Links: The Bob Harris Story - Expanded Final Draft

Links: The Bob Harris Story

Links: The Bob Harris Story

Text & Design by Jim Ojala

Revised Second Edition © Summits Publishing – Mercer Island, Washington – 2022

Copyright © 2022 by Robert M. Harris, Jr. Composition,

design & artwork

by Jim Ojala

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.

Published by Summit Publishing, Mercer Island, WA Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Applied For isbn 0--20- Harris, Robert M., Jr.

Links: The Bob Harris Story December 2022 Revised Second Edition

Dedication

To my parents, Bob and Dol Harris, two of the greatest members of the Greatest Generation.

Links: The Bob Harris Story

Rex Beach, whose novels about Gold Rush Alaska delighted American readers early in the Twentieth Century, was attacked one time by a literary critic, Westbrook Pegler, for the outlandishness of his stories. Pegler complained that one had to severely discount anything Beach wrote about Alaska in order to arrive at the truth. When it came time for Beach to pen what he termed his “my-augraphy”, the novelist retorted, “He can discount them by 60 percent and still have something left!”

– Preface

WHETHER or not any of us ever panned for gold in the Yukon, we all have our own special stories to tell. Yet, few of us ever find the time to write them down. Courtesy of a gentle push from son Rob, here are the stories (purportedly unembellished) of Bob Harris, son of Ed and Dora, husband of Dol, father of Doreen, Nancy, and Rob, grandfather of Alison, Jayme, Lyndsay, and Becky, and friend to all—a collection of tales he’s told and retold for years and years interspersed with yarns not even Dol has heard before. Bob’s story spans an entire century, covers half the globe, and includes precious nuggets panned from the stream of an interesting life. The Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, World War II—they are all here, and much more. Those of you seeking “the truth” must decide for yourselves what percentage of Bob’s tales to discount. In truth, these are one man’s cherished memories, memories he wishes to share with those he loves.

Harris

This project was launched in August 200 during Bob and Dol’s annual visit to Seattle. Son Rob broached the idea of a family history centered on Bob and the Harris family and including material about Dol and the Preece family. After some discussion, the first tentative steps were taken. Jim Ojala, assisted by Mischelle Day, spent three days—including Bob’s 8th birthday—interviewing him and Dol across Rob’s dining room table in Seattle’s Magnolia neighborhood. Copious notes were taken and, after a technical misstep or two, their comments were recorded on tape. Via faxes, e-mails, letters, tapes, and telephone calls the process continued on into the Fall, culminating in a trip to Florida by Ojala and Day in mid-November 200 for a five day marathon of interviews. Tweakings continued into the New Year, and the final printed version was completed in January 2002. Myriad photographs, letters, documents, and other memorabilia have been used to illustrate the story. As well, a url has been included that will take you to an online file in Adobe Acrobat pdf format which you can download, open, and print if you like. Above all, enjoy!

City Seal – Melrose, Massachusetts

City Seal – Melrose, Massachusetts

Birthplace of “the Grand Ones”

Birthplace of “the Grand Ones”

Typical Melrose home

Typical Melrose home

Colonial-era cabin in Melrose

Colonial-era cabin in Melrose

Old milestone in Melrose

Old milestone in Melrose

Links: The Bob Harris Story – Generations

Bob and Dol belong to what Tom Brokaw recently dubbed “the Greatest Generation” and what others have called “the Builders” or “the GI Generation” or “the We Generation”— Americans born in the first quarter of the Twentieth Century who together came of age during the Great Depression and World War II, surmounted those calamities, and helped build peace and prosperity in the aftermath. Labels abound for the generations that preceded and followed them. Chronologically if not in spirit, their parents were part of what historians refer to as “the Lost Generation”—those born in the last decades of the Nineteenth Century. Doreen, Nancy, and Rob are “Baby Boomers” or “Rock-and-Rollers,” Alison a “Generation X-er” or “Bridger” or “Baby Buster,” Jayme and Lyndsay and Becky “Generation Y-ers” or “Millenials” or “Net Gen-ers.” And, for recent additions to the Harris clan, names have abeen coined for those born between 1995 and 2009—”Generation Z”—and those born since 2010— “Generation Alpha.” Such labels are fine for demographers to debate over and humorists to joke about and advertisers to descend upon, but there is more to these terms than that. They represent a succession of flesh-and-blood individuals with aspirations and achievements, histories and legacies, whose stories offer insights into generations past, present, and future. The French Existentialist Jean-Paul Sarte once said that “the recapitulation, the reliving of one’s ideas and experiences are of interest because they are similar to those of many others, and so help us to reconstruct the evolution of a larger group, a class, a whole generation.” Taken on any level, Bob and Dol’s stories—their ideas and experiences—are a worthy subject. For present and future offspring of Bob and Dol Harris, taking up these pages will bring to life their links to these grand representatives of “the Greatest Generation.”

Ned Harris with sons Billy, Bud, & Bobby —98

“Iwas named after my father’s father,” Bob reveals as he sits perched on a chair with Dol at his side, where she has been for  years through good times and bad. “Robert Mowe Harris, that was his name. And I’m Robert Mowe Harris the Second. Or at least I was. But I changed that. Now I’m Robert M. Harris Senior, and Rob is Robert M. Harris Junior.” Bob isn’t sure where the “Mowe” came from. No one ever said. Surely there was an ancestor with the surname of “Mowe.” The name is of English origin, and there were at least two Mowes in New England—brothers Samuel and Ephraim in Rye, Rockingham County, New Hampshire—during Revolutionary War times. While “Mowe” is not a common name—there is only one listed in the current Seattle phone book—families bearing that moniker can be

traced to locales throughout New England: Franklin and Berkshire in Massachusetts, New Haven and Fairfield in Connecticut, Rockingham in Vermont, and Bennington in New Hampshire. But are any of these families related to the Harris clan? And, if so, how? These questions remain for now, and may remain forever, unsolved mysteries.

Bob and Dol have more to tell us about some of their other ancestors, although both express regret that they did not do more in times past to investigate their roots, especially on their golfing trips to England. “My mother’s maiden name was Anderton,” Bob advises, adding “That’s with a t, not an s.”

“I was a twin, born second,” he continues. “My brother Bill was  minutes older than I. And all my life he threw those  minutes at me. He was named after my mother’s father, William Anderton. So he was William Anderton Harris. We were different—fraternal twins, not identical twins. Bill had light hair and fair skin; I had dark hair and a dark complexion. I always told him ‘You’re an Anderton, I’m a Harris!” Dol nods her head vigorously at these words, so it must have been so.

The Harris twins made their first appearance on this earth in Melrose, Massachusetts on 2 August 9—a Thursday. Thus, Bob Harris is a Thursday’s Child. According to the well-known verse, “Thursday’s child has far to go.” Just how far Bob has gone through the years can be measured by the breadth of the story being told in these pages.

Bob was the fifth-born, Bill the fourth-born of seven children. The August of their birth marked the second anniversary of the conflagration today known as World War I, then called “the Great War.” Trench warfare scarred the face of Europe, while German U-boats spread terror on the high seas. From Flanders’ fields to the Dardanelles to the sands of Arabia, an entire generation of young men was being savaged. In the United States, isolationist sentiment initially was strong,

Above: Bill & Bobby Harris 98

Below: Their birth announcement —98

Edwin Andrews “Ned” Harris —circa 938 and President Woodrow Wilson managed to delay America’s entry in the war. Only in 97 did the nation at last fully commit its resources and youth to battle. Fortunately, as the sole provider for a large family, Bob’s father was granted a deferral by his draft board, though he would otherwise willingly have served “over there” for a country suddenly awash with a surfeit of patriotism.

Like his twin sons, Edwin Andrews Harris—“Ned” to his friends—was also born in Melrose, Massachusetts (in 88). Melrose, a small city in Middlesex County seven miles north of Boston, is famous today for its handsome Nineteenth Century Victorian homes featuring cut shingles, gingerbread trim, dormers, porches, turrets, high ceilings, large windows, intricate woodwork, and more. Over a dozen ponds laid within the Melrose city limits, and trees lined the city’s parks and streets. Dol remembers especially Ell Pond, not far from her family’s home, where she and her siblings learned to swim and skate. (When they were courting, Bob and Dol ice skated on Ell Pond.)

By 900, when Melrose was incorporated as a city, the population had grown to 2,00 residents. Back then, and to a lesser extent today, open spaces abounded. In all, Melrose, Mass. was a good place to be born and raised.

Ed Harris took advantage of the space around him and became an outstanding sportsman, matriculating at Dartmouth College in 90 with an athletic scholarship to play hockey, football, and baseball. His dream was to follow in his older brother Joe’s footsteps.

Joe’s choice of career was pitching, and he worked his way through Boston’s minor league system until he was called up by the major league club in 90. The team was known then as the Boston Pilgrims. Only in 907 did club owner John Taylor, heir to the Boston Globe fortune, change the name from Pilgrims to Red Sox. At the club’s Huntington Avenue Grounds, Joe joined a pitching staff that included the immortal Cy Young. In September a year later, he

dueled star Philadelphia Athletics pitcher Jack Coombs in a 2-inning marathon, finally

suffering a   loss. For  years, he and Coombs shared the record for the longest game in major league history without a pitching change, a bit of fame Joe enjoyed immensely following his early retirement from the sport.

Also in 90, he suffered a distinction still unsurpassed in baseball history: over the course of the season, Joe’s Pilgrim teammates—by any measure the worst team in the American League that year—supported him with a measly .7 runs per game. His record in 90 was an unimaginable 2 2, yet his era was a respectable 3.2, a better mark than what most American League pitchers post today. A few years ago, cnn and Sports Illustrated, tongues collectively planted in cheek, created the Joe Harris Award to recognize the major league pitcher who receives the least run support per game from his team in a season.

