Jim Lorimer Memoir, the Early Years

Jim Lorimer A memoir

Jim Lorimer A memoir

Copyright © 2022 by James J. Lorimer

All rights reserved

ISBN pending

PREFACE

Had the story been told there is none I would value more highly than what the life of James Lorimer was like. That is, the James Lorimer who was born in Kilmarnock, Scotland in 1836, nine decades before me who had the courage at age 19 to move to a new world. Why did he do that? What did he know about the world and times in which he lived and what were his life experiences in that world? His story made all the difference for my life and yet it is unknown.

It is also fascinating and true that the last three quarters of the 20th Century through which I lived were the most life changing in all of human history. Prior to that time people had lived very much the same for more than a millennium. The industrial and technological revolutions, nations moving by stages from agrarian to manufacturing to service focused societies, the doubling of human life spans –all are fantastic stories that the first James Lorimer could not have imagined.

This recounting of a life lived through a period of such unprecedented change could be told by many of much greater accomplishment. My tale is aimed at contemporary friends and heirs of mine who may wish to recall and hopefully will later be interested to learn how lives were lived through this fantastic time. With technology building geometrically on technology this story will likely seem quaint to the future reader, but we surely did see a lot. Most important, the love of my life wanted the story told.

The 1920s

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times …

How this Lorimer came to be

The Lorimer Name

The name Lorimer is a common surname in Scotland. It derived from the French word “lormier,” meaning the maker of the metal parts for bridles, spurs and bits. Before the year 1000 A.D., populations were so sparse that few people carrier surnames. Multiple names were reserved for royalty.

A person would be known as James the lormier, James the smith, or James of Nottingham. Personal identification was the individual’s given name with the added reference to their occupation or place of origin to further distinguish them.

The name Lorimer is believed to have reached England and Scotland as the Norman (i.e. French) invasion and occupation occurred in 1066 A.D. William the Conqueror led that invasion and for the next 300 years the French language and culture were enforced upon England. While the native emerging English language finally prevailed, it was heavily influenced by this three century French incursion.

James Lorimers

Some centuries later a number of James Lorimers appeared in a direct line in southern Scotland near the small town of Kilmarnock. The first of our lineage we have been able to correctly identify is the James Lorimer born on June 10, 1793 in Kilmarnock. He was a farmer who lived his life in that Scottish community. He did not marry until the age of 38 when on December 30, 1831, he married Mary Russell, age 19. Mary was the daughter of Thomas Russell and Janet Beveridge. No certain record of James Lorimer’s parentage has been found. James and Mary had a son, also named James, who was born in Kilmarnock on May 15, 1836.

This second James Lorimer lived his early years on Douglas Street in Kilmarnock, at an address that no longer exists as we found upon a visit to our ancestral town. The occupation of this James Lorimer was listed as carpenter when he first traveled to the United States in 1855 at age 19.

The first James Lorimer in the United States emigrated to Bristol, Pennsylvania, from Kilmarnock, Scotland, in 1858, and was granted U.S. Citizenship by this document in 1858.

It is known that his father died that year, but it is not known whether that event or the harsh economic conditions then existing in Scotland (i.e. famine in both Ireland and Scotland connected with the loss of the basic staple, the potato crop) caused James to venture to this new world. We can be sure the decision was not easy for one whose family had lived in the same small Scottish community for generations. Still, there have been several generations of Lorimers since then who are most grateful that James had the courage to seek a new life and the greater opportunity that seemed possible in the United States. He was not alone. There was a large emigration from England, Scotland and Ireland to the United States during this period.

James Lorimer traveled by ship from Glasgow to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It

would have been a multi-week crossing of the Atlantic under cramped and harsh conditions. His papers indicated he was an apprentice carpenter and he found work in the Philadelphia area.

In early 1956 he returned to Kilmarnock to ask his childhood sweetheart, Elizabeth Campbell, to marry him and come with him to the United States. They were married in the Parish Church of Kilmarnock on March 2, 1856. Their marriage license reflected the occupation of carpenter for the 19 year old James Lorimer, and spinster for the 23 year old Elizabeth Campbell. She was 4 years older than James and signed the church register with her ”mark.” James signed his name in full.

James and Elizabeth traveled to Philadelphia where they settled in a home on Mt. Pleasant Avenue. They lived in this area for the next 20 years and he moved through several occupations. He was a carpenter, a nursery man, and later a policeman in Germantown. They were Scotch Presbyterians. James was later described by his son, Jasper, as having been an avid reader, an immaculate dresser, and a rather stern looking 5 foot 8 pipe smoker.

Beginning in 1859, James and Elizabeth had eight children, William, Mary, Lizzie, Jasper Howatt (our sire), Agnes, Robert, Jennie and Jean. Agnes, Jennie and Jean died in childhood.

The widow of the first James Lorimer of whom we have record remarried a man named Jasper Howatt, and then also emigrated to the Philadelphia area. Jasper Howatt was reasonably well to do and he became owner of a farm in Croydon, Pennsylvania, northeast of Philadelphia along the Delaware River. Mary Russell Lorimer Howatt later bequeathed this farm property jointly to her son by the second marriage and to James Lorimer

In the early 1880s, James Lorimer moved to the Croydon farm to share in caring for the green houses that had been willed to him and his step brother. His oldest son, William, joined his father on the farm which produced their food and also a reasonably good living from the several greenhouses that supplied flowers they marketed in nearby Philadelphia markets. William Lorimer married Margaret Carr Jones in Croydon and they had two children, Elizabeth and Charles.

William died on July 28, 1887 at the age of 29, leaving his wife and two young children on the Croydon farm. The cause of his death is not known.

James Lorimer continued as head of the household in Croydon, operating the farm and greenhouses. The farm contained a large barn and livestock including horses, cows and poultry. Their primary food crops were corn and wheat, which were planted about 100 yards in front of the farmhouse and between the house and the Delaware River, within view about a half mile east. The primary and strong source of income stemmed from the green houses. Farm life was difficult but comfortable for the times. The farm never had indoor plumbing. All transportation was by horse and carriage. A train station in Croydon permitted direct access to Philadelphia, but most delivery of flowers was accomplished through horse and wagon handling.

Jasper Lorimer

My grandfather, Jasper Howatt Lorimer, was born in Mount Airy, Pennsylavania on October 25, 1863. He attended Grammar School in Mount Airy from age 6 to 11. He would deliver morning papers before school, meeting a 6:30 a.m. train from Philadelphia. Several papers were handled: The Philadelphia Inquirer, Philadelphia Times, German Democrat, and the Philadelphia Record. Only the first of these papers has survived through time. Sorting these deliveries for subscribers in the Mount Airy area must have involved some challenge for young Jasper Lorimer.

At age 11, Jasper quit school when his father gave him the option of attending school or going to work. He applied for work at a carpet factory at that young age and was hired as a piecer on a spinning machine. He worked six days a week from 6:30 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., with one hour for lunch, and was paid $2.50 per week. On the first of every month, he was paid $10, and his sister, Lizzie, would accompany him to collect the money and turn it over to his mother for household needs. At the time, Jasper’s father (James) was making $65 per month as a policeman in Germantown. Jasper expressed doubt that much of the money he earned was actually used for “household needs.”

Jasper quit working at the carpet mill at age 16, having worked there for five

years. His work day had been increased to nearly 18 hours for almost a year, and he was beginning to grow very thin He had lost his appetite and was living primarily on a supper consisting of the drink “half and half”, that was half ale and half port. This he would drink each evening before going to bed around 10 p.m. Feeling the need to work, he took a new job at a green house owned by John Burton. This paid $4.50 a week and he continued working there for the next five years.

He left Burton at age 21 in 1884 and was making $15 per week, which he reports was considered “big money” at the time. The problem had become the relocation of the Burton greenhouses to Springfield in Montgomery County, which was too far from Jasper’s home in Mt. Airy. He immediately found work in Mt. Airy managing eight greenhouses for a man named Bilder, receiving the same $15 per week salary. Jasper worked for Bilder for the next three years.

In June 1887, at the age of 24, Jasper moved to the Croydon farm at the request of his father and uncle, Robert Howatt. The next month Jasper’s brother William died. It is unclear whether Jasper was asked to come to the farm because of his older brother’s final illness. The tragic fact was Margaret Lorimer was left a widow with two young children.

Jasper worked hard on the farm. His extensive greenhouse experience was badly needed, and his brother Bob, and sisters Lizzie and Mary also assisted in maintaining the farm crops and the greenhouses. The harshness of the work again caused him to lose considerable bodyweight, going from 160 down to 130 pounds.

William Lorimer’s widow, Margaret, continued to live on the farm with her two children, Elizabeth born in July 1981, and Charles born in December 1983. On July 29, 1889, two years after Jasper came to live and work on the farm, Jasper and Margaret were married. Jasper was 25 and Margaret 26. Jasper thus assumed responsibility for his brother’s widow and her children.

On June 30, 1890 the first son of Jasper and Margaret, Jasper Howatt Lorimer, Jr. was born on the farm. The following October 21, 1991 a daughter, Margaret, was

born. And on Christmas Day 1892, my father Frank Duffield Lorimer was born. The middle name was taken from a nearby neighbor family name.

During all of the 1880s, 90s, and the first decade of the 20th century, the Lorimer family was headed by James Lorimer. In early February 1912, a horse named “Dolly” kicked to the rear and struck James Lorimer in the chest, breaking several ribs. James died a few weeks later of “pulmonitus.”

At age 75, his last words were, “Don’t blame Dolly.” The family patriarch who had led the Lorimer family to a new world and life had passed away.

Frank D. Lorimer

Frank Lorimer was the youngest of 5 children. He grew up on the family farm in Croydon, and attended school through the 8th grade at the Badger School in Croydon. He was discouraged from continuing in school, and lived briefly with his older sister, Elizabeth, in Bristol. He soon returned to the family farm and was focused, like his father, primarily on maintaining the 5 greenhouses that had become the family’s main source of income.

He lived on the farm and worked the greenhouses from age 14 until age 23. The year was then 1917 and World War I was underway. A military draft had been instituted and Frank, a single young man, was classified as 1 A, which made him subject to early conscription. He was encouraged to obtain employment in essential war related work that would make deferment possible, and he obtained employment at Traylor’s Shipyard in nearby Cornwells, Pennsylvania. There he helped build wooden freighters by cutting ribs for the ship’s hull with a power saw.

Upon the signing of the World War I armistice in November 1918, the shipbuilding at Traylors and other war related production ceased. Rather than return to the Croydon farm, Frank moved to the Harriman Ship Yards (later Fleetwings) in Bristol where he was employed as a lay up man. This work involved putting side plates on metal ships. He worked at this job throughout 1919 when a strike of scaffold builders resulted in a large scale layoff of workers. He then began driving an oil truck for Atlantic Refining company while continuing to live on the family

farm in Croydon.

In the early 1920s. Frank Lorimer, his sister Margaret, and their parents were the only people still living on the family farm. His older brother Jasper, and his half brother and sister, Charles and Elizabeth, had all left the farm to become married. The greenhouses had all been destroyed by windstorms.

His father, Jasper, worked as a highway construction supervisor and Justice of the Peace. Jasper and Frank also tended to the spring planting and care of the farm livestock. Space was available and it become necessary to accommodate boarders and lodgers on the farm. My grandmother and Aunt Mar would cook for everyone.

Frank’s work with Atlantic Refining involved delivery of oil to homes and stores using oil in the Bristol, Langhorne, and Morrisville areas. He was paid $35 per week for working 10 hours a day for 6 days. Sundays were the day off for most people at that time.

Mildred Harbison

In the Spring of 1921, Frank Lorimer and Mildred Harbison were walking along the bank of the Delaware River near the Lorimer farm. Mildred was with a girlfriend, and Frank was by himself. Mildred was just 17 and Frank was 28. Neither had ever had a date with anyone else. Mildred’s friend left them alone, and Frank took Mildred for a canoe ride on the Delaware. Thus began a very long and wonderful relationship, that made some difference for me.

From talking with my mother and father, separately, about their first meeting it is clear they were both very bashful. My mother because of her youth and lack of dating experience, and my father because as he told me, “I had been afraid of girls.” So, it was the meeting of two lonely people, each in search of someone to love and care for. The young girl working as a telephone operator to help support her widowed mother living in dire poverty, and a young man reared on the farm, always committed to long hours of work, and with little exposure to social settings. The time and circumstances were right for them.

Mildred Harbison was born on March 22, 1904, in Bristol, Pennsylvania.

She was the first child of John Harbison and Margaret Marshall. John worked in the Bristol Carpet Mill, and he was killed in 1904 as he was taking a short cut across a railroad track on his way home from work.

His widowed wife had just delivered their second child, a son Roy. At the time of her father’s death, the family was living in Tullytown and Mildred was 4 years old. She had no recollection of her father.

The family later moved to Pond Street in Bristol when Margaret Harbison married Elmer Shire in 1911. Three Shire children were born: Renee in 1912, William in 1913, and Leland in 1914. Elmer Shire died in 1918, this time leaving Margaret as a 31-year-old widow with five children. The oldest of the children, Mildred, was in 8th grade. She managed to continue in school at Bristol through grade 10, and then with the brief support of her grandfather, James Marshall, took one year of secretarial training at Rider College in Trenton, New Jersey. Mildred then began working full time at age 15 as a Bell Telephone operator in Bristol. She had previously worked in the summers at age 13 and 14 at the Leedom’s carpet mill in Bristol.

At age 17, Mildred was promoted to Chief Operator at Eddington, Pennsylvania, just south of Bristol. To save travel expense and time she moved to White Hall in College Park in Croydon. It was there she met Frank Lorimer and in a little more than 6 months after their first meeting on the banks of the Delaware River they were married – on January 21, 1922.

Their courtship had been steady and intense. My father had been earning for some years. He was single and well employed, paid no board at home, and owned a car (an Overland) and a motorcycle (Harley Davidson). He would court my mother on the Harley and on boat rides on the river. He began visiting her each evening as she handled her nightly phone operating duties, and he would then drive her home from work. He had paid $300 for the Overland car, and had to drain and store the car during the winter because anti freeze protection was not then available.

Mildred’s employment and support of her mother had enabled her family to

move to a better home in Bristol on Pine Street. Mildred’s mother voiced strong concern regarding Mildred’s interest in a man 12 years her senior. Her mother strenuously warned her not to marry an older man. “You will end up taking care of him”, she said. The opposite proved to be true, and my mother commented on that fact to me just before her death 54 years later.

The only girlfriend Frank Lorimer ever had was Mildred Harbison. By his own account he never dated another woman, and they had no sexual relations before they were married. He said, “I wanted to, but she would not.” But neither the lack of experience, the 12 year age difference, nor Frank’s natural reticence toward women – prevented the relationship and a loving courtship from developing into marriage.

On Saturday, January 21, 1922, in his usual taciturn manner, Frank surprised his mother and sister (both named Margaret) by announcing as he left the farmhouse kitchen that morning that he “was going out to get married.” Neither mother or sister said anything as Frank walked directly out the door.

Frank and Mildred had obtained a marriage license in Philadelphia the day before that Saturday. They traveled by train from Bristol to Elkton, Maryland. That community was well and long known for providing quick wedding ceremonies. Their ceremony, based on a Philadelphia license, was conducted by an Elkton Baptist Minister, named Reverend Moon.

The newly married couple proceeded directly to the Adelphia Hotel on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, returning there by train. They took the precaution of borrowing a suitcase from friends and filling it with newspapers so it would have weight. This was intended to prevent questions by the hotel clerk regarding the legitimacy of their visit.

The couple returned to the Croydon farm the next day, where they were to begin their marriage living in a third floor bedroom of the farmhouse. Frank’s mother and sister were very much concerned and surprised that Mildred arrived at the farm with only the clothes on her back. She appeared to have no

personal possessions, and brought none with her. The Margarets immediately moved to help provide a nightgown, personal items, and some clothes they had available. Frank’s young bride was most appreciative.

Mildred Harbison Lorimer reportedly viewed the Lorimer household as well to do. She shared with my Aunt Mar that as a child at Christmas she was happy to receive half an orange as her present. During her later life, Mildred never referred to the hardships of her childhood. The economic hardship she had experienced was never known to us. I feel it was because she did not want us to know about this deprivation, and it also helps explains her strong determination that her children have a protected and greater life opportunity.

Mildred continued working as a telephone operator for the remainder of 1922. She then began assisting fulltime helping with the boarders and lodgers that the farm continued to accommodate. The farm was comfortable and the lodging rates were reasonable, even though there was no running water or indoor plumbing. At the time those conveniences were not seen as necessary, and the farm never obtained indoor plumbing. Frank and Mildred lived on the Croydon farm for the first four years of their marriage.

In March 1922, two months after their marriage, for the first and only time in his life my father was fired from his job. It was demanded that he drive the oil truck through a blinding now blizzard and he declined to do so. He returned to work with the Traylor company that had begun manufacturing trucks and farm tractors. His job involved demonstrating tractors at county fairs, and he sometimes took Mildred on those demonstration tours. Working in the rain in this tractor demonstrating work resulted in Frank contracting a serious case of pneumonia in October 1922. The pneumonia problem would trouble him again much later in his career.

Just before Christmas 1922, Frank’s older brother Charley asked him to help as an apprentice electrician in Kensington, a Philadelphia suburb. Frank commuted daily by train for the next two years. That experience began his life career as an electrician. Following a slowdown in electric work in Kensington, Frank obtained

work in the maintenance department of the Burlington, New Jersey, Island Park. There he maintained the electrical wiring for the Park rides, and had to ferry across the river daily to work.

In the Fall of 1924, he began traveling to Trenton, New Jersey on the weekends to find work in that larger city as an electrician. Union membership was required for most jobs at that time, and he inquired whether anyone was hiring non union electricians. He found that a man named Kelly, owner of Kelly Electric, was hiring both union and non union workers. Frank was hired by Kelly in October 1924 and worked for Kelly for $1 per hour from 1924 throughout the Depression years until 1939.

He recalled for me that during the week in July 1933 when my brother was born, be earned and was paid just $6 for the hours he was able to work.

During the first months of his new Kelly employment in Trenton, Mildred would drive Frank, in their Overland car, to the Bristol train station each morning. She would pick him up on his return late in the evening. Desiring to move closer to his place of employment and also wishing to move away from the Croydon farm, Frank and Mildred found a small apartment at 215 Highland Street in Trenton and moved there in March 1926.

A son was conceived at about that time, in Croydon or Trenton, and that first son, James Jasper Lorimer, was born on October 7, 1926. The delivery was in the Bristol hospital where Mildred Harbison had been born. She returned to have her own baby there. She recalled that the delivery had been difficult, and the forceps used produced a young boy who came out looking somewhat the worse for wear. Fortunately, most of that harsh James Jasper Lorimer, born Oct. 7, 1926

initial treatment did not remain to be seen. James Jasper Lorimer was named for his grandfather and great grandfather.

In July 1927, the family moved from Trenton to a home at 90 West Maple Avenue in Morrisville, Pennsylvania, a small community directly across the Delaware River from the New Jersey capitol city of Trenton.

Frank and Mildred Lorimer would live at this address for the rest of their married life. Mildred died in this home on January 4, 1976, after 54 years of happily married life.

Frank continued his employment with Kelly throughout the 1930s. As World War II began he moved to the Fleetwing Aircraft facility in Bristol, where he served as an electrician throughout the War years.

In 1947, at age 55, he moved to the maintenance department of Warner Sand and

Lorimer family home at 90 West Maple Avenue in Morrisville, Pennsylvania.

Gravel in Morrisville where he worked until retiring in 1961 at age 69. Even though he worked at Warner’s for 15 years, he was denied retirement benefits because that short a period did not qualify for such benefits.

Roaring Twenties

Frank and Mildred Lorimer began their marriage in The Roaring Twenties, which has been described as one of the most colorful decades in American history. An industrial boom was underway in the auto industry, along with increased demand for all types of consumer goods. It was an era of pleasure and economic prosperity.

Radio was the medium of the masses. Movies were increasingly popular though silent throughout the decade. There was widespread violation of Prohibition, rise of speakeasies, increased popularity of Jazz music, and enthusiasm for dancing the Charleston. Along with women gaining the right to vote, the “Flapper” was a new breed of young women who flaunted their greater freedom and variety of life. The country was filled with energy and optimism.

Those of us born in 1926 arrived at the height of this thriving period. That year the Ford Motor Company established a 40 hour work week and pay of $6 a day.

One in six persons owned a car and 78 percent of the world’s automobiles (24 million) were in the U.S. NBC became the first national radio network, and a female evangelist described social dancing as “the first easiest step towards hell.”

Herbert Hoover was elected President in 1928, succeeding two previous Republicans, Warren Harding in 1920 and Calvin Coolidge in 1924. Hoover’s campaign promise was a quaint, “Chicken in every pot!”. In the view of some economists, the economy was becoming overheated, governmental controls were inadequate, and the stock market was increasingly speculative. All of these concerns proved justified.

Thus, while the Roaring ’20s were a heady time, the decade ended in strong decline. The precipitous event, but by no means the sole cause, was the Wall Street Stock Market crash on Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929. A selling panic on

that day began the loss of millions for individual and institutional investors. People ceased investing, curtailed purchasing, and lost confidence in banks. Manufacturing slowed and people lost jobs. The downward cycle of economic depression had begun, and its effects were worldwide. A decade filled with hope and success ended badly.

The 1930s

Variety is the spice of life …

Chicago

Uncle Bill was Henry E. Billington. He and my Aunt Mar lived in Chicago. Aunt Margaret Lorimer was my father’s sister. She was five feet tall, and uncle Bill stood an imposing 6’2”. He was distinguished looking and highly successful as a businessman. He was my rich uncle, and I still wear his diamond ring which Aunt Mar gave me after his death.

In the summers of 1933 and 1939 I visited with Aunt Mar and Uncle Bill in Chicago. They liked me and I liked them. These vacations were most interesting and enjoyable memories. During my first Chicago visit I was accompanied by my grandfather, Jasper Lorimer. We traveled overnight by train from Philadelphia. We were to spend a week with the Billingtons, and also visit the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair which was celebrating “A Century of Progress”.

At that time, Aunt Mar and Uncle Bill lived on the famous Gold Coast of Chicago, which was an expensive high rise area overlooking Lake Michigan on the north side of the city. Their apartment was on one of the top floors, and the building had a doorman. It was luxurious.

While Uncle Bill went to the office each day, Aunt Mar took us to the World’s Fair and to the Chicago Zoo. The Fair was situated on the shore of Lake Michigan just east of Soldier’s Field, and it was huge. Even though the Depression was well underway, some 47 million visitors attended in 1933 and 1934 – paying the admission price of 50 cents.

The theme of the Fair was “A Century of Progress”, and the large exhibit areas

told the story of the great industrial and technological progress that had been made in the previous century. Several large corporations, General Motors, Ford, General Electric, Westinghouse had huge buildings displaying their latest and future products. Entire assembly lines were set up in the GM and Ford buildings, and we could see a car being made. There were large exhibit buildings devoted to developments in communication and agriculture. More than a dozen nations had pavilions which were set up as miniature villages reflecting the culture of Italy, Ireland, Spain, Egypt, etc.

There was also an exciting Midway that included a wide variety of entertainment. Carnival acts, Frank Buck’s Jungle camp, midget shows, Sally Rand’s famous fan dance (which I was hurried by), Ripley’s “ Believe It or Not”, people diving into tanks, Siamese Twins, and a Sky Ride that took you high above and across the entire Fair area. We attended the Fair on more than one day, and I remember these many wonders and the fun for a six year old.

Chicago Stock Yards

One afternoon Uncle Bill took me to the Chicago Stock Yards. This facility made Chicago the center of the American meat packing industry for more than 100 years.

While this was a huge and important industry in Chicago, which Uncle Bill wanted me to see, the visit was not an especially good memory. Hundreds of cows were herded through narrow wooden chutes. As they reached the end of the chute, two men stood above them with sledge hammers and endeavored to bash their heads in. This was not a pleasant sight and the sledge hammer aim was not always successful. But it was the harsh reality of stock yard operations which continued for decades. The writer, Upton Sinclair, published an expose of stock yard conditions entitled, “The Jungle” in 1906, but still in 1933 the cruelty continued.

A much more pleasant memory was experienced at the Chicago Zoo. The Zoo was one of the best in the Nation, and it was the first I had visited. They had animals I had never even heard of, and many of them were placed just

across a small moat from the visiting public. I remember thinking that if one of those tigers got a good running start, it could be over here with us. But no one else seemed concerned, so I didn’t mention this potential.

After our visit my grandfather and I returned by train to Philadelphia, where my parents met us by car. It had been my first big adventure, and six years later I was to visit Chicago and the Billingtons again.

Chicago in 1939

The 1939 summer vacation in Chicago was a real learning experience. At twelve years of age, Aunt Mar and Uncle Bill were welcoming me for what they intended to be a civilization process for their young and favored nephew. During my two-week visit I was to be guided in proper deportment, table etiquette., and inter personal greeting skills.

On this visit my parents put me on a train in Philadelphia, and I traveled overnight by myself to Chicago. The Billingtons met me at the train station and we drove in their Packard touring car to their large suburban home. They had advised me prior to the visit that they were going to give me training that would enable me to be comfortable in social settings at any level.

True to their promise, for the next two weeks focus was on manners. I respected what Uncle Bill and Aunt Mar had achieved and I welcomed their guidance. Evening meals were formal affairs with complete place settings. Sitting upright, never placing hands or arms on the table, shifting knives and forks between hands to cut meat, placing the fore fingers pointed downward on each utensil as you cut just one piece of meat at a time, breaking bread in quarters and buttering just one quarter at a time, eating slowly, and knowing that in a multiple utensil setting you always work from the outside in if the place settings are properly positioned. And use the napkin with delicacy. My Aunt Mar said that even when she was dining alone she would follow these procedures, as though someone was looking in the window at her.

During this training process, interpersonal conduct regarding how to shake hands (firmly), who to introduce to whom first, always stand erect, no slouching while seated, when introduced make certain to establish eye contact, and offer a friendly smile. All of these were stressed and noticed when not practiced.

Uncle Bill took me to his office one day and introduced me to his secretary and some business associates. It was an impressive office and I learned that he was Vice President of a large manufacturing firm. I don’t know what was manufactured. He also had me serve as caddy for him as he played golf with some business associates. He commented favorably on my handling of that social situation. As we drove home from the golf outing, Uncle Bill commented that “you can learn a lot about a man from playing golf with him. Especially about his honesty.”

While we met with Uncle Bill only at Christmastime over the years, I do recall a great deal of his shared advice. He was certain that Roosevelt and the Democrats were leading the country to ruin. I would learn that Jewish people cannot be trusted. And thrift is very important. It is interesting to recall that while Uncle Bill was ready to share counsel and advice, my father never did so. He was not a communicator. In our immediate family, my mother was the counselor and motivator.

