit to Pittsburgh. I got an extra car heater to keep the baby warm during the trip. I pinned a thermometer to the back seat cushion to be sure we kept the temperature at 70 degrees. Everyone was worried, but WE weren't. We stopped in Elizabeth, NJ to visit Donald McCormick, a shipmate from the USS Topeka. We had a good visit with the new grandparents, and everyone was happy. It was an uneventful trip.
That following summer, we were still staying with my folks in Vernon. I remember one day in July 1949, on the lawn in the front yard, under the maple tree, we had the play pen set up, with Giff Jr. in it. It was the first time he stood alone, hanging onto two clothespins that were attached to nothing.
I didn't like the long commute from Vernon to Storrs and decided to do something about it. I recalled one of the students at Carnegie Tech found a rent-free apartment (former servants quarters over a garage), simply by going door-to-door and asking what might be available. So I decided to do the same. I started out walking from the Engineering building on campus, and went door-to-door at the first houses I encountered. After perhaps only about the 5th house, I hit a good deal!
It was a stone house on top of a hill, and the people were going to go to Florida for the season and needed someone to watch over the place while they were gone. They said they were coming back in the spring sometime, didn't know exactly when, but we'd have to vacate on their return. They would give us very low rent for the deal. So we made the deal and moved in, with our little boy. It had a fireplace.
Once we had a fire going in the fireplace in the livingroom. Giff Jr. was near it, and I was the other side of the living room. There was a little live coal, glowing, and Giff Jr. picked it up! Then of course he screamed! It was as though I saw it all in slow motion, and was to far away to prevent him from picking it up. He let go quick enough that there was no permanent damage done, but it sure was painful for him.
The entire place was furnished, and we had the use of a high chair. I especially remember watching Giff Jr. sitting in the high chair eating peas. He would push them around, talking to them, then mash them with his hand and then eat them.
During the (probably Thanksgiving 1949) break that year, Marjorie wanted to visit Pittsburgh again, but I didn't want to go, though she very much wanted me to come with her. But I didn't, so I took her and Giff Jr. to the train station in Hartford, and they did the round trip by train. Later she told me how scared to death she was to do that by herself. I retrospect, of course I feel pretty bad about it.
Spring of 1950 came, and everything happened all at once. The people returned from Florida, and we had to move out of the house. Final examinations were right around the corner. Marjorie was expecting our second child in May. I had not yet lined up a job. I was way behind in my laboratory write-ups. Things seemed almost impossible simultaneously. We had to take immediate action. We moved out of the house, Marjorie and Giff Jr. went back to stay with my folks in Vernon, and I moved into an on-campus student dorm to be able to do all the school work required.
I remember one late afternoon in the dorm, sitting at my desk with a stack of laboratory notebooks about 1 foot high. It was 4:30 PM as I looked out the window and saw a line of University maintenance employees lined up to punch out at their time clock. I though to my self "luck people". I worked through that night and saw the sun rise the next morning.
Next time: the early arrival of Patricia, my graduation with almost (but not quite) "honors", my search for a job, and finally getting one in Maryland with the government.
Somewhere I have a picture of her "expecting" Gifford Jr., taken in Providence during a visit to Great Aunt Louise Blankenburg's place. In the picture, Marjorie looks both proud and happy!
And that tells it all.
In those days, hospitals always sent the father-to-be home. We were NOT welcome at the hospital! So during that nail-biting time, I went home, and while waiting for the telephone call, a very long wait, I pulled one of the heads off the V-8 Ford, as it had blown a head gasket and I had to replace it.
Marjorie and I were both young and full of energy, ready for anything. It may have been that November Thanksgiving vacation from school that we decided to make a 1,000 mile round trip visit to Pittsburgh. I got an extra car heater to keep the baby warm during the trip. I pinned a thermometer to the back seat cushion to be sure we kept the temperature at 70 degrees. Everyone was worried, but WE weren't. We stopped in Elizabeth, NJ to visit Donald McCormick, a shipmate from the USS Topeka. We had a good visit with the new grandparents, and everyone was happy. It was an uneventful trip.
That following summer, we were still staying with my folks in Vernon. I remember one day in July 1949, on the lawn in the front yard, under the maple tree, we had the play pen set up, with Giff Jr. in it. It was the first time he stood alone, hanging onto two clothespins that were attached to nothing.
I didn't like the long commute from Vernon to Storrs and decided to do something about it. I recalled one of the students at Carnegie Tech found a rent-free apartment (former servants quarters over a garage), simply by going door-to-door and asking what might be available. So I decided to do the same. I started out walking from the Engineering building on campus, and went door-to-door at the first houses I encountered. After perhaps only about the 5th house, I hit a good deal!
It was a stone house on top of a hill, and the people were going to go to Florida for the season and needed someone to watch over the place while they were gone. They said they were coming back in the spring sometime, didn't know exactly when, but we'd have to vacate on their return. They would give us very low rent for the deal. So we made the deal and moved in, with our little boy. It had a fireplace.
Once we had a fire going in the fireplace in the livingroom. Giff Jr. was near it, and I was the other side of the living room. There was a little live coal, glowing, and Giff Jr. picked it up! Then of course he screamed! It was as though I saw it all in slow motion, and was to far away to prevent him from picking it up. He let go quick enough that there was no permanent damage done, but it sure was painful for him.