“Uncle Joe was a great big guy,” Bob recalls. “He was a fireman for a while in Melrose. After that, he drove a taxi.” One night, following Joe’s retirement from fire-fighting, his house burned down, bringing to mind the adage “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any.”

Bob tells us that his father’s parents “didn’t want another professional athlete in the family. Back then, they weren’t considered to be much. They were bums in the eyes of most people, not like today when they put ’em on a pedestal, pay ’em millions of dollars and stuff. They didn’t do that back then. So, he wanted to be a professional athlete, but his parents told him ‘No!’ They wouldn’t permit it.”

While his father down in Melrose chafed at the prospect of having a second professional athlete in the family, Ed up in Hanover, New Hampshire found college life not much to his liking. As Dol was told years later by one of Bob’s sisters, in his sophomore year, Ed met Dora Anderton and soon announced to his father that he was going to get married. His father said okay, informing his son at the same time that, henceforth, his college days were over. It was time for Ed to return to Melrose, forget about a professional career in sports, find a real job, and start earning a living for himself and his family-to-be. Just then, Ned’s mother, Eloise Harris—née Andrews—passed away, delaying his marriage to Dora until the following year, 908.

Joe Harris, Fireman (third from left) —9

Joe Harris, Fireman (seated in truck) 9

Carriage house on Melrose estate —pre-World War I

Fourth of July parade, downtown Melrose —World War I era

Ned Harris (seated far right) with teammates in the New England League —date unknown Ned Harris (seated far right) with teammates in the New England League — date unknown Ned Harris (seated far right) with teammates in the New England League —date unknown

Three glimpses of Ed Harris’s world:

cl&p office, Norwich (top)

90

Waterfall & small cl&p power station outside Norwich (top right) —90

An early electric turbine at a cl&p power plant (lower right)

90

The would-be professional athlete soon immersed himself in what would become his lifelong career: the electric utility industry. It was a world then filled with exciting possibilities, one of the leading sectors of the American economy as it moved toward becoming the greatest economic engine the world has known. The United States enjoyed ready access to vast supplies of natural resources—water, gas, coal, and oil— making it easy to produce and distribute electricity more cheaply than in any other country in the world. Acceptance of electric power and the accompanying general use of electric lighting and appliances and equipment was a process only just getting under way in the u.s., spurred on initially by the many inventions of Thomas Alva Edison (gramaphone, 877; incandescent lamp, 879), Alexander Graham Bell (telephone, 87), and others. In the 880s, George Westinghouse mastered the complexities of alternating current and devised an efficient system for transmitting ac current over power lines. Slowly, electric power became less expensive, grew more reliable, and incorporated better technologies, all leading to increased demand and helping to clear the way for decades of phenomenal expansion.

In 907, Ed Harris entered what was thus a vibrant young industry at nearly the ground floor level. He started with the Malden Electric Company in Malden, Massachusetts, moved on to the Montpelier-Barre Electric Company in Montpelier, Vermont at the end of World War I, and a year or so later took the position of Secretary/ Treasurer with the Eastern Connecticut Power Company in Norwich, Connecticut. When ecpc merged with Connecticut Light & Power in 928, Ned joined cl&p in

Dora Anderton Harris —circa 90

Trinity Episcopal Church, Melrose, Massachusetts

Trinity Episcopal Church, Melrose, Massachusetts

Connecticut, where he rose through the ranks to the position of Division Manager with responsibility over company operations in southwestern Connecticut. His career advancements necessitated a series of family moves: from Malden to Montpelier, fromMontpelier to Norwich, and from Norwich to Norwalk. Ned’s work in Malden nearly cost him his life. In 98, a large fire broke out at Malden Electric. Thick black smoke trapped him inside, making it impossible to breathe or see. He saved himself by lying flat on his stomach and breathing through large cracks in the wooden floor.

In 938, Ned drew upon his business contacts to help secure a position for Bob with the Lamp Division of Westinghouse Electric, thereby launching his son’s career in another branch of the electric industry. For Ed in his time, being a part of the

electrification of America was somewhat akin to someone today (2002) being a part of the internet revolution. If you liken that era’s deployment of a network of transmission lines across America to today’s creation of the worldwide web, you will not be far off in gauging the economic and social significance of the electric industry and the electrification of America.

In 908, Ed Harris and Dora Anderton were married in Trinity Episcopal Church on West Emerson in Melrose— “The same church where Bob and I got married,” Dol informs us.

“My mother was a good singer,” Bob remark,. “an alto.”

“She had a beautiful voice!” Dol adds.

“She made singing her profession,” Bob continues. “Oh, gosh, we always went to the church where she was singing. She was in a choir with three other people—soprano, alto. tenor, and base. And that’s the reason why I became a Congregationalist.”

“And tell them what your mother’s favorite song was that she sang,” Dol pleads.

“‘Danny Boy,’” Bob answers. “A recording of her singing was once made,” he continues, “but the other members of the family took the stuff. I haven’t got it!” He resolves to talk to his sisters and see whether any of them knows where a copy can be found.

Dora Anderton was born in 88 in Bedford, England, one of 3 children—a baker’s dozen—and came to the United States while still a child. “We were English,” Bob declares, “on both sides of the family. That’s what we were always told, anyway. Except sometimes Dad liked to tell us that he was of Indian blood and lived in a teepee. He had such dark features, you know. But I don’t think he was serious. Other times, he told us he came over to the New World with Oglethorpe as one of the prisoners. Really, he never told us a straight story.”

There were Harris and Anderton relatives aplenty for young Bob to meet. “Still, it was my mother who was always pushing us to her family. Dad didn’t push us to his family, although they lived in Melrose, too. And I knew them, liked them. But it was always the other side.”

There were Preeces aplenty in Melrose, too, thanks in large part to serendipity, scarlet fever, and a missed boat ride on a legendary White Star Line ship. Bob begins the story:

“It was back when her mother and three older brothers still lived in England. They were coming over to this country. The four of them were scheduled to sail in 92 on the Titanic.”

Dol fills in the rest: “They had their tickets. The morning they were to leave, one of my brothers came down with scarlet fever and they all went into quarantine. And that was the end of the trip and the Titanic. They finally came over a year later.”

The HMS Titanic on a test sail — 92

“Good thing, too,” Bob says, “because otherwise there wouldn’t be any story!” (Or any Doreen or Nancy or Rob.)

Returning to the Harris family, the firstborn of Bob’s siblings was Dorothy (9). While still a young child, she contracted infantile paralysis—polio—and was forced to wear a metal brace on her right leg for a number of years. After she discarded the brace as a teenager, she retained a limp for the rest of her life which she hid beautifully and which she didn’t allow to hinder her education and career. This was more than 0 years before Jonas Salk developed a polio vaccine, and the disease was greatly feared. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was its most famous victim. Like Dorothy, fdr did not allow his affliction to stand in the path of success.

Dorothy was the indisputable favorite of the seven Harris children and the academic star as well. Dol recalls Bob’s mother proudly telling her that Dorothy had been a straight-A student all the way through school. A graduate of

Above: Melrose Public Library —1925 Above: Melrose Public Library 92

Above: Melrose High School —90

Above: Melrose City Hall 93

Various Melrose scenes —930s

Wellesley College, she taught Latin, French, and English in high school in the Norwalk area. During World War II, Dorothy served in the Red Cross and married a young lieutenant in the Army, George Burr. Later, they had a daughter, Willow. In 99, at age 8, Dodie fell victim to cancer, and a great shining light was extinguished.

Next Harris child to appear was Janet (92), famous as a girl for the beautiful long hair that hung down her back. Bob remembers getting mad at her one time during his grade school years. He ran up behind her, grabbed her long hair, and hung from it! Not too long ago, he reminded her of the incident, but Janet refused to believe it. “You never did that! You were a good boy!” she responded.

After high school, Janet studied for two years at a secretarial school. Later, she worked for an insurance agency in Norwalk for two years before marrying Alexander Hamilton Emery III in 938. A graduate of Virginia Military Institute, “Ham” served with the 2nd Armored Corps in Africa and Europe during World War II. Following the war, Janet and Ham together raised three children—Joan, Susan, and Bobby.

Bob also recalls the automobile sister Janet bought not long after she went to work. On numerous occasions, he borrowed her set of wheels so he could properly go a-dating and a-courting.

After retiring, Ham and Janet moved to Stuart, Florida and lived at Miles Grant Country Club. Following Ham’s death from cancer, Janet married Don Lee whom she had met at Dorothy Harris —circa 930

Shorehaven, where Don had been President. Like Ham and Janet, Don retired to Miles Grant Country Club, where Don has also served as President. The year 9 saw the arrival of Ned’s and Dora’s first son, Edwin Andrews Harris—soon nicknamed Bud. Like his father before him, Bud was a gifted athlete and, while a student at Mount Hermon School for Boys, he starred in baseball, basketball, and football. Bud disliked Mount Hermon intensely, finding life there too strict and confining. He often voiced his dislikes to his kid brother Bob. Bud went to work for Edwards & Co., a Norwalk-area concern specializing in the production of switches and other electrical accessories. He courted Mary McNabb, a graduate of New Rochelle College from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Settling down in Norwalk, they raised a family of four: Duncan, Mark, Scott, and Cameron. Like so many other Harrises, Bud proved himself a gifted golfer, once winning the Presidents Cup at Shorehaven Golf Club in Norwalk.

Shorehaven, where Don had been President. Like Ham and Janet, Don retired to Miles Grant Country Club, where Don has also served as President. 1914 saw the arrival of Ned’s and Dora’s first son, Edwin Andrews Harris—soon nicknamed Bud. Like his father before him, Bud was a gifted athlete, and while a student at Mount Hermon School for Boys he starred in baseball, basketball and football. Bud disliked Mount Hermon intensely, finding life there too strict and confining. He often voiced his dislikes to his kid brother Bob. Bud went to work for Edwards & Co., a Norwalk-area concern specializing in the production of switches and other electrical accessories. He courted Mary McNabb, a graduate of New Rochelle College from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Settling down in Norwalk, they raised a family of four: Duncan, Mark, Scott and Cameron. Like so many other Harrises, Bud proved himself a gifted golfer, once winning the Presidents Cup at Shorehaven Golf Club in Norwalk.

