An update on a fifty year-old story

I published a blog back in 2012 that was my account of a flight I took from Mayport, Florida to Tyrone, Pa in 1965 with a shipmate, LCDR (then) Tim Grier. He was going north for a board meeting of a family operated exclusive school for girls, grade 7-12. If you read the details of my blog I also revealed that I had visited the school in 1962 as a member of the Penn State Glee Club.

By chance I ran into the URL of Grier School the other day and went through the entire site to see if I recognized any buildings or names. There were references to several Griers, but no mention of my associate, Tim. I was feeling nostalgic for something Navy, so I wrote to a name on the "Contact Us" list and explained my relationship with Tim. Next morning I got a reply saying that my email had been forwarded to the Board of Trustee President, Dr. Douglas Grier, Tim's brother.

We had a spirited exchange of emails...each recalling to the other about the aviational prowess of Brother Tim. Sadly, however, Dr. Grier revealed that Tim had passed last August after a bout with cancer. He was 83. I was sad, of course, but relieved to know that he had survived Vietnam, which is where he went after leaving FDR and that he had a good career in the Navy.

Dr. Grier also revealed that his son was about to take over the reins of Grier School which would make the 5th generation of Griers to lead the exclusive girl's school. 

It is not often that one is able to "close the loop" of time with an old associate even though the end of the road is death. Rest in peace Timothy.

Remembering my baptism

Granddad Beal and me; 1941

I don't often discuss my beliefs in my blog, but I am making an exception today. This post is about my Christianity....Methodism and family. You see, unless I miss calculated, one branch of our family has been Methodist for the last 150 years...or more. It's not about being better than other belief systems, but it is about legacy and connection.

Yearly, Methodists are reminded of their baptism. Perhaps it is because most of us are baptized...brought into the church...as infants. We are asked to simply remember the significance of the occasion. The only physical connection I have of mine is this picture and, of course, my baptismal certificate. The picture was taken on "my day" and is the only picture I have of Granddad Beal and me. He died when I was seven and my memory of him is fleeting...dental chair, calling grandma "Mother" and of course Christmas-time...his last in 1947. But...on the day this picture was taken, my baptism, he was focused on me and the possibilities of my life. That is what I call a blessing.

Today, when asked to remember my baptism I thought of this picture of Pop-Pop and me. Remember the old song, "Old time religion"? It is my guide when my faith falters at times...."if it is good enough for your (mother, father, or in this case grandfather), it's good enough for me." Somehow, people in my family who loved me, protected me, and reared me knew what I know, lived in a different time than I, but they fundamentally believed what I believe. Don't get me wrong, there are some differences that 75 years of experience has revealed (as per John Wesley's Quadralateral, which you can Google), but belief that we are put on this earth to love, show compassion, and to share has not changed.

Whipple Dam 1952

I was also recalled the picture to the left, which has little to do with my baptism, although they were all there and basically share my belief system. I thought of it because they all three nurtured me and for that I am most grateful. Dave, Jim, Joe and me...one of the few pictures when the four Lutz boys (off-spring of Dorothy and Raymond) were together at the same time.
How can I not remember these big guys in such a setting? Whipple Dam is located near State College, PA and the occasion was the graduation of the two big dudes from Penn State.

What does this all have to do with remembering my baptism? It is a time for reflection...for recalling...who was "God for me" over the years. We are asked to nurture those who are baptized in our community...and so off and on over many years I think of Joe, Dave and Jim serving in this capacity in my life.

Who is God for you?

(submitted to New Wilmington Globe/Leader)

Some Luacres History 

Our family moved from Highland Avenue, New Castle to Valley Road in Neshannock Township in May 1942. Dad, a dentist, was in the Army Reserve having served in WW I and knew he would be activated that summer. There were five of us ranging in age from 14 years to nine months (me). Mother said that if she had to raise her family alone she wanted to be in the country not in the city.

Mother and older kids were not strangers to spartan living. They had spent the previous ten summers in a cottage with no electricity or indoor plumbing near Volant located just below the dam. But they were not experienced at farming. The place they bought from Tom and Daisy Smith consisted of 63 acres, a house, barn and several out buildings. Her friends thought she was crazy, but it became the training ground for the Lutz family.  We called the place Luacres.

The ensuing three and a half years, until the end of the War and Dad’s return to his practice in the Greer Building on Mercer Street, were filled with one new experience after another. Some included learning to milk the five cow herd; how to till the soil with a team of horses; how to tend a Boomer coal fired furnace; how to survive the war years with rationing.

I was too young to remember those early years, but I was tuned in as a six year old when I started school at Walmo in 1947. In 1946 and 1947 we welcomed

Jonathan Byler (from Volant) to Luacres. He lived with us and ran the farm to fulfill the requirements of his military deferment. Jon (we pronounced it Yone) was just 19 and gave our family a taste of Amish culture, which stayed with all of us. After he left our farm and married, there were frequent visits to Jonathan and Deana Byler’s place over the years to renew old friendships.