The entire place was furnished, and we had the use of a high chair. I especially remember watching Giff Jr. sitting in the high chair eating peas. He would push them around, talking to them, then mash them with his hand and then eat them.
During the (probably Thanksgiving 1949) break that year, Marjorie wanted to visit Pittsburgh again, but I didn't want to go, though she very much wanted me to come with her. But I didn't, so I took her and Giff Jr. to the train station in Hartford, and they did the round trip by train. Later she told me how scared to death she was to do that by herself. I retrospect, of course I feel pretty bad about it.
Spring of 1950 came, and everything happened all at once. The people returned from Florida, and we had to move out of the house. Final examinations were right around the corner. Marjorie was expecting our second child in May. I had not yet lined up a job. I was way behind in my laboratory write-ups. Things seemed almost impossible simultaneously. We had to take immediate action. We moved out of the house, Marjorie and Giff Jr. went back to stay with my folks in Vernon, and I moved into an on-campus student dorm to be able to do all the school work required.
I remember one late afternoon in the dorm, sitting at my desk with a stack of laboratory notebooks about 1 foot high. It was 4:30 PM as I looked out the window and saw a line of University maintenance employees lined up to punch out at their time clock. I though to my self "luck people". I worked through that night and saw the sun rise the next morning.
Next time: the early arrival of Patricia, my graduation with almost (but not quite) "honors", my search for a job, and finally getting one in Maryland with the government.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Univ. of Conn, 1948-50
The old 1936 Ford V-8 held up very well for the daily commute from Vernon to Storrs and the University of Connecticut. At times I also had a car pool with Everett Gardner, Della Worcester's husband. However, due to schedules, mostly I was by myself. One winter trip is etched in my memory. I was going down hill in slush, about an inch of it, and suddenly it happened that the steering was not "answering the helm", i.e., NO RESPONSE to my steering! But that wasn't even the worst of it. Looking down the hill at the bottom, there was a car CROSSWISE across the highway. Now you must realize that going down hill in slush absolutely precludes the use of brakes, and you must steer your way out of any situation.
So what happened then? Well, amazingly enough, the car at the bottom of the hill straightened out, and somehow, steering was restored. End of story.
I have to go now, will return later.
So what happened then? Well, amazingly enough, the car at the bottom of the hill straightened out, and somehow, steering was restored. End of story.
I have to go now, will return later.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Marjorie, 1947-48
Regarding getting married, Marjorie's mother (Mrs. Ruth Holzer) took charge of the whole operation basically. Her husband, "Buck" Holzer, urged us not to just elope, which of course would have been one of our options.
Her mom had a beautiful wedding dress made. The wedding took place in the living room of the apartment at 748 Warrington Ave., Pgh, over the candy store. We chose a minister of a church just down the street on Warrington Ave. (I can't recall the denomination). The night before the wedding, Mrs. Holzer slipped me a "fiver", saying to take it and give it to the minister to get her baptized. She explained that Marjorie had never been baptized because it had been unknown prior to that what type of person she was to marry. So we went across the road, down the street to the Rev., and asked him to baptize her, giving him the $5.00.
He said "Oh, there's no charge for that, I'll just put it in the offering." He also said that the normal procedure was to put an announcement in the weekly buletain two weeks ahead of time, but "under the circumstances", he would just go ahead and perform the ceremony. So we went over to the baptismal font, and he read from a little black book written by a believer saying essentially that he was putting Marjorie into my care until such time as she would come to know the Lord. Then he sprikled her from the font, and that was it..
So the day of the wedding arrived. I believe by that time I had just purchased, under the advice of my brother-in-law-to-be, Chuck Minster, a body and fender man. It was an 11-year old beater, a 1936 Ford V-8 4-door with only mechanical brakes. I got dressed and drove over to 748 Warrington Ave. Then I looked down at my shoes, and noticed one was brown and the other was black! My sister Barbara Neill was coming in from the east on the train that morning, and I told all I was about to run down to the station to meet her. Chuck Minster would have none of it, saying that I was the essential one here that day, and said he himself would pick up my sister from the station.
My intention had been to rent an apartment once we were married, but Marjorie was fully under the control of her mother, and couldn't part with her at that point, so we were to move in with them. There had been a porch built between their building and the one next door, ove the alley; how well supported, no one knew. But Buck volunteered to convert the porch into an extra bedroom for us, and have it ready.
Now normally the Blankenburgs (my mother's family), would get together every Christmas, but this year they delayed the get-together so that we could join them. Marjorie and I were married on Christmas day 1947. The next morning we boarded a Pullman with a through ticket to Hartford. After about a day and a half, we arrived in Hartford and were met by my Uncle Charlie Blankenburg. There had been a very heavy snowfall, but all went well otherwise.
Once we returned to Pittsburgh, Marjorie did all the cooking for the whole family, and also worked for her mother in the shop she had up the road, plus did demonstrations for her with the cosmetics. I contributed some of my G.I. bill money to help with the groceries, and regularly commuted to Carnegie Tech using now my '36 Ford V-8.