In 9, Ned and Dora Harris hit the jackpot with the birth of the aforementioned twins, William Andrews Harris and Robert Mowe Harris. In 93 , while still in his teens, Bill—the eldest twin by  precious minutes and yet another in a succession of avid Harris golfers—won the Shorehaven Presidents Cup, defeating a 0-year-old man in a grueling -hole match completed all in one day. The event was handicapped, and thus, when the score was tied after a round of 3 holes, they had to play another 8. A sudden death playoff did not apply here. There were no golf carts used back then, and both players had to walk the entire  holes.

In 1916 Ned and Dora Harris hit the jackpot with the birth of the aforementioned twins, William Andrews Harris and Robert Mowe Harris. In 1934, while still in his teens, Bill—the eldest twin by 15 precious minutes and yet another in a succession of avid Harris golfers—won the Shorehaven Presidents Cup, defeating a sixty-year-old man in a grueling 54-hole match completed all in one day. The event was handicapped, and thus when the score was tied after a round of 36 holes, they had to play another 18. A sudden death playoff did not apply here. There were no golf carts used back then, and both players had to walk the entire 54 holes.

Bill spent two years at Mount Hermon School in Massachusetts, after which he joined Bob for two years of study at Oak Ridge Military Institute in North Carolina. Following graduation from Oak Ridge, he went to work for a local electrical contractor who was a personal friend of his father’s. A pretty girl from Stamford—Betty Simmons—caught his eye, and a successful courtship ensued.

Eventually, they moved away to the Chicago area, where Bill worked for St. Regis Paper Company. The couple raised five children: Billy, Debbie, Bobby, Kimberly,

Bill spent two years at Mount Hermon School in Massachusetts, after which he joined Bob for two years of study at Oak Ridge Military Institute in North Carolina. Following graduation from Oak Ridge, he went to work for a local electrical contractor who was a personal friend of his father’s. A pretty girl from Stamford—Betty Simmons—caught his eye, and a successful courtship ensued. Eventually they moved away to the Chicago area where Bill worked for St. Regis Paper Company. The couple raised five children: Billy, Debbie, Bobby, Kimberly

Janet Harris Emery —circa 1940

Janet Harris Emery —circa 90

Elaine Harris — circa 1940 and Andy. In Illinois, Bill continued to display his prowess on the links, winning his club’s championship numerous times and other local contests as well.

In 922, Elaine was born. She attended Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois, just north of Chicago, and married William Buckley Woodward. It should come as no surprise by now that she, too, proved herself a champion golfer. Golf Digest once published an article recognizing her golfing achievements, in particular the 2 club championships she won over a 0-year span. The four Woodward children include Janet, William, Nancy, and Ned. Following Bill’s death from cancer in 990, Elaine married Tony Setapen, a widower whom she had met at Shorehaven.

Paul—the seventh and last of the Harris children and, as such, the baby of the family—made his grand appearance in 927, just before Ned Harris moved his brood from Norwich to Norwalk. A darling baby with a perpetual smile and curly blonde hair, he was the object of boundless adoration from his older brothers and sisters. But it never seemed to spoil him.

A University of Connecticut graduate, Paul acquired the Morse Moving Company in Stamford and married a local girl named Betty Ann Dorney. Their five children include Paul Jr., Joy, Susan, and twins Barbara and Rebecca.

Not to be outdone by his elders, in 90, Paul won the Shorehaven Club Championship. Twenty-two years later, (972) he won the Presidents Cup and, 7 years after that, (989) he won the Shorehaven Senior Championship. Like his father, Paul once served as Shorehaven Club president (972). Today, retired, he lives in Florida at the Harbour Ridge Golf Club in Palm City.

Life in Connecticut

(images by Josef Scaylea):

Fishing fleet in harbor (top left) —93

Typical Norwich House (top right) —90

Norwich Town Hall (bottom left) —circa 90

Fisherman on the Connecticutt River (bottom right) —93

Miscellaneous scenes of Norwich, Connecticut area — circa 930

Blessed with a colorful assortment of siblings, Bob enjoyed a rich and varied family life. He carries with him happy childhood memories from his growing-up years in Norwich and Norwalk. In an age without television and video games, the Harris children together with the kids in the neighborhood found a variety of ways to amuse themselves.

“When I was 0, we used to gather wooden barrels together and build a big bonfire for Thanksgiving Day,” Bob says. “We stacked them high so we could have a big fire that night. We spent a lot of time collecting barrels—and occasionally stealing them. One time, the Norwich Fire Chief who lived down the block told us if we didn’t steal his barrels, he’d give us five. It was a big deal for us. We’d build a pile  or 20 feet high and maybe 30 feet around. We used lots of barrels.”

“We did the same thing in Melrose,” Dol adds. “Only, we did ours on the Fourth of July, not Thanksgiving Day. I remember everyone took part in it—it was a big deal for us, too.”

Asked where they built their bonfires, Bob answers, “Usually in some farmer’s field. There was lots of room nearby, open spaces everywhere, not like today.”

“We lived in three different places in Norwich,” Bob goes on. “I still remember the addresses: 9 Otis Street when we first moved from Vermont, then 2 Williams Street. After that, we moved across the street to  Williams Street when Dad bought the Lippett House. It was a big house—big yard, big

Paul Harris — circa 920

garden, lots of flowers. We even raised chickens.” The mention of chickens brings to mind a childhood nemesis, their nextdoor neighbor, Old Lady Buckley. “She smoked cigarettes,” Bob recalls. “She chewed and spat tobacco. She’d lean over the fence and yell at us, and we’d get mad. So we’d get eggs from the chicken coop and throw them at her house.”

The Lippett House had 2 rooms, a sound system made up of brass tubes, and a telephone system at a time when many homes had no phones at all. “And there was a cupola over the front stoop with convenient columns. I could shimmy down them without opening the front door and escape to the countryside without my parents knowing.”

“When I was a kid, we used to plan a play with the other guys,” Bob goes on. “We’d put on a production for the neighborhood and sell tickets. But, of course, the only people who would buy them were our parents—and our sisters and brothers. We’d set up a stage in Henry Jerome Pasnick’s garage. He had a two-story garage. So we used the upstairs and downstairs. We could drop things down to make it sound like things were happening.”

Asked what the plays were about, Bob answers “I don’t remember. It was usually something dumb.” When further queried about whether he and his cohorts wrote the scripts themselves, he replies “Oh, sure!” and allows that they were all natural-born hams. Clearly, Bob Harris grew up in the company of aspiring actors and playwrights and musicians. Indeed, that same Henry Pasnick later won fame as a bigband leader using the stage name Henry Jerome. Some of his

Left to right: Bud, Billy, Dorothy, Bobby, & Janet Harris — circa 920

Surviving Revolutionary War–era homes & structures such as these shone here could be found all across Connecticutt & Massaschusetts during the 1930s.

(photos by Josef Scaylea —circa 1935)

Vibrant autumn colors, abundant pumpkin fields, & invitinng apple cider mills added color & joy to New England fall seasons.

(photos by Josef Scaylea —circa 1935)

[Noted Seattle photographer Josef Scaylea—a native of Connecticutt—visited Rob Harris’ home in Magnolia in the late ’90s, leaving vehiind a lasting impression with his distinctive personality & images.]

schoolmates—and Bob’s former childhood friends—played in the band.

Among the songs Jerome made popular were “Night Is Gone” and “Nice People.”

Today, the newest generation of Harris progeny are carrying on Bob’s thespian tradition. “Our grandchildren love it when we’re all together,” Dol reveals, “and they go off and practice and practice.”

“And they come back,” Bob interjects.

“And the plays, and the shows, and the dance steps, and the singing,” Dol continues. “They love to put on shows for us.”

Like many boys, Bob had a paper route, delivering The Norwich Bulletin on foot (he didn’t have a bicycle yet). He would fold the papers in thirds, tuck the pages together and create “scalers” which he could easily throw from the sidewalk to the front doors of his customers.

On special holidays when parades were called for, like Armistice Day (November )—today’s Veterans Day—and Independence Day (July ), the Harris children turned entrepreneurs, selling Cracker Jacks, candy bars, and gum to the watching crowds at a nickel apiece. “My mother used to buy things in quantity and then we’d charge full list. I can remember, we had a big safe at  Williams Street, and Mother put everything in that safe so the kids wouldn’t take it all before the sale. When the holidays came, we went out and worked the crowd, baskets under our arms. I think even my sisters did it,” Bob recalls. “I don’t remember getting paid for that, though. I don’t think we were. I think my mother got all the money.”

“We never locked our doors,” he informs us. “But I remember the day we were moving from Norwich to Norwalk. My mother said to my father, ‘Did you lock the doors when we left?’ And he said, ‘Where are the keys?’ And she said, “I don’t

A teenage Bob practicing his golf swing in the spacious backyard of the Harris home in Norwalk, Connecticut (notice the garden and fruit trees in the background—both important factors in the family’s survival during the Great Depression) — circa 93

know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the keys!’ We never locked our house. We never had keys. With so many kids coming and going, we couldn’t lock our house. We didn’t need to. There was always someone around.”

Bob lived an idyllic childhood in Norwich, astride the banks of the Thames River. His years there coincided with the Roaring Twenties/the Jazz Age/Prohibition. It was a time when America had recovered from a postwar recession and was enjoying unparalleled prosperity and unbridled optimism. In government circles, a hands-off, laissez-faire attitude prevailed. President Calvin Coolidge, a cautious New Englander with Vermont and Massachusetts roots, declared at his 92 Inaugural that the country had achieved “a state of contentment seldom before seen,” and pledged himself to maintain the status quo. His motto was, most often, “Let well enough alone.” When asked what he liked to do, he once answered “Sit alone in the woods and cogitate.”