Uncle Bill’s advice regarding thrift was emphasized on the one shopping excursion we shared. During the daytime of the 1939 visit I would play tennis with some neighborhood boys. They were good players and I enjoyed the sport from the start. Uncle Bill took me to buy a new tennis racket. Our choice was between two very different rackets. One was a top of the line racket with a leather handle that looked expensive. The other had a wooden handle and was inexpensive. Uncle Bill did not ask which I preferred, but explained we would get the wooden handled racket because I was just beginning to play and he would put tape on the wooden handle when we got home. I thanked Uncle Bill and played with the racket for the rest of the summer. Since that time, whenever I’ve had a choice between the best or lesser valued sports or other equipment for myself or someone else, I’ve always elected for the best.

The lesson for me, good or bad, was that thrift was not always the best policy.

Some years later when I was in high school, I received a letter from Uncle Bill on his corporate stationery. He said he had heard I was doing well in sports and that if I needed any equipment or financial assistance to let him know. My mother was so impressed by this offer that she had the letter framed. She took it as a generous expression by him which reflected his special regard for me. I felt the same way, but did not pursue his offer.

First Cruise

The Chicago vacation experience was a great one, and our cruise coming home was a surprise. The Billingtons decided to drive me home in their large Packard touring car. We traveled by way of Detroit where we took an overnight cruise ship across Lake Erie to Buffalo, New York. Not having been on a ship before, seeing the engine room, eating on board in a huge dining room, and sleeping as we sailed was great fun.

We stopped in Buffalo the next day to visit a business associate of Uncle Bill’s. Our evening dinner was quite formal, and the Billingtons expressed pleasure afterward regarding my overall deportment. I did not spill anything. I returned from my Chicago vacation with a lot of stories, and a lot of useful memories.

My Aunt Mar said that even when she was dining alone she would follow these procedures, as though someone was looking in the window at her.

Comics

Comic strips and the sports pages were primary reading for us in the 30s. My favorite was Li’l Abner created by Al Capp. It was about a lazy, not too bright, very strong hillbilly who lived in Dogpatch. He was pursued by Daisy Mae, a beautiful blond girlfriend, who he always tried to escape.

There were a lot of interesting characters in the strip. Marryin Sam was a

preacher who would perform weddings at different levels of effort depending on the price. Poor Joe Btfsplk was the world’s worst jinx who always walked around with a cloud over his head and mishaps occurred to anyone coming in contact with him. And then there was Stupefying Jones, who was so gorgeous men became stupefied looking at her.

To provide the Dogpatch girls a chance to catch a husband from this hapless group of hillbillies, “Sadie Hawkins Day” was the one day of the year when bachelors would be given a head start and would have to marry the girl who caught them. For reasons no one could understand, Li’l Abner lived in great fear of being caught by Daisy May. Sadie Hawkins Days were proclaimed on some college campuses and in some small communities.

This comic strip was read by some 70 million Americans daily. A Li’l Abner movie and a Broadway musical were produced. Al Capp would poke fun at business, politics and our culture. His story lines were topical and satirical. The strip was published from 1934 until 1977 when Capp retired.

Some of us felt that something of fun and value was gone.

Heroes

While movie stars such as Clark Gable and John Wayne were increasingly popular in the ’30s, it was the sports stars who were the icons for young boys. Baseball was the National Sport and most boys knew the batting order and averages for our favorite teams and players. Stories concerning Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were highly publicized, and some of those exploits are still recalled in the next century.

Babe Ruth’s fame helped fuel the rising interest in baseball and sports in the ’30s. Sports were a most welcome diversion and escape from Depression realities. Ruth had been sent to a home for orphan incorrigible boys even though he was not an orphan. His behavior was channeled into a career in professional baseball in his teens, and hence the name “Babe”. He became the Sultan of Swat, hitting

714 homeruns which set a record not passed for a half century. Yankee Stadium became known as the House that Ruth Built.

In one famous World Series game he stepped to the plate, pointed to the right field wall, and then hit the next pitch over the wall he had pointed to. While Ruth’s personal life was scandalous, his on field performance made him a popular national hero. During one season, Ruth’s salary was greater than that of President Hoover. When asked about that, Ruth said, “I had a better year than he did.” I found it interesting that he was a left handed batter and pitcher, who wrote with his right hand.

Lou Gehrig was Ruth’s teammate and his personality opposite. As the “Iron Man” of the sport, he played in 2,130 consecutive games without missing. It was not until 1995 that Cal Ripken of the Baltimore Orioles surpassed that unbreakable record. Gehrig was a clean living man, and it shocked the sports world in the late ’30s when he became gradually disabled with a fatal neuromuscular disease called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS, which was thereafter known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. At his final appearance in Yankee Stadium, shown worldwide in theaters, Gehrig referred to himself as “the luckiest man on earth.” That statement had great emotional impact at the time for the entire sports world knew it came from a young athlete who was dying. Gary Cooper played Gehrig and that scene in the move, “Pride of the Yankees” in 1942, and Babe Ruth played himself in the film.

Baseball was our National Sport and pastime in the 1930s and ’40s. We played it daily through the summer months. While I liked playing the game, I did not enjoy watching baseball. It was a too slow-moving, situation oriented game for me. Most of the players are standing or sitting, often waiting through the 3 balls and 2 strikes delay. Chess was as much fun to watch. Still, the pace and history of the game fit the ’30s well, and its popularity has remained high even though other professional team sports were emerging and challenging for the “National Sport” title.

Football was highly popular at the college level, and was becoming increasingly popular at the professional level in the 30s. Then, as now, college football was the feeder system for professional teams. Red Grange of the University of Illinois

moved into professional football, and became known as the Galloping Ghost because no one could seem to tackle him.

In one college game against Michigan, Grange scored four touchdowns in 12 minutes. Grange was credited more than anyone for bringing professional football into the mainstream.

Another football great of the period who I admired was Bronco Nagurski.

He played for the University of Minnesota and then the Chicago Bears throughout the decade. Stories about him were legendary. One was that a scout from the University of Minnesota stopped to ask him directions to the nearest town. Nagurski had been plowing a field without a horse, and lifted his plow to point in the direction of the town. He immediately received a scholarship. Later playing for the Chicago Bears, he was both fullback and tackle. Players played both offense and defense at that time. During one game in Wrigley field, Bronco charged the goal line, head down, shoving tacklers out of the way, and he went right through the end zone and smacked his head on the close in wall at the field’s end. When he came back to the bench, he told his coach George Halas, “That last guy gave me quite a lick.”

That’s why I liked football.

Joe Louis and Jesse Owens

While team sports were enjoying growth and popularity in the ’30s, two of the most famous athletes in the world were from the sports of boxing and track and field. These champions were referred to at the time as “colored,” and the issue of race prejudice haunted their careers. Negro athletes were not accepted by major league baseball and football teams. Still, great national pride was felt for their performances and they became, against all odds, the most famous athletes in the world.

Joe Louis was the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion throughout the late ’30s and all of the ’40s. He fought an astounding 170 times and won 167 of those fights. All of his fights were covered by radio and everyone was tuned in. The announcers had a way of making you see and feel the excitement. Highlight fights of Louis’s career were against the German Champion, Max Schmeling. In the eyes

of an increasingly divided world, Schmeling represented Nazi Germany and white supremacy, and Louis represented American interests. During their first match in 1936, Schmeling knocked Louis out in the 12th round. The 1938 rematch was hyped around the world. It was Nazi evil against American good.

Louis demolished Schmeling in the first round, knocking him down several times and breaking two of his vertebrae. Louis became and continued to be a national hero.

Later in Louis career he suffered through difficult financial and health problems. The Joe Louis Arena in Detroit was named after him. Schmeling and Louis became good friends after the World War II. It was ironic that after Louis died, Schmeling paid for his funeral and was one of the pallbearers.

Professional boxing was the top sport in the 1930s. A string of great champions, Jack Dempsey, Gene Tunney, Primo Camera, Max Baer, all prior to Joe Louis, were international sports idols. No athletes received greater newspaper, film and radio coverage than these boxing champions.

At my request, my father installed a small boxing area in our basement at home. My friends and I would spar, and I became proficient at hitting the light speed bag. Our heavy bag was mistakenly filled with sand, and hitting that bag hurt me more than the bag. I would spend hours practicing on the speed bag, and my parents never complained about the noise.

While Jesse Owens spectacular performance in track and field was focused on the two-year period, 1935 and ’36, he established lifetime fame. The 1936 Olympic Games were held in Berlin. Hitler and Nazi propaganda focused on German and Aryan (i.e., racial) superiority, and Hitler was present throughout the games to award medals to German athletes. But a relatively small colored athlete from Ohio State University would dominate the Olympic Games by winning four Gold Medals. Hitler left the stadium on each of these medal presentation occasions, and all of the world took note.

Owens remains the most famous track athlete of all time. He eventually pursued a public relations and speaking career, and Jesse Owens Stadium at Ohio State University carries his name.

Discipline

My mother was the motivator and disciplinarian for the family. She was also very nurturing, loving, protective and caring. But, occasionally she would mistake the purity of my actions and intentions for wrongdoing. When that happened, either a large wooden spoon or a flyswatter would be called into action as the weapon of choice.

As I grew, I was able to run for it in a reasonable life saving effort. I recall one instance in which she had clearly misjudged my conduct, and was chasing me around the dining room table with the much preferred flyswatter in hand. My mother’s younger brother, Bill Shire, was visiting us at the time and he grabbed the swatter away from my mother and said, “I can’t stand to see you beat him!” Chastened, my mother backed off.

I always liked my uncle Bill.

Only one disciplinary effort on the part of by dad can be remembered. My friends and I found the family car was in the driveway blocking our basketball court. We took the car out of gear and pushed it several feet to make way for our game. As I got out of the car, my friends having pushed, I saw my father coming toward me with a large rake in hand announcing his intention to do me grievous bodily harm. I led my friends in a fast escape as we ran in six directions. I returned home some time later, making sure that the rake was back in its usual place.

Prohibition Ends

The “Noble Experiment” reflected in the 18th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution outlawed the manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages.

The Amendment was adopted in 1920 and throughout the following decade it was found that “Prohibition” did not work. If anything, demand for and use of liquor had increased and the involvement of organized crime in meeting that demand was creating serious societal problems.

Another Amendment to the Constitution, repealing the 18th, was necessary. For the first time in our Nation’s history, the 21st Amendment repealed the 18th by removing prohibition from the law. The noble experiment had failed. It had been strongly advocated by rural America, and the reality was that imposition of those conservative values on the larger society did not work. Attempts to use government to dictate and enforce moral standards will always be part of life in a democratic society. Prohibition’s history should be a lesson remembered.

Swimming

There were no private pools in Morrisville in the 1930s. In the summer we would swim in the Delaware River. In the winter, the Trenton YMCA and YWCA offered swimming lessons at their indoor pools. I took lessons at the YWCA.

The Delaware River was about a quarter mile wide, reasonably clean, not very deep, and had many large boulders above the water line. Families would wade, swim, and sunbathe on the rocks to escape the summer heat. One summer afternoon when I was about 7 years old, my parents took me to the river for a swim. This involved playing on and near the large boulders, and we would jump off the rocks into inflated inner tube tires. The depth of the water was about 5 feet and the tubes were used to catch us for floating support. This day my Dad was holding the inner tube, I jumped in it, but went directly through the tube and found myself under water and unable to see or touch anything.

For the first and only time in my life I experienced panic. And I had the clear and weird sense that images of my life were flashing quickly before me in my mind. Years later as I read about near death experiences during which people’s lives flash before them, I felt it was interesting that at that young age I would have

experienced that mental sensation. You would think there would have been too little life at that time to experience such a feeling.

I recall frantically wondering what was happening to me. This did not build a base of confidence for me in the water.

Later in the Navy in 1945 I experienced another swimming incident, but not life review. Although I always felt swimming was one of the best possible forms of exercise, it never developed into a physical pleasure for me.

Daily Life

The Great Depression of the 1930s was not all that great. Times were tough. Millions of men were out of work throughout the decade. Images of bread lines and soup kitchens serving the hungry, along with close to home stories of economic hardship, these were the compelling concerns of the time.

My father was an electrician by trade, employed throughout the decade by Kelly Electric Company in Trenton. It was a small company owned by Mr. Kelly, who we never met. My dad would walk to and from his Trenton job each day, and that involved several miles. Taking advantage of the street car would have cost money. He was paid $10 per week throughout most of the ’30s. His side electric repair jobs on the weekends produced enough additional money that we always had what we needed, but not much more.

While I was well aware of the hardships being experienced during the Depression, I was fortunate to feel shielded from those concerns.

The north section of Morrisville, including 90 West Maple Avenue where we lived, was sometimes referred to as “Cracker Hill”. I did not hear this term until my school mates at William E. Case would insist that people living where we did had to eat crackers in order to afford to live there.

This was, of course, a mistaken idea since everyone living in Morrisville was pretty much at the same economic level and shared the same uncertainties.

Our two story bungalow, with an added apartment of the second floor, was just

right for a family with two children. We had a good size living room, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms, a bath, and a basement. Still, we lived in an area of town that during the Depression regularly attracted men who would come to our back door begging for food. My mother would always give them bread, sometimes with jelly, sugar, or butter. They were never invited in the house. This was sad to see.

While in retrospect it is clear our family diet was very limited; I had no sense of that. Certainly, I never complained. What was on the table we ate and liked, and that was three meals a day. We seldom had meat. If meat was available on the weekend, it would be served in stew with potatoes, carrots, and gravy throughout the next week. Dinners of dried beef or fried tomatoes, served with bread and milk, were regular staples. Breakfast was warm cereal and eggs. My school was never far from home and I would come home for lunch each day, usually for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We ate as a family each evening in the kitchen, after my father came home from work. Sunday we would eat in the dining room, where sometimes meat would be served. Everyone in my neighborhood was eating and living in much the same way. We witnessed privation, but did not experience it to any serious extent.

Home delivery of most daily needs was one of the advantages of the time. A bread man, a milkman, an ice man, and a mailman would come to our homes almost daily. The mailman delivered mail twice a day. Milk was delivered in glass bottles with cream on the top. In the winter the cream would freeze and expand, forcing the paper cap up more than an inch.

The ice man would deliver large blocks of ice, in sizes depending on price, that would be carried into the kitchen, sized with an ice pick, and placed in the top of the ice box. All homes used ice to cool and protect food. A pan was placed under the ice box to collect water from the melting ice. Part of my allowance duties was to empty that pan. It was interesting to watch the ice man use his pick to shape the ice. I always wondered where all that ice came from, particularly in the summer months. The ice business was a big business, involving house-to-house delivery.

While the mailman walked in making his twice a day delivery, most other deliveries were made by horse and wagon during the early part of the decade and truck during the last years. Some specialty deliveries involved horse drawn wagons and men selling vegetables, sharpening knives, collecting rags, and ringing bells to indicate the ice cream man was here. These sellers would either announce or ring bells as they moved up the street, but would not stop unless a customer appeared. The “rag man” was especially interesting for most children. He was a forbidding looking man, who we could hear coming with his loud “Rag Man!” proclamation as he moved very slowly up the street. I never saw him actually collect a rag, and I don’t know what he did with them. I know of no modern counterpart to his job.

Home Heating

Homes in Morrisville were heated by coal. Shoveling coal and keeping a fire burning throughout the winter was no easy task. It was delivered to most homes on a shoot directly from a coal truck into the basement. Because of window locations, that was not possible in our home and the coal had to be moved by wheelbarrow into our coal bin. That was labor intensive and involved extra cost. We shared in that work. Fire building and maintenance were art forms. The home furnace was permitted to dampen down at night, and required re stoking each morning. Thankfully, my father handled this chore, as he did any other requiring any semblance of skill.

We also had a fireplace in our living room, which made that room especially cozy and warm in the winter. In summer, our air conditioning was obtained by opening the windows. We also enjoyed a very nice screened in front porch where we spent a lot of time in the summer. Awnings were placed around the porch, and also shielded most of the house windows.

Cars

Our family had a car throughout my lifetime. I don’t remember the make of cars we had, but we did have one with a rumble seat, which was a seat in the back of the car that could be opened or folded down. It was fun riding in that back seat. While cars had fully replaced horses for family use in Morrisville, travel by car presented some special challenges. To start the car, you had to use a special

crank which was inserted at the front of the engine. This bent-handled device required that you turn it hard in a clockwise fashion, to turn over, or start, the engine. This was not easy, and the crank did on occasion kick back, hurting and even breaking an arm.

Starting a car with an ignition key was not experienced by us in the ’30s. Another very real challenge in traveling by car was the frequency with which tires would go flat. There was a rather firm outer tire, and a more fragile inner tube that was pumped with air. It was the inner tube that had too little tolerance for distance. If we went to the shore for the day, it seemed more likely than not that one of the four tires would not complete the trip. A flat tire required jacking up the car, removing the tire, removing the inner tube, patching the inner tube, then replacing the inner tube, and re inflating the tire. Part of this scenario invariably involved the use of unacceptable language by my father, which further inspired my mother to lead me to church each week to be sure I recognized that God’s name should not be used in vain.

Church

Every Sunday morning my mother took me to church. The Morrisville Episcopal Church was not “high church,” involving an almost Catholic-like ceremony, but it was high enough for me. I can still recite its ritual and liturgy. There was never any question that I would be in church on Sunday.

My brother became an acolyte in the church, assisting the Minister in the rituals, and my mother was most pleased with that. My mother seemed satisfied that I was attending without complaint, and to her that was a good sign. My father never went to church.

Some of my young social activity involved participation, primarily sports, at the local Presbyterian Church. My brief career in the Cub Scouts was also at the Presbyterian Church. I had some trouble with all the perfection required of me in the “Scout’s Oath.” Other than this church-related activity, and occasional church suppers generally run by my mother, I was not focused on the spiritual side of life.

Phones

The phone presented another interesting challenge during this period. I knew no one who had a private phone line. Everyone had party lines that involved three or more other homes sharing the same phone line. When you picked up the receiver (i.e., the cone shaped unit you held to your ear), you first had to listen to make sure no one else was on the line. If you heard talking, the polite thing to do was hang up and call later. You could hear a clicking sound if someone picked up the phone while you were talking, and it was appropriate to announce that you were using the line. Privacy was a problem. It was likely you would know some of the other party line partners, but you could not be sure you knew all of them. The phone company did not tell who was on your line. The fewer on the line, the more expensive the monthly cost.

The lack of privacy notwithstanding, the inconvenience of the party line was accepted as the way things were. Lengthy teen age conversations were not as likely, and it was certain that others on your party line were in your immediate neighborhood. I heard some grumbling regarding nosiness, but nothing that was hostile.

Pets

We had a great little black dog in the ’30s named Wally. She was named after Wallace Simpson, the woman for whom King Edward of England abdicated the British throne. It was the scandal story of 1937, with Ms. Simpson being an American divorcee who could not be accepted as Queen. Edward’s international broadcast that he “could not move forward in life without the love and support of the woman” he loved, was a somewhat sad fairy tale. The couple married and became the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. They lived together throughout their lives, traveling and always in the public eye.

Our little dog, Wally, was more social that we would have liked. Fixing dogs was not something regularly done in Morrisville at the time. This clearly worked to Wally’s adventurous advantage, since she delivered more little pups than we knew what to do with. Still, she was our long time friend, a wonderful little, child friendly, dog.

School Days

Neither of my parents were graduated from high school. My dad stopped going to school before the 8th grade to work in the green houses on the family farm in Croydon, and my mother began working as a phone company operator before completing high school in Bristol. My mother determined early, and clearly communicated to me, that I would be the first in the Lorimer line, or her line, to graduate from college. That proved true.

School began for me at a Quaker Friends School in Fallsington, Pennsylvania, a few miles from Morrisville. Kindergarten and first grade were at this school. My mother would drive me there each day. The Quakers were a gentle Protestant religious group, later known for their strong pacifism. It was fascinating to me that our teachers would never use the pronoun “you”. That was considered to harsh. We would be referred to as “thee” or “thou.”

Under this gentle quaintness, I learned to read and write and have only most pleasant memories. One of those was to have been chosen to lead our first grade band, with baton and all, for the entertainment of our parents at the school assembly. That was my first taste of power.

For the second grade and subsequent years, I returned to Morrisville schools. Capitol View elementary was just a block from my home for my second-grade classes. My future wife, Jean Whittaker, was in the same school, but classes were divided by first and second halves of the alphabet and we were not in the same class and did not know each other.

Third through fifth grades were at William E. Case School on Bridge Street in Morrisville. This school was well over a mile from home, but I made it home for lunch each day. I also recall serving on the school Safety Patrol during my fifth grade, at a corner where children crossed on North Pennsylvania Avenue. My job was to help younger students cross that main street safely. The fact was that Jean Whittaker would have had to cross that street at that point to get to school. Jean

insists she does not recall receiving assistance from me in this early leadership role. It is certain that even then I was focused on protecting her, and it would seem only right that some measure of appreciation be expressed, however belated.

The Morrisville High School building housed grades six through twelve. The school had separately marked entrances for “Boys” and “Girls,” but since classes were co-ed this entry separation was not enforced. Throughout high school there is no question that sports, not academics, was my main and most compelling interest. Gym classes and recess sports periods were where I felt best positioned to perform and excel. Neither schoolwork nor homework captured my interest, although I had no trouble obtaining passing grades. Grades of B and C were it for me. Fortunately, there were no Fs.

These early school years were fun, and most of that enjoyment came from sports activity.

Sports

There was a large field on the east side of our home. That area was mowed and maintained by my father, even though we did not own it. That is where nearly all our games were played. My friends from the neighborhood and surrounding area would congregate there in the summer and after school. We would choose up sides and play whatever sport was in season.

Baseball and football were the main sports, and we also attached a basket to my garage for games during that season. I had the double good fortune to have the community play area at my home, and also to be reasonably good at most sports. Basketball was an exception. I could do everything well in that sport except put the ball in the basket. That was a problem, since that is the main objective of that game.

My parents always encouraged my interest in sports. It was never “You can’t play, you must study.” Maybe that was because my mother tried that with the piano, and it didn’t work. She seemed convinced that my large hand span would translate to great skill with the piano, but she was proved wrong. It is likely her

acceptance of my interest in sports came early. She often told me that on Christmas when I was 3 years old, they had laid out what they thought were a good range of toys for Jimmy from Santa Claus.

But, when I came into the living room on Christmas morning, I spotted a small hassock and fell on it immediately exclaiming, “Fut-a-ball!”. That was all I would play with, and there began the unpromising signs for a piano career.

There is also a recollection of my athletic 6th Birthday Party. My friends and I were playing parachute jumping on the swing in our back yard. That involved swinging as high as possible and jumping off at the top of the swing. On one of my jumps, I caught my arm in the swing rope and broke the forearm. I recall that put a slight damper on the party. Thankfully being a party pooper was not yet in the vernacular.

Another example of commitment to sport, also providing some insight on the economics of the time, was my purchase of a prize catcher’s mitt. In the summer of 1938, I saw a beautiful black baseball catcher’s glove in the window of a sporting goods store next to the Lincoln theater in Trenton. The glove cost $3.50 and that was expensive. My parents agreed that I could buy the glove if I paid for it with my own earnings. There were no credit cards or even credit at the time. Everything was done on a cash basis.

The only exception was a layaway plan, which was a common practice. I put 50 cents down and agreed to pay 25 cents per week. The store set aside the glove for me. Each Saturday thereafter I walked to Trenton, paying 25 cents. To my knowledge there was no interest or carrying charge, and finally near the end of the summer the glove was mine. My weekly chore allowance had been used, and the result was a most prized possession.

It was a good lesson for me.

Perhaps the most fortuitous sports happening for me during the 1930s occurred during the summer of 1939. I was visiting for a week with my grandmother and

uncle in Bristol, my mother’s mother and brother – again being lent or farmed-out to my grandparents during the summer.

After playing baseball with some other boys one afternoon, we went to a nearby garage that had been equipped as a workout gym with weights and benches. I had not seen this equipment before, and was very impressed with the physique of the young man who was working out there. He demonstrated and explained how he had developed himself through training with weights. He made clear it was not a question of seeing how much you could lift, but rather training with a heavy weight doing repetitions and sets for each of the various body parts. I had been reading Charles Atlas’s ads claiming that through use of his system of “Dynamic Tension” even a ninety pound weakling could become a real man. I doubted that even then, having heard that Atlas actually obtained his build and strength from weight training. Working progressively with barbells made sense to me.

Immediately upon returning to Morrisville, I called my good friend, Jim Murray, and told him about what I had seen in Bristol. We had become friends in school and even though he lived in another section of town, we had shared our interest in sports and becoming stronger athletes. Jim’s recollection of my report to him is that I expressed with great enthusiasm that, “I have found the secret! What we need to do is get some weights and start training hard with repetitions and sets!” Ready to be convinced, Jim agreed and we both proceeded to persuade our parents that they should help us buy barbell sets from York Barbell Company in York, Pennsylvania.

Jim Murray would later go on to become Editor in Chief of the York Barbell publications, the leading magazines in the field at the time.

Soon after receiving our weights we started training, mostly together, sometimes at his house and sometimes in my side yard. My father often complained that he was getting stronger than us since he was the one who would bring the weights in the house after we had worked out. Apparently, we were too tired to complete that last part of the workout. I also recall that on one occasion while working out in his family’s living room, Jim Murray dropped a weight from overhead and it

cracked right through the floor. We went to the basement and tried to push it up and patch it from there, but the crime was done and I left Jim to face the consequences. We were both lucky to have the understanding parents we did, for we considered it likely we would have to hop a freight train across the street from where Jim lived, in order to escape the wrath that never came.

There can be no question that this early training with weight equipment gave Jim Murray and me a competitive strength advantage throughout our high school years. I always had the feeling, as did he, that I was stronger than my opponents. Weight training gave me the feeling that I had the edge.

Donkey Baseball

The great summer pastime was baseball. We had two major league baseball teams in Philadelphia, the Athletics and the Phillies. On special occasions we would get to go to one of these major league games. The famous manager of the Philadelphia Athletics, Connie Mack, and the players, their positions and batting order, were known to my friends and me.

Local baseball games, other than our own sandlot games, were played on ”The Island”, which was a large recreational area on the river side of the town. The island had been formed as the result of floods during the early years of Morrisville’s history. Both high school football and baseball games were played on this Island field during the 30s.

One special summer highlight was Donkey Baseball. This unique game was played just once a year, and most of the town would turn out to see it. The attraction was that the town Mayor and many other local dignitaries were good sports enough to play a game of baseball using donkeys to move between the bases.

The ball would be pitched and hit as usual, but when the ball was hit the runner had to immediately mount a donkey and try to reach first base before the ball. This was not easy for the donkeys were not at all cooperative.

Everyone enjoyed the fun of seeing the city leaders look ridiculous in their efforts to make the donkey move around the bases. If they didn’t make it on the donkey’s back, they would try pushing and pulling.

The games were very low scoring because it was most difficult to move all the way around the bases. Some handling of the ball in the field also had to be done on the donkey’s back. Men would have trouble mounting the donkey, and even more difficulty staying on. Even though these donkeys were traveling on some Donkey Baseball circuit, they did not seem to recognize the need for getting around the bases. But it was always an evening of great community fun, with a lot of laughs at the expense of our town leadership.