During Thanksgiving break of 1950 the Big Snow left an indelible mark in my memory as Brother Dave, two neighbors and I took a load of 5 and 10 gallon cans of milk to Linger Light Dairy by tractor and wagon into New Castle. I recall the trip up Mercer Road to the Neshannock Fire Hall where we left two five gallon cans for neighbors who might be out of milk, across Shenango Road, south on  Wilmington Road and down Jefferson Street hill where we stopped for lunch on the Diamond. On the trip home we fetched a 55 gallon drum of fuel oil for a neighbor. Heady stuff for a nine year old.

,

As my siblings left home (Joe to the Navy and then Penn State, Dave also to Penn State, Phyllis to IUP, Jim to the Air Force and Slippery Rock) I  became the sole kid on the farm in 1956. By this time I was in George Washington and headed to NeCaHi (where all five of us graduated) to be a member in the last class (1959) to come from Neshannock. I spent my teen years raising replacement heifers for Harold Green of Glen Road. Mr. Green was Brother Dave’s father-in-law I worked both at home with my small herd of cattle that I raised for 4-H projects and at the Green farm with their 60 head of Holsteins. After graduation I headed to Penn State to study agriculture.

While I was finishing my junior year (1962) Dad died in his office. While Mother hung on to the farm for a couple of years we were all building our own lives around the country. The old house with its coal furnace became too much for her.

Luacres was sold in pieces: the house and barn and land west of Valley Road in 1964 and the bulk of the land east of Valley Road to the Neshannock Creek in the mid-1970s.

After Penn State, I spent five years in the Navy, taught school, worked for Campbell Soup who sent us to Michigan in the early 1970s. My wife Aleene (Laurel 1961)

and I raised our family there and stayed for 35 years. Today we reside in Newberg, Oregon where our daughter Amy and her family live.

I have had an interesting career mostly in in education and human resources, but I still self identify as “a farmer kid from Pennsylvania.”

Why I love baseball

Baseball has been a part of my life experience since I can remember...going back to 1947. Living near (50 miles or so) Pittsburgh made the Pirates our family team.

The radio was on in the house most weekend afternoons as we listened to the play-by-play of the beloved Buccos. During home games the announcers (Rosey Rosewell and soon after Bob Prince) called the game from Forbes Field. The away games were called from Pittsburgh with some sort of teletype hook-up to the city where the game was being played.

I am not sure that every pitch was sent over the wire, so the announcer made up action to fit what was sent. For example the wire might send something like, “Kiner singles on a 2-2 pitch.” That is what would be recorded in a score book. So, Rosey would imagine the pitches that got the batter to a single: “Here’s the windup, the stretch, the pitch….low, ball one.” There was no background sound other than the sounds of a newsroom and what patter he would generate. It would be like calling a game by looking at Yahoo Sports Ap and reading what they show  there. It was like listening to paint dry.

As boring as it sounds it piqued our interest in the game and kept us up on how the Buccos were doing. We, of course, was sister Phyllis, whom we all called Chickie. She was the baseball fanatic. During those years...1947-52 while she was at home before graduating from High School she would clip the press reports out of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (which Dad brought home from the office, daily) and pin the most dynamic up on her bedroom wall. When you walked into her room your eyes were attracted to the clippings.

Chickie would play catch with me in the front yard while we listened to the Pirates on a small table radio...extension cords stretched as far as we could from the nearest outlet in the house. Of course, home games were more fun with the crowd noise and Rosewell’s trademark: “Raise the window, Aunt Minnie, here it comes.” There would be a crash of a breaking pane of glass and his final words, “She never made it…”On rainy days when we couldn’t be outside, Chickie taught me how to keep score...pencil, paper, clipboard and a ruler to make your own chart.

Catch consisted of a taped up ball, and two gloves...one being a five fingered mit that allegedly was used by my oldest brother Joe when he played organized ball. The backstory was that Joe broke his front teeth in an inverted V which dad repaired with gold...the material of choice in the 1930s. And the story continues that allegedly Dad said no more organized baseball for his boys. Continuing that if we broke our teeth, we had to fix them yourself, somehow. But back to the games of catch. The second glove was often a small mit with no padding. Later, I bought a glove which I played with through Little League.

She stood at the big white pine tree in the front yard and I had a spot near the driveway, probably 50 feet away and throw as hard as I could to make her wince. She was a teenager then and a good catch and thrower. I am not sure how many ten year olds had 16 year old sisters that  play catch with them. 

Notice Dad's work attire...

There were others, of course, including Dad. He did not last long since he could not risk injuring his hands being a dentist. Jim and I played catch, too, but not the seemingly hours that I spent with Sister.

In the summer of 1951 five of us….Dave, Tillie, Chickie, Jim and I ….. frequently attended North County League baseball games. We went to Volant mostly, but I remember going to Pulaski, New Wilmington, and Eastbrook. It was there that I learned the finer points of the game...positioning, pitching and hitting. We had a connection to Volant, of course. 