Marjorie's father, Ed Minster, who also lived with us gave us a very expensive bedroom suite, solid blond maple set: bed, vanity, and two chests of drawers. The two chests of drawers have survived, but are getting rather old and in need of replacement. Marjorie's mother gave us the living room furniture that was already in the living room.
There were some rather severe fights between my mother-in-law Ruth Holzer, and her husband Buck Holzer. So it was not always such a peaceful environment. Furthermore, the physical environment left quite a bit to be desired. I once hung out a line of wash to dry in the back yard, and when I took the laundry in there was a black ine running right through all the clothes. My father-in-law said "Anybody in their right mind is going to wipe off the clothesline before hanging clothes on it!" But I didn't know that.
Marjorie was still pretty dominated by her mother. Taking all the foregoing into consideratin, I decided the best thing to do was to transfere to the Univesity of Connecticut in Storrs, CT, which I did at the end of my Sophmore year at Carnegie Tech. Marjorie was expecting our first child at that time also.
So in the summer of 1948 we moved from her folks in Pittsburgh to my folks in Vernon, Connecticut. My parents gave us what had been their upstairs bedroom when I was growing up. We still used the '36 Ford, and it held up well. We wanted to get all our furniture, so I bought an old truck (with the idea of selling it afterwards), and drove the 500 miles to Pgh, loaded up the furniture, and drove back again (I think sleeping in the truck between times). I didn't shave the whole time, and when I returned, I shaved all but my mustache; there is or was a picture of me somewhere with my temporary one and only mustache.
I did a certain amount of work on the truck and put it up for sale, advertising in the local papers for maybe $300; I had bought it for say $250. One evening in response to my advertisement, there came a knock at the door: two men, and one was a sheriff. He said the truck was his, and he had sold it to Mr. Goodchild by a conditional bill of sale, on condition that all the payments of the agreed upon price be paid. Mr. Goodchild had told him that the truck "had tipped over with a load of potatoes up in Massachusetts, and wasn't worth a nickle". Mr. Goodchild was a realtor in Manchester and had a reputation for sharp dealing.
So that night I went to bed without the truck and without the $300. Next day I went down to Manchester, found Mr. Goodchild, and told him that he should know better than that, to do what he did, and I wanted my $300 NOW, or else I was going to the Connecticut State Police. He didn't have the money on him right then, but agreed to meet me later that day with the money, which he did, and that ended that.
The advice I had gotten from those at Carnegie Tech was to spend the summer working in an office to become familiar with office procedures. But I just couldn't tolerate that. I wanted to be outdoors. So that summer, besides doing electrical wiring, I worked on tobacco for the Thralls. We also went on a few trips. We went up to Maine camping, and crossed over the line into Quebec. It was strange. On the USA side was all woods, wildereness basically. On the Canadian side it was fairly well settled. Recently my grandson Jesse Tomes, a native Canadian told me that Canada encouraged dense settling along the border to prevent the USA from grabbing any Canadian land.
The ditches along Quebec country roads were quite deep, and in just pulling over to park at one point the car fell into the ditch, and I had to get a Quebec farmer to pull it out with his tractor. One Sunday morning in Quebec I saw a strange (to me) sight. There was a buckboard wagon with about 6 or 8 men in it all dressed up in full suits, no doubt on the way to church.
On another occasion, Marjorie and I went up north and crossed Lake Champlain on the ferry, and I do have a picture of that. On still another occasion, we wanted to go out to Cape Cod, and we got as far as the dunes, and almost to the Cape Cod Canal, but then it was time to go home, as we had run out of not only time, but especially money. On another occasion we went with my parents to Providence, RI and visited my Great Aunt Louise Blankenburg, who had life-use of the home of the former governor of RI.
In the fall I transferred to the University of Connecicut and continued my studies. I had gotten restless, and had wanted to drop out for just one year, and build a house on land my parents owned on Skinner road. They gladly would give me a building lot for this, but were dead set against my temporarily dropping out of school to do this, saying I'd never go back to it again. I wasn't convinced, but finally gave in, and continued at U of Conn. I had gone so far as laying out a building lot on Skinner Road, next to Luther Skinner's place, and had bought a bag of nails to use.
So for my Junior year in college I became again a commuter, this time from Vernon to Storrs, about 17 miles of country, hilly roads, not too bad except sometimes in the winter. I was the first one who had ever transferred from Carnegie Tech to Univ. of Conn., and Prof. LaVerne Williams, my advisor told me to take a light load at first and give it all I had as it would affect the gransfer grades from Carnegie. It was sound advice.
Next time, more on my commuting, experiences on the arrival of our firstborn, etc.
Her mom had a beautiful wedding dress made. The wedding took place in the living room of the apartment at 748 Warrington Ave., Pgh, over the candy store. We chose a minister of a church just down the street on Warrington Ave. (I can't recall the denomination). The night before the wedding, Mrs. Holzer slipped me a "fiver", saying to take it and give it to the minister to get her baptized. She explained that Marjorie had never been baptized because it had been unknown prior to that what type of person she was to marry. So we went across the road, down the street to the Rev., and asked him to baptize her, giving him the $5.00.