The 920s also saw the dawn of the Golden Age of radio, and the Harrises and millions of other families gathered around their Atwater Kents and Philcos to listen to their favorite shows. Bob remembers especially Amos and Andy and The Shadow. In the 930s, his family had a big Philco radio bar in their front room that -year-old Billy won in a contest at a local movie theater. Another standard fixture in many American homes was the hand-cranked record player with a large speaker horn. Dol’s family kept theirs in the parlor, their radio in the living room. “We had a handcranked Victrola that played 78 rpm records,” she says. “You’d wind it up and it would play for 0 minutes. Then it would start to slow down, so you’d get up and give it another wind.” For the Harrises and many other Americans, life in the 920s felt beautiful.

In 928, just as the twins were finishing th grade, father Ned took a position with Connecticut Light & Power, and the family moved to Norwalk, on the shore of Long Island Sound. In Norwalk, Bob got his first bike: “I didn’t have a bike until I got to Norwalk and earned enough to buy it. I remember the name of the bike I bought. I was so thrilled with it. It was an Ivar Johnson. I got my bike at about 3 or —I took it everywhere, until it was stolen—I didn’t have a lock for it. I didn’t think people would do that.”

“We trusted people in those days,” Dol declares.

“Yes, we did,” Bob agrees.

Bob enrolled at Roger Ludlow Junior High in East Norwalk, offering classes in the 7th through 9th grades. Those were three

Snow & cold were constant companions of Bob & Dol during their winter months in New England. (photos by Josef Scaylea —circa 1935)

Above: Home of Nathan Hale

Below: Hartford, Conecticutt

Miscellaneous images of 1930s Connecticutt (images by Josef Scaylea —circa 1935)

Above: Ferry across Connecticutt River

Below: University of Connecticutt

Above: Rowing on the Connecticutt River

Below: Maple syrup time

great years,” he reminisces. “I LOVED those years.” It was also a time for learning hard lessons, one of them involving broken windows and mischievous boys. Bob’s account, reproduced here word-for-word, best tells the story: “There was a school, a grade school, that was right next to the junior high school. And an OLD one, oh, a dilapidated thing. There was a fire one night, and it burned the grade school down, made a real mess out of it. Gutted it. So, there were some—a lot of—windows still standing in this burned-out school. So we just gathered stones from the yard and threw them and broke all the windows. And I remember after that, that the principal came around to each classroom and said ‘I want you to tell me how many windows you broke.’ And it was the first time I remember anyone lying to me. And he said—there was no logic to it (I didn’t demand any logic from him)— ‘But tell me how many windows you broke, and there’ll be no repercussions.’ So we all began to exaggerate. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Well, he came around later and charged us all a dollar for every window we broke. I remember that so well. And I thought, This is awful! I

, This iThe Harris twins’ 9th grade graduating class at Roger Ludlow Junior High School in Norwalk (can you pick them out?) — June 93 remember saying to my father, ‘He said he wouldn’t do that!’ And my father said, ‘Well, you’ve learned a lesson—that not everybody is truthful.’ So I paid the penalty. Why would anybody say they broke more windows anyway? Why? But we did! If I broke four windows, I probably told him eight.”

While in junior high, Bob played Good Samaritan to two elderly ladies who had trouble getting around. He cleaned house and shopped for them, took care of

chores and odd jobs. I can remember that little old gal taking out her purse with change in it,” he recounts, “taking out a dime, and she’d put it in my hand, put it right in my hand like this. And she’d say, ‘Now this will buy the butter.’ Everything was a dime—I got paid, I think, ten cents a week!” He recalls that it was always fish on Fridays, usually weakfish, a small whitefish popular at the time.

“Probably they knew the fish was fresh,” Dol comments, with Bob adding “Yeah, my mother always used to buy her fish on Thursday when all this fresh fish had just come in. We always had fish on Thursdays.”

After three years of helping them, Bob finally told the women that he would have to give up the work to concentrate on school. They cried and asked him to help find a replacement, which he gladly did.

Bob’s years at Ludlow jhs coincided with the onset of the Great Depression, an economic malaise precipitated by the Wall Street crash of October 929, when the speculative bubble of the Roaring Twenties finally burst and shares on the stock market plummeted in value. The crisis brought ruin to many companies and individuals and provoked a flurry of suicides. Thousands of banks closed their doors, wiping out the savings of their depositors. In New York, newspapers warned pedestrians to watch for jumping bankers. Overnight, the golden days of Coolidge prosperity ended. Cool Cal’s successor, Herbert Hoover, flailed helplessly as he struggled to deal with the chaos that had descended upon the nation. Traditional policies and measures proved woefully inadequate, and

Seattle’s “Hooverville” 937 conditions continued to spiral downward, out of control. Repercussions were severe and long-lasting. By 932, nearly 2 percent of America’s work force was idled, the Gross Domestic Product had fallen 30 percent, and prospects were unremittingly bleak for anyone seeking employment. Bread lines and soup kitchens were ubiquitous. Bob remembers beggars coming to the door, and his mother always giving them food. Ramshackle shanty-town “Hoovervilles” filled with the homeless and dispossessed sprang up in cities across the country, including in Seattle near the present-day site of T-Mobile Park. On foot and in rundown jalopies, Okies en masse abandoned their homes and farms in the Dust Bowl of the Great Plains and set out for California in pursuit of a new life—a movement immortalized by John Steinbeck in The Grapes of Wrath.

In November 932, Franklin Delano Roosevelt led the Democratic Party to a sweeping victory over Hoover and the Republicans. Unlike today, when America inaugurates its presidents in late January, our presidents then had to wait until March to take office. Thus, it was March 933 when fdr delivered his Inaugural Address—one of the most famous speeches in American history. Roosevelt told his listeners “This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself— nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.”

Roosevelt, guided by the advice of a coterie of academics and visionaries popularly known as the Brain Trust, immediately launched the New Deal, the first systematic attempt by the American government to direct social and economic life by government fiat. Seemingly overnight, American confidence rebounded. The new president, working in concert with a solidly Democratic Congress, pushed through a massive array of reforms during his first 00 days in office. Among the most famous were the Work Progress Administration (wpa), the Civilian Conservation Corps (ccc) and the National Recovery Act (nra)—the latter called the Blue Eagle because of its logo. Tens of thousands of Americans were put to work laying roads, constructing buildings, cleaning up the land.

Bob’s older brother Bud worked for a summer in a ccc camp. A host of programs we take for granted today, including Social Security, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (fdic) and the Federal Housing Administration (fha) were New Deal creations. Loved by many, viewed as the Antichrist by others, Roosevelt left an indelible mark on American life. Offshoots of the New Deal legacy endure today. Only with the advent of Reaganomics in the 980s did the federal government seriously attempt to undo some of what fdr and his minions wrought. The struggle and debate continue today, enduring legacies, for better or worse, of the 930s. To his family’s good fortune, Ed Harris succeeded in holding his position with cl& p despite the hard times surrounding them. “I don’t remember many of the specific events,” Bob tells us, “but I do remember the hardships. My dad bought

Bob winning a foot race at Camp Mohawk — 930

stocks on margin and when the market fell he was very badly hurt. He kept his mouth shut, he hid it from my mother. I only found out about it many years later, and I was shocked about how much he lost. He had to make up for all those losses out of his income. Mother and Father were always talking about the problems, but we were just kids; we didn’t know any better. We did without, or we made do with what we had. For a lot of us kids, those years were a happy time.”

Bob is not alone with such feelings. Many people his and Dol’s age share similar rose-hued memories of that time. The Great Depression had a way of dramatically simplifying life’s options. At its best, it was an age when families, forced to come together and share in order to survive, found love and support and fellowship. Having ample room in their backyard for a garden to grow their own food helped the Harrises. Not everyone was as fortunate as they were.

“People today couldn’t put up with those kind of things,” Bob declares. “They shouldn’t have to!”

After graduating from junior high, Bob and Bill moved on to Norwalk High School on West Avenue, two-and-ahalf long miles from home. “It was a bad high school,” Bob says, “Terrible! And it was a small high school. It wasn’t big enough for the population of students. So they had to run double sessions. They would go from 8 to 2: 30 and then from  to . It interfered with sports, it interfered with everything. But they wouldn’t build a new high school, wouldn’t spend the money. Of course, this was during the Depression. They set up Quonset huts [so named for the

A cartoon featuring Ned Harris that appeared in one of the Norwalk newspapers in 1930 town where they were first manufactured—Quonset, Rhode Island] to serve as extra classrooms.”

Bob did whatever he could to earn some extra cash. “I used to go to the Y which was near the high school. I would set up pins for the bowling duckpins they used. They weren’t automatic setups like they have now. You’d have to sit back there in the cage and physically mount those pins—I got paid, I don’t know, a nickel a string or something of that sort. I did it in the afternoons and Saturdays. I can remember doing it all day Saturday.”

Lifelong, Bob’s father prided himself for his athleticism. In time, he took up golf, and the game became a lifelong passion. He joined the Shorehaven Golf Club, playing left-handed—something unusual in those days when children naturally left-handed were commonly forced to switch and do everything right-handed.

Golf became a passion in the Harris household, as witnessed to byDol: “When I went to Bob’s house,” Dol says, “everyone used to gather together around the table, and I’d sit back as quiet as a mouse and listen while they talked about their golf game that day. They all played. Bob’s mother, father, brothers, and sisters. Most of the

In 1928 1929 Bob was a member of the Norwalk ymca’s Swastika Club. The swastika is an ornamental design of ancient origin, a mystic symbol commonly used by many religions for over two thousand years. When Adolf Hitler’s NaziParty took control of Germany in 1931, the swastika took on a new identity, becoming a modern symbol for evil and tyranny. conversation was about golf, and I’m glad I learned to play. I was a tennis player. I can remember Bob’s sister Dorothy saying one time, ‘If I hear another word about golf I’m going to scream!’”