Our family had a cottage along the Neshannock Creek just below the dam of the old mill during the 1930s until the fall of 1941 when I was born. Dave knew people there and some of the locals were patients of Dad. So there was a welcomeness and warmth when we sat in the bleachers, there.

It was my indoctrination to the Volant culture...small town, water-wheel powered mill, general store and people of the earth...lovely people who knew more about my family’s past summers there than I did. But it was all because of baseball.

The Volant ball field was...and more or less, still is...in the lowland adjacent to the river south of the bridge. Foul balls tailed off into river (in left field) into Wilkin’s general store (right field) and as far back as the mill race to the right of home plate. Home runs went into the bushes on the hillside 300+ feet from home plate.

When we journeyed to other fields the fans felt less hospitable, but that may have been just me. Actually, Eastbrook was closest to us...the old field up behind what was then the High School and now is apartments (the school where Aleene attended ninth grade.) We hung out down the right field line adjacent to the Vo-Ag classes that were taught by my mentor (10 years later) Mr. Howard Fox. In New Wilmington, there were folks who were related to Tillie and they made us feel comfortable there. That field was located up behind the “old” high school.

Pulaski was a whole new “ball game.” We knew no one there and as a result we, or at least I, watched my Ps and Qs. The interesting thing about Pulaski was that the “bull pen” was adjacent to the stands and I got to watch the interplay there as the pitchers and relievers warmed up. I can still hear the pop of the ball hitting the glove of the catcher.

This summer experience had a real impact on me, because baseball came alive. I could see it, hear it and yes, even smell it. It also made me feel that baseball was something I wanted to be involved in.

I played ball at recess and lunch at school in games that would seem to go on and on for days. We had some pretty good players. But when the chance came to play the first Little League team that Neshannock fielded, I got stoked. I talked Dad into taking me an informational mixer at the Fire Hall on the corner of Shenango and Mercer Roads...a plain block structure, not the modern building that is there now. It had three garage doors and was packed to the rafters that night. They served hot dogs and cider and had an old guy talk about playing ball against Honus Wagner...turns out he was the Sheriff and his stories were true.

The point of the meeting was to explain how the process would work which culminated in parents having to sign a permission slip that we at school called “contracts.” As in: “Did your folks sign your contract?” like it was a pro-thing. Well, my parents talked and talked and finally signed at the last minute, as I recall. I was in. All I had to do was make the team.

The rules that first year were crazy. There would be one team of 18 boys from the whole township. It would be made up of an equal number of 10, 11, and 12 year olds...all on the same team. There were a lot of boys left on the outside looking in. I got picked as a 10 year old and was one of two who made the first team at first base. I can still name the first team and would except it would be super boring. Anyway, that team turned out to be quite good. We traveled around the county playing New Wilmington, Wampum, Pulaski, Hillsdale...all over the place. The only team we could not beat was Wampum. They had a pair of brothers by the name of Allen. One was Harold and the younger one was Richard who was known affectionately as Sleepy because it looked like his eyelids were half closed. Well, Sleepy Allen turned out to be Richie or Dick Allen future player of the Philadelphia Phillies.

That was all in 1952...I would turn 11 that October, so I played as a 10 year old. I was getting ready to go into 6th grade. Our team would actually get together and practice in the afternoons during the week. Supervised practices were held in the evenings. We enjoyed playing together so much we rode our bikes for, in my case, miles just to play.

Jerry Opp, John Catterson, Ronnie Rupp, Eddie Houck, Ronnie Schmidt, Tommy Lutz...and others whose names escape me were a very cohesive team. In short, we thought we were good.

The next two summers the rules changed. There were too many outsiders looking in, so to speak to justify just one team from our community (Township). As a result six or eight  teams were formed and we played each other until August when an “all star” team was formed and we played the winner of the County Little League (the league we were in the year before) which was...in both years...Wampum still with the Allen brothers. Needless to say, we lost both years. All stars do not play game after game together and there was no cohesiveness. I am sure this was all done with good intentions of the adults in charge, but we were designed for failure. Those were the summers of 1953 and 1954. That ended my organized baseball career.

My heros were Ralph Kiner, Wally Westlake, Stan Rojek, Danny Murtaugh and the rest of the early 1950s Pirates. When Roberto Clemente came on board, respect and awe became part of my baseball observations.

Perhaps my biggest baseball thrill was in 1969 while working in Chicago for Campbell Soup when I met Ernie Banks. I was managing the company’s basic education program for employees. Ernie was under contract with a Campbell ad agency who supplied him as a speaker at our spring “graduation.” Ernie had been dropped off at the corner of 35th and California where the old soup plant was located and found his way up to the 7th floor cafeteria on his own...being interrupted along the way. Once there he ate with the “students” who were all adults trying to either learn to or improve their reading skills. He very casually stood at the mike and made appropriate remarks. I was there, of course, but was not scheduled to interact with him. When the event was complete, Ernie hung around to sign autographs. The book was a Campbell produced paperback of baseball history and facts.