He said "Oh, there's no charge for that, I'll just put it in the offering." He also said that the normal procedure was to put an announcement in the weekly buletain two weeks ahead of time, but "under the circumstances", he would just go ahead and perform the ceremony. So we went over to the baptismal font, and he read from a little black book written by a believer saying essentially that he was putting Marjorie into my care until such time as she would come to know the Lord. Then he sprikled her from the font, and that was it..
So the day of the wedding arrived. I believe by that time I had just purchased, under the advice of my brother-in-law-to-be, Chuck Minster, a body and fender man. It was an 11-year old beater, a 1936 Ford V-8 4-door with only mechanical brakes. I got dressed and drove over to 748 Warrington Ave. Then I looked down at my shoes, and noticed one was brown and the other was black! My sister Barbara Neill was coming in from the east on the train that morning, and I told all I was about to run down to the station to meet her. Chuck Minster would have none of it, saying that I was the essential one here that day, and said he himself would pick up my sister from the station.
My intention had been to rent an apartment once we were married, but Marjorie was fully under the control of her mother, and couldn't part with her at that point, so we were to move in with them. There had been a porch built between their building and the one next door, ove the alley; how well supported, no one knew. But Buck volunteered to convert the porch into an extra bedroom for us, and have it ready.
Now normally the Blankenburgs (my mother's family), would get together every Christmas, but this year they delayed the get-together so that we could join them. Marjorie and I were married on Christmas day 1947. The next morning we boarded a Pullman with a through ticket to Hartford. After about a day and a half, we arrived in Hartford and were met by my Uncle Charlie Blankenburg. There had been a very heavy snowfall, but all went well otherwise.
Once we returned to Pittsburgh, Marjorie did all the cooking for the whole family, and also worked for her mother in the shop she had up the road, plus did demonstrations for her with the cosmetics. I contributed some of my G.I. bill money to help with the groceries, and regularly commuted to Carnegie Tech using now my '36 Ford V-8.
Marjorie's father, Ed Minster, who also lived with us gave us a very expensive bedroom suite, solid blond maple set: bed, vanity, and two chests of drawers. The two chests of drawers have survived, but are getting rather old and in need of replacement. Marjorie's mother gave us the living room furniture that was already in the living room.
There were some rather severe fights between my mother-in-law Ruth Holzer, and her husband Buck Holzer. So it was not always such a peaceful environment. Furthermore, the physical environment left quite a bit to be desired. I once hung out a line of wash to dry in the back yard, and when I took the laundry in there was a black ine running right through all the clothes. My father-in-law said "Anybody in their right mind is going to wipe off the clothesline before hanging clothes on it!" But I didn't know that.
Marjorie was still pretty dominated by her mother. Taking all the foregoing into consideratin, I decided the best thing to do was to transfere to the Univesity of Connecticut in Storrs, CT, which I did at the end of my Sophmore year at Carnegie Tech. Marjorie was expecting our first child at that time also.
So in the summer of 1948 we moved from her folks in Pittsburgh to my folks in Vernon, Connecticut. My parents gave us what had been their upstairs bedroom when I was growing up. We still used the '36 Ford, and it held up well. We wanted to get all our furniture, so I bought an old truck (with the idea of selling it afterwards), and drove the 500 miles to Pgh, loaded up the furniture, and drove back again (I think sleeping in the truck between times). I didn't shave the whole time, and when I returned, I shaved all but my mustache; there is or was a picture of me somewhere with my temporary one and only mustache.
I did a certain amount of work on the truck and put it up for sale, advertising in the local papers for maybe $300; I had bought it for say $250. One evening in response to my advertisement, there came a knock at the door: two men, and one was a sheriff. He said the truck was his, and he had sold it to Mr. Goodchild by a conditional bill of sale, on condition that all the payments of the agreed upon price be paid. Mr. Goodchild had told him that the truck "had tipped over with a load of potatoes up in Massachusetts, and wasn't worth a nickle". Mr. Goodchild was a realtor in Manchester and had a reputation for sharp dealing.
So that night I went to bed without the truck and without the $300. Next day I went down to Manchester, found Mr. Goodchild, and told him that he should know better than that, to do what he did, and I wanted my $300 NOW, or else I was going to the Connecticut State Police. He didn't have the money on him right then, but agreed to meet me later that day with the money, which he did, and that ended that.
The advice I had gotten from those at Carnegie Tech was to spend the summer working in an office to become familiar with office procedures. But I just couldn't tolerate that. I wanted to be outdoors. So that summer, besides doing electrical wiring, I worked on tobacco for the Thralls. We also went on a few trips. We went up to Maine camping, and crossed over the line into Quebec. It was strange. On the USA side was all woods, wildereness basically. On the Canadian side it was fairly well settled. Recently my grandson Jesse Tomes, a native Canadian told me that Canada encouraged dense settling along the border to prevent the USA from grabbing any Canadian land.
The ditches along Quebec country roads were quite deep, and in just pulling over to park at one point the car fell into the ditch, and I had to get a Quebec farmer to pull it out with his tractor. One Sunday morning in Quebec I saw a strange (to me) sight. There was a buckboard wagon with about 6 or 8 men in it all dressed up in full suits, no doubt on the way to church.