Ned became president of Shorehaven Golf Club and devoted every spare moment to his duties. “Boy, he liked that club,” Bob remembers. “That was his recreation.”

“We always had Sunday dinner at noon or one,” Bob says. “After Mother finished singing at church she’d come home and cook dinner. And my father wasn’t there. Why? Because

he was out at the club playing cards after his golf game. I would caddy for my father, so my mother said to me ‘It’s your responsibility to get your father home.’ I’d just stand over him when he was playing cards and say, ‘Come on, come on, we’ve got to go. We have to GO!’ Quiet. ‘We’ve got to go!’ On the way home in the car he’d say to me, ‘Now don’t tell your mother that it was my fault that we were late.’ But she knew. She knew.”

“Of course she knew!” Dol adds with emphasis.

Like father, like sons. Following their dad’s lead, Bob and Bill Harris learned to play golf themselves and became quite adept. In high school, Bob approached the principal and asked whether he could start a golf team at Norwalk High. “We’ll do good!” he promised, and the principal answered “Yes.” Bob won a spot on the team, serving as captain. On the side, he caddied at courses in the Norwalk area, which helped result in his first encounter with a sports celebrity.

During Bob’s senior year, a golf exhibition came to Norwalk featuring the reigning national amateur champion, George Van Elm, and one of golf ’s all-time great professionals, Gene Sarazen. During his career, Sarazen won seven major titles, including the British Open and US Open the year before. He needed a caddy for the tournament and, as captain of the local high school’s golf team, Bob was chosen for the honor. Bob’s own exact words again best tell the tale:

“Sarazen drove into this bunker which was a fairway bunker on the eighth hole. You couldn’t see it from the tee. It was

off to the right, and he didn’t know that it was there. When he came up and saw that his ball was in there, he really gave me the devil. ‘Caddy, (not Bob) why didn’t you tell me that that trap was there?’ And I said, ‘Sir, I didn’t think you were going to go off the fairway.’ But I should have told him. I should have told him what was out there that he couldn’t see, but I didn’t. When he went in that trap he said to me—after chastising me—he said, ‘Now, what club should I use, Caddy, for this shot to the green?’ Out of the bunker? It was obvious—I told him ‘Four iron. That’s your club.’ He turned around and said, ‘Give me the five,’ which made me kind of mad. I figured, If you’re not going to pay any attention to me, why did you ask? So he hit this great shot out of the bunker and came about 0 feet short of the green. If he’d used the four iron, he’d have been right by the pin. All the people there said ‘The kid was right! You should have used the four iron.’ That didn’t make a hit with him either. Afterwards, he didn’t pay me anything. NOTHING! I remember waiting outside when they went into the clubhouse. I couldn’t go in. My father

came out and said, ‘Come on. Were going home.’ And I said, ‘I’m waiting for Mr. Sarazen. He hasn’t paid me yet.’ So he said, ‘He’s not going to pay you. Get in the car! That was an honor you and your golf team were given.’ I said to him back, ‘It may have been, but the others got paid. The other caddies did!’ Isn’t it funny? That that sticks with me?”

In May 999, A few years ago Bob was leafing through a newly arrived issue of Golf World when he spied a vintage photograph of Gene Sarazen blasting out of a sand trap. There in the background, golf bag slung over his shoulder, stood Bob. It was Sarazen’s golf bag. This was their sand trap. He called out to Dol and said, “Hey, look. This is me!”

When Rob heard about it, he contacted Golf World, bought two prints of the photograph and had them framed for Bob and himself.

“I took college courses all the waythrough high school,” Bob says of his time at Norwalk High. “Two years of Latin. Three years of French. History. English. I liked history better than anything else. I enjoyed history. I don’t remember wanting to be one thing or another.”

Twins are twins, at once the same and resolutely different. Ned and Dora always kept this fact in mind. After some serious agonizing, they decided it would be best for Bill and Bob if they attended different schools. Minds made up, they packed Bill off to Mount Hermon Prep School in Northfield, Massachusetts for his junior

Gene Sarazen is remembered as one of the most accomplished golfers of the preWorld War II period. During the 1930s, he seemed to be more interested in making money rather than winning prestigious tournaments. He played exhibition matches all over the globe and indeed, became the highest paid sportsman in the world. Sarazen was a member of the American Ryder Cup team on six different occasions. He later regretted that he was never named as captain of the team. For whatever reasons, the authorities always preferred Walter Hagen instead. As the twilight fell on his career in later years, he became a radio commentator.

In the photograph pictured on the previous page (page 34), Bob is the slim, tall, dark-haired youth in the center background with a golf bag slung over his shoulder. He caddied for Gene Sarazen at the Shorehaven Golf Club in Norwalk, Connecticut where Bob and his family were members for years.

On the next page (page 36) are pictured some souvenirs Bob has kept from that memorable day.

and senior years. “It was a strict Episcopalian prep school, and he lost two years in the educational process,” Bob laments. “Bud had gone there, and he didn’t like it at all. I remember him telling how awful it was. Apparently, he never told Bill, or he wouldn’t have gone. Anyway, going to Mount Hermon set him back two years. When I was ready for college, Bill wasn’t.”

When Bob graduated from high school in 93 , a decision had to be made about the twins’ futures. “It was determined that we should go to a military academy together for two years,” Bob says. “They enrolled us in Oak Ridge Military Institute in Oak Ridge, North Carolina.”

Their decision was based partly on the assumptions that the weather down south was warmer than the weather up north and that there was good golfing to be had as well. Once Bill and Bob arrived, they discovered they were wrong on all counts. Winter in the North Carolina hills could be nearly as cold as winter along Connecticut’s rivers and, perhaps worse, there was no golf course to be found at Oak Ridge.

Oak Ridge offered students the last two years of high school and the first two years of college. There Bob involved himself in athletics: “When I went to Oak Ridge, I became a swimmer and was on the swim team. I also went out for boxing. They had a boxing team. And I tried out. I’d never boxed before, and I remember one of the first times that we were out there, my friend Ollie Liebschner was boxing with me, and I had a pen in my pocket. And he hit the pen and broke it. Ink spilled all over the place. And it HURT! It stuck in me. So I said, I’m not doing this anymore!”

Bob remembers a time when Bill landed himself in hot water. The eldest twin found the Institute’s curriculum unchallenging, and his indifference won him disfavor with the authorities. Several times, Bill complained to Bob that he knew more about the subjects being taught than did his instructors. Bill even interrupted lecturers a few times to correct them—never a popular move with one’s teachers.

“Bill was called before the Board of Governors,” Bob tells us, “and they were going to expel him. I went to see the Commandant and said, ‘Please don’t do that! Because if he goes, my family will take me out, too.’ So they didn’t expel him, and he grew up to be a very responsible person.”

After two years of studying, marching, and drilling at Oak Ridge, Bob and Bill graduated and returned to Norwalk. Bob never seriously considered continuing his college studies. Two years and the equivalent of a junior college degree were enough for him. “Very few guys went to college back then, maybe 0 or  percent. It was too expensive. No one could afford it.”

Bill and Bob Harris on graduation day at Oak Ridge Military Institute —June 93

Oak Ridge Military Institute varsity swim team (Bob Harris, th from left, Bill Harris, 7th from left) —93

Rather than continuing his college studies, Bob instead went to work for Firestone Tire & Rubber as a “clerk-repair guy” at their local wholesale-retail outlet in Norwalk. “I learned about the real world there,” Bob observes. “One of the items I handled was a radio antenna for cars. It was this big, long thing, six or seven feet long. We installed it under the running board. Not everyone had a car radio back then. It was still a luxury item.”

While working for Firestone, Bob reached a decision that would irrevocably change his life—and much for the better. Because of his position with cl& p, Ned Harris enjoyed extensive contacts throughout all areas of the electric industry. The utility not only sold power, it promoted appliances, light bulbs, anything and everything electric that would get people to use more electricity. Representatives from many different companies called on him, hawking their products. One of those firms was Westinghouse.

In 938, after 8 months or so with Firestone, Bob decided to accept an offer from the Lamp Division at Westinghouse to sell a new type of light bulb they had just introduced—the “Sterilamp”—that purportedly killed germs. “It worked,” Bob claims, “but they never figured out how to sell it.” His new position required that Bob relocate to the Boston area. Needing a place to live, he accepted an offer to stay with an uncle—his mother’s brother, Pete Anderton—in Melrose, the city of his birth. He boarded with them for a year-anda-half. What is life without surprises? Life in Massachusetts soon presented Bob with two very big ones.

Miss Dorothea May Preece —Winter 90

A familiar sight to Bob and Dol: The famous marquee of the Boston Garden

On Bob’s first day working for Westinghouse, his boss told him, “Sorry, we don’t have that job for you anymore!” So, instead of becoming a Sterilamp salesman, Bob became a warehouseman with shipping and receiving duties at a small warehouse at  Alger Street in South Boston. “It had railroad tracks that went straight into the building. You could move a rail car into the building and close the doors if the weather was bad. One time, I had to unload an entire freight car by myself. Sometimes I worked so late, I’d sleep at the warehouse overnight, right on top of the boxes of 00watt bulbs. I had such a long commute by train. I reported to what they called an office manager, but he was just a glorified order taker. A year-and-a-half later, I took his job and moved into the office at 0 High Street in Boston.”

Not long after arriving in Melrose, Bob was introduced to the Preece family and its trio of attractive and available daughters by John Anderton, one of his cousins. Although some of the Harrises and Andertons had known some of the Preeces before then, Bob had not been one of the cognoscenti. This was a new adventure for him. Bob had visiting with him that day two friends from Norwalk who were interested in having dates that night. Bob himself wasn’t

interested, as he was seeing someone else at the time. Two of the Preece sisters—Margie and Barbara—joined them for a night on the town, while the third—Dorothea, better known to her friends as Dolly or Dol—had a date with someone else.