Radio

Families were inclined to stay close to home during the Depression years. Travel was expensive and even a day at the shore involved gas expense and replacement of the frequent flat tire. Family evenings at home were most often centered on listening to the radio.

Radio broadcasts were done live. Just as with the early days of television, it was believed the public wanted live entertainment not recordings. And the quality of recordings themselves was not yet well developed. News reports, daytime soap operas, band music, comedy shows, action stories – all were presented live. Sound effects contributed greatly to a sense of reality.

The early evening news featured well known voices such as Lowell Thomas, Gabriel Heater, and Walter Winchell. Thomas was a straight news presenter, Heater was inclined to the more dramatic, and Walter Winchell was the most flamboyant and gossipy. Winchell’s fast paced opening, to the sound of telegraph tapping in the background, was “Good evening Mr. & Mrs. North American and all ships at sea – let’s go to press!” His then quick capsule of the news was focused on personalities. He was the most listened to newscaster.

Daytime radio presented soap operas with the traditional heavy load of commercials. The audience was primarily female, although my mother did not

listen to soap operas. But when I visited with my Aunt Margaret in Chicago on two different Summer occasions, she insisted on a two hour period of afternoon silence each weekday while she listened intently to “The Romance of Helen Trent” etc. That was her afternoon, widely shared, escape.

Following the evening radio news, the most popular choices were between comedy programs and action adventure. It has always been interesting to remember that while radio provided no visual image, that did not detract from our ability to mentally visualize the action being portrayed by voice and sound. In fact, your imagination could conjure up images of the action that were without limit. When the Lone Ranger mounted his great horse, Silver, and rode off with a hearty “Hi Ho Silver – Away!” – one could hear the hoof beats and see them galloping across the plain as those just saved exclaimed, “Who was that masked man?”

Then there was “The Shadow,” who had the ability to cloud men’s minds (never any mention of women) so that they could not see them and yet he could work in the service of justice. A voice always announced, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” And we knew he did.

Jack Armstrong – The All American Boy – was another popular program involving stories of a heroic young boy, the ability to subscribe to a secret code book, etc. that portrayed an innocence and purity of mission against evil that was conquered each evening. Jack was a role model who kept us glued to the radio.

The best escape for the entire family during the ’30s were the great comedy shows on radio. Jack Benny and his wife, Mary Livingston; George Burns and Gracie Allen; Fibber McGee and Molly; Amos and Andy – all produced evening laughter for the nation.

Jack Benny was a likable but penny pinching miser. When a robber confronted Benny with “Your money or your life!” – Benny played the pause better than any comedian – with silence. The robber then angrily repeated “I said – your money or your life!”

An exasperated Benny replied, “I’m thinking – I’m thinking”!”

Amos and Andy were played by two white comedians, as hapless, not too bright young negro small business operators. This portrayal and their later films, done in black face, would be politically unacceptable 50 years later. But, in the 1930s the program was humorous and highly popular. Typical was their proud use of an office inter com system. Andy placed the buzzer on his secretary’s desk. When he wanted to call her, he would yell out, “Will you buzz me Miss Blue?” She would then push the buzzer and come into his office. The inability to cope and general ineptness were the source of the humor, and such racial stereotyping was understood and accepted uncritically at the time.

Fibber McGee and Molly were a husband and wife team – as were George Burns and Gracie Allen In both programs the husband was the not too smart straight man and the wife had the put-down punch lines. Fibber McGee also had a popular and anticipated sound effect in each show that involved him opening what became known as “Fibber McGee’s Closet.” Upon opening the door of that closet, a tremendous sound of “everything” falling out was made.

It always produced a laugh and was one of the best examples of the great imagery skill produced by radio sound effects professionals.

Live musical presentations were also a great part of radio’s attraction. It was the big band era and Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw’s Bands, with singers Helen O’Connell and Peggy Lee, were among the most popular. Although recorded music was highly popular, the insistence remained that on radio live performance was what the public wanted. One particular noteworthy musical presentation was made on radio on Armistice Day 1938, when the famous singer, Kate Smith, broadcast her version of “God Bless America.” It became her signature song, and since second only to the “Star Spangled Banner” in patriotic popularity.

The “Fireside Chats” of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, during which he chatted by radio with the entire nation, were regularly presented by the President with great political effectiveness.

The first radio broadcast to all 48 states was accomplished in 1928, when the cowboy philosopher Will Rogers spoke to the nation on the NBC network. President Roosevelt was a man with great communication skill, and the first national politician to take full advantage of the national radio network. His most famous and encouraging message that “We have nothing to fear – but fear itself!” was delivered to an anxious nation by radio at a time of need for such leadership assurance. Radio linked the nation with immediacy and intimacy, and Roosevelt used that new media capability to full advantage.

One of the most interesting examples of the impact of national radio on our society occurred on October 30, 1938. A young actor, Orson Wells (who was also the voice of “The Shadow”), was presenting a program on CBS about H.G. Wells story of “The War of the Worlds.” Although the program led in with an explanation of story telling, the presentation by Wells had so much realism to it that the, “News Bulletin concerning the invasion by men from Mars” set off a nationwide panic. Phone lines were jammed around the country, hundreds of New Yorkers ran into the streets with handkerchiefs over their mouths to guard against Martian gas, and people were checking into hospitals around the country in shock.

They were also calling newspapers to inquire when the world was coming to an end. Wells became famous and there was wide reporting and amazement about the impact of this hoax. Wells later played the lead role in the Academy Award winning move “Citizen Kane.”

Still another dramatic us of the radio in the 1930s involved the execution of Bruno Hauptman for the kidnapping and death of the Charles Lindbergh baby. Lindbergh was a heroic figure who was the first man to fly solo, in 1927, across the Atlantic Ocean from New York to Paris. He did this in 33 hours in his private plane, The Spirit of St. Louis, and he returned to New York for a ticker tape parade and personal fame. Living in Princeton, New Jersey, the country was shocked in 1932 when his baby son was kidnapped for ransom. Lindbergh paid the $50,000 demanded, but the baby was found dead soon after at a point not for from their home. Two years later in September 1934, Bruno Hauptman, a German immigrant, was arrested and charged. The evidence appeared clear and involved

some of the money being found in Hauptman’s home, and some matching of the wooden ladder used in the kidnapping with wood used by Hauptman. Bruno insisted that he was innocent, but he was rather quickly sentenced to death.

The electrocution was broadcast in great detail by radio. Just about the entire nation, my own family joining with neighbors at near midnight at Saturday evening, to hear Gabriel Heater describe and countdown to the event. Revisiting the evidence, would a reprieve be granted, what would be Hauptman’s last meal and statement.

With the count down by seconds to midnight, Heater pronounced, “Bruno Hauptman is dead!” I have not since seen or heard of such a detailed and descriptive focus on a public execution. Radio brought that imagery into our living room in a way we will always remember.

Baseball firsts

The first Major League baseball game played at night under lights was at Cincinnati’s Crosley Field on May 24, 1935. The game was between the Cincinnati Reds and Philadelphia Phillies. The prospect of nighttime baseball raised many tradition bound objections. One politician proclaimed “Baseball must be played in sunlight – as God intended!” But the night game attraction had begun.

The Cincinnati Reds also participated in another interesting first. On August 26, 1939, the first television broadcast in history was of a baseball game in New York between the Reds and the N.Y. Dodgers. Only 400 homes in the City received the transmission on very small TV screens. But the game was televised. Development of television technology and transmission was shortly thereafter put on hold for the duration of World War II.

Pastimes

Children were not over-scheduled in the 30s. Summer vacations seemed long and lazy. Aside from school and church attendance in the Fall and Spring, our time was pretty much our own. Parents were focused on making ends meet.

My friends and I would gather daily in the summer and after school during the year to play various games and sports. At a young age we would play kick the can, climb trees for apples, wrestle, and play sandlot football and baseball. Indoor games involved Monopoly and checkers. If we read, it was comic books such as Buck Rogers, The Lone Ranger, and Superman.

On summer weekends the New Jersey ocean shore was our family’s frequent destination. It would take about two hours by car, and we would then walk the beach, wade in the ocean, build sand castles, or just sit in the sun.

More frequent weekend visits were made to my grandparents’ homes in Croydon and Bristol. Grandmother Shire lived in Bristol and had two grown sons still at home, Uncle Bill and Uncle Lee. It was fun visiting with them, and I recall my grandmother’s treat for me was sugar bread. A simple piece of bread with much butter and sugar was a regular reward. Grandmother Shire’s hands were always trembling, I’m now sure because of Parkinson’s, and she would pour her coffee in a saucer and drink from that. Her infirmity made that technique necessary, but I could not imagine my Grandmother Lorimer drinking in that fashion.

Many Sundays were spent at the Croydon farm of my Dad’s parents. Those Sunday early afternoon diners always involved a large table setting and a lot of food. Grandmother Lorimer was a great cook and she took pride in that fact.

Childhood years in Morrisville were relaxed, easy, and fun. There were about ten boys near my age in our neighborhood or within close walking distance. We shared the same life experiences and gravitated together on an almost daily basis. Sports were central to our play and conversation. My recollection is we had no interest in – and made no reference to – girls.

Nearly all of these young friends served in the Armed Services in World War II. All of them eventually returned, went to college, and had reasonably successful careers. Two of them became doctors, two lawyers, and most remained in the Morrisville area.

As youngsters, we had a very good time.

Circus

In the summer of 1937, when I was 10 years old, a circus came to Morrisville. This was a big deal for a young boy. The fact that it would be located just a block from my home made it even better.

There was a very large, empty field at the corner of Pennsylvania and Maple Avenues. We were told the circus would be there very early on Saturday morning, and a free ticket could be had by carrying water to the circus for use by the performers and the animals.

At 4:30 a.m. on that anticipated Saturday morning I was standing alone in that dark field waiting for the circus to arrive. The wagons began to role in around 6:00 a.m., and some other boys also showed up to carry water.

We found the man in charge of water supply, and he directed us to a house across the street where arrangements had been made for access to an outdoor spigot. I felt my water carrying experience on the farm had prepared me for this job. I loved seeing the elephant and horses to who we delivered most of the buckets.

We worked steadily, carrying two full buckets at a time to various points in the gradually building circus tent area. At around 9:00 a.m., demand began to slow, and I decided to run home quickly and have some breakfast. While I could not have been gone for more than a half hour, when I returned all evidence of the bucket brigade was gone. I found one of the other boys and he said the tickets for the water carriers had already been given out.

This was bad news and I immediately began searching for the man who had directed us, but could not find him. After telling my story of service and hardship to whoever would listen, I finally found a kind and believing soul who gave me my reward ticket.

I very much enjoyed that one-ring circus that night, knowing that I had helped put on the show. A lesson about the importance of timing, and perseverance, was also learned.

Economic Recovery Efforts

Our Nation was in dire economic straits throughout the 1930s. Millions of men were unemployed, banks were failing, and mortgages were being foreclosed. The United States had become a world leading industrial nation, but now its economy was shutting down. The compelling question was what, if any thing, could be done?

While there had been brief periods of depression before, none were anything like this Great Depression. When President Franklin D. Roosevelt was sworn in March 1933, his challenges were daunting and unprecedented. For well over a century, the prevailing economic philosophy had been that government should stay out of the business of the market place. This strong belief was first set forth by a Scottish philosopher, Adam Smith, in his classic book, “The Wealth of Nations”. For all of the 19th Century and the first three decades of the 20th, it was understood that if government would not interfere with business an “invisible hand” would guide the mix of competition and self interest in the market place to cause the growth of the entire economy. Smith’s doctrine had a French name, laissez-faire, which meant non-interference by government in business. For the most part this doctrine had worked well over time, but that was about to change.

To the considerable consternation of the business community, Roosevelt moved decisively during his first one hundred days in office. Because banks continued to be troubled and threatened by withdrawals, Roosevelt declared a “bank holiday”. All banks were closed for a short period, and the Glass Stegal Act was soon passed providing federal guarantees for bank deposits.

Roosevelt proclaimed a “New Deal” for the nation and embarked on a strategy of using the full resources of the federal government to prime the economic pump of the nation. One of his first acts was to obtain passage of the National Recovery

Act (NRA) which addressed fair labor practices such as minimum wages and working hours. Business viewed this as a “Labor Bill of Rights”. An Agricultural Adjustment Act (AAA) and a Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) and other new bureaucracies of letters were established that impacted business and the economy.

Such macro economic practices as controlling interest rates and the nation’s money supply, still used with effectiveness today, were also part of the strong new involvement of government in the economic life of the Nation. Government was now interfering.

Thus, the Constitutionality of many of the New Deal programs was challenged. And in 1935, the Supreme Court of the United States declared the NRA unconstitutional. This was a serious defeat for Roosevelt.

But the nation’s problems were far from being solved, and Roosevelt moved forward with the support of a Democratic Congress to implement new social programs. Among these were the Social Security Act, which still today provides unemployment and old age insurance protection. And, the Works Progress Administration (WPA), which had a tremendous impact on the infrastructure of the entire nation.

The stated objective of the WPA was to employ one-third of the then eleven million men still unemployed. This huge work force would build roads, bridges, libraries, post office buildings, etc.

In Morrisville, the impact of the WPA was significant. For years the town had suffered from annual flooding of large numbers of homes along the river. A huge dike was constructed all along the west bank of the Delaware River, which solved the flooding problem. Our post office and high school football field were also built with WPA labor. Many streets and sidewalks in town, including all of Maple Avenue, were newly paved to meet modern standards.

I watched the WPA workers daily as they re-built our street. They were on the job just four days a week and were paid $4 per day. This weekly pay of $16 was welcome and sufficient to support a family. During this period my Dad was still

making $10 per week as an electrician working five days, and he was glad to have a secure job.

In January 1937, Roosevelt was sworn in for his second term. The new starting date was moved from March to January as the result of the adoption of the 20th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which recognized that the delay from election in November to taking office in March was too long a period.

In his Inaugural address he lamented that “one third of the nation remains ill housed, ill clad, and ill nourished.” The New Deal efforts had funneled new funds and new jobs into the economy, but the nation had still not recovered. It would take preparation for and involvement in World War II to fully fuel and revitalize our troubled national economy.

Hindenburg

One of the most spectacular disasters of the 1930s was the explosion of the Hindenburg, a huge German zeppelin, as it was landing at Lakehurst Naval Air Base in New Jersey on the afternoon of May 6, 1937.

Lakehurst was within easy driving distance of Morrisville. My lifelong friend, Chad Alger, actually saw the Hindenburg as it flew over Morrisville on its approach to Lakehurst that day, having arrived from Germany.

The Hindenburg was one of the largest aircrafts ever built. It was longer than three Boeing 747s end to end. Having crossed the Atlantic Ocean many times in about three days per crossing, it normally carried a crew of 61 and some 70 passengers. The Hindenburg was one of the great prizes of the German Nazi government.

The fire ignition and explosion of the aircraft occurred as it was being moored at the Naval Base. The tragedy was captured on film, and those images and the recorded narration became one of the most famous in history as the announcer cried out, “Oh the humanity!” Passengers could be seen leaping as the aircraft was engulfed in flames, and the Hindenburg burst as it hit the ground.

Surprisingly, most of the passengers and crew survived. But the filmed incident was so horrific that the public lost faith in travel by such airships, and their construction and use became very limited. In recent years, the novelty of the Goodyear Blimp flying near a stadium, usually for T V coverage purposes, is the primary remaining use made of the lighter than air zeppelin.

There were some German accusations of sabotage. The cause of the ignition and fire was clouded by the fact the U.S. required the use of flammable hydrogen in inflating the aircraft. Helium was normally use, but that was embargoed in the U.S. The hearings that were held settled on a “static spark” theory, that ignition was set off by a spark from an unknown source. That spark came in contact with either the ship’s fabric or the hydrogen used for buoyancy, and the fire and explosion resulted.

While the Hindenburg tragedy has been dwarfed in scope by events in more recent years, it was the first captured so vividly on film and broadcast worldwide. The sight of people leaping to save their lives was one that would be seen again.

Croydon

For several weeks each summer during the late ’30s, I would visit my grandparents on their farm in Croydon, Pennsylvania. My father had been raised and my parents met in Croydon. The area was all rural farmland some fifteen miles down the Delaware River from Morrisville, and directly across the river from Burlington, New Jersey. We could see the river from the front porch of the family farmhouse.

On many weekends and most major holidays my family would drive to Croydon to spend the day with my grandparents on the farm. Spending summer vacations there was most enjoyable for me. The farmhouse was a large, three story home with many rooms, stove and fireplace heating, and no running water or indoor bathroom.

A huge barn with a horse, some cows, and many chickens and pigeons was about

50 yards from the house. In another 50-yard direction was a well and water pump, where my job each day was to fill several large buckets and carry water to the house for cooking and washing purposes.

The special summer vacation attraction for me was having some of my friends from Morrisville visit with me each week and share the farm experience. For three or four weeks in a row, my parents would bring a different boy each week and return the other friend home. Playing in the huge barn was our primary fun. Climbing high up into the barn rafters and diving into the hay was a continual roller coaster experience. The fact we did some farm chores such as pitching hay, weeding the corn crop area, cutting trees, bushes and grass, and carrying much water was all part of the farm adventure and did not seem like work.

The lack of running water and toilet facilities were minor inconveniences. A wooden outhouse some distance to the rear of farmhouse was used. Toilet paper was either newspapers or pages from a Sears Roebuck catalogue. The outhouse was very fly filled and unpleasant, but that was only temporary. Similarly, for a young boy, not having to get in the bathtub did not present any real problem for me or my friends.

Part of the summer farm experience involved seeing chickens and pigeons beheaded and shot. We would help with the cleaning of the birds and see the process through to the eating of them. I recall not liking the killing, but enjoying the eating.

My grandfather and grandmother Lorimer were distinguished looking, loving and caring people. They had raised their family on this farm, and now lived their alone. They welcomed our visits and our energy. We never were or needed to be disciplined. We were able to assist them in our youthful way. But they gave us an annual and memorable experience of what life was and had been like on the farm.

Wrong Way Corrigan

In early 1938 a weird event occurred that captured the public’s interest. A 30-year-old California aviator, Douglas Corrigan, built his own plane and tried repeatedly to get the Bureau of Air Commerce to permit him to fly from New York to Dublin, Ireland, his family’s Country of origin.

The plane was considered unsound for international flight and the trip was never authorized. Refusing to be stopped, Corrigan flew to New York and then filed a flight plan for return to Los Angeles. He then took off and headed east across the ocean, later claiming that his compass had been faulty and clouds had prevented him from seeing the earth. He flew for 28 hours landing safely in Dublin.

It was there found that the plane had been rigged by Corrigan with reserve gas tanks placed so that he had to sit in a very cramped position throughout the flight, and was able to see only through a side window. One of the planes’ doors was fastened with a piece of bailing wire. Corrigan and the plane returned to the United States by steamship, and he received a hero’s welcome and a Broadway ticker tape parade in his honor.

He never admitted anything other than a navigational error. His pilot’s license was temporarily suspended, but he was forever dubbed “Wrong Way Corrigan”, and his story was made into a film, “The Flying Irishman”. There were many jokes about this at the time, and Wrong Way Corrigan came into the language to describe anyone who went in the wrong direction.

Corrigan became a test pilot for the Army in World War II and lived to be 88 years of age.

1939 New York World’s Fair

The 1939 World’s Fair in New York City was one of the largest fairs of all time. My family took us to the fair, which was located in Flushing Meadows near what is now LaGuardia Airport. The theme of the fair was “Peace and Progress”, notwithstanding the fact the world was on the brink of war. The signature image of the fair was a huge Crystal Ball and Trylon that remained for decades after the

fair closed.

The fair had a Great World of Nations area and an educational goal. The fairgrounds were divided into zones, with sections devoted to communication, transportation, etc. There was also a large Amusement Area with roller coasters, rides, games, and Billy Rose’s Aquacade.

The most famous and memorable exhibit was a large time capsule that was to be buried in the ground after the fair. This was not to be opened until the year 6939! After the passage of those 5,000 years, the world would see such cultural artifacts as copies of Life Magazine, Kewpie dolls, a pack of Camel cigarettes, a dollar in change, and reams of microfilm portraying our times. The public was interested in the array of items selected to tell the story of 20th century civilization to a world five millenniums in the future.

The time capsule was seen as an optimistic, ambitious and long range view of the future. Interesting questions have since been raised as to how and by whom the capsule will be found in 6939. Global warming and atomic bombs were not foreseen in the 1939 forecast.

F.B.I.

During the ’30s the notorious exploits of several bank robbers and other criminals received national publicity. Such names as John Dillinger, Pretty Boy Floyd, Baby Face Nelson, and Ma Barker became crime legends.

Their robberies and ability to escape authorities made headlines. When one was asked why he robbed banks, he replied “Because that’s where the money is.” While there was some logic to that, the public fascination with these criminal activities and personalities was wide spread.

Also making the headlines was the success of J. Edgar Hoover and the ”G-Men” of the F.B.I. had in hunting down and capturing these high profile robbers. Hoover was a master at focusing publicity on his Bureau’s success, and he made certain he was personally present at some of the arrests. In any event, a

strong mystique grew in the public mind regarding the crime-busting skills of the F.B.I.. The thought of becoming an agent of the F.B.I. appealed to me.

In 1939 I wrote a letter to Mr. Hoover inquiring about how I could become a Special Agent of the F.B.I. I don’t recall how I knew where to direct the letter, but I do remember it was handwritten and my parents approved.

I was very pleased when a return letter was received, with Mr. Hoover’s signature on it. He thanked me for my interest and sent considerable detailed information about the Bureau and requirements for becoming a Special Agent. The fact you had to be an attorney or a certified public accountant did not register with me as a difficult qualification goal.

At least I had a track to run on, although I did not stay focused on that track –until much later.

Movies

The movies were another great family escape during the 1930s. Saturday afternoon and evening shows were extremely popular and cost only ten cents. Our movies were located across the river in Trenton, New Jersey. We walked across the bridge to downtown Trenton’s several theaters without any thought or fear of safety.

Movie technology improved dramatically throughout this period, even though the word technology was not in general use at that time. During the 1920s, movies were made without sound. As the screen action moved forward, printed dialogue and story line would appear on the screen in separate segments. There were no sub titles.

During this “silent film era,” drama, adventure, and comedy were physically over acted perhaps to compensate to some extent for the lack of sound. Clara Bow and Rudolph Valentino were the romantic leads, and Buster Keaton and Charley Chaplin were the most popular comedians. Physical comedy, with falls, spills, and accidents was relied upon, since imagery and not talk was the medium.

Some background music, either recording or an in house piano, was often used to enhance the mood of the film’s story line. But, the visual images carried the film, as did sound in radio. The black and white, grainy quality of the movies was constantly improving throughout the decade. By the end of the 30s, Technicolor films were the rule.

The first “talking picture” was “The Jazz Singer,” made in 1927 and starring Al Jolson. His rendition of “Mammy,” capturing image and sound at once, was a great hit. His presentation was done in black face and expressing a heartfelt “I’d go a million miles for one of those smiles – of Mammy!” – began the age of the “talkies.”

Many silent film stars could not successfully make the transition to sound film. Their voice quality was not what the public had expected from their silent acting days. Some men’s voices were too high, and some women’s too raspy. A new crop of stars began to emerge, with a broader range of acting skill.

By the middle of the 1930s, I was permitted to go to the movies with my friends, and without parents. It was a great adventure.

For the still 10-cent admission price, you would have nearly three hours of movie entertainment. This usually included two main feature films (a double feature), a Fox Movie Tone news presentation, a cartoon comedy, and a short weekly serial film.

It is interesting to recall that we made no effort arrive at the beginning of the films. We would simply show up at our own time and convenience, more often than not right in the middle of one of the films. We would stay during the series of presentations, and usually leave at the point in the story where we had first arrived. No one with whom I went to the movies ever concerned themselves with the movie’s starting time. I doubt that this information was even published. In retrospect, that seems strange.

One movie attraction of that time is no longer used in theaters, but is well suited to television. That is the “serial” film that would each week conclude the action

with the hero being in a life-threatening situation. We had to come back the next week to see how the hero or heroine had escaped and survived.

The only theater in Morrisville was the Community House, which showed films only in the late 30s. For five cents on Saturday afternoon, nearly all my friends and I would go to this local movie theater. The Community House had been built in the 1920s, and served as a two story stone meeting place for various activities. It was across the street from my family’s Episcopal Church.

My recollection is clear that one Saturday afternoon in 1939 I went to the Community House to see a movie and a very popular serial film involving a famous lion tamer, Clyde Beatty, who each week encountered a mix of villains and wild animals. On this Saturday, the episode ended with Beatty hanging by his fingertips on the edge of a pit full of alligators. The villain stood above stomping on Clyde’s fingers. That is how it was left. How could he be saved? The following week a serious fire occurred in the Community House and the theater closed down, never to re open.

In October 2004, I had the honor to deliver the Morrisville Bicentennial Address before some 1,000 people at Morrisville’s downtown intersection. Recounting the city’s history, I recalled this Community House fire – explaining my 70 years of emotional concern and unanswered questions regarding Clyde Beatty’s welfare. I asked whether anyone present could tell me if and how he was saved. No one could help. For me, Beatty is still hanging.

Even in Community House movie days, most families in Morrisville regularly attended one of several large theaters in Trenton. The Lincoln, The Capitol, and The Mayflower theaters presented a range of choices each week. In addition to the three hours of entertainment, it was typical for there to be a break at some point during which a prize drawing would be held. This was another attraction offered during the Depression, and if your movie ticket number matched that drawn you would be the lucky winner of some household item such as some glass wear. This win was valued, and also afforded a theater clearing break opportunity.

There were a good many very popular movies during this period.

I didn’t know anyone who did not go to the movies. Among the most popular at the time, all of which I saw, were: in 1937, “A Day at the Races,” a comedy featuring the Marx Brothers, Groucho, Harpo, and Chico, a wild looking trio whose comedy was largely slapstick and physical. Another top film was “Thin Ice” that featured the Olympic skating champion, Sonja Henie, a small blonde from Norway who made a number of romance while skating films. Walt Disney also produced “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” a Technicolor cartoon that has continued to be shown ever since.

In 1938, Spencer Tracy appeared in “Boy’s Town” with Mickey Rooney. It was tear jerking type film involving a troubled boys school and a caring Catholic priest. A crime film that same year entitled, “Angels With Dirty Faces” starred Jimmy Cagney and Humphrey Bogart. The siren of the time, Betty Davis, also appeared in the movie soap opera, “Jezebel.”

The great movie growth decade of the 1930s ended with several of the classic movies of all time. 1939 produced “The Wizard of Oz” starring Judy Garland; the cowboy movie “Stage Coach” with John Wayne; and “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” with Jimmy Stewart. Many decades later, these films are still being shown.

Few artistic productions survive that long.