On another occasion, Marjorie and I went up north and crossed Lake Champlain on the ferry, and I do have a picture of that. On still another occasion, we wanted to go out to Cape Cod, and we got as far as the dunes, and almost to the Cape Cod Canal, but then it was time to go home, as we had run out of not only time, but especially money. On another occasion we went with my parents to Providence, RI and visited my Great Aunt Louise Blankenburg, who had life-use of the home of the former governor of RI.
In the fall I transferred to the University of Connecicut and continued my studies. I had gotten restless, and had wanted to drop out for just one year, and build a house on land my parents owned on Skinner road. They gladly would give me a building lot for this, but were dead set against my temporarily dropping out of school to do this, saying I'd never go back to it again. I wasn't convinced, but finally gave in, and continued at U of Conn. I had gone so far as laying out a building lot on Skinner Road, next to Luther Skinner's place, and had bought a bag of nails to use.
So for my Junior year in college I became again a commuter, this time from Vernon to Storrs, about 17 miles of country, hilly roads, not too bad except sometimes in the winter. I was the first one who had ever transferred from Carnegie Tech to Univ. of Conn., and Prof. LaVerne Williams, my advisor told me to take a light load at first and give it all I had as it would affect the gransfer grades from Carnegie. It was sound advice.
Next time, more on my commuting, experiences on the arrival of our firstborn, etc.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Marjorie
So I met Marjorie about May 1947, and I continued to see her basically on an ever increasing frequency, yet continuing with all my Engineering studies at Carnegie Institute of Technology. It kept me quite busy. At one point she wanted us to buy a car together. I couldn't believe it! We always rode the trolly everywhere we went.
Finally some dorm space opened up for me on campus, and I moved into what had been WWII temporary student housing. I moved there during the summer. It saved time with the commute from off campus. My roommate was a Dutchman who I believe was a bit peeved at the loss by the Dutch of the Dutch East Indies, including Java and Summatra (today's Idonesia).
His other observation was that the USA was terribly rich.
When Fall came, still another, better dorm opened up for me, and I moved into an old stone building dorm named "Englebrecht Hall". The dorm room I was in was rather hugh, with lots of windows, and a bunk in each of its four corners. It was comfortable, and a big improvement over the temporary quarters.
Marjorie and I would go to a dance with a big-name big band, we'd go to movies, go for long walks, spend time in the parks, ride the inclines, etc. Once we went for a walk in Panther Hollow on the edge of the Carnegie Tech campus, and got caught in a sudden cloudburst, getting totally drenching wet. So we caught a trolly and went straight home to Marjorie's place. Her mother didn't believe us and thought we had gone swimming with our clothes on!
As time went on, Marjorie began to get rather restless, and I couldn't figure out why. Finally, one evening as I was walking her home, it just popped out from her: "Who are you going to marry?" To me it was out of the blue. I had all along figured I'd get married once I got out of college, and maybe had worked for a year. To me all that was a long way off. But I believe now she was correct in her recollection of my response: "You, I guess." This was in November. So now I was committed. And on further reflection, since we are going to get married, why wait? So that's what we did, getting married at the next available time slot to allow time to get back to Connecticut as newlyweds during Christmas vacation, 1947.
More later.
Finally some dorm space opened up for me on campus, and I moved into what had been WWII temporary student housing. I moved there during the summer. It saved time with the commute from off campus. My roommate was a Dutchman who I believe was a bit peeved at the loss by the Dutch of the Dutch East Indies, including Java and Summatra (today's Idonesia).
His other observation was that the USA was terribly rich.
When Fall came, still another, better dorm opened up for me, and I moved into an old stone building dorm named "Englebrecht Hall". The dorm room I was in was rather hugh, with lots of windows, and a bunk in each of its four corners. It was comfortable, and a big improvement over the temporary quarters.
Marjorie and I would go to a dance with a big-name big band, we'd go to movies, go for long walks, spend time in the parks, ride the inclines, etc. Once we went for a walk in Panther Hollow on the edge of the Carnegie Tech campus, and got caught in a sudden cloudburst, getting totally drenching wet. So we caught a trolly and went straight home to Marjorie's place. Her mother didn't believe us and thought we had gone swimming with our clothes on!
As time went on, Marjorie began to get rather restless, and I couldn't figure out why. Finally, one evening as I was walking her home, it just popped out from her: "Who are you going to marry?" To me it was out of the blue. I had all along figured I'd get married once I got out of college, and maybe had worked for a year. To me all that was a long way off. But I believe now she was correct in her recollection of my response: "You, I guess." This was in November. So now I was committed. And on further reflection, since we are going to get married, why wait? So that's what we did, getting married at the next available time slot to allow time to get back to Connecticut as newlyweds during Christmas vacation, 1947.
More later.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Carnegie Tech
I was able to do a reasonable amount of studying while living at McNeilly's. I made myself a study table using a 4' x 4' 1/2" plywood and four collapsable legs.
The McNeilly's were a Scotch-Irish elderly couple with some quirks. She described a taxi ride she had taken, and the need for tipping, the dialogue being thus: "Poor as I am, I'll give you a dime." "Aw, keep it lady, you need it more than I do." On another occasion she said to her husband, "For as long as you've been shaving, you ought to be able to shave in the dark. We might as well have it as Duquene Light." Mr. McNeilly once expressed concern about eating food canned in metal cans, and speculated on the possibility of metal dust. They lived at 6463 1/2 Aurelia St., East Liberty. There was a diner just down the street where I ate breakfast.