“I used to see Dol’s sister Margie when I was going from Melrose into Boston to work, taking the [Boston & Maine] train in and then walking from North Station to our office which was right by the South Station. I used to see her sister Margie, sometimes, some mornings, walking with all the gang at these two stations, and I tried to make a date with her sister—with Margie—and Margie said, ‘Well, you should go see Dol. She’s the right one for you.’ We were more the same age. Margie was younger. So that’s when I started to date Dol.”

Their first date was an amateur hockey game at Boston Garden, opened in 928 by President Calvin Coolidge using a ceremonial key made from nuggets of Yukon gold. At the Garden that night, Bob’s cousin Jack was playing in an amateur hockey game. “Hockey was a great thing in Boston back then—it still is,” Bob says. On their way back from the Garden, they stopped at a Howard Johnson’s for ice cream cones.

“For me, it was love at first sight,” Dol admits. Eyes sparkling, Bob just smiles and nods.

For their 0th wedding anniversary, Dol prepared her own written version of how she and Bob met. Daughter Nancy read the story on Dol’s behalf.

Ell Pond, Melrose —circa 930

“Flying Yankee.” Boston & Maine Line, Melrose —circa 90

Mt. Hood Country Club, Melrose —circa 90

Franklin Street, Melrose —circa 90

“It was February 9. It had been snowing all day. When I arrived home from skiing, John Anderton’s car was in the driveway. I was happy to see John, and he introduced me to Bob Harris—his cousin—Art Graham, and Phil Wilbur. My sisters Barbara and Margie were there. My eye caught Bob’s eye, and we started to converse. My heart went pitterpat. It was love at first sight. I told my mother I met the guy I was going to marry. Bob was working in Boston for Westinghouse and was temporarily boarding with his aunt and uncle in my hometown of Melrose, Mass.

“We dated—movies, walks, dancing in the starlight in Lynfield, Norumbega Park and other outdoor dance palaces. We danced to the music of Glenn Miller, the Dorsey Brothers, Benny Goodman and other great bands of that era. Our favorite song was ‘Always.’”

While courting, they often took along Bob’s Aunt Barbara who, like his sister Dorothy, was a polio victim. “We used to take her to the Boston Pops on Friday evenings,” says Dol.

“And we took her to movies with us,” Bob adds. “We took Barbara along on a lot of our dates.”

Bob bought his first car while working at Westinghouse, a Ford Phaeton. “I bought it from Art Graham,” he recalls. “It had a top you could take down, and side curtains. It had a straight tail pipe—no muffler—and made quite a racket, until the police stopped me and gave me a ticket. I was a hotrodder! Dad had a Chandler, and later a Chrysler Imperial convertible he used to drive us to Oak Ridge.”

Miscellaneous scenes from Boston’s famous Metropolitan Transit Authority (mta) where Bob & Dol once rode—but not forever like Charlie in the famous Kingston Trio song.

What a time Bob and Dol chose to fall in love! In September 939, Adolph Hitler sent his troops into Poland on trumpedup pretenses, igniting a new world war. The carnage and insanity of the Great War—barely 20 years ended—were

being revisited upon Europe and beyond, and on a far grander scale. On this side of the Atlantic, America’s greatest hero, aviator Charles “Lucky Lindy” Lindbergh, led the America First movement which sought to keep the United States out of the war. In Western Europe, following the fall of France, England stood alone against the Axis onslaught for well over a year, until Hitler invited disaster upon himself by opening a second front in the East against the Soviet Union in June 9.

For over two years, a deeply divided America stayed out of the war; but a sense of foreboding prevailed. Everyone knew that war would come. The questions were, How? and When?

“I didn’t consider getting married with the war going on,” Bob tells us.

“No, we thought it was best to wait,” Dol adds.

“We missed out on allotments, though,” Bob comments. “If you were married, you got an allotment when you were in the service. And it was

A sign of things to come: Dol and Bob showing their stuff at Shorehaven Golf Club —9

doubled when you were overseas. So, we missed that. But I thought our way was the best way, not knowing what was going to happen. We knew there was a chance I might never make it home.”

“We agreed to wait,” Dol concurs.

Dol showing off her new ring on engagement day —92

Bob & Dol became engaged on Sunday, 21 June 1942

Bob points out another irony: “It’s odd. I was born in Melrose and moved away. I had family there, Dol had family there, but we never met, not until 20 years later when I went back and grabbed a gal—Dol Preece. I took a pearl. Maybe a peach!”

When Japan launched its surprise attack on the U.S. fleet anchored at Pearl Harbor on Sunday morning, 7 December 9, America was dragged into the war, like it or not. That day, Bob and Dol were going to a movie and learned of the attack from a vendor selling papers outside the theater.

“I said ‘Where’s Pearl Harbor?’” Bob recalls. “I didn’t know where Pearl Harbor was!”

A few weeks later, Bob tried to enlist in the Army Air Corps (there was no separate Air Force in those days), but they turned him down because of flat feet and bad eyesight. That left him exposed as a prime candidate for the draft, and Uncle Sam soon obliged.

“They’d already started the draft, and I had a number and such,” Bob says. “Everyone got drafted. It was just a question of how fast they could process the men. I got my draft notice in April, and, on a Thursday, I went in to get my physical exam. I told everyone, I’d be back on Friday, but I never went back. They just grabbed me. They were taking everybody. So I was interviewed, and they decided to put me in

ordnance. Why? Because I worked for Westinghouse, and Westinghouse was mechanical. After two or three days, they sent me to Aberdeen, Maryland.”

Dol recalls the series of events with some sadness: “You tried to call me on Friday, but couldn’t reach me. I wasn’t home. It was another two weeks before I heard from you.”

In June, Bob convinced Dol to take a train ride from Boston down to Norwalk to meet him there. Securing a weekend furlough for himself, he grabbed the train for Connecticut out of Baltimore. Once in Norwalk, he prevailed upon a jeweler to open his shop on a Sunday so that he could buy a diamond ring, whereupon, he popped the question and, without hesitation, Dol said “Yes!”

“I thought that was very romantic,” Bob says, grinning broadly, eyes twinkling.

Seeking to improve morale, the Armed Forces published innumerable newspapers, some with a narrow audience, others widely distributed. The most famous of them all was The Stars And Stripes, printed in separate editions for the various theaters of war and distributed to all the services. On a more modest scale, individual units and training centers sometimes churned out their own tabloid-style organs.

Witness The Flaming Bomb, published “every Wednesday” by the Aberdeen Proving Ground with “the fundamental purpose of printing all the news of the Ordnance Training Center.” The issue pictured on the previous page (page ) appeared on 8 July 92 and featured a potpourri of chatty,

upbeat local and domestic news items—but hardly a word about the war itself. After reading The Flaming Bomb, you would almost think that the APG was a summer camp or vacation retreat.

Tucked away on page six is an article titled “What A Hike That Was!” One must wonder at the identity of the piece’s mysterious hero: “Pvt. Bob H*****, of Co. B., 8th Bn., had his wisdom tooth extracted Friday afternoon by the Army dentist. Bob made periodic visits all night to the fire escape ledge on the second floor of the barracks. At Saturday afternoon’s inspection, the major stopped short and gazed down at the bloodstained front steps.

“‘What happened here?’ he demanded. ‘Where did this come from?’

“The accompanying sergeant was sympathetic to the travails of the private. ‘One of the men washed his shoes out, sir,’ he answered.”

Bob adds his own embellishments to the story: “I had a wisdom tooth pulled, and was up all night spitting blood. Someone asked, ‘Who killed the pig?’”

In October 92 Bob received orders to pack his bags. He and his fellow trainees were transported to the railroad station on base and taken directly by train to the docks at Hoboken, New Jersey. There before them stood the SS

The SS Mariposa Transport ship sending troops ashore in North Africa —93

Mariposa, an erstwhile passenger liner hastily converted into a troop transport that not long before had plied the cruise trade between California and Hawaii. The Army had not warned Bob that he was about to be shipped overseas. “They tried to keep such troop movements as secret as possible in fear of spies. That was a lost feeling,” Bob recalls. “When I saw the big ship sitting there, I said ‘This is it!’ We had been alerted a lot of times before, but they had been false alarms. But this really was it. They tried to keep everything secret. A lot of ships were being sunk around then, and they didn’t know why. They thought it was all sabotage. We didn’t mind. We wanted protection. I couldn’t have escaped that day even had I tried. There were mps everywhere carrying guns. They would have shot me! We boarded ship around midnight. When I woke up at dawn the next morning, we were far out at sea, with water everywhere. It was a cruise ship, not a troop ship. We had staterooms. We didn’t have to hang from hammocks.”

On this voyage, the Mariposa set course across the submarineinfested North Atlantic for England. Betting the lives of those on board that the ship’s superior speed would enable it to outrun German submarines, the army sent the Mariposa off without an escort. Happily, they won the bet, and Bob disembarked in the port of Liverpool, England, where two future Beatles—John Lennon and Ringo Starr (née Richard Starkey)—were one-year-old toddlers.

The newly-minted private arrived in Europe as what the army called a casual—a soldier unattached to a specific outfit and destined to take the place of a casualty in a unit already thrown into battle. The system was harsh, wasteful, impersonal, and universally despised. It treated men like cannon fodder which, sadly, is exactly what many casuals became. For the next two-and-a-half years, Bob’s only contact with home would be by mail, its contents censored to shroud the exact details of his whereabouts and activities. General Sherman was right. War IS hell—to civilians and soldiers alike, to those at home and those abroad.

Transport ship sending troops ashore in North Africa —93

Links: The Bob Harris Story

Links: The Bob Harris Story – WAR & PEACE

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– War & Peace

W

Well before Pearl Harbor, Americans knew that the U.S. would join the war eventually. In anticipation, one of Bob’s friends from college at Oak Ridge Military Institute, Ollie Liebschner, entered the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis and urged Bob to do the same. Bob chose not to and, as already stated, when war at last did come, he tried unsuccessfully to enlist in the Army Air Corps. Drafted into the regular Army on 2 April 92, he completed boot camp in Maryland. On 23 June 92, he became engaged to Dol. On 8 October 92, he was shipped off to England to await his combat assignment.