One of the most popular and highly publicized films ever produced was “Gone With the Wind,” also released just before Christmas in 1939. The film was based on a very popular novel by Margaret Mitchell, and was a romantic portrayal of the Civil War period.

It was a given that Clark Gable, the male romantic figure of the time, would play the role of Rhett Butler. A great publicity advantage for the film involved an international talent search for the best address for the role of Scarlet O’Hara. A young English actress, Vivian Lee, was selected with much fanfare and some controversy. The film was an unprecedented three hours long, and it was felt necessary to add a 15 minute intermission break.

A considerable amount of additional advance publicity resulted from the film’s concluding highlight. Rhett Butler was finally rejecting and leaving Scarlett, while she pleaded, “But what’s going to happen to me?” Rhett’s highly controversial reply was, ”Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

By the moral standards of what may be said and shown on film at the time, as controlled by the so called Hayes Commission, this swear word was considered shocking. The great production value of “Gone With The Wind,” along with its promotion and timeless romantic theme, have made it perhaps the most popular film ever. I’m constrained to that opinion, since my wife has seen the film 21 times and counting.

Shirley Temple

The top movie star of the 1930s was Shirley Temple. She appeared in more than 40 films, was the highest grossing box office attraction, and the most famous child actress of all time.

The great appeal of her childhood innocence was a favorable reflection on the times. She acted, sang, and danced in movies that had a happy ending. Her regular dance partner was Bill Robinson, a black man. His scenes holding hands with Temple had to be edited out in many cities in the South.

As an adult, Shirley Temple Black served as U.S. Ambassador to several foreign nations, as well as an emissary to the United Nations.

War in Europe

During the late ’30s, newspapers and news films were full of stories concerning the rapidly expanding war in Europe. Hitler had forged alliances with Italy and Japan, the so called Axis powers. He also signed a non aggression pact with the Soviet Union.

Nazi Germany began to invade neighboring countries such as Austria, and Italy

invaded Ethiopia. While this was viewed with alarm throughout the world, hope for containment continued. The Prime Minister of Great Britain, Neville Chamberlain, returned from a meeting with Hitler in 1938 proclaiming that an agreement had been reached that assured “peace for our time.” But Hitler and his Third Reich were not to be stopped.

In 1939, the Nazi German invasion and occupation of both Czechoslovakia and Poland made it clear that a second world war was inevitable. Both Great Britain and France declared war on Germany and on Italy. The U.S. continued its position of neutrality, but war production and mobilization were begun.

Wrestling as an Early Career

My first stage appearance was during my freshman year of high school. Uncle Bill Shire had been taking me regularly to see professional wrestling bouts at a Trenton arena. Then, as now, professional wrestling was an entertainment performance made to look like very real combat. Body slams, being thrown from the ring, and drop kicks were all part of the believable show. My recollection was that it was great to watch the fights, but our eyes would be blood shot for more than a day as the result of heavy smoke in the arena.

Again, my friend Jim Murray also attended these wrestling bouts, sometimes with his father and sometimes with us. Jim and I began to practice the moves we were seeing the professionals doing, and a high school teacher saw us doing this. We were asked to put on a wrestling show on stage before the entire high school assembly. We did this with some success, making it look like we were seriously hurting each other. Little girls, including Jean Whittaker, were sitting in the audience screaming.

Our performance was so well received that we were invited to put on the same wrestling act at an evening meeting of the Morrisville Rotary Club. We concluded that show by rolling ourselves completely up in the wrestling mat. Looking back it is interesting that the Rotary would ask us to do this, but we did enjoy these moments on stage at the time.

’30s End

As the 30s ended, the United States and the world economies were still in a serious slump. The downward momentum of the Depression had proved difficult to turn around. Economists now refer to this as the “Paradox of Thrift.” When people feel economically insecure and decide it is wise to save their money to protect themselves, rather than spend, the macro economic impact is severe. Fewer goods are purchased, businesses cut back because of lack of demand, and unemployment results. This cycle continued throughout the ’30s.

While some war production had begun, as the decade ended the average family income was just $1,729. A new car cost $700, a house $3,850, a gallon of gas 10 cents, milk 49 cents a gallon, and a loaf of bread 8 cents.

But now, significant economic and social change was about to unfold as the most disastrous war in human history continued to engulf the world.

The 1940s

If you don’t know where you want to go, it doesn’t matter which road you take …

Captain of the Morrisville (PA) High School football team (right).

INewlywedsJean and Jim Lorimer, married January 29, 1949.

Called up for servicein World War II within a month of turning18 in October1944,I volunteeredto become a RadioTechnician and entered theU.S. Navy as a Seaman First Class, though after training, I never servedas a Radio Technician.

1940 Presidential Election

The war in Europe loomed over the 1940 Presidential election. No President in history had sought a third term in office, and Roosevelt was unchallenged as he won the Democratic nomination for a third time. He chose Henry A. Wallace, his Secretary of Agriculture, to be his vice presidential running mate. Wallace was a strong liberal who was opposed by many at the Convention, but it was Roosevelt’s choice. John Garner had been Roosevelt’s Vice President during his first two terms, and Harry S. Truman would be his choice as Vice President in 1944.

The Republican Party’s convention in Philadelphia was badly divided. Three candidates emerged: Robert Taft, Senator from Ohio; Thomas E. Dewey from New York (who won the party’s nomination in 1944 & 1948); and Senator Arthur Vandenburg of Michigan. This split left the political door open for a dark horse candidate. That proved to be an Indiana native, lawyer and business man, Wendell Willkie. Willkie had just switched to the Republican Party in 1939, but he obtained strong media support and proved to be a highly popular and energetic candidate. He campaigned in 34 states, finally losing his voice.

On election day 1940, Roosevelt made history that will not be repeated as he was elected for his 3rd term as President of the United States. Although he was a man who had not been able to walk throughout his adult life, he was the most formidable politician in our nation’s history. His popularity and leadership experience, and the expanding war in Europe, resulted in an electoral college landside vote in which Roosevelt defeated Willkie 449 to 82.

Willkie did collect more than 22 million votes which was the highest in history to that time for a Republican candidate. Still, the nation clearly wanted to continue Roosevelt’s leadership during a most uncertain and threatening period in world history.

Life in the ’40s

The 1940s involved two distinct eras: the war years 1940 45, and the post war recovery period 1946 49. During the war there was tremendous national and

local focus on mobilization and sacrifice for victory. Following the war millions of returning veterans focused on education, rebuilding their lives, and revitalizing the nation’s economy. The pent up demand for all types of goods - cars, homes, appliances, etc. fueled a strong post war recovery.

At the small town level, lives of early teenagers were little affected during the initial war years. Rationing of many basic goods, creation of Victory Gardens where people would grow vegetables in back yards, part time employment at the local King’s Farms picking turnips, and sharp curtailment of automobile use were among the changes experienced by young people. As the war progressed, teenagers became soldiers and we knew some who died.

During my freshman and sophomore years in high school, the seasonal progression of sports – football, basketball, and track – were the most compelling interests. We admired the performance of the upper classmen, and I felt fortunate to make the Varsity teams in both football and basketball in 9th and 10th grade. I was not in the starting line up but got good experience. I had not yet dated a girl in the fall of 1941, but that was about to change.

Football Team

Our High School football team had its greatest school record during our final two years of school. In our Bucks County Conference our team was not only undefeated for two years, we were never scored on. Our opponents were held to zero points.

The lone defeat was against Trenton High School which was our first game in our senior year. Trenton had more students in its high school than we had people in our town of Morrisville. Still, the final score was Trenton 7, Morrisville 0. That game was our only loss in two years, so we did not experience too many regrets.

Jim Murray and I were especially thankful that the two prettiest cheerleaders on the Morrisville sidelines were our girlfriends and biggest supporters. We could not have known then, but our luck was just beginning because these girls some years later would become our wives. Jean Whittaker and Jane Landis were

allowed to use pom-poms and megaphones, but their acrobatic performances were rather strictly limited. Modern competitive cheerleading techniques such as gymnastic routines and pyramid building were not done.

Ice cream sodas at Pryor’s Drug store after the Friday evening games were an important part of the fun.

The Enforcer

Each team in the modern sport of professional ice hockey has a player designated as an “enforcer.” While this role is not publicized, fans of the sport know who this player is and generally cheer when he enters the game.

He is an athlete who skates well and also has pugilistic skills. His assignment is to punish an overly zealous player on the other team, or to get the other team’s star player off his game by roughing him up. The activity is legal although punishable by time out penalties.

While not assigning me the ethically questionable title of “enforcer”, our high school coaches in football and basketball gave me tasks consistent with that job write up responsibility. The first such assignment came early in my senior season when I was serving as team captain. We were playing a tough southern New Jersey Championship team at their home field in Riverside, N.J. It was a night game and we had heard there was an extremely fast running back on their team who was difficult to catch, let alone tackle.

During Coach John Hoffman’s talk to the team before the game, he told us that “this colored running back is the star of their team and is very fast.” The Coach also said that it had been his experience that “if you hit the colored athlete early and hard, it tends to slow him down.” He then went on to say that when our team gets the ball and Bob Neeld kicks it, I want Bob to kick a very high punt. Jim Lorimer, I don’t want you to block anyone. I just want you to “go down the field and get that boy.”

We did get the football and Bob Neeld got off a great high kick. I ran straight down the field at high speed and could see this halfback quick stepping in place as he was about to catch the ball. Some five yards from him and just as he was

receiving the football, I threw myself through the air and hit him really hard before he could move. The timing and hit were perfect. They helped him off the field and he did not return to the game until the second half, when he did not play especially well.

While there were no good lessons learned from that experience, for the rest of my high school football games I was sent down the field without needing to block, to stop the man from running the ball back. I also led the team down the field on kick off returns.

My teammates recalled an incident during our senior year that I did not remember. We were traveling by car to play a college prep team at George School. Many of their players were a year older than we were. As we drove, we were in full football gear and six of us were in one car. Bob Neeld was driving and Jim Murray sat to my right in the front seat. At a railroad crossing Neeld stopped the car and both he and Jim Murray got out and went forward to jokingly check the railroad track, looking each way to assure our safety.

As they did this, I took off driving the car and leaving them behind. They ran after the car but each time they came close I would pull away, staying always a short distance ahead of them. After some time and distance, both Bob and Jim got down on their knees on the road, hands clasped and prayerful and in pleading position. With the beneficence that accompanies good leadership, my teammates were then allowed back in the car.

Another football event at that same George School game is remembered by Jim Murray. The biggest player on the George School team was a 6’4” tackle who weighed 200 lbs. He was doing very well against us.

On one play I saw him running behind our line chasing our halfback, and I got just the right angle on him to nail him from the side. He went down and was carried from the field. Many years later, Jim Murray met this same man when his and Jim’s son were both attending the same school. He was now an attorney and told Jim how well he remembered the “shot” he received that day.

There was a level of physicality in me that thrived on contact. I made the Morrisville Varsity basketball team, but as previously reported I could handle the ball well but was not good at the most important goal of the game, which is to put the ball in the basket. Our basketball team was also undefeated in our Conference in our senior year.

Coach Jim Doheny’s on going assignment to me was to take the other team’s star player off his game. Thus, I would start the games at the guard position, but my main duty was on the defense where I was to be and was all-over the other team’s star so he could not position himself to do anything. I did this with such commitment that I would invariably foul out of the game by the end of the first half. Fair or not, it did cut down on the other team’s performance.

Track and Field

My favorite high school sport was track and field. I liked it because the athlete stood on his own. If you trained hard enough and were good enough, you could individually be a winner. For reasons I can’t explain, I loved to run and would run, not walk, the one mile between home and school twice a day, having come home for lunch. I had and loved the feeling that I could run forever.

Our track coach was Jim Doheny, and I liked him. He was an excellent basketball coach, but had little knowledge of training for track. At practice we would run around the track a few times, and the fastest persons would be on the relay teams and be selected for the various events. The variety of track was another appealing feature, and in a small school we had the chance to experiment with all the events. We would throw the javelin, high jump, pole vault, and throw the shot put and discus. There was an event in track and field for everyone.

My events were the 440 yard dash, the pole vault, and the mile relay. In my Junior year at age 16, I took first place in all three events in the Bucks County Track and Field Championships. Our relay team performance earned us the right to participate in Philadelphia at the world famous Penn Relays. That event continues today as one of the largest participant events in all of track and field. We were not competitive in that prestigious meet.

Still, it was great to be part of such a great festival of sport. That my have whet my appetite for sports festivals to come a half-century later. In my Senior year at Morrisville I did not compete in track and field.

First Date

In the Fall of 1941, after the “Wink” Halloween Party but before Pearl Harbor Day, I got to walk Jean Whittaker home from school. Like my father before me, I was more shy that I should have been.

Since I always ran home after school each day, Jean and I didn’t meet for awhile. She then asked my friend, Bill Hoernle, to see if he could get me to slow down and say hello to her. One Fall day Bill did that and I started to walk Jean home.

While our homes were only a few blocks apart, we were both surprised as we stood on her front lawn – when my mother happened to drive by in our car. As my mother saw us, she jammed on the brakes of the car and came to a full stop. She was in shock and disbelief and made some kind of exclamation we couldn’t hear.

As she drove on without saying anything to us, I explained to Jean that my mother was not accustomed to seeing me with a girl.

A few days later we had our first real date. We went to Trenton to see a movie, and walked both ways. After the movie as we were going home, we passed the New Jersey State Capitol building which had a wide and long walk-way in front of it. I asked Jean if she would like to see me walk on my hands. There is some difference of opinion concerning her answer to that offer. In any event, I walked some distance on my hands in front of the Capitol building. It was the only special talent I had and I felt certain she would be appropriately appreciative and impressed.

As we came to the Trenton Avenue Bridge that connects with Morrisville, I saw another opportunity to make a favorable impression. There was a four foot high

and narrow walkway railing to our right as we walked across the bridge. I asked Jean if she would like to see me walk on that railing. She said, “No,” and I didn’t.

It was some time later that Jean informed me that when she got home that night, she immediately told her mother, “I will never go out with that boy again!” Neither of us recall how we overcame that basic misunderstanding with respect to a demonstration of such remarkable skill and talent. But we did, and I’m glad.

Jim Murray

Jim Murray and I continued our strong interest in weightlifting and bodybuilding throughout our high school years and throughout our lives.

In 1941 we attended the AAU National Weightlifting Championships in Philadelphia, where the famous bodybuilder John Grimek also won the Mr. America Title for the second time.

We would later visit the York Barbell Company in York, PA, which was the Mecca for weightlifting and bodybuilding in the ’30s and ’40s.

Well-balanced, well-coached football team

Our team was very well balanced and well coached. Our head Coach was John Hoffman, an experienced and patient man who guided me on the Varsity for four years. Al Lasky was our line coach and he was a strong bear of a man. One on one he could beat any member of our team, and did. While I did not start in my freshman and sophomore years, in my junior year I made the first team. As the season started, at age 15, the Coach appointed me Team Captain.

My playing position was guard on the defense and tackle on the offense. At that time players at the high school, college, and professional level played both ways, offense and defense. That is why it is difficult for us to understand how modern players, who play only one way under the platoon system, can complain about being tired. They only play half the game!

The team was more fast and well disciplined than big. We had only one 280pound player. I was playing at a weight of 165.

Our 280 player, Fats Clemens, was a huge, strong farm boy who we were glad to have on our side. Trying to block or move him was like hitting a wall. He was not fast but would be positioned in the center of the line on defense where he was unmovable.

Many of our games were won by lop sided scores. We found that some of our toughest games were against State Schools for the Deaf. We played the New Jersey School for the Deaf in our first three years, and the Pennsylvania School for the Deaf in our senior year. Since those boys were not talking, the only sounds they made were grunts when you hit them. We somehow had the mistaken feeling they weren’t feeling pain the same way we were. The fact was they were not expressing it in the same way.

It was against the Pennsylvania School for the Deaf in my next to last game in my senior year that I was helped from the field for the first and only time. Near the end of the game I was running downfield at full speed when a deaf athlete hit me from the side at knee height. I could not walk and was helped from the field. Jim Murray, who played the other tackle position and was co captain with me in our senior year, was also helped from the field. Our cheerleading girlfriends led the cheers as we left the field, “Let’s have a long yea Lorimer,” and “Let’s have a long yea Murray,” but that didn’t make us feel any better.

Coach Hoffman came around to my home that evening for the only time ever to check on me. I still couldn’t stand on my leg. The Coach said, “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to play next week against Bristol.” I told him if I could walk, I’d be there.

Bristol was our traditional Thanksgiving Day rival. While that town had been the place of my birth, I always wanted to beat them badly. That last game they taped both Jim Murray and me so that we could hardly bend our leg. Still, we played although not too well and our team won easily. It had been a great senior

football season as we ended and celebrated our victory-filled high school football careers.

Pearl Harbor

The Japanese attack Pearl Harbor in Hawaii on December 7, 1941, was one of the defining moments in history. Those living at the time remembered where they were when they heard the news. I was at my grandparent’s house in Croydon. I was 15 years old and had never heard of Pearl Harbor.

Our Country had been increasingly focused on the battle raging in Europe. The German Nazis had overrun most of the continent and were heavily bombarding London from the air. It appeared certain we would be drawn in the War, but there was still considerable opposition to involvement in 1941. The unprovoked attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese, destroying 12 American warships, 188 aircraft, and killing more than 2,400 servicemen changed everything.

The Japanese had entered into a pact with the Axis powers in 1940, but had not become actively involved in the war on the side of Germany. Japan was pursuing economic and military expansion in the Pacific and on the Asian mainland. Their goal in the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, where a major portion of our Pacific Fleet was stationed, was to neutralize American naval power in the Pacific. Japan would then and did proceed to occupy a vast area of the south Pacific.

On the Sunday morning of the attack, six Japanese aircraft carriers got within easy striking distance of Hawaii without detection. They unleashed 350 planes in two waves over Pearl Harbor. The results were devastating. Fortunately, none of our aircraft carriers were located in Hawaii at that time. Even more fortunate, the Japanese Admiral in charge did not follow through with a third attack wave that would have destroyed large stores of petroleum and munitions that would have increased the devastation and delayed recovery efforts much longer.

The next day President Roosevelt addressed Congress declaring the previous day

“a date which will live in infamy.” Wr was declared on Japan. The attack immediately united and galvanized the entire nation into action. Such total national commitment and outrage had not been experienced before, or since, in our Nation’s history.

Hitler then made a serious mistake. Nazi Germany joined in a declaration of war against the United States on December 11, 1941, just four days after the attack. He apparently wanted to demonstrate solidarity with Japan and felt the U.S. could not wage war on two fronts, in the Pacific and in Europe. But now our Nation was focused, without dissent, on revenge and winning the war. We were determined and enraged.

Mobilization

Considerable amount of war production had been underway prior to Pearl Harbor. We had a Lend Lease program that provided war goods to the European Allies. But now we moved to a total war setting.

The Selective Service and Training Act of 1940 (i.e. The Draft) was immediately stepped up. Army strength had been increased to 1.5 million in mid 1941, and was 5.2 million by the end of 1942. Some 12 million men would be mobilized by the war’s end. All men between the age of 18 and 65 were required to register for the Draft. In theory, only single men between 20 and 45 were to be drafted, but local draft boards had quotas to meet and many married men and 18 year olds (myself included) were called up. Draft exemptions existed for those working in agriculture, divinity students, and those with such physical problems as flat feet. One of the top athletes in my high school had flat feet and could not get in the service. In World War II there was no draft resistance I was aware of.

Rationing of many commodities such as meat, butter, sugar, gasoline, tires, and clothing was immediately instituted. Most families were restricted to 3 gallons of gas per week, with some war connected work exceptions. For those of us still in high school, car excursions and driving to proms was restricted. We accepted the need to walk. Bread, milk and beer were not rationed. Ration coupons were used for food and clothing purchases, even when eating in restaurants. There

was little black market activity, but there was some gray market trading in ration stamps. There was an easily accepted equality of consumption, especially regarding food.

National production shifted totally to war related need. Automobiles were not produced during the war. This and other such home product deferment contributed substantially to post war economic success because of pent up demand for cars and household goods not manufactured during the war. Production was focused on trucks, tanks, and aircraft. There were no national labor union strikes, except for one brief coal industry strike late in the war.

One of the most significant and lasting social changes flowing from the war effort was the entry of women in the work force. Women left their homes in tremendous numbers and filled every civilian war time job available. Many entered the military service. A well known symbol was “Rosie the Riverter” who represented the vast number of determined women who undertook difficult manufacturing and construction jobs.

My Dad, who had worked for Kelly Electric for 15 years, left to work in the Fleetwings Plant in Bristol. Jean Whittaker’s parents, Elmer and Mabel, both joined the Fleetwings work force. Elmer had been working as a salesman for General Electric and Mabel had been a housewife. Fleetwings became a major employer in the area, constructing a special type of small aircraft. Such war production jobs were well paying, and both patriotism and the increased pay following hard years of Depression caused people to move quickly to such war related work.

Civilian support of the war effort was strong. In Morrisville and other communities throughout the nation, Civil Air Patrol units were in place. Towers and high positions in the towns would find men and women with field glasses monitoring the sky for unidentified aircraft. Fear of invasion was strong the closer to the coast you lived. My girlfriend, Jean Whittaker, and I were arrested on the beach at the New Jersey shore one evening in the summer of 1944. We were simply walking along the beach after dark, near the shore home we were visiting, when we heard a voice call out, “Halt or I’ll shoot!” We halted

and were required to go by jeep to a shore patrol station where my parents came and identified us. Such was the tension and commitment of the times.

The practice of black outs was also pursued in most communities, particularly those within easy distance of the coast. In Morrisville we would be asked on many nights and complied with the request that we darken our homes to prevent light from escaping so that our community would not be visible from the air. We did what we could to help and without complaint.

Japanese Internment

While the mobilization and total war effort were successful, some mistakes were made. A sad domestic note was the widespread internment of Japanese citizens immediately after war was declared.

There were an estimated 120,000 Japanese living in California at the time. Evidence of concern that the Japanese in the Philippines had collaborated with the Japanese invasion there, and that Japanese in California had strongly supported Japan in its recent war against China, caused fear in our War Department that the Japanese represented an internal danger to our Country. Thousands of Japanese were interred in camps from 1942 through 1944. While such confinement was thought necessary at the time, this mass displacement has since been viewed with national regret.

Summer Work

During the summer of 1941 at age 14, I worked at Grant’s Department store in Trenton. We were paid 35 cents an hour and the work was almost all heavy lifting. The job involved moving huge display counters around the store throughout the summer. Having grown to my full height and weight, my age was not questioned at that time. Carrying the counters was hard work but my weight training had made me able and willing to handle it.

The summers of 1942 and 1943 were great work experiences for me. I was the sole helper and hod carrier for Mr. John Margerum, who was a very tough, grizzled, tobacco chewing, constantly swearing old gentleman and mason. His son

was President of our Morrisville Bank and his grandson had preceded us as a star athlete in high school.

Mr. Margerum was very gruff but I liked him and worked extremely hard for him. Our summers were spent replacing sidewalks, chimneys, and driveways around Morrisville.

One neighbor after another would see Mr. Margerum’s (and my) work, and we would move from job to job in the same area. While I liked working for him, what I most enjoyed was the very hard physical labor. Breaking concrete with a sledge hammer, removing the broken slabs of concrete, using the cement mixer by filling it with the right amounts and bags of sand, gravel, and cement, and wheeling or carrying this to Mr. Margerum at the right time – that got me in really good shape for football in the fall.

Like my father, Mr. Margerum was not a talkative man. He was a hard working and skilled artisan. So, I was touched and pleased as we parted at the end of our second summer together when he said, “I had heard you were a trouble maker, but I told them they were wrong. You are a fine and hard working boy, and I know you’re going to have a great life. Thank you.” We shook hands and parted. I never saw him again.

The Wink

There are just a few events in life that prove to be life changing. For me, the most important evening of my life occurred at a Saturday evening Halloween Party near the end of October 1941.

The party was in the basement of Don McClanen’s house on North Pennsylvania Avenue in Morrisville, just a couple of blocks from my home. Don was two years ahead of me in high school, a member of the football team as was I, and our families were friends. I had just turned 15 and attended the party alone. There were about a dozen teenagers there, most of whom I did not know. It was for the most part a Presbyterian Church youth group.

The party required no special costumes; it was just a party. The purpose was to

socialize and play games, such as dunking for apples and spin the bottle. Record music was played but the area was too small for dancing. One game I had not seen played before was called “Wink”. It began with everyone standing or sitting in a circle. If a member of the opposite sex winked at you and you winked back, it was required that the couple exchanging the winks kiss each other.

To my bashful and pleasant surprise an extremely pretty brown-eyed girl winked at me! I had never seen her before, but I immediately winked back and everyone laughed as we kissed. The brown eyed girl’s name was Jean Whittaker. She was a Freshman and I was a Sophomore at Morrisville High School. She would be the love of my life and my wife.

She had been invited to attend the party by another boy, Curtis Chase. Fortunately she had not known him previously and elected to wink at me. That was a great evening.

While we have no recollection of other games or activities at that Halloween Party, I clearly remember thinking about the girl who had winked at me during the rest of that night – and for the rest of my life.

Two-bean show

After most Friday evening football games in our senior year, my mother would host a small party at our house. She would have soda, sandwiches, baked beans, and pastry set out on the dining room table. My teammates would eat and we would dance with our girlfriends in the living room.

I especially recall one such evening when my friend and co captain, Jim Murray, announced that he only wanted two baked beans. From one who normally made tremendous inroads on the entire table, this was a strange statement.

Jim then carefully, but with flourish, selected a large paper plate, knife and fork, and two baked beans. He then precisely cut the individual beans in half and then

in quarters. He ate these slowly as everyone watched. Such idiosyncratic conduct well illustrates why he was my best friend.

Class Night

One of the great adventures of our high school years was Class Night. This tradition involved competition between classes, and a good number of the more athletic boys would go out on the street that night to represent their class in a friendly battle between classes. It happed at the end of each school year. The object was to capture a boy from another grade level and then throw him in the canal, most often without pants or shoes.

When we were in our most prideful 11th grade, my classmates (all boys) turned out in full strength. We wondered whether any other boys would be out on the street. Early in the evening, we did catch a couple of hapless seniors and threw them in the canal.

The prize objective of the evening was a new sophomore who had recently moved into town. His name was Al “Mort” Moser, and he was a big, strong boy. With Lil Abner-type brightness he announced to his class that he was going to be out there representing them on Class Night challenging us, because nobody could catch him. Before it became dark that evening, we saw Mort about 150 yards away on a street by the High School. Some six of my classmates were in my group. Mort had the temerity to wave at us mockingly. What he apparently didn’t know was that in our class was Bob Neeld, who had just won the County 220 yard Championship, and I was the current County Champion in the 440 yard run.

I said to Neeld, “O.K., on three let’s get him!” We started off and Mort began running for his life. Some 50 yards later he began looking back and could see we were gaining on him rapidly. He continued to make the mistake of looking back at us and soon we were within 20 yards of him.