I ate lunch at the "Beanery", otherwise known as "Skibo", on campus. I commuted via trolly. On at least one or two occasions I had my laundry done at a Chinese Laundry.
While standing in line to register for all my classes, the fellow just ahead of me told me his plans: He was going to take a night watchman's job and spend that time to do all his homework. I wondered how it would work, and a year or so later, I asked him. He had a straight "A", but was always sleepy. Another fellow (then or later), told me that he lived with his wife rent-free, or nearly so. I asked how. He said that he went door-to-door near the campus looking for low-cost rent, and ran across one party with servants quarters over their garage that they were able to get. This method I took my cue from and applied it successfully in Connecticut.
I had some interesting professors. One was an elderly Gerald Patterson, originally from Tuscon, AZ, and he longed to be able to return, but felt trapped in Pittsburgh due to job and family. I took careful note of his situation, and determined it would not happen to me. One day he came and made the comment, "I got up late this morning and had time only to either eat breakfast or shave, so I flipped a coin. It said shave, so I ate breakfast." He taught EEE (Elements of Electrical Engineering". One of his comments: "I have my radio grounded to the garbage can."
One thing he taught us was the procedure for designing transformers, among other things.
Another professor was Claude Schwab, from France, who taught us Chemistry. One of his comments: "I came to Carnegie Tech IN SPITE of Pittsburgh" (which at that time was the Smokey City due to coal burning and open hearth furnaces). The air there was bad, very bad. He described a rig he had made using a play pen to keep the air clean for his little one. He was very much against hydrogenated oil for human consumption, saying it was totally unnatural, and produced by using nickel catalyst which was poisonous. Also he was dead set against Cocoa Cola, which he said was illegal in France. However, it was recommended for cleaning white sidewall tires.
Just about all my classmates were newly returned WWII servicemen like myself. One of my professors, this one in economics, was ultra left-wing. One of my classmates named VanBuzkirk was I believe probably upper class, with money. The Economics prof. insisted on calling VanBuzkirk "Buzkirk", thus there was friction between the two. Once this prof (whose name escapes me), took a poll of the class, asking "How many of you would be here anyway, without any G.I. Bill?" I had an English prof. who looked down on me after giving me a "C", indiicating that "probably that was all I was capable of doing." He was not my favorite prof.
One of my math instructors was named "V. A. Zora". He had us come up and do work at the blackboard. He always spoke in a smooth monotone. Strange. Believe he was a grad student.
Another instructor, also later for math, was from Czechoslovokia, and his accent was so bad you had to sit on the edge of your chair and concentrate just to understand his "English".
Our Chemistry instructor guaranteed us a "B" if we would do all our homework. But the homework was a "bear", and for me at least, sometimes impossible to do.
Regarding Drafting and Spacial Mechanics, the Carnegie Tech catalog said that homework for this course is NOT required. I faithfully adheered to this specification, but as a consequence, just barely passed. I note that I may have been nearly the only one NOT doing additional studying at home for this course.
A classmate, Miller, and I talked of making plans for the first summer we had off from school to travel down to Tennessee, and find totally unspoiled girls to be our wives. But we (I at least) never got that far. To handle the big influx of students, Carnegie Tech, as many other schools, ran full classes year round for the first year or two after the war.
For my part, I came up with another theory: If any girl had to take dancing lessons because she never learned to in high school, then she must be unspoiled and shy. Thus I enrolled at Griffith's Dance Studio in downtown Pittsburgh, and met several girls. One was a blond just out of high school, and she was going to attend Cornell Univ. in Ithica , NY. She wrote me about a nine page letter all in green ink. But at that time I had already met Marjorie, so wrote the other a short letter and that ended that. Marjorie was always beeing danced with by "the guy in the blue suit", but I think she liked me better.
So once I took her home, via the trolly, to 748 Warrington Ave., and down a dark alley, and up over a candy store. On the mailbox it said: Minster, Winrick, Holzer, Duckworth, Nudine. I didn't know what to make of all this, but we were very much attraced to each other. On another occasion she invited me for dinner with the family, and it helped us to get acquainted. Then I began seeing her quite regularly.
It may have been about May, 1947, and I had possibly a week off from school, and I went home. That may have been the time tha sticks in my memory. So what I'm about to describe may be the composite of more than one trip, as I made quite a few between Connecticut and Pgh while in school. Anyway, let's say this time I flew to New York, and then hitch-hiked home from there, which I did one time. Coming in for a landing during a thinderstorm, the pilot changed his mind at the last minute, gave it the gun, stood the plane on one wing in a tight bank and came around again and landed.
It was the first warm weather of early spring, and I was hitch-hiking through the night, getting finally, a ride as far as Talcotville. From there I had to walk home, about 3 miles. As I was walking along Thrall Road, it must have been getting towards dawn, and all the birds started singing beautifully. I continued home, letting myself in, and climbed up stairs and crawled into bed. Every day that week I received a 2 or 3 page perfumed letter from Marjorie.