When the signing died to a trickle, Ernie looked up at me and said, Could you show me where all these wonderful people work?” I was completing a full year and new the plant well, so I jumped at the chance. For the next 45 minutes Ernie and I tramped through the old plant starting at the top where the raw materials came in to the bottom two floors where soup was put into cans and then warehoused. When we finished he shook my hand, thanked me and drifted off to find his ride.  

Baseball transitioned slowly in the early 50s to television. First, it was the All Star game, then the World Series and finally weekend games by 1955 and 56; black and white, of course. We didn’t have TV until I was in 6th grade in January 1953. That meant that until then I was only able to watch at a neighbor’s house, when invited. When the opportunity came, I jumped at the chance.

I had chances to play ball in ensuing summers, but did not take the opportunity. I was a farmer kid and did not wish to be burdened with practices and games all summer long. Back then, New Castle High did not offer baseball, so there was no opportunity to play even if I wanted to. NC was a football and basketball school. By this time I was engaged in music.

Of course, my love of the game continued and I played organized ball in the Navy, albeit softball, and again slow pitch up until I was 44.

I am sharing all this because as I get more mature and the game changes I reach into my past to understand my love of the game and its traditions...the national pasttime.

My love of pipe organ music....

 I do not expect anyone, except for a very few, to understand why I love to listen to pipe organ music...especially Bach...and especially played by the late Virgil Fox. But for now, listen if you like, to Mr. Fox's arrangement of Now Thank We All Our God written by Bach. Our organist played it today at church and it brought me to tears.

You see, my first memories of church...First Methodist in New Castle, Pa...of the Greer organ played by Mr. Edwin Lewis who also was my voice instructor when I turned 14. Edwin was a showman...not like Virgil Fox, but if you got to know him...and I did when I was taking voice from him...you realized he was an eccentric master musician. Sunday after Sunday he would make the walls of that church tremble with the vibrant sounds of that great music. So, today when I hear great music played on a grand organ it runs shivers up and down...and I weep.
Listen to this, if you want to experience some Christmas music written by George Fredrick Handel.

This will keep you going for a while, if you like, no love, as I do the sound of the Wannamaker organ in the big store in Philadelphia. We were there at Christmas time in the late 1960s and early 1970s...not every year, but several of those holiday seasons and we generally took the train over to Philly from our home in New Jersey to see and hear this great organ. We did not get to experience Virgil Fox, but it rocked, none the less. The Wannamaker organ is the largest in the world, I understand.

Being tuned in and turned on to organ...church organ music...in the 1940s and 1950s...I happened to be in New York City during the spring of 1962 for a concert tour of the Penn State Glee Club (at Town Hall) and a friend of mine...Art Mauer (now deceased) and I went to Radio City Music Hall to see a movie and as the movie was ending the Mighty Wurlitzer rolled out and began playing the closing credit music of the film and then burst into a short concert before the Rockettes performed. Notice the difference here between the show organ at Radio City and the Wannamaker organ above playing Bach. I realized that while I liked the heavier sounds of Bach versus the show sounds of the Wurlitzer it was still a pipe organ and it gave me chills. I was back again at Radio City when the ship was in New York and off to Radio City again...not for the Rockettes, but for the Wurlitzer.

Fast forward a few years and a pizza place opened in Grand Rapids known as 20th Century Pizzeria that had a Wurlitzer theater organ...boy did we make plans to go there for a listen...again...the rich full sounds of a pipe organ, but alas playing contemporary music, not Bach. Ok, but not fulfilling.

One more personal note...my church experience after New Castle was always electronic so I began buying recordings of Bach played by Virgil Fox. But my experience with live pipe organ music drifted off...that is until Newberg First United Methodist  popped onto our radar. Bam. I was hooked. Jane Mendenhall was organist then and I literally cried when she played. Now Janet Lyda is our organist and she can still bring me to tears as she did today.

But if you want to hear my favorite...listen again to Mr. Fox and you will get a glimpse of why I love pipe organ music and love to dance the gigue (or jig.)

Happy Birthday Aleene....

Mother in 1970

What should I get for her this year? I've been saying that for the past 54 years...we started dating in 1961. There has been this or that not too imaginative on my part. The best things have been dinners out at a favorite spot, at least that is what I think. Recently, the past 30 years or so, we just agree to not do anything special for each other and just keep being supportive and thoughtful for yet another year. That has worked well...for me at least.

This year is no different except I decided to write about her, a bit. You see, Aleene does not like...no, loathes...attention and being singled out. But she also knows that sometimes I cannot help myself. This is one of those times.

Age five...flower girl on the left

She went through some pretty scary times this year...made us both think about the future. I decided to let readers track her progress through the years...gracefully and with dignity; well, mostly. Love-able and capable...

About 12 at camp

At 21...beautiful, eh?

Ten years ago

My favorite...New Castle in  1969

Missing my buddy....

Two years ago we lost a good friend as I mentioned here when we realized we were facing a future without him. Well, the future is now and hardly a week goes by when my partner, Howard, and I don't refer to John in various ways.  John said this, or John showed me that, or that was before John and Janie moved to Bend or after...we rarely refer to his death. It is too painful.