Neeld and I both began to laugh as Mort then started to run in a zig zag path, apparently in the belief that would somehow throw us off his trail. We caught

and wrestled him to the ground when our shot-put teammates began to arrive. Mort was walked to the canal where he was thrown in with everything he had on. Such was the fun of Class Night in the early ’40s.

Quarantine

It has always amazed me how misfortune can be turned into good fortune. It all depends on how your respond to the setback. In early April 1943, I was training and running hard for what I expected would be a great senior year of track and field competition. I was the defending Bucks County Champion in the 440 yard run and the pole vault.

Just as track season was about to begin my brother, Duff, came down with scarlet fever. At the time such infectious diseases required a “Quarantine” sign be posted near the front door of your home. That was designed to control the spread of illnesses such as measles, mumps, chicken pox, and scarlet fever. Inoculations for these illnesses had not yet been developed.

My parents wanted to avoid my getting scarlet fever so they immediately sent me to my aunt Renee’s house in Bristol. I took my high school books along with me since I was to stay there for about two weeks. I doubted I would read them. A problem arose when someone apparently reported my move to Bristol, and a Quarantine sign was placed on my aunt’s front door even though no one there was sick.

Being confined to the house throughout that period, reading was about the only thing for me to do. I started to read my English textbook and was surprised at how much I enjoyed the range of stories. The book was entitled “The English Scene” and it contained poems, history, humor, mystery, and excerpts from several well-known novels. I read the entire text and then moved on to my history text. I found for the first time that I thoroughly enjoyed reading.

When I returned to school I was not in condition to run my best at track, but I found my final exam test grades the best I had ever experienced. It was too late to become an “A” student, but I was definitely moving in the right direction. I had

developed a love for reading and learning in that brief period that never left me. I’ve since heard it said that the thirst for knowledge once created can never be fully satisfied. That appetite of the mind is the one human appetite that cannot be satiated. I believe that to be true.

My increased desire to learn could not have come at a better time. My mother had arranged for me to enter a military preparatory school during the coming summer of 1944. And I did that following my graduation from Morrisville High School in June.

Admiral Farragut Academy

It appeared certain in June 1944 that service in the Army or Navy would prevent or delay my going to college. Thankfully, my mother was determined to put me on the college track. She enrolled me at Admiral Farragut Academy in Pine Beach, New Jersey. This was a prestigious military college preparatory school. It proved to be a good experience for me, and assisted in my later success in obtaining a Navy Fleet appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy.

Farragut was an all boy Academy that provided private school education from kindergarten through 12th grade. Most of the students came from well to do families in large New York and New Jersey cities. The youngsters were sent there during the entire school year to obtain a better than city public education, and also I suspect to permit the city dwelling parents to focus on their own pursuits. Most of my summer school classmates were regular Farragut attendees.

We were issued Navy type white summer uniforms, and we were daily inspected for how well we maintained our rooms, uniforms and shoes. The day began early with breakfast and then training in marching and presentation of arms procedures. The close order marching drills and crisp handling of a rifle stood me in good stead later in the Navy. My two academic courses were English and Latin. The Latin was then seen as good preparation for the Law. I studied hard and ended the summer with “A’s” and no performance demerits.

On the weekends my parents would visit and bring my girlfriend, Jean, with them for a day at the Jersey seashore. Overall it was a good summer learning experience, although it did not whet my appetite for military service.

Juniata College

Near the middle of the Admiral Farragut summer program, my mother advised me that a representative of Juniata College in Huntington, Pennsylvania, had visited our home and urged my parents to enroll me at Juniata for the fall semester. Juniata was a small liberal arts college in western Pennsylvania. It was named after the Juniata River, a tributary of the Susquehanna River. The college was co ed and had been founded by the Church of the Brethren.

Although I was not anxious to go to a western Pennsylvania school, I was impressed by the fact the college was so willing to accept me with such average or worse grades in high school We decided my college career would begin in September 1944 at Juniata.

My parents and Jean drove and dropped me off at college, and it seemed a long way from home. Still, the students were friendly and I immediately became involved in intramural football and intercollegiate basketball. My studies were also a strong focus. To my surprise the other young men on campus were for the most part pre ministerial students who had a 4 D draft classification. That classification exempted them from military service based on their preparation for the ministry.

The problem was these young men did not appear to be especially religiously motivated. While the social environment of the college was strict, there was still more drinking and less religious contemplation than I would have expected from ministerial students. They had a saying at the school that dancing was not permitted because it was a vertical representation of a horizontal desire. I did not agree with that saying, but the assertion did not impede other less acceptable forms of social interaction.

Notwithstanding, or maybe because, so many of my classmates were headed for

the ministry, I was elected Juniata’s Freshman Class President. I was enjoying the school, my studies, and new friends. On October 7th I turned 18 years of age and immediately filed my registration for the Selective Service Draft. They had apparently been waiting for me. By the first week in November, I received a request from “my friends and neighbors,” inviting me to report for duty in the military.

Upon telling our class Professor-advisor that I would be leaving the campus for service, he kindly called a Freshman class assembly. He began by announcing that “There are few students who make such an impact on a college in such a short period, so it is with regret I tell you your class President, Jim Lorimer, has been called into military service and will be leaving us shortly.” With that some girl yelled out “Oh No!”, and everyone laughed. The Professor continued, “As I was saying, we will all miss Jim and we wish him very well and God’s speed for his return to us.”

I never found out who the girl was.

The Navy

Juniata was on a semester school year basis, so I did not have the opportunity to complete a full semester’s work. I returned to Morrisville in December and immediately went to the Naval recruiting station in Trenton. The Navy was strongly preferred over the Army, but my called-up status made it likely I would be drafted in the Army. The Navy recruiter told me that if I took a Radio Technician test and passed it, I would be accepted in the Navy.

Upon immediately taking the test and passing, I was given paperwork to present when I appeared for duty in January. The pleasant fact was the need for Radio Technicians was so strong that I entered the Navy as a Seaman First Class, jumping over the Apprentice Seaman Classification. I entered the Navy with three stripes on my cuff, and a $60 per month salary. It was my first salaried position. I was about to find out that the Seaman First Class position meant nothing in Boot Camp.

My family and Jean saw me off very early in the morning at a train station in Newtown, Pennsylvania. My basic training was to be at the Naval Station in Great Lakes, Wisconsin. It was early January when we arrived at Great Lakes and it was extremely cold. Our Boot Camp was on the southeast shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour north of Chicago. I had not experienced a place so cold.

There were about 125 sailors in our barracks. All of them Seamen First Class. Our Chief Petty Officer had a remarkably limited vocabulary. His every sentence began with “God dammit to hell,” and then he would go on to explain our shortcomings and the various ways we could atone for our stupidity. It was made clear that although the normal Navy boot camp period was 16 weeks, we would only be there 12 weeks because of the need for RTs. But he was going to make sure we packed a full 16 weeks of discomfort into just 12 weeks. He made good on that promise.

Each morning at 4:30 a.m. we would be roused out of bed, two level bunk beds. We would “God dammit to hell make sure every last mark on the wooden deck (i.e. floor) was cleaned with steel wool before breakfast.” Thus, our first hour or more would be spent with steel wool under our feet trying to remove all shoe marks from the deck. The air would be heavy with dirt and dust. I suggested quietly to my fellow First Class Seaman that we should wear only socks throughout the day, and hence there would be no scuff marks on the deck to remove the next day. Notwithstanding the logic of this strategy, none of them had the nerve to move this idea forward to our esteemed Chief.

We learned early on that making suggestions or volunteering anything was not a good move. There were several levels of discomfort and humiliation through which a First Class Seaman might be directed, and we were experiencing many of them. Using one’s toothbrush to clean areas that required more than a toothbrush were among the kinder penalties. Spending inordinate amounts of time outdoors performing various duties was also low on our preference scale. Our Chief was not drinking from the cup of human kindness.

With outdoor marching and rifle drills, the mixture of many young men from around the country, and the stress of the boot camp environment, nearly half of

our company spent some time in the Great Lakes hospital during our training period. My only visit to sick bay occurred on the day we were to take our swimming qualification test.

We were told that if we passed the swimming test, which was required of all Naval personnel, we would not have to take the evening swimming lessons that would then be necessary. I did not want to fail. When we arrived at the test pool, I found it was 50 meters long and the longest pool I had ever seen. The test began at the pool’s deep end where they had a 10 meter tower. We had to jump off the tower feet first and swim the length of the pool. That was further than I had ever had to swim.

Everyone lined up and climbed the tower. After jumping off the tower, I sank almost to the bottom of the pool. When I came to the surface I tried to do the “Australian crawl” which I had learned some years before in the YWCA lessons. This went reasonably well for about half the pool, but then I found myself out of condition and out of steam. I began to do a doggy style paddle to keep moving forward. About 10 meters from the end, my feet began to touch the bottom of the pool, and a guard told me to stop and get out of the pool. I could see the evening swim classes making life worse.

As I partially recovered, I asked if there was any way I could try again so that I didn’t have to take the classes. The instructor said I could go down to the deep end of the pool, swim across that deep end, and then go half way up the length of the pool. If I did that I would pass. I was too determined and bummed-out to realize that this new distance was the same as the one I had just failed. The only thing missing was the jump from the tower.

But I planned I would float on my back, using a floating technique with my head back in the water. Doing this I managed to get across the breadth of the pool’s deep end, but when I tried to turn to go down the pool’s length I rolled over on my stomach and sank. When I resurfaced, I thrashed and dog paddled half way down the pool. The guard there grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out. He said I had passed. But I couldn’t stand up.

After a few minutes I could walk and they escorted me to sick bay. There they told me I had a body temperature of 97.5, which was supposed to be bad news. I didn’t stay in sick bay. I wanted to get back to my barracks and steel wool.

The most valuable lesson the armed service experience teaches is about your true position in the universe. Whereas in Morrisville you may begin to think of yourself as a reasonably large unit in a unified universe, the message of boot camp is that in the real world you are nothing. It was also important learning that most of those who were convincing us of our lack of worth were young officers, not much older than us, who had gone to college. That was a lesson that stayed with me.

As we neared the two month mark in our boot camp training, our Chief Petty Officer called an early morning meeting. With his usual linguistic preface, he advised us that our boot camp would last just 10 weeks rather than 12.

That was the good news. The bad news was we would get no boot leave, but would go directly to our Radio Technician training school. The traditional relief and reward at the end of boot camp was that the new seamen would get to go home in their new uniforms and spend time with family and girlfriends. That was a disappointment and I had to write letters home, always postage free, telling them that normal boot leave was not for needed RTs.

Herzl Training School

In mid March 1945 we were transferred to Herzl School in Chicago. This was an abandoned inner-city school building that served as our classroom and living quarters. Only about half of my original barracks company made it through boot camp in the 10 week period scheduled. Illness delayed the rest. The best thing about the Herzl school was our lunch break time when we could sit outside and feel the warm sun. I never enjoyed the warmth of spring more.

My challenge with the Herzl Radio Technician training was that it was not intended for me, and I was not intended for it. Emphasis was on mathematics, soldering wires together, and fixing things – none of which I was good at. It

occurred to me that my father might have excelled in this electronic and fixing environment, but he and my mother had not conditioned me in that direction.

Although my RT training was not going well, in mid April I was enjoying liberty in Chicago. Liberty was the term given the time sailors were permitted to be away from their base of duty for a brief period. Leave referred to more extended vacation periods. During my Chicago liberty time I purchased a tailor made navy uniform. My Seaman’s First class pay had been received and I could afford this luxury. A tailor made uniform was contoured to your body, and did not have the loose, baggy legged appearance. The tailor made outfits could not be worn during inspections, but were permitted for liberty and leave use. At the time my form could stand fitting.

Roosevelt’s Death

In addition to this minor apparel indulgence, I also visited what appeared to be an upscale barbershop in downtown Chicago. My hair had been cut short in boot camp and was now where it could be trimmed. Being rich, I also got my first manicure.

The day was April 12, 1945. As I sat in the barber chair, an announcement came over the radio that President Roosevelt had died in Warm Springs, Georgia. It was known that Roosevelt had been under great strain as the war was winding down in Europe, but no one expected this sudden death. Roosevelt had just begun his fourth term as President.

No one before or in the future would serve more than two terms. He had suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. He died knowing that victory was in sight. He had been a great leader in a time that great leadership was needed.

Vice President Harry Truman was sworn in as President that evening. No one knew who Truman was, and that was a concern expressed even in the barbershop. Truman soon proved equal to the task.

Brooklyn Navy Yard

There was no sense of recrimination from the Navy toward those of us who were

not meant to be Radio Technicians. They did not relieve me of my Seaman First Class status or reduce my $60 a month pay. I entered the Navy as Seaman First Class and I would leave it later at that same exalted level. The good fortune I learned about was that I had the opportunity to transfer to a Storekeeper Technician program, where the training headquarters was the Brooklyn Navy Yard in New York. That was just one hour from my home, and was a most pleasing development.

A Storekeeper Technician was trained to assist in supplying Navy personnel, most specifically Radio Technicians, with the technical gear that they need. The Brooklyn Navy Yard was located on the Brooklyn side of the East River in New York City. It was a huge military installation and seaport during World War II. Our training classes were held in a barracks building, and consisted primarily of enhancing typing skills and familiarizing us with the Navy’s technical equipment needs. I had taken a typing course in high school, and developed a good skill level in the Navy that has always been useful.

My main focus during this SKT training period was on getting home on many evenings and all weekends to visit with my girlfriend, Jean. We were permitted to take liberty each evening, and I would often take the subway to the New York 30th Street train station where I would catch an hour train ride to Trenton and home. The next morning, I would return early by train and be back on base by 8:00 a.m. This schedule was never questioned by the Navy.

The Gay World

During the late spring of 1945, I would often stay on the base in Brooklyn in the evening. One night I went to see a hypnotist who had come to the Navy Yard to entertain the troops. He was a great performer and I recall his name was Ralph Slater. It was announced at that evening’s performance that Slater would be appearing at the famed Carnegie Hall in New York City later that month. I noted the date and decided to see him perform again.

As I purchased my serviceman priced ticket that evening, a well dressed gentleman approached me and struck up a conversation. Where was I stationed?

What caused me to be interested in this performance? Etc.

He introduced himself as Dr. Murray Banks, a Professor of Psychology at Long Island University. He said that hypnosis was a hobby of his. He suggested that he would obtain exchange of our seats so that we could sit together and he could better explain some of what Slater was doing. I agreed to this and we enjoyed the performance together.

As we came out of Carnegie Hall, Dr. Banks commented that he had some interesting psychological “case studies” in this upper Manhatten area that he thought I might find interesting. If I was interested, he would be glad to show me around. That sounded like a good idea to me. We moved down one of the major avenues, and entered a rather low scale hotel. Upon going upstairs, we began moving from room to room with Dr. Banks knowing most of the people on the floor. In every room he was welcomed, and in every room there were men in bed together.

I was an 18-year-old who had never heard the word “gay” being used in the context that Banks and his friends understood it. To my knowledge I had never known a gay person in Morrisville, although my parents had once warned me not to let Mr. Howell in our neighborhood get too friendly. On that evening it seemed to me that the only people in New York were gays.

We left the hotel in the company of a young man, named Jose, who Banks introduced as a young medical student whose father was Puerto Rican ambassador to the United States. He was gay and explained to me that he first found he was gay when a uncle introduced him to the experience during his parent’s frequent absence. He found he liked the experience but had great difficulty with the lifestyle it required. He intended to use his medical training to find some cause or cure for how he felt.

Both Banks and Jose explained that the term “Gay” was for most homosexuals an unhappy mocking of themselves. Because their desires were outside the accepted norms of society, and exposure was career and even life threatening, they lived in an underground world of late night searching and fear. They were the opposite of gay and carefree.

We walked over to Rockefeller Plaza. It was midnight but there were still people skating on the rink below. Dr. Banks suggested I sit up on one of the walls, and that he would come back in a few minutes. I did this and as soon as Banks walked away a man came over to my side, and a second then came to my other side. The first looked angry at the second and put his hand on my knee to push him self up on the wall to sit beside me. With that, although only a few seconds had passed, Banks and Jose returned and motioned for me to join them. As we walked away, Banks commented on how the men had glared at him.

We next met two young men in Coast Guard uniforms. They were my age and could have been my friends at home. They had just come from a Central Park Concert and expressed displeasure at the fact some girls had tried to come on to them. I don’t know whether Banks had known them before, but we had a frank discussion in which I asked the sailors how they dealt with living and showering with men as is necessary in the service. They agreed they tried when possible to avoid such encounters, and when they did find themselves in close situations they would mentally repeat “he doesn’t feel like me.”

We met another couple, a well dressed middle aged man and a mid teenage boy. Banks knew them and later explained the man was extremely successful in business in New York, was married with wife and family, but maintained the boy in an apartment in the City. Both were gay.

Our evening excursion lasted until after 1:00 a.m. I was told this late night gay lifestyle schedule was customary. The search was most successful late in the evening, but it had a demanding cost. The threat of exposure was always there. As we ended the evening, Dr. Banks was headed by subway back to Long Island, Jose and I were both returning to Brooklyn. I thanked Dr. Banks for a most interesting evening. He was most pleasant throughout. As we headed back to Brooklyn, I asked Jose what he knew about Dr. Banks. Jose said he was a leader in the gay community, and one of the sharpest gays anywhere. The next evening, I returned to Morrisville and shared this evening adventure with Jean, but not with my parents. It was a story about a world we

had not known existed.

An interesting postscript occurred in Columbus, Ohio, in the late 1970s. I read in the Columbus Dispatch that a well known motivational speaker and humorist named Dr. Murray Banks would be appearing at Veterans Memorial Auditorium. Jean and I decided to attend. The speaker was great and he was indeed the Dr. Banks I had met more than 30 years before. After the program, I went up to Dr. Banks as he was signing his books. I said, “Dr. Banks, you won’t recall this but I met you during World War II when I was a young sailor in the Navy. We enjoyed a show together at Carnegie Hall and you kindly showed me the city afterward. Do you recall that?” Banks assured me that he did remember, but I do not believe he did.

Uncle Roy

My mother, Mildred Harbison, had four siblings: an older brother, Roy Harbison; two younger brothers, Bill and Lee Shire; and, a younger sister Renee Shire (Buckman). The change in family name resulted from my mother’s father being killed in a train accident when she was a child, and her mother then marrying a man named Shire.

Uncle Roy Harbison had a problem. When sober he was a regularly employed butcher by trade. When drunk he was a real problem for all who knew and loved him. He would often show up at our home late at night, usually coming to the back door, badly disheveled and barely able to stand. He was a serious alcoholic.

Roy had married an Italian Catholic girl in Trenton where they lived. They had one son, Jackie Harbison, who later became an alcoholic himself. Roy’s drinking caused great problems and embarrassment for his family and himself. These early exposures to Uncle Roy, witnessing his impact on my mother and the destruction of his own family, is likely the main reason for my aversion to alcohol and out of control excessive drinking. While there were many instances of my exposure to this family problem, two stand out in my memory.

One very wintry and snowy night I was standing in our kitchen at the rear of the house and heard a slight knocking at our back door.

I opened the door and this huge, snow covered man fell at my feet on the kitchen floor. It was Uncle Roy who could not stand and could barely talk. He was bearded and filthy. My mother came in the room and, as I had seen her do before, she helped him up and proceeded to comfort and clean him – and get him in bed. The next day he was always most humble and apologetic. He was a good man when sober, but my mother’s love and caring for her brother also involved anger for what he was doing with his life, and how that was affecting others.

Another Uncle Roy drinking episode stands out in my memory. In July 1933 my mother was expecting the birth of my brother. We were also in the process of adding an apartment to the second floor of our home. The intent was to rent out the apartment during the difficult Depression times.

On the day my mother went to the hospital in nearby Bristol, the same hospital in which I had been born, Uncle Roy showed up at our house. My mother being in the hospital, my father let Uncle Roy stay overnight, sleeping in the unfinished upstairs apartment.

We learned during the day that I had a new little brother. That night we heard a loud shouting upstairs. I ran into my father’s bedroom and found him looking up the stairwell at Uncle Roy.

Roy was totally drunk and screaming. He was apparently suffering from delirium tremors, for he was standing at the top of the stairs with a chair over his head yelling, “Don’t you come up here, John. I’ll kill you if you do!” My dad tried to quiet him and explain that there wasn’t any “John” there to hurt him. Roy finally settled down, and my father told me, “Don’t worry – everything is OK. But, let’s not say anything about this to your mother when she brings the baby home tomorrow.” I agreed to that.

The next afternoon we brought my new little brother home. I recall how anxious I had been that I was going to have a new brother or sister to play with, but now found this new playmate brother was much smaller than I had anticipated.

Playing together was going to take a while.

Apparently expecting that my brother might be crying that night, my mother said, “Let’s have Jimmy sleep upstairs tonight.” My immediate, six-year-old, reaction was, “No, I don’t want to sleep upstairs – what if John comes to get me!” My dad gave me a deserved harsh look, and my mother said, “What do you mean?”

So, that was one of my life’s earliest embarrassing moments. Another Uncle Roy story – and I had not been able to keep a confidence.

During World War II, Uncle Roy joined the U.S. Army. His drinking habit was never resolved. In late 1943 we heard that Roy had died while on duty at an Army base in the South. His body was shipped home and he was buried with military honors. To my knowledge, we never learned the cause of death.

Zoot Suit

In the spring of 1943 we were in the 11th grade in high school. Our class was known as 11 A, because we were taking Academic courses in preparation for college. Ours was a very energetic and athletic group of 16-year-olds, with a fun loving reputation.

With our customary youthful creativity we decided it would be a fun thing to do to come to school one morning wearing zoot suits. A zoot suit was a then popular style of clothes worn in large cities by colored and Hispanic Americans.

Such dress was also being satirized at the time by Al Capp in his Li’l Abner comic strip. Abner Yocum was appearing as “Zoot Suit Yokum”, a near indestructible hillbilly chosen by a clothing manufacturer to serve as a role model for youth through dangerous, staged heroic feats. The zoot suit was in the public eye.

We 11 A boys agreed we would come to school all wearing the zoot suit style of large jackets with a long stick inserted in the back to make the shoulders look very broad, wide-legged pegged pants, loud necktie, a long hanging chain, and a wide brimmed hat if available. I managed to obtain all of these requirements.

On the morning set for our zoot suit appearance, the high school Principal, Leonard Caum, and the assistant Principal, Raymond Schwinger, somehow obtained advance word of our plan. They positioned themselves just inside the only two school entrance doors. My classmates spotted them as they entered and immediately backed out and shed their outfits.

At that time, I was not always as prompt as I would later prove to be. When I arrived late for school that morning, no one was around. In full zoot suit regalia I went directly to my first class, which was Ms. Esther Maddux’s math class. As I entered the classroom, I had to turn sideways to permit my extended shoulders to get through the door.

The classroom exploded with laughter. Ms. Maddux was not amused. She apparently had no knowledge of the emerging social dress trend, and simply shouted, “Get out! Get out!”. I took this to mean I was to go directly to the Principal’s office – without any detour. Our Principal, Mr. Caum, was similarly lacking in understanding. But true to his name he was calm, and after cautioning me and relieving me of most of my suit he sent me to my next class without suspension or notification to my parents. We had met before on more than a few of these occasions, but as he told me many years later he always felt our class was motivated by good humor and fun. He lamented at the time that some later classes had not so well intentioned.

G.I. Bill of Rights

The most significant legislation ever passed by the U.S. Congress was the 1944 G.I. Bill of Rights. This legislation paid for the college education of millions of returning servicemen.

The G.I. Bill made it possible for me to obtain both college and law school degrees without assuming any debt. There were millions of veterans like me who achieved advanced educations who would not have otherwise been able to do so. The impact on our society’s future of this highly educated group was unprecedented in the history of any nation.

During the decades that followed World War II, these college-educated G.I.s would lead our Nation’s fantastic advancement as we assumed world leadership in virtually every field of human endeavor. The G.I. Bill educated wave later produced ensuing generations of college educated children who have continued to make all the difference for the ongoing success of our Nation.

The experience of my high school 11 A class was that everyone in that class who had entered the service completed college. This would not have been the case in absence of this governmental support program. My attendance at college was financially assured, and I took maximum advantage of that opportunity.

College

Ursinus College was right for me in many ways. On the day of our registration, I found that a high school friend, Chad Alger was also registering. Chad had been two years ahead of me at Morrisville High School and had just spent four years in the Navy. He had plenty of G.I. Bill time ahead of him, and he carefully used that to obtain a Ph.d. degree. Upon meeting again, we immediately agreed we would room together.

For the next two years we were roommates, always with a third person. Another Morrisville graduate, Bill Gentry, joined us one year and another veteran, Harry Weinman, was with us another year. It was only in my final semester when Chad married Elinor Reynolds, an Ursinus co-ed who was an excellent student who gave us badly needed help in Spanish, that I roomed alone. Chad met Ellie on campus while she was waiting on our table in the college dining room. We always got excellent service.

While my high school days had been focused on sports and other extra curricular activities, my focus was different in college. My goal was to obtain as good an academic record as possible so that I would be admitted to law school. Ursinus was noted for its preparation for graduate school. Then, as now, Ursinus had a 90 percent acceptance rate among graduates who applied to law and medical schools. I had been fortunate to select an excellent liberal arts college.

Entering Ursinus in June 1946, my goal was to attend around the calendar and catch up with my age group that had gone directly to college and was now two years ahead of me. I was able to do that by graduating from Ursinus in January 1949, and from law school in May 1951. A heavy academic schedule and summer courses made the catch up possible.

My sole extra-curricular activity at Ursinus was participation in the pre-legal Society. I was elected President of this group. Considering the fact that sports had been central to my high school experience, it is strange in retrospect that I did not participate in intercollegiate sports. Somehow, I had come to believe that sports participation was a prolongation of adolescence, and my focus should be on adult pursuits. That is a view I regret holding.

Chad Alger, by contrast, had not participated in high school sports, but played soccer at the varsity level at Ursinus. We were both equally focused on getting as many A’s as possible, looking forward to graduate studies.

My favorite subjects for study were philosophy and social studies. A Dr. Charles Mattern was a great philosophy professor. I took every course I could from him, including Ethics, Logic, History of Philosophy, etc.

I began to wonder whether Dr. Mattern’s idealism was so extreme that he doubted the existence of an external world. As he walked up steps it seemed to me that he was unsure whether the next step would in reality still be there. Those were the kind of thoughts he caused us to entertain.

One of the most significant lessons I learned from Dr. Mattern dealt with the subject of individual performance and achievement. Because of my borderline high school academic record, I still had serious doubts regarding my ability to succeed in college. One day Dr. Mattern placed a horizontal cone shaped image on the blackboard. It was as though he was speaking to me as he said:

“When you think about your capability to perform well in college or in your subsequent careers, you should objectively consider just how much of your full capability you are actually using.”

“Is it out here at the outer edge of this cone shaped image, or is it more likely back here at some 50 to 60 percent of your true performance capacity? How many of you are working and applying yourself at anywhere near your full capability?”