ELL before Pearl Harbor, Americans knew that the U.S. would join the war eventually. In anticipation, one of Bob’s friends from college at Oak Ridge Military Institute, Ollie Liebschner, entered the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis and urged Bob to do the same. Bob chose not to and, as already stated, when war at last did come he tried unsuccessfully to enlist in the Army Air Corps. Drafted into the regular Army on 24 April 1942, he completed boot camp in Maryland. On 23 June 1942 he became engaged to Dol. On 18 October 1942 he was shipped off to England to await his combat assignment.

“I stayed at an English army barracks in Cheltenham,” Bob tells us. “I liked it there, I could talk to the people. We all spoke the same language.” Apparently, he found no evidence to support George Bernard Shaw’s assertion that “America and Britain are two nations divided by a common language.”

“I stayed at an English army barracks in Cheltenham,” Bob tells us. “I liked it there. I could talk to the people. We all spoke the same language.” Apparently, he found no evidence to support George Bernard Shaw’s contention that “America and Britain are two nations divided by a common language.”

Germany had started the war three years earlier by invading Poland in the east. Through the winter of 939–90, in an interlude jokingly referred to as the “sitzkreig,” French and British troops dug in across northeastern France, awaiting the inevitable Nazi attack westward. In the Spring of 90, Germany mounted a swift-moving blitzkrieg (“lightning war”) against France, easily sweeping around the northern flank of the Maginot Line and rendering its stationary fortifications useless. In six weeks, German forces occupied most of France and trapped thousands of British troops on the beaches of Dunkirk where, in a colossal strategic blunder, Hitler allowed them to escape to England on a motley flotilla of boats of every shape and size. In late June, the Nazis staged a triumphant military parade down the Champs-Elysées in Paris. In nearby Versailles, Hitler gleefully signed France’s surrender papers in the same railcar where Germany’s leaders had capitulated in 98 to end World War I.

Germany had started the war three years earlier by invading Poland in the East. Through the winter of 1939-1940, in an interlude jokingly called the “sitzkreig,” French and British troops dug in across northeastern France and waited for a Nazi attack westward. In the Spring of 1940 Germany mounted a swift-moving blitzkrieg (“lightning war”) against France, easily sweeping around the northern flank of the Maginot Line and rendering its stationary fortifications useless. In six weeks German forces occupied most of France and trapped thousands of British troops on the beaches of Dunkirk where, in a colossal strategic blunder, Hitler allowed them to escape to England on a motley flotilla of boats of every shape and size. In late June, the Nazis staged a triumphant military parade down the ChampsElysées in Paris. In nearby Versailles, Hitler gleefully signed France’s surrender papers in the same railcar where Germany’s leaders had capitulated in 1918 to end World War I.

The remaining unoccupied territory of France—as well as the French colonies of Morocco and Algeria in Africa—were left under the control of a puppet government led by Marshal Pétain, France’s famous general from the Great War, and headquartered in Vichy in southern France. [For a stylized impression of what life was like in French-speaking North Africa during the Vichy regime, treat yourself to a viewing of the immortal film classic, Casablanca.]

The remaining unoccupied territory of France—as well as the French colonies of Morocco and Algeria in Africa—were left under the control of a puppet government led by Marshal Pétain—France’s famous general from the Great War—and headquartered in Vichy in southern France. [For a stylized impression of what life was like in French-speaking North Africa during the Vichy regime, pop a tape of the immortal film classic “Casablanca” into

That story is set in Morocco and reflects the tense conditions that prevailed in 92.

Across North Africa’s deserts from Egypt to Tunisia, through 9 and 92, British troops battled German and Italian forces led by General Erwin Rommel—the legendary “Desert Fox.” A decisive victory at El Alamein outside Cairo, Egypt turned back the Axis armies’ advance, but Allied victory was still far from assured.

Throughout 92, American forces became ever more involved in combat action against Germany and Italy. Their initial hostile engagements took place on the high seas, fending off attacks from German U-boats. In August 92 the U.S. launched the first all-American air attack over Europe. Three months

later—on 3 November 92—the Allies launched Operation Torch: the invasion of North Africa by American and British forces. Three coordinated amphibious landings took place: at Casablanca in Morocco and at Oran and Algiers in Algeria. From his barracks near Cheltenham in England, Bob heard the news and figured he would soon join in the battle.

later—on 3 November 1942—the Allies opened Operation

Torch: the invasion of North Africa by American and British forces. Three coordinated amphibious landings took place: at Casablanca in Morocco and at Oran and Algiers in Algeria. From his barracks near Cheltenham in England, Bob heard the news and figured he would soon join in the battle.

In early November 92, after barely a month overseas, Bob was alerted to a forthcoming move. Nothing positive, just rumors. About that time, Eleanor Roosevelt, fdr’s wife, visited England and promised that all American servicemen there would enjoy a full turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day. A few days before the holiday arrived, Bob was transported back to Liverpool, where he boarded a British ship. They quickly left port, only to anchor offshore and wait for other ships to join them in forming a convoy. Thus, Bob spent Thanksgiving 92 on board a British ship and, instead of feasting on turkey, was fed a whole fish which was only partially cooked. “When I poked that fish with my fork,” Bob recalls, “its eyeball popped out and rolled around my mess kit.” So much for the culinary promises of a president’s wife!

In early November 1942, after barely a month overseas, Bob was alerted to a forthcoming move. Nothing positive, just rumors. About that time Eleanor Roosevelt, FDR’s wife, visited England and promised that all American servicemen there would enjoy a full turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. A few days before the holiday arrived, Bob was transported back to Liverpool, where he boarded a British ship. They quickly left port, only to anchor offshore and wait for other ships to join them in forming a convoy. Thus, Bob spent Thanksgiving 1942 on board a British ship and, instead of feasting on turkey, was fed a whole fish which was only partially cooked. “When I poked that fish with my fork,” Bob recalls, “its eyeball popped out and rolled around my mess kit.” So much for the culinary promises of a president’s wife!

A month earlier, the Mariposa had sailed alone from America to England. Bob’s ship on this voyage, in contrast, enjoyed a superabundance of company. “There were ships everywhere, as far as the eye could see,” Bob recalls. “In front of us, behind us, to the left, to the right. Hundreds of ships. The convoy was huge.” Bob’s accommodations this time were more primitive than those on the Mariposa:

A month earlier the Mariposa had sailed alone from America to England. Bob’s ship on this voyage, in contrast, enjoyed a superabundance of company. “There were ships everywhere, as far as the eye could see,” Bob recalls. “In front of us, behind us, to the left, to the right. Hundreds of ships. The convoy was huge.” Bob’s accommodations this time were more primitive than those on the Mariposa: “We

Wartime view of the port of Oran

Wartime view of the port of Oran

“We slept in hammocks that were positioned over the mess tables, and you couldn’t hang them up until late in the evening,” he tells us.

slept in hammocks that were positioned over the mess tables, and you couldn’t hang them up until late in the evening,” he tells us.

Sailing south well away from the coast of occupied France, the convoy passed neutral Spain and Portugal and filed through the Straits of Gibraltar—“the Pillars of Hercules”—and into the Mediterranean Sea. “I remember the Straits of Gibraltar,” Bob says. “For some reason I felt safer once we were into the Mediterranean. I didn’t think there were as many German submarines there.” As the month of December 1942 opened, Bob arrived in Oran, Algeria on the North African coast.

Sailing south well away from the coast of occupied France, the convoy passed neutral Spain and Portugal and filed through the Straits of Gibraltar—“the Pillars of Hercules”— and into the Mediterranean Sea. “I remember the Straits of Gibraltar,” Bob says. “For some reason, I felt safer once we were into the Mediterranean. I didn’t think there were as many German submarines there.” As the month of December 92 opened, Bob arrived in Oran, Algeria on the North African coast.

Five Views of Oran

Allied ships in Oran Harbor Approaching a lighter ship in Oran Harbor

Pre-World War II Oran U.S. Navy destroyer at Oran Josephine Baker performing in Oran

Battles raged across North Africa, where American troops proved themselves brave but ill-prepared and poorly led. At the Battle of Kasserine Pass in Algeria in February 93, the U.S. st Armored Division for the first time faced Rommel’s battlehardened German Panzers and were annihilated.

American General George Patton learned from these mistakes, refined his tactics, and in time reversed the results. [For an embellished account of these events, check out the Oscar-winning Patton starring George C. Scott.] As for Bob’s opinion of Patton, he recorded a conversation he had on 8 October 93 with his two brothers-in-law, Ham Emery and George Burr, who happened to be stationed near Oran at the time: “Patton no good & N. G. Harman tops,” Bob wrote cryptically in a diary he kept. Of the Kasserine Pass debacle, Bob states firmly that “We figured that was a temporary setback. We knew we had them on the run.”

In his famous novel, The Plague, Nobel-prize winning French writer Albert Camus, born in Oran, wrote a distinctive description of the city: “The town itself, let us admit, is ugly. It has a smug, placid air…How to conjure up a picture, for instance, of a town without pigeons, without any trees or gardens, where you never hear the beat of wings or the rustle of leaves—a thoroughly negative place, in short? The seasons are discriminated only in the sky. All that tells you of spring’s coming is the feel of the air, or the baskets of flowers brought in from the suburbs by peddlers; it’s a spring cried in the marketplaces. During the summer the sun bakes the houses bone-dry, sprinkles our walls with grayish dust, and you have no option but to survive those days of fire indoors, behind

Raging waves from the Mediterranean Sea assault the breakwater outside Oran closed shutters. In autumn, on the other hand, we have deluges of mud. Only winter brings really pleasant

For more than two millennia, the North African coast has been a battleground.