Another time I was hitch-hiking between Connecticut and Pgh. I got a ride with a little old lady
who said she was on the way to visit her husband in an asylum (she didn't say what kind). Along the way she picked up a lot of us hitch hikers. One problem, she would notice and comment on various things along the 2-lane highway, but when she was commenting on something over to the left, the car would veer over to the left, into the other lane. Also, her passing of cars left an awful lot to be desired, especially when there was oncoming traffic. One by one, me included, we all came to the conclusion this ride wasn't worth the risk, and at various places, we all abandoned her.
Got to go. More later.
The McNeilly's were a Scotch-Irish elderly couple with some quirks. She described a taxi ride she had taken, and the need for tipping, the dialogue being thus: "Poor as I am, I'll give you a dime." "Aw, keep it lady, you need it more than I do." On another occasion she said to her husband, "For as long as you've been shaving, you ought to be able to shave in the dark. We might as well have it as Duquene Light." Mr. McNeilly once expressed concern about eating food canned in metal cans, and speculated on the possibility of metal dust. They lived at 6463 1/2 Aurelia St., East Liberty. There was a diner just down the street where I ate breakfast.
I ate lunch at the "Beanery", otherwise known as "Skibo", on campus. I commuted via trolly. On at least one or two occasions I had my laundry done at a Chinese Laundry.
While standing in line to register for all my classes, the fellow just ahead of me told me his plans: He was going to take a night watchman's job and spend that time to do all his homework. I wondered how it would work, and a year or so later, I asked him. He had a straight "A", but was always sleepy. Another fellow (then or later), told me that he lived with his wife rent-free, or nearly so. I asked how. He said that he went door-to-door near the campus looking for low-cost rent, and ran across one party with servants quarters over their garage that they were able to get. This method I took my cue from and applied it successfully in Connecticut.
I had some interesting professors. One was an elderly Gerald Patterson, originally from Tuscon, AZ, and he longed to be able to return, but felt trapped in Pittsburgh due to job and family. I took careful note of his situation, and determined it would not happen to me. One day he came and made the comment, "I got up late this morning and had time only to either eat breakfast or shave, so I flipped a coin. It said shave, so I ate breakfast." He taught EEE (Elements of Electrical Engineering". One of his comments: "I have my radio grounded to the garbage can."
One thing he taught us was the procedure for designing transformers, among other things.
Another professor was Claude Schwab, from France, who taught us Chemistry. One of his comments: "I came to Carnegie Tech IN SPITE of Pittsburgh" (which at that time was the Smokey City due to coal burning and open hearth furnaces). The air there was bad, very bad. He described a rig he had made using a play pen to keep the air clean for his little one. He was very much against hydrogenated oil for human consumption, saying it was totally unnatural, and produced by using nickel catalyst which was poisonous. Also he was dead set against Cocoa Cola, which he said was illegal in France. However, it was recommended for cleaning white sidewall tires.
Just about all my classmates were newly returned WWII servicemen like myself. One of my professors, this one in economics, was ultra left-wing. One of my classmates named VanBuzkirk was I believe probably upper class, with money. The Economics prof. insisted on calling VanBuzkirk "Buzkirk", thus there was friction between the two. Once this prof (whose name escapes me), took a poll of the class, asking "How many of you would be here anyway, without any G.I. Bill?" I had an English prof. who looked down on me after giving me a "C", indiicating that "probably that was all I was capable of doing." He was not my favorite prof.
One of my math instructors was named "V. A. Zora". He had us come up and do work at the blackboard. He always spoke in a smooth monotone. Strange. Believe he was a grad student.
Another instructor, also later for math, was from Czechoslovokia, and his accent was so bad you had to sit on the edge of your chair and concentrate just to understand his "English".
Our Chemistry instructor guaranteed us a "B" if we would do all our homework. But the homework was a "bear", and for me at least, sometimes impossible to do.
Regarding Drafting and Spacial Mechanics, the Carnegie Tech catalog said that homework for this course is NOT required. I faithfully adheered to this specification, but as a consequence, just barely passed. I note that I may have been nearly the only one NOT doing additional studying at home for this course.
A classmate, Miller, and I talked of making plans for the first summer we had off from school to travel down to Tennessee, and find totally unspoiled girls to be our wives. But we (I at least) never got that far. To handle the big influx of students, Carnegie Tech, as many other schools, ran full classes year round for the first year or two after the war.
For my part, I came up with another theory: If any girl had to take dancing lessons because she never learned to in high school, then she must be unspoiled and shy. Thus I enrolled at Griffith's Dance Studio in downtown Pittsburgh, and met several girls. One was a blond just out of high school, and she was going to attend Cornell Univ. in Ithica , NY. She wrote me about a nine page letter all in green ink. But at that time I had already met Marjorie, so wrote the other a short letter and that ended that. Marjorie was always beeing danced with by "the guy in the blue suit", but I think she liked me better.
So once I took her home, via the trolly, to 748 Warrington Ave., and down a dark alley, and up over a candy store. On the mailbox it said: Minster, Winrick, Holzer, Duckworth, Nudine. I didn't know what to make of all this, but we were very much attraced to each other. On another occasion she invited me for dinner with the family, and it helped us to get acquainted. Then I began seeing her quite regularly.