John was instrumental in our church garden, which I took over when they moved. But I could always consult with him...that is gone. Likewise some of the side trips he and Howard took while they were partners....that is gone. But in the midst of all the memories of loss are the positives. We still have his spirit with us.

We keep in touch with Janie...in fact, we were guests in her home this summer just before Aleene's NSTEMI (heart attack). We got to see their daughter Sarah and her husband Josh who live just down the street from Jane. (When I see Sarah smile I think of her dad.) Their oldest daughter Eilidh (pronounced A-lee, Scottish don't you know) and her husband Jeff and daughter Paige live in Portland and we follow them on Face Book...John loved Miss P. But my memories are in pictures of garden, Scotland in 2008 and Mexico in 2013...they just keep popping up.

Just want the cyber world to know that I am once again reminded that when someone leaves in the flesh, they are remembered by their spirit. Peace

Now that we’re married

The ship was in and out in early 1965. Now that we were married we looked for opportunities to be together. That is, after all, why we tied the knot in January instead of waiting until Aleene's graduation in June. While I wasn’t making a lot of money, I did not spend much either. It cost about $100 for a round trip ticket between Pittsburgh and Jacksonville. So, by mid March, just six weeks after we were married I sent Aleene some money and she showed up for a long weekend. That is when she got pregnant with Jeff….well, just do the math. Jeff was born on December 12.

She made it down again in late April and was able to even eat a meal on board in the wardroom. The ship was on its way to Norfolk and we thought about stowing her away for the overnight ride, but thought better of it. Instead, I took leave and we drove up to VA where she flew home.

I want to interject here my belief and feeling that in today’s world, we would not likely seen the need to get married for us to spend these weekends and short weeks together. But we were kids from the 1950s...we would not embarrass our families like that. We got married to legitimize our hook-ups. We did not see the risk in marriage, but there was, of course. We had great attachments of family background and personalities. We had been through a lot together. As it turned out we were more compatible than we realized and it worked out just fine.

The ship continued to operate off the East Coast and was scheduled to return to the Med in late June. We spent days alongside the pier in Mayport getting ready for the upcoming cruise. There was another LCDR onboard, the fuels officer, who was from Central Pennsylvania. He had scheduled to fly a small Navy transport from Mayport to Tyrone, PA in late May. He needed someone to ride in the right seat, an observer. The catch was, according to Navy Regs, the observer had to be an officer who was eligible for command at sea. I was such a guy and Tim knew that. He also knew I had a wife going to college in Central PA so he asked if I could see my way clear to accompany him. I jumped at the chance.

Aleene had the car, which meant she could drive over from Indiana to Tyrone (about 60 miles)  on a Friday afternoon and be back in school  by Sunday noon. It was on.

Tim Grier was the son of the owner of Grier School for Girls in Tyrone. It is a prep school for wealthy girls that focused on equestrian training. I had been there once two years before with the Penn State Glee Club. We put on a concert there and then served as dates for the spring dance. Think about it...college men turned loose on high school girls. Yep, it was true.

Tim was a pilot and had learned to fly in the mountains of PA as a teen ager and had flown in and out of the little air strip many times. I was stoked. His deal was to fly with him on Friday, stay over in the school’s visitor quarters two nights...meals, with the girls, included.

The flight from Mayport Naval Air Station is another story altogether. The experience was one I will never forget. I have written about it several times and will point to that story. Suffice it to say here, we made the trip, landed the plane and Aleene, seeing our C-45 swooping around drove right to the air strip. We checked into our quarters and showed up for dinner. It really scalded Aleene to have to eat with all those staring girls. I, of course, was in uniform and that was enough attention, but she felt conspicuous.

Tim attended his board meeting on Saturday and on Sunday morning, early, we jumped in our orange and white Navy plane and headed south. On the way back, Tim took us off the coast and gave me the yoke...I flew for about an hour while he “rested.”

When we landed at NAS Mayport there was a car waiting for us with the message that we were to get back to the ship as quickly as we could. When we reported aboard 20 minutes late,r the OOD told me that the Chief Engineer had left me a message to get to Main Engines Control. We were lighting off boilers for an emergency get- underway and I was the only qualified watchstander on board at the time. We were headed to The Dominican Republic. So much for our romantic weekend escape, I was back in the Navy.Two weeks later I flew back up to PA for Aleene’s graduation.

Sometime in the spring I contacted my detailer at the Pentagon (really the Navy Annex)  to see if it was possible for me to get orders to shore duty. Aleene was expecting and I had heard that after two years aboard a ship the Navy might give me a shore assignment if I extended my active duty commitment for a year for a two year tour. The guy said it was possible if I had a strong recommendation from my Commanding Officer and if there was something open that the Navy needed and I was qualified for. The latter was no problem since I had spent ten weeks in Philly at DC-NBC school. The former, the fitness reports, I had no way of knowing how that would pan out.