So, the life lesson was not to concern ourselves so much with doubts about the level of our ability, but rather to make sure we use all of the capability we have. If we do that, we will likely find that we have everything we need to succeed.

The message for me was don’t worry about what you are not, but focus on and make the very best of what ability you have.

My weekday college schedule was entirely focused on class and study afterward. Fortunately, our roommates were also veterans who were similarly focused. Our college professors loved this new group of highly motivated servicemen.

On Friday afternoons I would ride back to Morrisville with a young pre medical student who lived in Trenton. The weekends with my fiancée and family were when I relaxed and had fun. But I must admit I also thoroughly enjoyed what I was learning in my college classes, which at a liberal arts college covered a broad range of subjects. Chad’s and my only real scholastic challenge was the requirement that we pass one foreign language course. For us that was Spanish, which should have been easy but was not.

When we first began our required two year language course, we were given a standardized test which evaluated the scope of our Spanish knowledge at that time. As they were passing out the tests they mistakenly handed me two of the tests, and I retained one of them. Two years later as we took our final Spanish exam, Chad I took the precaution of having Ellie go over this standard test and provide us all the answers. As we sat down for our final, I found much to my pleasure that they were distributing the standard test we had received two years earlier. I recall looking down the aisle at Chad and giving him a discreet thumbs

up sign. Had we not had that competitive edge, I do not know where we would be today. As it was, we both scored A’s on our final Spanish exam.

My only foray into sports at Ursinus occurred one Spring afternoon in 1948. To get out in the sun I walked down to the College track and watched the practice activity. I saw someone throwing the javelin and went down to see whether I could still throw as well as I did in high school. I was surprised to see how far the throw went. The next thing I knew the track coach was at my side asking me why I was not out for track. I told him with some feeling of regret that I had been in the service and was focused entirely on my goal of getting into law school. He said he hoped I would consider the possibility I might both compete and be successful in my studies. I gave it some thought, but neither weekend dances, football games, or track meets were attractive enough to deter me from going home to my fiancée each weekend.

Both Chad and I focused on getting as many A’s as possible. We took an excellent English composition course from an old and exacting Professor Witmer. I learned more about the discipline of writing from him than from anyone. The problem was his quest for our perfection led him to give “Bs” in his course for the slightest missed comma infraction. That is what he gave both Chad and me in our first semester in his course. Being scheduled for his course the following semester we went to Professor Witmer and advised him we would not be taking his second composition course. We explained that we were hoping for graduate school admission, and needed to get all the top grades we could. I was chagrined when the Professor replied with sadness, “But you are my best students.” I was almost convinced and wanted to re sign for his course, but I didn’t want any Bs.

The recounting of these academic experiences is intended to reflect where my central focus was in college. I wanted and needed to excel in my studies. The regret is that my emphasis, as in high school, was too one sided. In high school the focus was on sports, in college it was on studies. In retrospect again, a better balance would have been preferable.

The Dickinson School of Law

During my senior year at college, I learned that the Dickinson School of Law in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, was scheduling a Freshman class beginning in February 1949. Dickinson had the reputation of being one of the top law schools in the State, graduating many who went on to be jurists. Since my accelerated academic schedule moved the completion of my college to January 1949 (completing my four years of study in 30 months), a February start for my law school education would give me a year’s catch up advantage on my legal education.

Some members of our Ursinus pre legal Society had been accepted at Yale and Harvard, the most prestigious of law schools. Attempted entry to those schools would have required waiting until September 1949, and I did not want to pursue that delay and uncertainty of admission. In the Spring of 1948, I visited the Dickinson School of Law. I scheduled and met with the Dean of the law school, Dean Hitchler. He was an elderly man with a most formidable intellect. In retirement following my tenure at the School, he undertook the study of Mandarin to keep himself mentally challenged. He was a great motivator and criminal law scholar.

Dean Hitchler interviewed me in detail and indicated my grades and background looked good. He accepted me at the school during the interview, on the condition that my grades continued at their current level. When asked what courses I should focus on during my final semester, Dean Hitchler urged that I take every English composition course that was available. He said the greatest failing in new students was their inability to express themselves as well as they should in writing. My immediate thought was of returning to Professor Witmer, but then there would surely be a “B”.

Summer Employment

During my first summer off from college in 1948 I found a job at the Warner concrete company where my father was working in the maintenance department. While we worked in separate areas, I felt very familiar with the concrete business having worked for two summers in high school with Mr. Margerum. They placed

me in the tower of a silo-type building, where I would load trucks underneath by filling different bins with various mixtures of sand and/or gravel, and then drop them in huge trucks below. It was indoor work but the responsibility of getting the right sand or gravel in the right truck was an interesting challenge. No mistakes could be made.

The only downside of the summer work was that I was again at the bottom of the pecking chain, and when a concrete truck would return from a job not having been able to unload its mixture in time, the concrete load would harden in the truck. The only way to correct this was for someone to get inside the barrel of the truck and loosen the hardened concrete with an air hammer gun. Needless to say, this was not a sought after opportunity. It required ear plugs and a toleration for confinement and heavy cement dust. The union was also an interesting challenge. They kept pressing me to join the union, and I kept explaining I was only there for the summer and did not need or want union protection. I never joined.

One day my boss asked me to take the Warner’s pick up truck and travel to Philadelphia to make a delivery. I made the delivery and came back directly having been gone less than two hours. The union steward came to me soon after and, while we got along well except for the membership issue, he requested that when given such travel assignments to Philadelphia I should not return so promptly. Such quick return set a bad precedent for others traveling the same route later who might not want to come back so quickly. I replied that I understood. This union understanding of work responsibility was not in the best interests of the Warner Company, but I did not pursue that point.

A Concrete Garage

Late in that summer my family took a vacation and I stayed at home to continu e my earning and work at Warners. Our garage at home had a dirt floor which needed surfacing with concrete. I felt I would surprise my parents during their absence by requesting my Warner boss to make the first full and returned load of concrete available to me so that with my past experience with Mr. Margerum, I could smooth it out on our garage floor myself. This was a huge mistake.

An excellent and high grade load of concrete was returned soon thereafter that had not been accepted at a job. I immediately got in my car and had the truck follow me to our home. When we got there he backed down the driveway and right up to our garage behind the house. As he began to unload the concrete down the chute it was already starting to harden.

I fought with it as hard as I could, spreading it alone and by shovel across the garage floor. I was able to level it and reasonably smooth the surface, but not at the quality level I had hoped. The result was a well covered, but not smoothly covered, garage floor. The even worse result was in my low shoe and frantic struggle with the hardening concrete, the concrete had got in and between my shoes and socks resulting in a serious case of cement poisoning.

For the next week I was off the job and resting on a lounge with bandaged feet at my Aunt Mar and Uncle Bill’s home on Crown Street. They had retired and moved to Morrisville, and thank goodness welcomed me in and cared for me during my inability to walk.

The 1948 Olympic Games were going on at the time, and following the progress of those competitions, which did not yet include the Soviet Union or China, kept me occupied.

I did recover and when my parents returned home, they expressed appreciation for my garage floor efforts. But that gift was far short of what I had hoped it would be.

Chad and Ellie Marry

A more pleasant highlight during the 1948 summer was the marriage of Chad Alger and Elinor Reynolds. I was a member of their wedding party, and it was great to see friends who I had seen meet and court during our first years of college become married. They moved into an apartment in Collegeville, and I

elected to room alone during my last semester. Jean would on occasion visit the college, and we recall one interesting evening when we invited our college Professor of Religion to visit with us to discuss whether or not there was in fact a God. Chad later won a college award for writing on the subject of “Why would a good God let men suffer?” Such were some of the serious thoughts of our college times.

Ursinus Graduation

I did not attend my graduation from Ursinus College. I was in law school taking exams at the time and they mailed my diploma. My final semester at Ursinus was in the third week of January 1949. Some two years later a Special Agent of the F.B.I. was investigating me for possible entry into the Bureau service. The same agent visited Ursinus and then my high school in Morrisville. Mr. Caum, my high school Principal, later told me the story of the Special Agent’s visit to his office. The agent reviewed my high school file and insisted with Mr. Caum that, “There must be some mistake in identity, these records do not in any way match the records of James Lorimer at Ursinus.” Mr. Caum explained to the agent that he knew me and that my experience in the service had significantly changed my motivation and direction. Thankfully, Mr. Caum said the Special Agent left convinced and interested.

Marriage – At Last and Lasting

After a long, three and a half year engagement, Jean and I were married on January 29, 1949. I had been repeatedly reminded by Jean that she was setting the world’s record for the longest engagement, and that she had always said and believed that if she was not married by age 22 she would become an “old maid”. For some reason, love perhaps, I was always capable of believing what she said. We were married one week before her 22nd birthday.

Our wedding ceremony was at the Morrisville Methodist Church, which was the Whittaker family church. Jean’s father, Elmer, gave her away and it was a very well attended and grand wedding in our community. My best man was Jim Murray, and Jean’s maid of honor was Jane Landis, who the next year became

Mrs. Murray. Chad Alger and my brother Duff were also in the wedding party. Jean was the most beautiful bride ever! I felt and was very lucky.

The wedding reception afterward was at Washington Crossing Inn, which was a very nice restaurant some 10 miles north of Morrisville. It was located at the historic point on the Delaware River where George Washington had crossed in the dead of winter on his way to his Revolutionary War Christmas Eve victory in Trenton. The reception was great and we left immediately afterward by train for our wedding night at the famed Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City.

Honeymoon

Besides Jean giving me a standing ovation for my performance on our wedding night, another noteworthy happening at the Waldorf was our dinner at the hotel’s best restaurant. I was drinking only milk at the time, and my beverage order of milk seemed to completely befuddle the haughty waiter. We both laughed at his surprised expression at this simple request, and it was sometime very late in the meal that the milk appeared. We surmised that they had to send out for it.

The next day we began our honeymoon excursion to Miami, Florida. We borrowed my family’s car and had made no advance reservations. Our aim was a leisurely trip, stopping where and when we wanted to. For the most part this worked well, but a couple of the motels, which we didn’t stay at, left a great deal to be desired. We were together and alone as husband and wife, and that was what was most important. We were gone about a week and had an enjoyable vacation and honeymoon.

As we returned home, we were running out of money. Credit cards were not in general use at that time. As we approached the Bristol Burlington bridge returning to Pennsylvania, we found we had 35 cents between us. The Bridge toll was 15 cents. We returned with just 20 cents, and to us at that point in our lives that seemed more fun than worrisome.

Life at Law School

Upon arriving in Carlisle at Law School, we were fortunate to find a perfect apartment for us. It was on Hanover Street, Carlisle’s main street, but with easy walking distance of the Law School. It had a living room, bedroom, small kitchen, bath, and a study. My parents helped us move the furniture we had been able to collect from relatives. My grandfather gave us a kitchen table and chairs, which remain in family use in the next century. We had no car and did not feel the need for one.

Jean immediately found work as secretary to the Dean of Men at Dickinson College. The College was nearby also but was an entirely separate institution from the Law School.

As we look back on our life, we agree that our period of most contentment was our law school years together immediately following our marriage. We had a shared goal, which was success in law school that gave promise for our future. With the great advantage of the G.I. Bill and Jean’s employment, we had all the money we required. We would eat out on Saturday evening, always beans and hotdogs, and would usually go to Carlisle’s only movie house. For the two of us it was comfortable and cozy.

Jean was always a better cook than she gave herself credit for. Although her mother had not prepared her for cooking responsibilities, she would announce each new dish as “a first,” which signaled it should be consumed without any negative and not too much positive comment. With her own lifetime enjoyment of reading, and my focus on law school studies – together life seemed just right.

My first year at law school was very successful. Again, I had the conviction that there were many people in that class smarter than I was, but none of them could out-work me. I was at the top of my class at the end of the first semester, and soon thereafter was appointed Editor of the Dickinson Law Review, which in any law school is a prestigious assignment. My first editorial contribution to the Law Review was entitled, “Consent as a Defense to Crimes Against the Person.” A senior student named Joe Jones, who had also attended Ursinus College, preceded me as law school Editor, and he placed that paper as the lead article in the next edition of the Law Review.

The law school curriculum was very enjoyable for me. I liked all the courses, but criminal law, torts, and private property studies were especially interesting. I enjoyed the logic, precision and language of the law. We continued with law school classes through summer, fall, and again the next spring semester, at which time I had completed two years of law school. Our first period free from study was in the summer of 1950. A new decade had begun, and a lot of unexpected career directions were about to be explored.

Student Council and Student Court

In my senior year in high school I was feeling reasonably good about how things were going. While the War was still raging in Europe and the Pacific, making the future uncertain for all young men, the present was pleasant. I had been elected President of the High School Student Council, and Jean Whittaker had also been elected to represent her Junior Class on the Council. I had also been Captain of the football team for two seasons, had played Varsity Basketball for three years, and was preparing to defend my County titles in my favorite sport of track and field. All was well.

Early in 1944 our high school Principal, Mr. Caum, had the creative idea that the best way to maintain discipline in the school was to form a Student Court. The questionable part of this was that Jim Lorimer was to be the court Prosecutor. My unwelcome assignment was to bring to justice all those miscreants who were running in the hallways, etc. Fred Krantz, our top scholar who was always doing unfathomable things with a slide ruler, was appointed Judge. A number of underclass monitors, most of whom I selected, were to be positioned in the halls and report any behavioral infractions to me. I would decide whether to take the matter before the Judge, who would sit at a desk in front of the room while I had the monitor tell his story of the wrongdoing.

While I have no recollection of what penalties were meted out, I imagine any real deterrent stemmed from having to go through this “judicial” process. Everything seemed to be going all right for a few weeks. Then one of my over zealous hall

monitors reported me, the Prosecutor, for running in the hall. Despite threats of serious bodily harm, this boy remained firm with his charge. I was then required to serve as Prosecutor and Defense Attorney.

Judge Krantz was persuaded that I had not done wrong and found me not guilty. Soon thereafter, the Student Court was disbanded. So began my career in the law.

Victory in Europe (V-E Day)

It is one of the ironies of history that President Roosevelt died less than a month before victory in Europe was declared. Germany surrendered unconditionally on May 8, 1945, with German General Alfred Jodl signing the surrender document.

Adolf Hitler had committed suicide a few days earlier, together with his newly wed wife, Eva Braun. She had been his mistress for some years and they married in their underground bunker just prior to their joint suicides. Hitler wished to avoid the public hanging that Mussolini of Italy had suffered.

The war’s end brought great celebration throughout Europe. The human cost of the war had resulted in 14 million military deaths for the Allies, and 7 million for the Axis powers. The Soviet Union lost 10 million men, Great Britain 300,000, and the United States 250,000. Some of the men lost in Europe had been in high school with me.

While there was also great celebration in the United States on V.E. Day, the greater celebration of Victory in Japan was not yet in sight. For the U. S. serviceman, victory in Europe did not bring a feeling of closure or relief. The reality was that a huge and fanatical military battle was being waged by the Japanese in the Pacific. U.S. armed forces, especially the Navy, were at the forefront of that Pacific War. The burden and human cost of that war would fall primarily on our Country. Defeating the fanaticism of the Japanese would involve loss of life exceeding that of the European conflict.

Young men in the Navy knew that defeating Japan in the Pacific had and would

involve far more commitment and danger for Naval personnel than the war in Europe. In the Spring of 1945 war in the Pacific was beginning to turn in our favor, but involved island by island invasion and great loss of life as the Japanese refused to surrender. They were dug in and would fight to the death. Even a bottom rung Navy Storekeeper Technician knew that service in the Pacific for all navel personnel was a certainty. The nation island of Japan was where we were all headed,

The fanaticism of the Japanese was something different from that of the German military approach. Suicide in the service of the Emperor appeared to be a desired goal for a Japanese soldier. U.S. Navy ships experienced thousands of Kamikaze attacks by Japanese pilots who would fly their planes directly into our battleships and cruisers. These pilots were treated to banquets, entertained by geishas, and praised as modern samuri warriors as they were sent off to be human torpedoes. Death in the service of Emperor and Nation was welcomed.

While history has since seen more of the fanatical suicide bomber, especially in the Islamic world, the Kamikaze eagerness to destroy oneself was difficult for the western mind to understand. Japanese soldiers dug in on many Pacific Islands would not surrender. They would fight to the death or commit hari kari. This was a difficult enemy to deal with.

The Pacific War

General Douglas Mac Arthur, who had graduated first in his class from West Point and came from a military family, was commander of the war in the Pacific from its beginning. After the devastating attack on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese had been successful invading and occupying most of the south Pacific islands.

U.S. forces and Mac Arthur had been forced to leave the Philippines in March 1942, at which time Mac Arthur announced “I shall return.!”

In January 1945, Mac Arthur did return and dramatically waded ashore on the Philippines main island as the U.S. retook that important island Nation. That was an important highlight in a serious of costly but successful battles as U.S.

forces, significantly supported by the Navy, as the tide of the war in the Pacific began to turn in our favor.

But the costs in human life were mounting. In the battle of Iwo Jima, where the famous Marine flag placing took place, the Marines lost 6,800 men in that single operation. Of the some 21,000 Japanese defenders, only 216 were captured.

Shortly after victory in Europe, a three month battle for Okinawa began. This important island was just 350 miles from Japan and was heavily fortified. The U.S. undertook the largest amphibious operation of the war, with 1,300 ships and 60,000 troops. Some 1,900 Kamikaze pilots attacked the U.S. fleet, and the Navy lost 29 ships and 5,000 men. Dislodging the Japanese from their dugouts involved use of blow torches and grenades.

When the island was secured at the end of June, 7,000 Americans had been killed and 110,000 Japanese. The invasion of Japan itself would be the next and most deadly target.

The Nuclear Age

It is interesting that President Harry Truman had known nothing about the development of the Atomic Bomb until shortly after he was sworn in as President. The project had been so secret that not even the Vice President of the United States knew about it.

The development of nuclear bombs stemmed from the knowledge and fear in the scientific community that the Nazis had the capability and commitment to develop such a weapon. This awareness caused the pacifist and world renowned scientist, Albert Einstein, to send a personal letter to President Roosevelt in 1939 strongly recommending pursuit of harnessing nuclear energy in a bomb. The letter stressed the concern that the Nazis were exploring this technology.

While it took some time, Roosevelt did move the project forward in the early 1940s. Great secrecy was involved and an international team of scientists, including many displaced émigrés from Europe, engaged in the initial research at Columbia University in New York. The name given was the Manhattan Project. In

1942, under the then unused football stadium at the University of Chicago, the first controlled nuclear chain reaction was achieved. Later work in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, began producing the raw materials needed for a bomb. The final task of making and testing the bomb was done in the remote mountains of Los Alamos, New Mexico.

The first actual test of an atomic bomb was on July 16, 1945, near Los Alamos. It was later reported that people many miles away thought the sun was rising twice that day. That successful test was just three weeks before the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan on August 6, 1945.

President Truman had been meeting with Stalin of Russia at a Big Three conference at Potsdam near Berlin when the successful atomic test was made. Truman confided in Stalin that the U.S. “had a new weapon of unusually destructive force.” Stalin simply replied he “hoped the U.S. would make good use of it against the Japanese.” As we would later learn, Stalin already knew about the atomic bomb.

While many years later we would read comments about the need and justification for using an atomic weapon, we never heard, read, or believed that Truman should have not made the immediate decision he did to utilize this horrendous weapon. In the United States it was considered a wonderful war-shortening, life saving development. President Truman had the courage to make the decision, and there can be no question that hundreds of thousands of lives of U.S. and Japanese soldiers and civilians were saved.

The first Atomic Bomb of the Nuclear Age was used in war on August 6, 1945. An Ohio pilot, Colonel Paul Tibbets, flying the B 29 bomber named the Enola Gay, dropped the bomb on Hiroshima, Japan that morning. That first nuclear explosion killed an estimated 80,000 people and another 60,000 died soon after from injuries and radiation poisoning.

The New York newspapers and radio around the world exploded with headlines about the Atomic Bomb. No one had heard of such a weapon, and there was

universal amazement at this news. Information later developed showed that the Japanese were stunned and horrified. But the Japanese military command insisted that retaliation and resistance were necessary, and that this was a one of-a-kind weapon. For the first time, Emperor Hirohito became involved in military discussions. The Japanese made no response to the Hiroshima attack.

Three days later, on August 9, 1945, a second atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, Japan. This bomb was half again more powerful than the Hiroshima bomb. It was an implosion type plutonium bomb which killed an estimated 39,000 with another 75,000 believed to have died from bomb related causes. The devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was total.

The Japanese did not know that our arsenal of atomic bombs was then temporarily depleted.

The Japanese military leadership was deadlocked. Half wanted to fight to the death. But for the first time, Emperor Hirohito intervened and decreed that the war must end. Japan immediately agreed to an unconditional surrender, and President Truman made the announcement two days later. V-J Day arrived on August 15th, 1945.

Engagement

With atomic bombs dropping and World War II ending, it is amazing in retrospect to observe how undeterred young love can be. On Sunday, August 12, 1945, I asked my high school sweetheart, Jean Whittaker, to marry me. She said, “Yes.” My request was made in our favorite place to be alone, which was in Cadwalder Park in Trenton. We would go there on the weekends to feed bread to the deers, and to “neck”. Our purpose was not listed in our minds in that order. That place had become special for us and placing the engagement ring on her finger was the greatest of moments, not to be influenced by world happenings.

We were both 18 years of age, and had been in love since our first meeting four years earlier. Our families both approved. The feeling of uncertainty regarding the future permeated the time, and early engagements and marriages were a

more accepted practice than in non-War times. While we had together chosen the engagement ring and wedding bands some weeks earlier, I gave the ring to Jean the day after I received it. In keeping with my seaman first class standing, the ring was surely modest, but Jean was most happy – as was I.

Victory over Japan (V-J Day)

On Wednesday, August 15th, 1945, V J Day was celebrated. Having returned to my Brooklyn Navy Yard station, I was surprised when our commanding officer called a meeting of all of us who were attending training programs at the military base.

The Officer announced there was going to be a tremendous celebration that evening in Times Square in the center of Manhattan. We were to serve as Navy Shore Patrolmen to help in maintaining order. We were given armbands with the SP logo on them, plus a Billy club. Our instructions were to assist any Navy personnel or others who appeared to be over celebrating. That evening in Times Square we found we had been assigned “Mission Impossible!”

There were more than 250,000 people wildly celebrating. Far more than any New Years Eve party. It was later described as the “kissingest night in history.” Sailors were grabbing every girl in sight, and the girls were not complaining. The world famous photographer for Life Magazine, Alfred Eisenstaedt, captured the most reprinted image of the evening which was that of a sailor giving a back bending kiss to a nurse. The revelry was unbelievable, and we SPs were watching and celebrating like everyone else, although most of us were not kissing. There was never a greater celebration in our Nation. After four hard years of World War II, and a quarter million young men lost in battle, Victory was ours.

Mare Island Naval Shipyard

While the war had ended in victory, it was not over for many of us. It was recognized that much replacement, occupation and logistical support from the U.S. Navy would be needed in the wake of war. We were not going home.

In September 1945, the members of my SKT class were assigned to various Naval bases and ships throughout the Country. My assignment was to a large Navy shipyard at Mare Island, California, just north of San Francisco.

Air travel was not available, so the trip was made by train to Frisco and then bus to Mare Island. None of my Brooklyn classmates went with me to Mare Island. There I found myself in a small company of about 15 SKTs who were led by a Warrant Officer who is ranked one level above Navy Chief. Our Warrant Officer was an easy going career man looking forward to retirement.

Our daily eight hour work was the most boring and mind numbing I’ve ever experienced. We sat on high stools, with the Warrant Officer at a nearby desk, filing 4 by 6” cards in accord with numbers on the cards. The cards recorded stored radar and radio equipment, and I can’t imagine how those cards were ever used. But that was our assignment, and we all felt we were simply putting in time as we waited to be assigned to a ship for overseas duty.

Each evening I would go to the base library and write my fiancée a letter. I have no idea what I had to report, because nothing was happening. I was just talking to her and missing her, as she was writing daily to me. Two other activities became open to me. The nearby City of Vallejo, Calif., had a small college. I registered there for an English composition course, and took the course two evenings a week. I was not working out physically, and probably felt a greater need for mental challenge in light of the day job. The professor was good and I did well in the course.

On the weekends I found that extra money could be made at a local apple factory. This was apple territory and we were permitted to take liberty off base, with freedom to do anything that was legal and would get us back to base in time. The job involved sorting out bad apples on a conveyor belt, which again involved very modest decision making and no mental commitment. The extra money was helpful in that it enabled me to go back home for Christmas in December 1945.

Dishwashing at Christmas

We were given leave at Christmas and I returned to Morrisville to be with my fiancée and family. The trip across the country was worth it for it was a great Holiday celebration. But the return trip involved some challenge.

Upon reaching Chicago as I returned to base, I found that the train I had hoped to board, The City of San Francisco, was completely full. My return to base schedule was such that if I did not get on this “streamline” train, I would not get back to base on time and would be considered AWOL, away without leave. Seeing a railroad conductor on the platform, I explained my need to get back to my base in Mare Island and asked if there was any way I could get on that train. He asked if I would be willing to wash dishes, and I said that I would welcome that opportunity.

Immediately upon boarding the train they put me to work in the kitchen. People were already eating and the dishes were piled up and coming in at a rapid rate. I had a small basin filled with water which was becoming increasingly dirty, and a small stream of water just above the sink. I would brush my hand across the dirty dish, dunk the dish in the water pan, and then let the small stream of water finish the job. While I would not have wanted to use any of those dishes later, I was told I had done a good job when I got an upper bunk bed at midnight.

The advantage of the City of San Francisco train was its non-stop speed. It was the fastest train between Chicago and Frisco, and the trip normally took a day and a half. Sometime during the middle of that first night I felt the train stop, and had the clear sensation it was backing up. It continued going the wrong direction until I fell asleep again.

At 5:00 a.m. that morning I was awakened and told that the train had backed up for most of the night because of a rail wash out on the road ahead. It was taking a detour north and this would require an extra day of travel, and several extra meals. This was not good news. For the next two days I stood at my wash basin washing under the same questionable conditions. I did sleep well the next night after an 18 hour day.

When we got off the train in San Francisco I was surprised to find I could hardly walk. The unsteadiness and day long swaying of the train while I was standing had fouled up my legs and I had difficulty making it to the bus.

I arrived at Mare Island late but unpunished. About two months later I received a small check in the mail. It was payment for my services as a “Dishwasher 3rd Class”. I never aspired to become first class.

U. S. Naval Academy

Soon after returning to Mare Island, I learned that interviews were being conducted on the base for Fleet appointments to the U.S. Naval Academy. Large naval basis were given the opportunity to recommend young seaman to the Naval Academy. I appeared for an interview and found there were a large number of young sailors lined up.

Each large navel base had the right to nominate two enlisted men. The nomination was a valued and sought after privilege. Three ranking Navy officers conducted the interview. I felt my attendance at Admiral Farragut Navel Academy would help me and I’m certain it did.