It may have been about May, 1947, and I had possibly a week off from school, and I went home. That may have been the time tha sticks in my memory. So what I'm about to describe may be the composite of more than one trip, as I made quite a few between Connecticut and Pgh while in school. Anyway, let's say this time I flew to New York, and then hitch-hiked home from there, which I did one time. Coming in for a landing during a thinderstorm, the pilot changed his mind at the last minute, gave it the gun, stood the plane on one wing in a tight bank and came around again and landed.
It was the first warm weather of early spring, and I was hitch-hiking through the night, getting finally, a ride as far as Talcotville. From there I had to walk home, about 3 miles. As I was walking along Thrall Road, it must have been getting towards dawn, and all the birds started singing beautifully. I continued home, letting myself in, and climbed up stairs and crawled into bed. Every day that week I received a 2 or 3 page perfumed letter from Marjorie.
Another time I was hitch-hiking between Connecticut and Pgh. I got a ride with a little old lady
who said she was on the way to visit her husband in an asylum (she didn't say what kind). Along the way she picked up a lot of us hitch hikers. One problem, she would notice and comment on various things along the 2-lane highway, but when she was commenting on something over to the left, the car would veer over to the left, into the other lane. Also, her passing of cars left an awful lot to be desired, especially when there was oncoming traffic. One by one, me included, we all came to the conclusion this ride wasn't worth the risk, and at various places, we all abandoned her.
Got to go. More later.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Back East Again
Flying back in 1946 was not like today. Especially in the '40's. Every year there would be crashes, especiallin in the Rocky Mountains. I got a ticket on Capitol Airlines, which later was absorbed by United. The liner was a rather beat-up plane: its cabin heaters didn't work well, and a lot of the ceiling lights didn't work. The plane took off after numerous delays, about 11 PM. In the middle of the night we stopped in Billings. In the early morning hours we stopped in Minneapolis - St Paul. Over Lake Michigan we developed engine trouble, and landed near Detroit at the River Rouge plant. Presumed repairs were made and we took off for Pittsburgh. The repairs didn't work; one engine kept backfiring, but we kept going anyway, and finally made it to Pittsburgh OK.
I had arranged ahead of time to drop in for a short visit with an old Navy buddy, Al McBride. We were in boot camp together at Great Lakes Training Center, Illinois. He had started at Carnegie Tech to major in Engineering, but later thought better of it and transferred to University of Pittsburgh; eventually he got a Law degree. His dad had a politically appointed job. I spent a day or two in Pittsburgh to check things out in general, and Carnegie Tech in particular. Then I continued my journey East by plane, heading for Hartford via New York.
I spent the month of January at home on the farm with my parents, and joined the "52-20 club", which was an arrangement whereby returning veterans not gainfully employed could collect $20 per week for a whole year if necessary. But actually I wasn't strenuously looking for work at that time. Others needed it much more than I did, but I just dipped into the gravy train anyway during that January, sorry.
Finally, when the time came, I took the train to Pittsburgh, changing trains at Grand Central Station, NYC. I travelled rather heavy, with a big stack of 78 RMP phonograph records. Oh, I forgot to mention that I even took a few phonograph records along on the USS Topeka, including "Three O'Clock in the Morning", and "Prisonero del Mar". Anyway, changing trains at Grand Central Station quickly with several very heavy suitcases was more than I could manage, so a porter charged right in and relieved me. I had to tip him, and all I had was a $2 bill. I didn't mean to give him that much, but he took it and left quickly without giving me any change.
I found a room with a family on Squirrel Hill, not far from campus, and moved in. But for some reason I felt very out of place because they were Jewish, so I kept looking, and found another family in East Liberty, just a little further out, with Mr. & Mrs. D. R. McNeilly.
More about the McNeilly's later, I have to go.
I had arranged ahead of time to drop in for a short visit with an old Navy buddy, Al McBride. We were in boot camp together at Great Lakes Training Center, Illinois. He had started at Carnegie Tech to major in Engineering, but later thought better of it and transferred to University of Pittsburgh; eventually he got a Law degree. His dad had a politically appointed job. I spent a day or two in Pittsburgh to check things out in general, and Carnegie Tech in particular. Then I continued my journey East by plane, heading for Hartford via New York.
I spent the month of January at home on the farm with my parents, and joined the "52-20 club", which was an arrangement whereby returning veterans not gainfully employed could collect $20 per week for a whole year if necessary. But actually I wasn't strenuously looking for work at that time. Others needed it much more than I did, but I just dipped into the gravy train anyway during that January, sorry.
Finally, when the time came, I took the train to Pittsburgh, changing trains at Grand Central Station, NYC. I travelled rather heavy, with a big stack of 78 RMP phonograph records. Oh, I forgot to mention that I even took a few phonograph records along on the USS Topeka, including "Three O'Clock in the Morning", and "Prisonero del Mar". Anyway, changing trains at Grand Central Station quickly with several very heavy suitcases was more than I could manage, so a porter charged right in and relieved me. I had to tip him, and all I had was a $2 bill. I didn't mean to give him that much, but he took it and left quickly without giving me any change.
I found a room with a family on Squirrel Hill, not far from campus, and moved in. But for some reason I felt very out of place because they were Jewish, so I kept looking, and found another family in East Liberty, just a little further out, with Mr. & Mrs. D. R. McNeilly.
More about the McNeilly's later, I have to go.
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