I told my boss, Captain Davis was now Chief Engineer, my plan and he warmed to it. He said something like...who knows, this just might be the thing that makes you decide to make the Navy a career. Really? Really?

There was one more quick flight north for Aleene’s graduation from Indiana. I remember the dinner after graduation and a few pictures, but little else.

Once again, I flew to Jacksonville just in time for  the “sea and anchor detail” as we sailed out the St. John’s River for what turned out to be my last time as we headed for the Med. I was standing watches four hours on and eight hours off. We had to get the newbies qualified.

On July 5th I got orders to report to DC School, Philly as an instructor….in early September. Two more months to go before I left the ship.

I wrote to Aleene and she went to work. By the first of September she and Chickie made a trip to the Philly area and found us an apartment. Why Chickie? In 1965 she and the girls were living in New Castle while Bruce was on an unaccompanied tour in Korea. Phyllis had a friend from Utah whose husband had been transferred to New Jersey who was willing to let them use her home as a base for an apartment search. Charlotte and Gary Maffin were now connected to us.

I flew off the ship in a COD (carrier onboard delivery - mail plane) on 4 September in the Eastern Med. Being launched from zero to 180 mph in three seconds is a thrill, for sure. I had the feeling I might never see the FDR again so I took a long look as we circled and headed towards Athens and then NAS Naples. It took me four days to make it to McGuire AFB by way of Rabat, and Rota. It’s the way the Military worked back then.

Aleene and Chickie were waiting for me in Philly at our new apartment in Westville, New Jersey. Westville is significant because it was our first home together. Jeff was born in the Naval Hospital in Philly and we brought him home to Ambler Ave. We made church friends there and our life as a family began there.

My job as an instructor in Biological Warfare Defense was challenging at first because we were teaching recent college grads who were on their way to the fleet...and were a bit smart alecky. But we (Al Kreiser and I) endured and really got good at it. Can’t believe we drove the Walt Whitman Bridge over the Delaware River for two years, successfully.

We made many life-long friends in Philly: Al and Ann Kreiser, Mark and Karen Simon, Jack and Gladys Cramer...all have stayed in touch over the years. There were many more very colorful people too. Great memories. Some of us bought houses in New Jersey south of the bridge in Woodbury and some took up residence in Navy rentals in Society Hill Towers in Philadelphia….yep highrises in downtown...beautiful apartments. I am sure that did not last long, but in the time we were there  (65-67) you gave up your BAQ (basic allowance for quarters, about $120 per month, then) for very swanky digs.

Our choice was to live in Jersey and was a big factor in why I went to work for Campbell Soup when I got out of the Navy in late 1967. CSC corporate office  was right up the road from us and I could take the train to work. But I am getting ahead of myself.

A word or so about the Navy aspect of those two years. Unlike the ship, the DC School staff were not exactly misfits, but many seemed to be. The ship officer cadre were people striving to get ahead, to do their best to be professional. DC staff were relieved to be ashore...close to home, close to grad school. They were people who did not like sea duty or who had been at sea too many years. And then there were those of us just starting out and exploring the Navy’s opportunities. The Commanding Officer was a lush, the admin officer was a lush, the Executive Officers came and went like the wind...they got there and could not stand it.

Most of my buddies were going to grad school at either Temple or Penn (Wharton School of Finance) and were looking to get out and go to work for big salaries. I was there to be with my family...no school, and fairly sure this would be my last duty station and not further my Navy career. It was 1967, after all. The Vietnam War was heating up and protests were everywhere. The war was unpopular...especially in the big cities like Philadelphia.

Low and behold a letter from the Navy Bureau of Personnel (BuPers, we called it) offering me the chance to “augment”  or switch from the Naval Reserve to the Regular Navy (1105 designator to the coveted 1100 designator...unrestricted line officer; eligible for command at sea). The fitness reports that had accompanied me from FDR turned out to be that good that the Navy was giving me a plum...if...I wanted it. And, I did not. The senior administration in Philly was dumbfounded. This did not happen very often...unsolicited augmentation... and they could not believe I was ignoring it. Truth be told, had the CO and others been more squared away, I might have accepted the offer, but all I saw was a career of having to work with sleezy people.

The Navy made me one more offer six months after I got out….April 1968. This time it was orders to a destroyer in engineering with no penalty in time in grade for getting out. Again, unsolicited. In context, this was just after the Tet Offensive and the war was going badly...it was an easy decision. I did realize that the reason I had been promoted ahead of schedule was the same reason these orders were sent in the first place...there was a war on and the Navy needed more qualified people. They could have just as easily kicked me out sooner if they did not need me. That I knew.

We loved Philadelphia after we understood how to get around the city and the area. I was there for 10 weeks in 1963 and two years with the Navy from 1965-67...then with Campbell Soup through 1968 and again from 1970-72; slightly over five years. We had some roots, too. Tottie was in New York wrapping up her career and we were able to connect with her both in NYC and at our house on a couple of occasions. Philly was very comfortable for us.