A few days following the interview I was advised that a sailor named Bob Muck and I had been awarded the fleet appointments. We were to be immediately transferred to Camp Perry, Virginia, on the east coast. There the academic and preparatory training would take place, and it was reasonably close to home. My SKT friends and Warrant Officer gave me a very nice farewell send off, and Bob Muck and I traveled together to Camp Perry.

Camp Perry was a muddy military base. We spent some time in the mud for physical training, but had a great deal of valuable class time. It was a pleasant surprise that physical training involved the presence of the Naval Academy’s head football coach. He singled me out for an interview regarding my football background. That surprised me because I was only weighing about 160 lbs at the time, but he indicated if I came to the Academy he wanted me on the team. At least I still looked athletic.

The academic training program throughout the spring was excellent. It was a college preparatory course and the instructors were great teachers. I learned more in those three months, because of personal application, than I had in four years of high school. The experience contributed greatly to my new thirst to learn.

As we were concluding our training, our entire company was lined up near the first of May 1946 and informed that “Those who wish to go to the Navel Academy should take one step forward. Those who wish to return to civilian life, should stay in position.” Bob Muck, standing at my side, stepped forward. I remained in position. I knew a Navel career was not for me.

Bob Muck and I stayed in touch and friends throughout our lives. For each of us, looking at the other was to see “The Road Not Taken.” After enjoying some Army Navy Football games as his guests, and having Bob to our home for Christmas Holidays, he was graduated from Annapolis and had a very successful career. He served primarily as Captain of submarines, and retired as commander of a large Navel Cruiser where we visited him in San Diego many years later. Bob Muck died in 2005.

My navel career, such as it was, ended in June 1946. The service had been a humbling and character building experience for me. Being on the bottom rung was a good lesson on the realities and opportunities of life.

Ursinus College

My Honorable Discharge from the Navy in hand I went home and started immediately to look for a college that would accept me. I felt Juniata College was too far from home and my fiancée. A friend of our family recommended I consider Ursinus College, a small coeducational, liberal arts college in Collegeville, PA, less than an hour from my home in Morrisville.

I visited the college still wearing my Navy tailor made uniform. I liked the school and campus. When attempting to register, and with the self assurance that goes

with being a youthful service veteran, I asked if I could talk with the Ursinus College President. I was told he was on campus and would see me.

His name was President MacClure and upon entering his large office I found him to be a very distinguished looking and gracious gentleman. He was very welcoming to a young service man, and we would soon become most of his student body. I explained to him that while my high school transcript reflected I was not focused on my studies at that time, the service had taught me a lot. I shared my Admiral Farragut and Naval Academy preparatory experience with him. As Uncle Bill had suggested, I looked the President straight in the eye, following a firm and smiling handshake. President MacClure advised me on the spot that I had been accepted at Ursinus.

1948 Presidential Election

The biggest upset in Presidential election history occurred in 1948. We young political science majors at Ursinus College, and just about everyone else in the Country, were certain that Governor Thomas E. Dewey of New York would easily defeat President Truman.

Dewey had run unsuccessfully against Roosevelt in 1944 and had again won the Republican nomination for President in 1948. Even though Truman was the incumbent, his own Democratic Party split three ways at its nominating convention. Former Vice President Henry Wallace broke from the party to form a Progressive Party, and Senator Strom Thurmond formed his own Dixiecrat Party in opposition to Truman’s advance of civil rights laws.

All the polls showed that Dewey would win easily. This caused Dewey to campaign with platitudes and confidence. Truman attacked the record of the Republican Congress as a “Do Nothing Congress”, and he stumped the Country with great energy. His strong rhetoric and fighting spirit gave rise to widely heard campaign slogan, “Give ‘em hell, Harry!”

On election morning the Chicago Tribune printed a large and historically famous headline, “Dewey Defeats Truman.” The fact was that Truman was more popular

than had been realized. His folksy and hard fighting campaign resulted in a second Dewey defeat for President. While the nation was surprised, Truman has since been ranked by scholars as on of our best Presidents.

Democracy does work.

’40s End

As the 40s ended, the nation’s economy was thriving. There were some foreboding developments on the international scene, with the Soviets developing the Atomic Bomb and China falling under Communist control. But world prosperity and peace were in place.

The average family income in 1949 was $2,959; a new car cost $1,420; a house $7,450; a gallon of gas 17 cents; milk was 84 cents a gallon; and, a loaf of bread was 14 cents. Life expectancy was 62.9 years.

Both present and future appeared bright.

The 1950s

You get back in direct proportion to what you put in

Service as an F.B.I. SpecialAgent and a growing family in the early 1950s.

Summer of 1950

Having completed two years of law school be attending classes around the calendar from February 1949 until June 1950, I needed employment to obtain money for our senior year in school. With the summer off it was our good fortune that extensive work was underway on the eastern extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which had its terminus at Carlisle. The Turnpike was one of the nation’s early toll roads and ran from Pittsburgh to Carlisle. The new extension would go east to Philadelphia.

Upon applying for work I was hired immediately as a laborer, and began carrying heavy metal forms which we placed and nailed down with spikes along the edge of the highway. As the concrete was placed and hardened, we would then remove and reload the forms for further use down the road. Having been at a desk for a year and a half, this heavy labor caused a great deal of pain for the first few days. But I again loved holding my own with heavy physical labor.

Early in the summer we purchased our first car, a Chevrolet, for $1,000. This enabled me to move eastward across the Turnpike each day as I began to assist with the installation of electric light posts at new intersections. We moved progressively east from Carlisle, to Gettysburg, Harrisburg West, Harrisburg East, and finally Lebanon Lancaster interchanges. Over the years it has been a source of pleasure for me to travel across the Turnpike and insist that my travel companions, most often my wife and children, admire the precise perpendicular placement and beauty of these interchange light posts that have so well stood the test of time.

My performance on the job was appreciated and my work continued after school began in the fall. My boss inquired whether I could obtain a small team of fellow students to help me finish our pole placements at Lebanon. I got four of my classmates to work part time with me for about 6 weeks. One of these friends was a former Special Agent of the F.B.I. who had left the Bureau to attend law school. I spent most the time quizzing him about the training program and life as a Special Agent. A good deal of his information

related to the harshness of Bureau personnel policies, but I felt I could avoid the hazards he described and was encouraged to consider the F.B.I. as a career. The summer of 1950 was a most pleasant one, as Jean and I were able to relax and enjoy our evenings.

The Korean War

The Korean conflict began on June 25, 1950 and lasted 3 years. It was a civil war between North and South Korea, but it had serious implications that threatened world peace. Following North Korea’s invasion of the South, the United Nations passed a resolution demanding North Korea’s withdrawal. Upon North Korea’s refusal, the U.N. authorized intervention and the U.S. and its allies (Britain and Canada) moved in to repel the invasion. The battle was referred to as the Korean conflict since war was not declared by the U.S. Acting in pursuit of U.N. authorization, our involvement was considered a “police action”.

The allied U.N. response immediately pushed North Korea back out of the south and deep into North Korea. This movement into the north brought the Chinese into the conflict on behalf of North Korea. It was, in reality, a Cold War era battle between the U.S. and its western allies, and the communist nations of China and Soviet Union.

General Douglas Mac Arthur was called upon to lead the U.N. forces, and he pushed the Chinese back into their own territory. The General then publicly announced that he wanted authority to bomb the Chinese bases across the Korean border in China. Truman was concerned that such action would result in all-out war with the Chinese, and likely involvement by the communist Soviet Union. Mac Arthur’s public stance resulted in Truman removing him from the U.N command. This removal was highly unpopular in the U.S., and Truman’s Presidential approval rating dropped to 22%, the lowest ever recorded for a U.S. President.

Truman did not seek re election in 1952. General Dwight Eisenhower became the Republican nominee and he made the Korean stalemate a major campaign issue.

Eisenhower won the election, thus ending 20 years of Democratic Presidential leadership. The Korean hostilities ended in July 1953, although U.S. troops have remained on the North South Korean border for the following half century.

The Korean conflict is sometimes referred to as the “Forgotten War.” But the loss of life was tremendous. The U.S. reported more than 50,000 casualties, the Koreans 600,000, and the Chinese 390,000. It was a no win cold war standoff. The only good news was that my good friend, Sergeant Doug Grant, met his wife while serving on duty in Korea and they recently celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.

Elmer Earl Whittaker

The year 1951 began on a very sad note. We had just visited with our Morrisville families over Christmas when, on January 5, I received a phone call telling us that Jean’s father, Elmer Whittaker, had suffered a heart attack and died. He was just 54 years old and there had been no prior warning.

I liked my father in law. He was a quiet, kind, and gentle man and an excellent salesman. Elmer had been born and raised in Trenton, New Jersey. Except for a brief period working at Fleetwings in Bristol, his career had been as a salesman dealing in home appliances. Following World War II he opened his own General Electric store in Morrisville on Pennsylvania Avenue. He was successful and enjoying working for himself in a business and town he knew well. His death was a great shock.

Elmer had been married to Mabel Pope for nearly 30 years. They had three children, Adrienne, Martha Jean, and Walter, Jr. Adrienne had married George Chewing, her high school sweetheart, and George eventually took over the appliance business Elmer had started. Walter, Jr. would later move to Worthington, Ohio, where he was employed by General Motors. Like his father, Walter, Jr. also died of a heart attack at age 40 in 1970, leaving behind a young widow, Donna, and four daughters. Fortunately, Mabel Whittaker, Adrienne, and Jean lived well and long.

Elmer’s death was the first immediate family loss we had experienced. Sudden death, we learned, is especially difficult for those loved ones left behind.

Senior Year at Law School

As our senior year in Law School began, I continued to serve as Editor of the Law Review. Senior year classes involved more complex subjects such as trusts and negotiable instruments, and our professors were uniformly good. The assertion was that the Dickinson School of Law trained judges and politicians, but not practical lawyers. There was much that was theoretical in our courses and Dickinson did have many graduates serving in judicial capacities. I thoroughly enjoyed my Dickinson Law School education.

My favorite professor was Dean Hitchler who in later retirement embarked on the study of Chinese to keep himself mentally challenged. Among the many valuable lessons he shared I especially remember his admonition that “When students tell me they intend to do their best I’m inclined to believe that may be a cop out. Your best may not be good enough. You should always strive to do better than your previous best!”

Detroit Assignment

In November 1952 we were transferred to the Detroit, Michigan Field Office of the F.B.I. Then, as now, Detroit was not considered a good place to live.

We found an apartment at 20403 Snowden Court which was near Woodruff and Eight Mile Road. It was not as comfortable and welcoming an area as we had enjoyed in Carbondale. While our daily living was not as comfortable, my job assignment with the Bureau was much more interesting.

Upon arriving in the Detroit Office, which was in the center of the City, I was greeted by the Special Agent in Charge, the SAC. The SAC is the top officer in each field office, and these men were invariably very sharp and experienced. SAC Shite

was especially impressive. He was a tall, distinguished looking man. They type that when he is in a room you know he is in charge. The SAC spent some time with me. He said he did not want me to do anything on the job until I had settled my wife and daughter comfortably. He asked what area of Bureau work was of greatest interest to me and I told him the security investigative field. He indicated that was the area in which I would be assigned and he called the Supervisor of the Security Division to introduce me. It was a most pleasant start and introduction to the work I really wanted to do.

Some months later I learned that SAC Shite was retiring, and he did so immediately upon reaching his 50th birthday. He had been SAC of the New York Office, the largest in the Bureau, for several years before coming to Detroit. A Special Agent in the New York office had been shot and killed.

That event led to Shite being transferred to Detroit, which was an Office of lesser responsibility. Shite did not move his family with him to Detroit, and retired a few months later immediately upon reaching retirement age. I was concerned about the Bureau loosing a man of his caliber who was at the height of his ability.

Jean, Kathy and I spent a long and very cold winter in Detroit. Long hours were required in the Bureau. When you were stationed in a large Field Office a system of “voluntary overtime” was enforced. That meant you signed in and out of the office each day and the number of extra hours you worked “voluntarily” demonstrated your commitment to the job and also had to exceed the office overtime average. This resulted in voluntary overtime moving upward. With commuting time added the days were very long. I loved coming home in the evening darkness and see Jean and Kathy watching and waiting for me in the window. On the snowy Detroit nights that was especially heartwarming.

The long hours notwithstanding, my daily assignments were most interesting. Communist and security related investigations had an intellectual content to them. Why did these people believe as they did? Where did they work?

Was it in a sensitive industry? In the event of a national emergency, what would

be their threat level? I also became involved in investigating the Nation of Islam, which was an extreme African American hate group.

The F.B.I. had embarked on a large-scale prosecutorial program designed to disrupt and disable the Communist Party structure in the United States. Detroit was one the large field offices that pursued and arrested Communist leaders for violating the Smith Act. This 1940 Federal Law made it a felony to advocate the overthrown of the Government of the United States.

Communist leaders were being arrested and charged under this law. I worked long and hard on security investigative matters for another six months in Detroit, and then received another transfer. This one we welcomed for it brought us back to the Philadelphia area ahead of the schedule we had expected.

Philadelphia Assignment

We considered ourselves especially fortunate to be transferred to Philadelphia in the Spring of 1953 because Jean was about to have our second child. The Philadelphia division was about to undertake a substantial Smith Act prosecution and it was also experiencing growth in activities of the Nation of Islam. Additional security focused Special Agents were needed and I had experience however brief in helping in these investigative areas.

Since the transfer brought us closer to home we immediately took advantage of a remaining G.I. Bill privilege and purchased a home in the newly building community of Levittown, Pennsylvania. The first Levittown had been established in New York and now a similar large development was underway in Bucks County Pennsylvania. Three bedroom ranch homes were selling for $9,000. Our new address was 43 Fortune Lane and our families loved having Kathy and us close by.

James Jeffrey Lorimer

Our first son, James Jeffrey Lorimer, was born in Mercer Hospital in Trenton, New Jersey, on April 13, 1953. He weighed in at a substantial 9 pounds 12 ounces. We decided on the name James and selected in different middle name by which we

would call him. He was a strong, bouncing baby boy and was the center of a lot of love. It was a happy time and even the long commute to the center of Philadelphia and the continued voluntary overtime requirement did not detract from our optimism.

The Smith Act Prosecution

In late May 1953 our Philadelphia SAC called some 100 Special Agents involved in security work into a large meeting room in the Field Office. The shades were pulled down on the windows. We were told we were about to undertake an important mission, one of the largest ever for our Field Office.

Indictments and warrants had been obtained for arrest and prosecution of the top 10 communist leaders in the eastern Pennsylvania region. It was essential that all 10 be arrested at the same time. The indictments charged the top official of the Communist Party with advocating the violent overthrow of the Government. The nine other warrants charged other key leaders with conspiring with “Number 1” to violate the Smith Act.

Ten teams of agents were assigned. One for each communist functionary. These teams were broken into two 12 hour shifts. Each suspect was given a number – 1 to 10. I had communist No. 3.

As the program began, I was assigned to the 9 p.m. to 9 a.m. shift. My team had followed No. 3 to his home and “put him to bed.” I arrived in a cooperative neighbor’s house and positioned myself in a rear bedroom where I could watch the back of No. 3’s house to make sure he did not leave by the back door. All night long we could hear the reports of 10 teams of agents reporting, “No. 3 in sight, No. 4 insight,” etc. The very first night we had nine of the suspects “in sight” – but not No. 1. This created a very real problem, since all the indictments were drawn with No. 1 being the substantive offender with whom all other defendants conspired.

Most of these communist leaders were living underground lifestyles. They were party functionaries who were surveillance sensitive. The higher their position the more unpredictable was their location. Much to the chagrin of our Field Office,

No. 1 had completely disappeared. Our usual informants could not find out where he was.

For all of June and part of July the frustration mounted. The man-hour cost to the Bureau was substantial. Many times, we had nine defendants in sight, but not No. 1. The Bureau began sending teams of Inspectors to Philadelphia. It was finally determined that No. 1 had left the area, although his location was not known. The U.S. Attorney’s office re drew the indictments to make No. 2 the substantive offender and the other eight offenders were charged with conspiring with No. 2. Immediately, and I was on duty when the arrests occurred, all nine of the suspects were arrested at one time.

The next morning the Philadelphia Inquirer carried the headline: “F.B.I. Arrests Top Communists!” The story went on to explain that the F.B.I. had “moved with apparent ease to pick up all the leading communists with one swift action.” It was a great story and publicity coup for the Bureau. But some 100 agents and their families knew it had not been easy.

An interesting follow up provides some idea of how well the F.B.I. handled its internal security mission. Not all the top communists were arrested. One young and rising young man, a family man, was not picked up.

As all the other leaders were being arrested, two of our most experienced security Agents startled this young man by approaching him on the street. They identified themselves and advised him that nearly all of his associates had been arrested and would likely be going to prison.

On their recommendation he had not been arrested because we sensed he had developed some concerns and misgivings as to whether the Party’s goals were truly in the best interests of our nation. We knew he had expressed some of this dissatisfaction. If he wished to continue his association with the Party and would pursue the new leadership roles that would be open to him, he would remain free

to be with and support his family. His assistance in providing information with respect to the Party’s continued membership would be expected and appreciated. He immediately accepted this offer and became a new informant in a position of leadership. We had other informants to check his reliability.

The Philadelphia Smith Act prosecutions and those held in other major metropolitan areas were uniformly successful. The Communist Party was viewed as our nation’s primary internal security threat and courts were used to help confront this threat. My sense was that the Communist Party was so riddled with informants who were dues paying members, that the F.B.I. was likely the primary financial support for its activities. Still, it was penetrated and fully under control. In 1957 the U.S. Supreme Court cast doubt on the Smith Act prosecutions and they ceased to be pursued. The Statute remains of the books and the Party was severely damaged by these public prosecutions.

The Muslin Cult of Islam

While I was one of many agents involved in Communist investigations, I had sole responsibility for investigation of the Muslim Cult of Islam. My contact with this organization and its background in Detroit made this a matter of special interest for me. The Nation of Islam, or the Muslim Cult of Islam as the Bureau identified it, was an African American hate group that was growing in several major U.S. cities. The Cult had been founded in Detroit in 1930 by man named Wallace Fard, who interestingly was of mixed racial background. One of Fard’s followers was Elijah Muhammad.

When Fard mysteriously disappeared in 1934 Elijah took over leadership and claimed that Fard was God and Elijah had now become his Prophet.

The beliefs of the group as set forth by Fard and preached by Elijah were that the Black Man was the Original Man; that the White Devil had deprived the Black Man of knowledge of his true identity and origin; that Temple members should rid themselves of the Slave Names given them by slave masters (i.e., that is why there are so few Black surnames – because they all stemmed from a few slave plantations – you were John, slave master Jones’s slave and your last name came

from your slave master); that Temple members should take the last name of X until such time as Elijah Muhammad gave them their true Islamic name; the Black Man should establish separate schools and commercial activities; the Black Man should not serve in the White Devil’s army; and Temple members should apply to Elijah for membership and pay for continuing course lessons of instruction in Nation of Islam beliefs.

The members who joined the Temples were the less educated and underemployed inner city African Americans who were told by reasonably charismatic preachers that the White Devil had misled them and was responsible for all their problems. They needed to throw off this yoke of enslavement and rise up to fortify their own community. Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali, Malcolm Little became Malcolm X. In the Temples, if a second John joined, he became John 2X. I saw a deed on which the Temple member had signed his name as James 3X. That signature had been accepted in the transaction as the person’s true name.

One feature of cult activity that was of special interest and concern was the establishment of a para military group in each Temple, referred to as the Fruit of Islam. This special group was composed of young men who were uniformly dressed in black suits, white shirts, and ties who trained in guard and military fashion in the Temples. They served as bodyguards and gate keepers at Temple functions. The women dressed in Muslim garb, and lives of abstinence from drink, smoking, and extra marital sex were encouraged. Employment within the African American community was urged. While separate school systems in Chicago and Detroit had been established, that had not yet happened in Philadelphia.

Informant Recruitment

Development of informants is one of the most important and challenging missions of internal security work. One of my first tasks was to penetrate the Muslim Cult with informants. The job of identifying a large number of members who went by the last name of X was unusually interesting. While recruitment from within the organization is often possible with monetary or other leverage incentives, that was not feasible with the Cult. Placing an informant in the group was the best

strategy.

During two years I developed three informants who became effective members of the Cult. Only two of them were in the Cult at any one time and neither knew the other was an informant. They often reported on each other.

I would normally meet with them on Monday in a Philadelphia park, when they would provide me a written report of who attended and what was said at the Sunday Temple meeting. I would give them nominal expense money and dues for the Temple. They were valued Temple members because they always had their dues.

There are many ways of developing informants. The best Cult informant I worked with came to me by referral from a Special Agent on the Criminal Squad. Other agents knew of my work with the Muslim Cult and one day I received a call from an agent who had a young negro suspect in custody for having transported a stolen vehicle across interstate lines. They had a solid case against this young man but this was his first offense, he had a family, and he was asking if there was any way he could make this “right.”

The Agent brought the young man to me and I found him intelligent, inner-city smart, and very anxious to stay out of federal prison. We talked for some while and I briefed him on our concern about hate groups that represented potential security threats to our Country.

Our goal was to monitor their activities. We were not looking to prosecute but simply to monitor and protect against possible trouble for our City. If he would be willing to attend a Temple meeting and then decide and report back to me concerning whether he could help us on this investigative project we would appreciate that. No promises were made but he understood his cooperation would be advantageous to him. He had never heard of the group and I shared a little of their beliefs. He was anxious to assist.

The following Monday morning I met in a Philadelphia park. He had a written report with him. He began by admitting he had heard what I said about the group but had not taken it too seriously and had been out drinking rather late the night before. He said, “I was not in that meeting 10 minutes and I was stone, cold sober. Do you know these guys want to annihilate the whole white race! These people are crazy!” I told him that was part of our concern and he agreed to continue as an informant. He was cautioned about his personal safety, and urged to start slowly developing friendships and help us find out who William X, etc. is.

Malcolm X

In the Spring of 1954 my informants advised that a very fiery and eloquent new preacher had arrived at the Philadelphia Temple. His name was Malcolm X. The following Sunday I decided to find out more about Malcolm and position myself some distance from the Temple, although recognizing I had to stay moving and mobile in that neighborhood. As the Temple meeting ended in late afternoon, I saw the members leaving and a tall, red-headed man stood out among them. He got in a car as the driver, along with two other Temple members, and proceeded to drop those men off as he made his way to the Camden Philadelphia Bridge. He entered New Jersey and got on the Turnpike headed north.

As we proceeded toward New York, he turned into a Howard Johnson’s Restaurant on the Turnpike. I recall wondering if he would eat something in the White Devil’s restaurant. I followed him as he went in and directly to the restroom. I stood next to him at the next urinal. He then went back out to his car and again headed north.

I was certain he was headed for New York and was surprised when he exited in Newark, New Jersey. He began winding through Newark’s downtown streets and after dark I began to wonder if he knew he was being followed. I kept back some distance and he finally parked and entered a row house. After a few minutes I drove by the house and noted the address. I returned home late that night.

The next morning I informed my Supervisor of the Newark surveillance, and he informed the Newark Office of the Bureau. They expressed displeasure that a

Philadelphia Agent had been in their territory without notifying them. My Supervisor said, “We have notified them – forget it.” My Supervisor seemed please with the effort that had been made.

Malcolm X was a remarkable and charismatic man. He had been Malcolm Little and had spent time in prison where he was exposed to the Nation of Islam beliefs. Upon release from prison in 1952 he immediately began his most effective ministry on behalf of Elijah Muhammad and the Nation’s beliefs. He was soon given the assignment of installing and strengthening several new Temples, and his visits to Philadelphia in 1954 were part of that mission.

Malcolm’s growing fame and increasing disenchantment with Elijah Muhammad caused his to move in a more moderate direction. He actually made an Islamic pilgrimage or Hajj, to Mecca, which is the central lifetime goal of all true Islamic believers. Of course, the beliefs of the Nation of Islam had nothing to do with the true Islamic religion. It was a cult of hate against whites that presented Fard as its God.

Malcolm’s preaching became more tolerant and tended more to a “brotherhood of man” theme. The result of his popularity and move away from the Nation of Islam resulted in Elijah Muhammad having Malcolm assassinated in February 1965 in a New York Temple. Malcolm’s wife and children were present. Elijah himself could not be implicated in the murder but Temple of Islam followers were.

Elijah Muhammad lived until 1975. Upon his death his son, Warith Muhammad, endeavored to move the group into the orthodox Islamic mainstream under the new title of Muslim American Society. This resulted in a split of the Nation of Islam with many members following the leadership of Louis Farrakhan. Temple No. 2 in Chicago continues to prosper, but the extreme nature of its teachings have kept it at the Cult level.

Father Divine

As part of my security investigation work in Philadelphia I became involved in

other African American cult issues in addition to the Muslim Cult. One of these, focused on Father Divine and his followers.

Father Divine claimed to be God. He was not just a Prophet, he was God. He came to this belief by an interesting route. In his early career he was associated with a preacher in Baltimore, Md., who represented himself as the Eternal Father. Divine was himself a charismatic preacher and moved this same I am God concept to New York City. And later to the white suburb of Sayville, N.Y. There his following grew to the point it was disturbing his neighborhood. Father Divine was arrested and found guilty of disturbing the peace. The judge, a Justice Smith, sentenced Divine to a year in prison. Almost immediately after imposing this sentence Justice Smith suffered a heart attack and died. A New York reporter put the story together about God having been sentenced to jail and he interviewed Father Divine. All Divine would say was, “I hated to do it.” That story followed by Divine’s quick release from jail gave considerable impetus to Divine’s fame and following.

As Divine continued to have trouble with local authorities in New York, he relocated to Philadelphia. His followers were always mixed racially and Divine himself married a 21 year old white woman when he was age 66. His hold on his followers was fascinating. He purchased a 72 acre mansion in suburban Philadelphia as well as an inner-city hotel then called the Divine Lorraine Hotel. He paid a half million in small denomination cash for the hotel. Room and board were provided at the hotel for his believers and they in turn were hired out as domestic help in Philadelphia’s main line area. These domestic servants were prized because as Divine’s followers they agreed to abstain from alcohol, tobacco and sex. The domestics’ wages were received by Father Divine and he cared for their needs. They believed in and were devoted to God.

On occasion some of Divine’s “Angels” and other believers would defect and talk with our F.B.I. office. We knew that a primary requirement to be an Angel was that you have intercourse with God. Although Divine was then in his 70s a great pleasure of his was to have his Angels lay on couches in a candlelit room as he moved among them saying, “Blessed are you for the hands of God are upon you.” Every word Divine spoke during the day was recorded and printed for his

followers as the words of God. Divine was never prosecuted in Philadelphia. While he was often interviewed in his throne like reception room regarding followers who were believed to be fugitives, he did in fact move hundreds of indigents off the streets of Philadelphia and encouraged them to live upright lives. Hate was not involved in his preaching. Although Father Divine insisted that as God he could not die, he did “pass on” as it was described in 1965 at age 85. His young wife, now Mother Divine, continues to own the mansion and the downtown hotel.