When it came time to look for work as my separation date came closer I applied to several agri-businesses: Mobil Petrochemicals, Stauffer Ag Chemical, and Campbell Soup. I got phone calls from Penn State trying to connect me with several school districts looking for Ag teachers...there was work out there, I interviewed with Stauffer in Omaha and Campbell in New Jersey...Campbell won, hands down. My human resources career began (Personnel they called it then) and I was not even sure what value a personnel department added to an organization...if any. But I learned quickly.

My Navy career lasted four years and nine months. Other than marrying a devoted wife, mother and partner, Navy life was probably the most significant part of my education. I figured out I could compete with some of the best and gain approval of people I worked for. I spent 14 months in the Med visiting countries from Spain to Turkey and even set foot in Northern Africa. I tested my leadership skills and was tested in pressure situations and gained valuable confidence in my decision making. I have to admit I loved being at sea and had it not been for the time away from home I might have stayed in for twenty. Who knows? We made the decision to get out and never looked back. On balance I am convinced we did the smart thing for us.

Taken the first week of OCS
in anticipation of making it
through the 18 weeks.

Early Navy years…

I flew into Newport, RI on 19 May 1963. I was ready. It was a Sunday and we were to report the  next day. The recruiting office in Pittsburgh had set up our transportation and accommodations. There were two other guys flying with me, one from Pitt and the other from Duquesne. As it turned out, our names were alphabetically close, K, L, M. We not only were in the same company of 24 men, we were roommates.

Navy OCS in 1963 was straight out of  WWII with wood barracks...which were also like our classrooms: two story structures with porches (we called them weather decks) surrounding them on both stories. Right across the bay, a nest of Navy ships including the carrier USS Essex.  This would be home for the next 18 weeks.

I will spare my readers  details except to say that there were a couple of remarkable items that I will share. First, my class was small, as classes go; about 280 of us. The mix was about one third former enlisted who were seeking a commission after either going to college some place or direct commission because they were E-7 (Chief Petty Officer) or above. Another third were professionals (lawyers, civil engineers, pharmacists, supply types, medical specialists, but not doctors or dentists, and those heading to nuclear power school, etc.) The final third were guys like me...college grads, some recent and some who had been out for a while. We would be the “ship drivers” or eligible for command at sea. It was an older, more experienced group who were really, really smart. As a result the academics were more competitive, but the military side was less “chicken” than it might have been if we were all recent grads. The old salts referred to us, albeit affectionately, as “college girls.”   We had alums from most of the Ivy League schools and major universities from around the country. So I did not feel badly that I ended  in the middle of the class academically.

The other item was that by chance I ran into a former fraternity brother who was going to Navy Justice School to become the legal officer of his squadron. He was a pilot and already in for two years. Fast forward two and a half years and he was shot down over North Vietnam and was a POW for over 7 years. I remember him stopping our section coming over to me and getting into my face saying, “Lutz, what the hell are you doing here?” He was a Lt(jg)...big stuff to us. He retired after 30 years as a Captain. We are still in touch today.

On 20 September 1963 I flew home in my Navy blues with orders in hand headed for the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CVA 42) with a ten week stop in Philadelphia for Damage Control and Nuclear, Biological and Chemical (NBC) defense school. The stop over was significant because Philly was just two hours from Joe and Shirley, Greg, Jane and now Carolyn. They were now in Gettysburg in a new, much more spacious house.

As that fall progressed, I made the trip from Philly to Gettysburg every weekend...a couple of those weeks Aleene came over from Indiana by bus...just couldn’t keep us apart. On one particular weekend, I was getting in my car after class on a Friday to drive to Gettysburg to meet Aleene. It was her 20th birthday the day before (November 21). As I was pulling my things together we got the news that Kennedy had been killed. That didn’t change our plans, but I recall spending most of the time together glued to the TV as the news covered the event with little interruption for other programming. It was November 22, 1963.

Greg was 8, Jane 6 and Carolyn just 4 months old. We got to reconnect once again. J&S would get the kids ready for bed and take off for the evening and allow us love birds to be alone. Jane says they would sneak out of bed and look down stairs  to see if we were kissing. We probably were.

We had it good. Aleene’s folks did not hassel her at all about our get togethers for she was, after all, visiting her aunt and uncle. We had been dating for over two years at this point.

The week after Kennedy’s assassination was the Army-Navy game which he had been scheduled to be played  in Philadelphia. I scored some tickets from the USO and got a chance to see Roger Staubach play the last game of his junior year. This was the year he won the Heisman.

I took leave and flew home after the final week of class. It would be the last chance to see Aleene. Back then, active duty military could fly standby for half fare if you were in uniform. It was not uncommon to score a first-class ticket for half price of coach. This was before the airlines were deregulated and planes were rarely full.

The week before Christmas, we said good-bye. I flew back to Philly, picked up my car and started driving south. I was due onboard Roosevelt when she reached Mayport, Florida on 22 December. Rosie had been in the shipyard in Brooklyn, New York since June. I made one trip from Philly to the yard to see her one week. A sailor in my DC class was stationed on Roosevelt and he showed me the way. She was enroute to Mayport when I was doing my travel, so I got to meet her when she got into her home port.