Slot Machine Raid

Slot machines were illegal in all states except Nevada in the 1950s. The interstate transportation of slot machines was illegal under Federal Law. During the spring of 1952 while I was still assigned to the Springfield Office, a team of some dozen agents was assembled to conduct a late night raid on a private club in Peoria, Illinois, where they had a substantial slot machine operation.

We had the necessary warrant and descended on the club at about 3:00 a.m. No one was there but a night cleaning man. We could hear him phone his boss and say, “I don’t know who he is, but his initials is F.B.I.!” That was a line we would all remember.

It took several hours to melt candle wax in all the slot machine openings. We would then record exactly where the dials were positioned on each slot and the slot’s identification number. The machines were then confiscated and placed in storage as evidence. We did the removing and placing.

Career Change

In June 1954 two developments occurred that caused me to re evaluate my long range career plans. While I enjoyed my work with the F.B.I. there were family interests that were affected by this career. I talked with senior Agents who expressed concern that when their children were asked where they were from could not answer the question. The F.B.I. mobility factor was not unlike military

service. We had been in five locations in three years.

It was also appearing increasingly likely several of us assigned to security work in Philadelphia were to be transferred to New York. The need for security trained agents was strong in that City. While we had always enjoyed visiting New York, living in or near the City with children was not desirable.

Another event occurred during that period that did not bode well for those with long range career hopes. The case represented a classic example of the horror story from our training period. An attorney in the Harrisburg area had been threatened with harm to himself and his family unless he paid an amount of money. Such extortion threats by mail come within the F.B.I.’s jurisdiction. The extortion payment was to be made in the Gettysburg Park area on a mountainous road at midnight. When the attorney saw a white flag at the side of the road he was to throw a packet of money out the car window and continue driving.

On the night in question, an F.B.I. agent was driving the car accompanied by a Pennsylvania State Highway Patrol investigator. As they drove up the winding road they noticed a car some distance behind them traveling slowly with lowbeam headlights. At the same time they saw a white flag waving at the side of the road. The Patrol officer threw the dummy packet out the window and after driving just a few yards they stopped the car and ran back where they had seen the flag. The packet was gone and no one was there. They flagged down the car that had been in back of them and that proved to be a couple of young love-birds driving around. The case had been blown!

The results of this were most troubling. The Agent who had been in the car received a disciplinary transfer to Butte, Montana. The Supervisor of the Criminal Squad, a man with 10 years Bureau experience, received a transfer to New York City as a street agent. The SAC of the Philadelphia Office, who had been home bed at the time this happened, was transferred to South Carolina where he continued as SAC but in a position of lesser responsibility.

The hard lesson to be learned from this for young agents was that no matter how dedicated and skilled you might be, if you make a mistake or someone who

reports to you makes a mistake that embarrasses the Bureau – you, your career, and your family will all pay a difficult price.

As I discussed the possible transfer to New York with my Security Division supervisor, who I viewed as an experienced friend, I asked if he were me at this early stage in my career – what would he do? He said in strictest confidence, “I would look very closely at other opportunities. You are a young lawyer with F.B.I. experience in your background. You will succeed wherever you go. You have to consider your family and your own interests.” I began looking.

Shortly after this discussion I saw a notice regarding the need for a Claims Representative in Bucks County for Farm Bureau Insurance Company. I applied for the job through a representative of the Company from their regional office in Harrisburg. I was immediately offered the position and a salary close to my Bureau salary, plus company car and expense account.

Reflecting the difficulty of the decision, we first turned down the offer and then later called to accept. Desiring to stay close to our families, Jean and I decided to pursue this new career direction, if only temporarily. Temporary proved to be 37½ years.

Young Family Life

On the home front, our family life in Levittown was much improved over that we had experienced in our previous Bureau locations. My travel to the center of Philadelphia each day, along with the continued requirement of voluntary overtime, usually kept me from home during the weekday daylight hours. I carpooled to the Office with another agent who lived in Levittown.

Still, we had the feeling our children’s very important pre-school years were filled with a lot of love and attention. Having doting grandparents and an extended family nearby, Kathy and Jeff experienced a caring and secure environment. There were weekend trips to the seashore and family meals at my parents home.

My mother took very good care of entertainment opportunities for her grandchildren. They were the focal point of her life.

We did a lot of photo taking and home movie recording of Kathy and Jeff. Movie film at the time required terribly strong lights and Jeff justifiably objected to them and tried hard to avoid them. Our films of him learning to walk by leaning on and pushing a small stool across the floor were great. They showed his stocky build and his determination to both walk and avoid the lights. We were most fortunate to have beautiful, bright, and healthy children and no one we knew challenged that description. On the home front we were happy.

Farm Bureau Insurance

After the career change, some fun was made of my new “F.B.I.” job. But I immediately experienced an entirely different personnel policy approach. Everyone was friendly, welcoming and encouraging. Although some large amounts of money were being handled, the atmosphere was relaxed and supportive with no suggestion of reprisal for error. I appreciated this focus on getting the job done.

After only a week riding with a senior adjustor, I began receiving assignments and working out of our home. I was surprised to be handed a stack of some 100 claims that were delinquent in their handling. The man to whom they had been assigned simply did not get the job done. Desiring to make a good impression and having been assured outstanding performance would be paid by rapid advancement, I worked very hard on this huge claim backlog.

In one month I had settled all the claims and was able to easily handle the three or four new claims that were received each day. The job involved dealing fairly and promptly with individual insureds and claimants. Farm Bureau Insurance was one of the largest property and casualty insurance companies in the Country and they were about to undertake a huge expansion program. I had joined the company at a good time.

At our first District Meeting our manager, Millard Neff from Harrisburg, immediately walked around the room and warmly greeted me. He shook my hand and embraced me. He said he had never seen so many claims handled in such a short period and he thanked me for that great effort. At one meeting a few months later Neff introduced me as the “man who could settle death claims before the body was cold.” While I did not feel comforted by that description, the comment was seen as an accolade in the claims culture.

In September 1954 we attended a closed circuit television broadcast at a theater in Philadelphia at which major plans for national expansion of Farm Bureau Insurance Company were announced. The company had operated primarily east of the Mississippi and the expansion called for strong development and penetration in the western part of the United States.

Because it had been found there were several small Farm Bureau companies in the western states, it was decided a name change to Nationwide Insurance was needed and desirable. We all welcomed this promising corporate expansion and plan of action. I was one for whom it would have special significance.

In October I was sent to Home Office in Columbus, Ohio, for training at the Nationwide Claims Training Center. I continued to experience and appreciate the friendly and supportive personnel approach of the Company. While in Columbus I was given tickets to an Ohio State University home football game. I had not seen anything like the crowd and enthusiasm in that 95,000 person OSU stadium. It was a sociological happening.

At the conclusion of our claims training course there was a graduation ceremony and I was designated to speak as the class valedictorian. Nationwide’s Vice President of Claims attended and spoke. I’m certain I knew less about material damage evaluation than anyone in the class, but my background had apparently singled me out for this task. Settling bodily injury and death claims and the serious human dimensions involved in those cases was where I best performed my job. But I knew that was not where I would spend my career.

Field Claims work for Nationwide was a very good job. You were helping a lot of people get their lives and property back together and performance expectations were not high. Within a year of joining the company I was placed in charge of the District Claims Office in Doylestown. This involved travel to Doylestown most days where I would assign claims to four other adjustors and myself. I was comfortable in taking most of the hard bodily injury cases. Many days I would accomplish my claims assigning process by phone from home. It was a relaxed family time and our children were growing and enjoying the attention and affection of their grandparents. Kathy and Jeff were especially close to my mother who dearly loved them.

While we thought little about it and felt no pressure to move into a career in law practice, that long term option remained. Willard Curtin, the Morrisville attorney who I would have joined had the F.B.I. opportunity not developed, had brought other young attorneys in his office during my Bureau tenure. The trial attorney who represented Nationwide in Bucks County was Bill Powers in Doylestown. He had a successful practice and we developed a friendship through our Nationwide work. Bill expressed a strong interest in having me join him in his practice. He offered to have me begin working as I prepared to take the Bar Exam and he would pay a salary equal to that which Nationwide was paying. I told him I was interested in this possibility but felt I should first pass the Bar Exam.

In the spring of 1956 I began studying in earnest for the Bar Exam. I had been out of law school for five years, but felt confident because of the time I had to study that I could prepare adequately for the test. In the early summer I again took the Bar Cram course in Philadelphia, commuting each day and still handling my assigned claims and office responsibilities. As always, Jean made it possible for me to study without distraction. My Nationwide managers also encouraged my efforts.

On the first day of the Exam I was astounded to experience much the same concern about the first question on the Bar Exam I had felt five years earlier. I again got off to a bad start and was chagrined to come away uncertain as to how well I had done. I learned some weeks later that I had again failed to pass the Bar Exam.

While failure of the Bar Exam in 1951 had little emotional impact on me because of my F.B.I. career commitment, this second failure hit me hard. For the only time in my memory I cried. No one saw this happen but I felt horrible that I had let down and failed Jean and my children. I could not shake this feeling of having so badly disappointed those who loved me and were counting on me.

During ensuing years Jean and I have often discussed how strange and ironic life can be. How can it be that what appears to be the worst thing that can happen to your life and career turns out to be the best thing that ever happened? The reality and truth is, had I passed the Bar I would have become a lawyer in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. While there was no way would could have foreseen it at the time, that failure led us in a direction that has improved and enriched our lives in ways we are certain would not have been possible in Bucks County. Fate seemed to be leading us in a different direction, and that has made all the difference in our lives.

Bill Power was determined that I come to work with him. He renewed his offer to have me join his firm, and insisted that I take the Bar Exam again and that I would pass it. I very much appreciated and did not reject that idea. Within a few weeks my Nationwide Regional Manager called to tell me there was an interesting job opportunity in the Home Office he believed I should consider. He cautioned that he was certain that once the Nationwide headquarters saw my performance record and knew of my background they would make me an offer. He was also kind enough to predict that I would become at least a Vice President of Nationwide.

Jean and I discussed whether we should explore the Home Office opportunity. We were very comfortable and close to our families in Bucks County. My mother was in heaven enjoying Kathy and Jeff growing up. Kathy had been in kindergarten and was ready to enter first grade in the fall.

Jean’s mother did not like the idea that we might be going “out west to be where the Indians were.” She was, of course, kidding but had no personal dealings with

life further west.

We learned that Nationwide was creating a large new Group Insurance Department. A group claims department was being formed to support that operation. Group insurance involves providing a range of health and life insurance benefits for employees and members of various groups. Handling these group claims promptly and fairly was the challenge. An experienced group claims expert, Bill Gillam, had been hired from another company. The goal was to hire a young man with legal training to be his back up.

Several men were interviewed for the job of Chief Claims Examiner. Bill Gillam and his boss, a Vice President named Art Hanna, interviewed me. I was offered the job and a promotion if we would move to Columbus. In keeping with Nationwide’s personnel policies, Jean and I were invited to come to Columbus together to become better acquainted with the area and Company. We did this and were provided a suite in a downtown hotel. We liked what we saw.

After considerable discussion and some agonizing over the separation that would be experienced between our children and their grandparents, we decided a corporate career in the Home Office of Nationwide represented our best promise for the future. We accepted the offer to go to Columbus.

By another stroke of good fate I learned that a sales manager in Columbus was being transferred to Harrisburg. This man had a home in the suburb of Worthington, a small upscale community on the north end of the city. Prior to Jean arriving I made arrangements to purchase this house at 288 Selby Blvd. for $16,000. My parents again helped us move and we settled in our new home on July 4th weekend in 1957. Sixty years later we would still live in that great community, although in a different section of town. Our family was done moving.

As we settled in, one of the first things we wanted to do was establish Kathy in first grade. Although she was just 5 years old, she was ready. A good elementary school was nearby in Colonial Hills and I went to meet with the Worthington School District superintendent, Mr. Harold McCord. He was an affable but

completely inflexible man. After his death I would help dedicate a Park in his honor, but I surely would not have done so on that day. Kathy missed the cut off for starting first grade by 3 days. The fact she had already experienced a year in kindergarten and was expecting to enter first grade did not influence Mr. McCord. While Kathy was not disadvantaged by another year of kindergarten I was disappointed I had not been able to persuade Mr. McCord. We would later become friends. Yet, if Kathy had been on a different educational time schedule she might not have met her husband, Paul Nagle, at Ohio State University some 16 years later. There are events that in retrospect cause us to consider fate.

Group Claims

My new title was Chief Group Claims Examiner. Bill Gillam was a great boss and we had many laughs together. We quickly built a team of some 30 claims examiners. A very large number of claims were processed daily. I would help review the most difficult ones, and discuss the most serious with Bill Gillam. Both health and life claims were handled, and each had to be handled promptly and with care because our service would likely be judged by all members of the group insured. We had to develop medical knowledge and that was a new and challenging field for me.

The late 1950s were a time when new concepts of organizational management were receiving much exploration and publicity. Enlightened management and development of leadership skills were the subjects of several top selling books. The “Organization Man” was one of those which I read carefully. Motivation and the techniques of management were of great interest to me. I was interviewed and tested during this period by a company psychologist who was evaluating new managers with promotional potential. This was encouraging to me.

After a year in Group Claims I learned of a position opening as Associate Director of Government Relations. I applied for this job which involved interviews by two levels of Vice Presidents. The Government Relations Office was established to handle liaison with state insurance departments and state legislatures throughout our operating territory. Nationwide was one of the first insurance companies to recognize the importance of becoming involved in the political process. Industries

that are not effectively represented in the political environment are particularly vulnerable to adverse legislation and regulatory control.

A man named Dean Kerr, who had been Chief Examiner of the Ohio Department of Insurance, accepted me as Associate Director of Government Relations. My experience with the company, my law degree, and my F.B.I. background surely helped me. I would continue in the Office of Government Relations, later becoming Vice President, for the remainder of my Nationwide career. But it was what I did outside of my corporate responsibilities that had the greatest impact on our lives and gave me the greater sense of challenge, contribution, and accomplishment.

Four Minute Mile

One of the great appeals of the sport of track and field is that athlete performance is precisely measurable across a wide range of speed, jumping, and strength testing events. A favorite topic among track enthusiasts has always been the question of human performance limits. For many years it was believed that it was physiologically impossible for man to run a mile in under four minutes. It was also asserted that a man could not pole vault more than 16 feet or throw the shot put more than 60 feet. The fourminute mile was the most certain and likely to endure barrier. The mile was viewed as the perfect race, requiring a unique combination of 50% speed and 50% endurance.

A young British medical student, Roger Bannister, knew that the four minute mile was only a psychological barrier. He also was certain that record was about to be broken in the summer of 1954. Training each day for one hour on his lunch breaks, he would run as many one minute quarter miles as his time and energy would permit. The goal was to run four of these one minute quarter miles back to-back, with one being under 60 seconds.

On May 6, 1954 Bannister ran the most famous race in track history on the Oxford University cinder track. He was assisted by two pace setting friends. Chris Brasher led through the quarter mile in 57.5 seconds and the half mile in 1 minute 58 seconds. Chris Chataway then led at the third quarter in 3:00.7. It remained

for Bannister to finish the final quarter in less than 60 seconds. His world and barrier breaking time was 3:59.4. The feat made front page news throughout the world.

Soon thereafter several athletes broke four minutes. As for limits of human performance, nearly 1,000 runners, some of high school age, have since run under four minutes. The world record in 2006 was 3:43.13 set in July 1999 by Hicham el-Guerrouj of Morocco. His time would have left Bannister more than 100 yards behind. Similarly, men have now pole vaulted more than 20 feet and women have gone over 16 feet. In modern track and field you seldom hear predictions of unbreakable human performance barriers.

The American Dream

The American Dream was coming into fruition in the 1950s. The economy was thriving with high employment, and inflation was under control. For most of the decade we were free from war and pursuing our national and individual goals with a sense of security and optimism. The period became known as the Golden Age for Television, Broadway, and Hollywood.

As the decade began only 9 percent of American households, about 1 million homes, had TV. By 1959, 86 percent of the Nation’s homes, some 16 million, had television sets. Surveys reflected that the average American household was tuned into TV six hours a day. Soap opera viewing and using TV to distract children during the daytime contributed to this surprising number. But evening news and entertainment programs were attracting increasing numbers of viewers. The medium was having a substantial impact on our society.

Concerns were being expressed by some educators and sociologists about the adverse affects of television. One college President insisted that “if the television craze continues, we are destined to have a nation of morons.” With the advent of color television in 1954 this in- house small screen window to the world became even more attractive.

Many of the most popular TV programs evolved from radio shows. Jack Benny,

Burns and Allen, Amos ‘n Andy, all switched from radio to TV. The I Love Lucy show starring Lucille Ball was the most popular program during the early 50s. The large Marshall Fields store in Chicago changed its Monday evening shopping night to Thursday to avoid competing with Lucy. The store announced, “We Love Lucy Too.” Such was the compelling impact of TV.

Action shows such as Gunsmoke, starring James Arness as Marshall Matt Dillon, were the most watched in the late 1950s. Edward R. Murrow’s news program called, See It Now was the leader in news casting, and the top variety entertainment show was Ed Sullivan’s Toast of the Town on Sunday evening. In September 1956, Sullivan introduced Elvis Presley on national TV. Elvis was known as Elvis the Pelvis because of his gyrating hip performance style. This controversy caused Elvis to be filmed and shown only from the waist up. How times have changed.

Comedy was a mainstay for TV in the ’50s. Milton Berle became known as “Mr. Television”, and Jackie Gleason, Sid Caesor, Red Skelton and others presented an array of weekly comedy skits. Police dramas such as Dragnet with Jack Webb, and quiz shows like The $64,000 Question and Twenty One with Charles Van Doren were extremely popular. The latter show produced a scandal that placed all quiz shows in jeopardy. It was found and admitted that Van Doren, who was a scholar from a well known family, had been given the answer to the questions by the show’s producers.

All of the drama had been faked. It was some while before the quiz show made a come back.

Broadway and Hollywood

The New York Broadway theater was also experiencing a Golden Age. This was the era of My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, West Side Story, The King and I, Music Man, and Guys and Dolls. There was no period in Broadway history that matched that combination of great musical hits. Jean and I saw Rex Harrison as Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady. All of these classic musicals were made into

Hollywood films, and we also saw all of them over the years at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival Theater in Stratford, Ontario, Canada. There is no better entertainment.

While Hollywood felt threatened by TV, its fears proved unfounded. The large screen, social and popcorn setting, was more attractive than ever. Technology had not progressed to where movie films were becoming quickly and readily available on TV. Gregory Peck’s Gunfighter, Marlon Brando’s Streetcar Named Desire, Gene Kelly’s American in Paris, Gary Cooper’s High Noon, Frank Sinatra’s Academy Award performance in From Here to Eternity, and Charlton Heston in Ten Commandments were the films that kept the Hollywood box office thriving.

Jean and I would see all of these films, most of them at Drive In theaters with our children. The Drive In was very popular during the ’50s. We would place our children on a small mattress in the back seat of the car. A speaker was located at each car parking space, and would be hung on the inside of our car window. The entire family would watch the film in the privacy of our own car. The Drive In theaters were full in the ’50s.

These theaters also showed many X rated films, often at late night times. On one occasion Jean’s brother in law, George Chewning, and I went to a midnight X rated drive-in theater in Trenton, New Jersey. As we waited for the movie to begin a heavy fog moved in the theater area and we were unable to see the screen. We were finally given tickets for a return visit, and had to leave the drive in without seeing the show. Our wives later insisted that this was clear evidence of Divine retribution for our depravity and intended wrongdoing. We had no defense.

McCarthyism

Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin gained notoriety in the early 1950s making accusations that the State Department and U.S. Army were infiltrated by Communists and Communist sympathizers. The Senate’s McCarthy Hearings were nationally televised in May 1954.

While McCarthy created public awareness and concern over Communist infiltration in the Government, his publicity seeking style and inability to substantiate any of his allegations resulted in his downfall.

In late 1954 the U.S. Senate took the unusual action of voting to “condemn” McCarthy for his conduct. The term “McCarthyism” came into the language as the practice of publicizing accusations of subversion with insufficient regard to evidence. McCarthy died in office of hepatitis in 1957 at age 48.

Robert Craig Lorimer

Jean and I thought our family was complete with a girl and a boy. But about a year and a half after arriving in Columbus a second son was born on December 13, 1958. The birth took place at White Cross Hospital which later changed locations and became Riverside Hospital. He was named Robert Craig Lorimer and my mother again came to assist Jean as the baby arrived home. He was 5 and 6 years younger than his brother and sister and we all enjoyed and welcomed this new addition to our family. While Kathy always had her own bedroom, Jeff and Bob shared the second floor bedroom on Selby Blvd. throughout the 1960s. When Bob became a little older, I would read a story to the two boys each evening as they went to bed. The stories were usually the same and they would anticipate the story lines as I was reading.

Many of our vacation trips as a family were by car visiting state capitals in surrounding states. As my government relations duties required contacts in these states we would include the children on some of the trips. I’m not sure they were particularly impressed by these capital visits but they did represent mini-vacations as a family. I was traveling quite a bit both in doing my job with Nationwide and attending various track competitions with the Ohio Track Club on the weekends.

Government relations responsibilities involved work in Washington, D.C., in addition to contacts in many states. Our government relations staff would grow to include more than 25 attorneys and lobbyists. Nationwide established an office in Washington with a staff of three persons. Other lobbyists were assigned to several regions in the company’s operating area.

We developed the most politically effective team of any company. Joining with insurance trade associations we were in the forefront of the industry’s political efforts. It was an interesting management challenge to attempt to motivate and coordinate this group of political operatives.

CARE Mission

Nationwide’s history and culture were closely tied through its founding President Murray Lincoln to the Farm Bureau Cooperative movement in the United States. The company’s original Farm Bureau name stemmed from that association. A cooperative organization called CARE, which stood for Cooperative for Assistance and Relief Everywhere, emerged as a part of the cooperative humanitarian effort.

In 1959 Nationwide selected four employees, of which I was one, to participate in a CARE mission to Central America. Our goal was to visit the countries of Honduras, Guatemala and Costa Rico to see first hand and report back to Nationwide employees in the Home and Field Offices how we might contribute in assisting the poorest areas of those countries.

It was an interesting trip and experience. We flew through communist Cuba and then directly to Honduras. In the Tegucigalpa capital of Honduras we met with the President and then traveled to rural areas of the country. We repeated this pattern in each of the three nations. It was clear that once you got just a short distance outside the capital cities the areas seemed relatively untouched by modern civilization. The small villages we visited had no electricity, running water, and a bare subsistence economic life. With no farming equipment visible, even items like rakes and hoes appeared to be welcome.

When we returned to Columbus, we brought back slide presentations and information concerning the plight of these areas. I made some two dozen small group presentations to employees in the Home Office, which involved soliciting payroll deduction contributions to CARE. Our presentations were successful and many employees agreed to the charitable contributions to CARE. This CARE program continued at Nationwide for some years.

The ’50s Political and Social Scene

In 1950 the United Nations organization moved into its new world headquarters in New York City. It continued to be centered there well into the 21st century. At the same time President Truman was directing that a hydrogen bomb be created, which would be many times more powerful than that dropped on Hiroshima. The bomb was created and exploded within one year. Mankind had the capability of delivering unbelievable destruction.

In 1951 the 22nd Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was adopted which limited the President to two terms in office. Roosevelt thus became the only President who will ever serve more than two terms. Had he lived it is possible he would have won a 4th term. Depression and war notwithstanding, he was a popular and charismatic leader.

President Truman’s popularity had suffered as the result of the prolonged Korean conflict and his removal of General MacArthur from leadership. As the Presidential election year of 1952 began, Truman expressed interest in having General Dwight Eisenhower run for President as a Democrat. The General who was then heading NATO forces in Europe politely demurred.

When the Republican leadership later made the same suggestion to Eisenhower, he replied that while he would not seek the nomination if it was offered to him by the Republican Party Convention he would accept and run. Although Senator Taft of Ohio sought the nomination, the war hero Eisenhower won the Republican endorsement, and he chose Senator Richard Nixon of California as his Vice Presidential running mate. The Democrats nominated the cerebral Senator Adlai Stevenson of Illinois and he chose the southern Senator John Sparkman of Alabama as his Vice President.

Eisenhower’s campaign promise was that he would “go to Korea” if elected, which implied that he would move to bring that unpopular war to an end. Eisenhower was elected by a wide margin, he went to Korea, and the hostilities

there were soon concluded. The world remained free of major conflict for the remainder of the decade.

Princess Elizabeth became Queen of England in 1952 as her father, King George VI died. George had served as King since 1936 when his older brother, Edward, abdicated the throne to marry the American divorcee Wallace Simpson. Elizabeth’s reign continued into the next century.

The 1952 Olympic Games were held in Helsinki, Finland. The Soviet Union entered a team for the first time in 12 years. The Soviets placed second in medal count, with the United States winning the largest number. At the next Olympic Games in Melbourne, Australia, in 1956 the Soviets would for the first time win the total medal count, with the United States placing second. The Soviet Union was using the friendly field of international sports competition to demonstrate to the world the superiority of its system and the Communist way of life.

Premiere Joseph Stalin of the Soviet Union died in 1953, and Nikita Khrushchev soon thereafter stunned the world by denouncing the cruelty inflicted on the Soviet people under Stalin’s dictatorial leadership. When I visited the Soviet Union in 1961, as manager of the United States Track and Field Team, Khrushchev attended the competition. I also saw Lenin’s body lying in state in the famous Mausoleum in Moscow’s Red Square. Stalin’s body had been removed and placed under the Kremlin wall.

General Motors introduced the first air conditioned cars in 1953, and the first super amusement park, Disneyland, opened in Anaheim, California in 1955. The Presidential election of 1956 saw a repeat of 1952. The Democrats again nominated Adlai Stevenson, and Eisenhower carried 41 of the 48 states. The nation was pleased with his strong leadership and the continued growth of the economy.

As the decade ended in 1959 two new States were added to the United States. Alaska had been a territory of the U.S. and became the 49th and largest state in the Nation in January. Hawaii was admitted as the 50th State in March following

the adoption by both Houses of Congress of an Admissions Act. The last previous state to be admitted to the union had been Arizona in 1912. The U.S. flag star arrangement was immediately changed to reflect 50 stars.

’50s End

The 1950s was a great decade. With the economy thriving and no major wars underway most of us were enjoying and living the American Dream. In the privileged American society of the ’50s, Jean and I were most fortunate to be pursuing and sharing our dreams with three young children.

The future appeared bright and promising. Many new pathways were about to open for us in the 60s.

At the end of the 1950s, the average family income was $5,016 a year; a new car cost $2,25.; a new house $12,400; gas was 25 cents per gallon; milk was $l per gallon; a loaf of bread 20 cents; and a postage stamp 4 cents.

All appeared well.