Roosevelt was a big ship, almost 1,000 feet long and 60 feet from the waterline to the flight deck. When she came sailing in the St. John’s River I was parked on the pier and my heart was racing, I am sure. I was smart enough to let the ship tie up and sailors disembark so that I would not be caught in the mass of bodies. By the time I reported aboard nobody seemed to care about a new ensign...but the fact remained...where was I going to sleep?

Post card circa 1963

It just so happened that the OOD (Officer of the Deck) was a Lt.Cdr (the person in charge of things in port) whom I had met in Philly. He was going to catapult school and was going aboard as the Cat Officer. He was an aviator...nice guy, who befriended me when he heard I was going to Rosie. I learned then the Navy is a small community and you never know who you might run in to.

Cdr Shuman left Rosie about the time I did in 1965 and joined a squadron headed to Vietnam. He was shot down in 1967 and spent five years in the “Hanoi Hilton” with my fraternity brother Wendell Alcorn whom I have already mentioned twice in this and other blogs. Small community, indeed.

Roosevelt was the new Navy to me. It was Christmas leave time and the ship had been in the yards for 9 months. Things were so laid back I just came and went as I pleased...I had no room, no job, no boss...just a vague attachment to the Engineering Department because I had been through Damage Control School. All that changed in a week or so. People started returning and I got assigned permanently to a room and to a job.

But this is about my family life not Navy details.

Shortly after New Years, we got underway for the Caribbean for what is called Underway Training. We were in and out of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba….just when Castro shut the water off to the base there. Gitmo, as it is called, is a beautiful spot. The Officer’s Club is built on a bluff overlooking the ocean...just like you would imagine a stately antebellum plantation home might look. It was my first exposure to both life at sea, exotic ports (San Juan, Montego Bay, Culebra) and aviators..

I was the junior person/watch stander in the department, so I had to wait my turn for leave when we got back in mid-March. We were headed to the Med for nine months the end of April. The plan was for me to leave my car with Joe and Shirley while I was overseas. I had to get it from Florida to Gettysburg, so I drove 20 hours non-stop in early April just to see Aleene. This time, after a stop over in Gettysburg, I flew to New Castle to see Mother and my sweetie-pie.

Mom had sold the house, barn and three acres to Mr. Rentz (New Castle News). So when I got there, the carpets were rolled up and Jim and Dave were getting the garage with tractor and other farm items ready for sale later in the month. In that atmosphere on April 13, 1964 Aleene and I sat alone in the living room of the old house and I asked her to marry me. (We had been ring shopping the previous day. I was not about to try to pick one out on the fly.) Her answer is still etched in my memory: “You know I will.”

My car was already in Gettysburg so I hopped a flight in Pittsburgh and flew back to Jacksonville...taking with me the excitement of a new adventure and a heavy heart...leaving my true love behind.

From the first of May until mid October it was all Navy, all the time. Suddenly, things changed. One of the blades of our number one (we had four) fell off. Significant because those props weigh 20 tons and once out of balance, they shake the beejeebers out of the ship. So we locked the shaft that prop was on and headed for New York and the drydock at Bayonne, NJ. We were scheduled to be in dry dock seven days. It took a week to ship a suitable prop by rail from Bremerton, Washington to Bayonne.

The ship was put on 72 hour port and starboard liberty...meaning...half the ship could be gone for three days, then the other half could be gone...I got the second liberty so there was time to notify...you know who...for yet another hook-up in Gettysburg. I flew to Harrisburg where I met Shirley driving my car and together we went to the bus station in Gettysburg to pick up Aleene. It was there we put the finishing touches on our wedding.

By mail we had agreed to get married during her semester break in January. I had set the wheels in motion to ensure I could get two weeks leave at that time. It was not difficult because I was fully qualified by this time to take watches for others during the the Holiday season. Our wedding date was set for Saturday, January 23, 1965.

During the summer Aleene (now betrothed) got my car from Joe and Shirley so she could have it for her student teaching. So we had wheels in New Castle ready to go.

I got home on January 20...just in time to get a marriage license three days before our wedding. Much to my pleasant surprise Aleene and her mom had the wedding all planned and ready to go. On Friday evening we had rehearsal at Faith Baptist Church in Harlansburg. Brother Dave was the marrying preacher, Joe was my best man, Brother Jim sang and our vocal instructor/church organist, Edwin Lewis played. Aleene’s two brothers were ushers.

Faith Baptist was a very small church...intimate is perhaps is a better term. It was candle-lit and beautiful...Joe, Dave and I held hands outside the door of the sanctuary and had a prayer...very moving and, well, it must have blessed our marriage….

First "selfie" with my 35 mm
in a HoJo in Northern Florida

We took a week to drive to Florida for our honeymoon…but in the end, with great sadness, I put her on a plane to fly home...I went to sea.