For more than two millennia, the North African coast has been a battleground.

Hannibal’s raging elephants, Rome’s invincible legions, Mohammed’s conquering zealots, Rommel’s fearsome panzers—all have wreaked havoc upon this land. Early in the 19th Century, the USS Constitution—“Old Ironsides”— fought Barbary pirates there.

Hannibal’s raging elephants, Rome’s invincible legions, Mohammed’s conquering zealots, Rommel’s fearsome panzers—all have wreaked havoc upon this land. Early in the 19th Century, the USS Constitution—“Old Ironsides”— fought Barbary pirates there.

War in the Mediterranean witnessed a number of water-borne invasions by western Allied forces, including landings in Algeria in November 1942 (Operation “Torch”), on Sicily in July 1943 (Operation “Husky”), on the Italian mainland in September 1943 (Operations “Baytown” and “Avalanche”), and in southern France in August 1944 (Operation “Dragoon”). Bob followed in each of their wakes.

War in the Mediterranean witnessed a number of water-borne invasions by western Allied forces, including landings in Algeria in November 1942 (Operation “Torch”), on Sicily in July 1943 (Operation “Husky”), on the Italian mainland in September 1943 (Operations “Baytown” and “Avalanche”), and in southern France in August 1944 (Operation “Dragoon”). Bob followed in each of their wakes.

weather…It is only fair to add that Oran is grafted to a unique landscape, in the center of a bare plateau, ringed with luminous hills and above a perfectly shaped bay. All we may regret is the town’s being so disposed that it turns its back on the bay, with the result that it’s impossible to see the sea, you always have to go to look for it.”

weather…It is only fair to add that Oran is grafted to a unique landscape, in the center of a bare plateau, ringed with luminous hills and above a perfectly shaped bay. All we may regret is the town’s being so disposed that it turns its back on the bay, with the result that it’s impossible to see the sea, you always have to go to look for it.”

(Oran has another famous native son: French fashion designer, the late Yves Saint Laurent, born there in 93.)

(Oran has another famous native son: French fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent, who was born there in 1936.)

Upon his arrival in Oran, Bob was put to work handling ammunition, harkening back to the ordnance training he had received at Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Maryland.

Upon his arrival in Oran, Bob was put to work handling ammunition, harkening back to the ordnance training he had received at Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Maryland.

“We’d unload the shells and bombs from ships and stockpile them onshore in warehouses,” he remembers. “I spent Christmas that year in an ammunition dump out in the desert 0 miles inland from Oran. All we had to eat were C-rations.” (C-rations were preserved, canned food you could carry with you for weeks or months without spoiling. They variously included hardtack, candy, canned meat, crackers, chewing gum, and such.)

“We’d unload the shells and bombs from ships and stockpile them onshore in warehouses,” he remembers. “I spent Christmas that year in an ammunition dump out in the desert 10 miles inland from Oran. All we had to eat were Crations.” (C-rations were preserved, canned food you could carry with you for weeks or months without spoiling. They variously included hardtack, candy, canned meat, crackers, chewing gum and more.)

“After a month of schlepping ammunition, I went into a camp just east of Oran called Canastal. They sent in word they needed mps to police the streets of the city. GIs would come in and get drunk and commit all kinds of abuses. So they put an mp [short for “Military Police”] band around my arm and put me to work patrolling the streets of Oran with three or four other guys, trying to keep American servicemen out of trouble. And boy, was there ever a lot of trouble! About

“After a month of schlepping ammunition, I went into a camp just east of Oran called Canastal. They sent in word they needed MPs to police the streets of the city. GIs would come in and get drunk and commit all kinds of abuses. So they put an MP [short for “Military Police”] band around my arm and put me to work patrolling the streets of Oran with three or four other guys, trying to keep American servicemen out of trouble. And boy, was there trouble! About

Bob as an MP in Oran —1942

Bob as an mp in Oran —92

a month later, a master sergeant walked into mp headquarters and asked me whether I’d ever done any investigating work. I said, ‘Sure, I investigated the Army!’ I guess that qualified me. So he said they needed someone who could type, and I could type. And that was that. They put me to work typing reports for the mp division that investigated motor vehicle accidents. After a while, the Criminal Investigation Division got wind that I was doing a good job and they asked me—they didn’t ask me, they ordered me—to transfer into the cid as a typist. So, for the rest of that year, I spent a lot of time behind a desk in Oran working as a clerk/typist attached to the cid. Boy, the reports the agents turned in were awful. They were so bad. The reports were full of errors and misstatements. And they’d leave things out. I’d have to fix them up, which I did. I spent all of my time rewriting their reports. The investigators loved that; I made them look good. After a while I thought, ‘I can do this job better than most of these guys.’ Finally I decided to apply to become an investigative agent myself. It seemed like it took forever, but at last I got the transfer.”

From the time he became a full-fledged cid agent in January 9 until his return to the States in May 9, Bob investigated crimes by and against U.S. personnel across the Mediterranean theater. His duties took him to Algiers, Constantine, Sidi Bel Abbès, and various other places in North Africa, as well as to Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, and Italy.

“It was very interesting work,” he goes on. “I saw the best of everything, the worst of everything. The best of people, the worst of people. Murder, rape, black market operations,

Sergeant Bob on board a “ship of the desert —93

smuggling, desertion, sodomy, drugs, you name it. We even hanged some people, but I didn’t have to watch any of that, thank goodness. I was supposed to watch. The Army wanted investigators to be there when the people they helped convict were hanged. They thought it would help bring closure to the cases. But I refused to do that. I just didn’t want to go. One time, my co told me ‘There’s a hanging this afternoon. You have to go!’ I told another agent about it and said I didn’t want to go. It was barbaric. Awful. I didn’t believe in it. So he said, ‘Okay, I’ll go in your place.’”

His new position earned Bob the rank of Staff Sergeant and, more importantly, a raise. Of note, he wore civilian clothes, not a military uniform, which allowed him to operate more freely, to go more places. It also saved him the bother of having to salute anyone of higher rank, always an issue with the status-conscious military hierarchy. Indeed, lack of discipline among the soldiers and sailors and marines streaming through Oran forever worried the brass.

In February 9 , they finally cracked down on what they perceived as widespread complacency and slovenliness, issuing orders threatening with court-martial and six months hard labor any personnel caught not wearing the proper uniform or failing to salute someone of higher rank. Luckily, Bob’s cid status shielded him from such threats. Assembling a civilian wardrobe proved a daunting challenge. Bob scrounged everywhere he could, on occasion going on board ships in Oran harbor and bargaining with merchant seamen for articles of clothing and, sometimes, shots of

Agent Bob dressed in civilian clothes —9

of whiskey. He paid outlandish prices and found the mariners mercenaries at heart.

“We were able to go anywhere, talk to anyone, without worrying about rank protocol,” Bob says of his days as a

cid agent. “We had no barracks. We were paid expense money [$3.2 a day according to a diary Bob kept] and told to find our own living quarters off base in the city. That made it easier for us to operate and do our jobs. The apartment we had was luxurious, and it was right by the water. I don’t remember how much we paid, but it was beautiful. And it was near the office, too. We didn’t attempt to eat in our place. There were no kitchen facilities. We found a French woman who lived nearby and paid her to do our cooking. It was great. We got good meals and she got items she would never have seen otherwise, like eggs. Eggs were a big thing. Sometimes we hard-boiled them in our quarters.”

C.I.D. agent. “We had no barracks. We were paid expense money [$3.25 a day according to a diary Bob kept] and told to find our own living quarters off base in the city. That made it easier for us to operate and do our jobs. The apartment we had was luxurious, and it was right by the water. I don’t remember how much we paid, but it was beautiful. And it was near the office, too. We didn’t attempt to eat in our place. There were no kitchen facilities. We found a French woman who lived nearby and paid her to do our cooking. It was great. We got good meals and she got items she would never have seen otherwise, like eggs. Eggs were a big thing. Sometimes we hard-boiled them in our quarters.”

In Oran, Bob found himself stationed in a Francophone colonial city where he had ample opportunity to put his three years of high school French to use. “At first, I could read French better than I could speak it,” Bob tells us. “I had to work with the French secret police a lot. They couldn’t speak English, and I couldn’t speak much French, but somehow we got by, and I started to pick up a lot more of the lingo. But their French sounded so strange compared with what I learned in

In Oran, Bob found himself stationed in a Francophone colonial city where he had ample opportunity to put his three years of high school French to use. “At first, I could read French better than I could speak it,” Bob tells us. “I had to work with the French secret police a lot. They couldn’t speak English, and I couldn’t speak much French, but somehow we got by, and I started to pick up a lot more of the

school. The brogues were different. Northern France. Southern France. French North Africa. Sometimes you didn’t even know it was the same language they were speaking, there were so many variations. Everyone spoke in his own patois.”

lingo. But their French sounded so strange compared with what I learned in school. The brogues were different. Northern France. Southern France. French North Africa. Sometimes you didn’t even know it was the same language they were speaking, there were so many variations. Everyone spoke in his own patois.”

Bob managed to save several copies of the local French-language newspaper, the Oran Républicain [Oran Republican]. The Tuesday,  April 93 edition clearly is the product of a land immersed in war, filled as it is with talk of battles and generals, accounts of war-induced crises and appeals to patriotism and higher ideals. Perusing its pages, one reads how, on the Eastern Front, the Russian army is intensifying its attacks on Nazi forces defending the Black Sea port of Novorossisk,

Bob managed to save several copies of the local French-language newspaper, the Oran Républicain [Oran Republican]. The Tuesday, 6 April 1943 edition clearly is the product of a land immersed in war, filled as it is with talk of battles and generals, accounts of war-induced crises and appeals to patriotism and higher ideals. Perusing its pages, one reads how, on the Eastern Front, the Russian army is intensifying its attacks on Nazi forces defending the Black Sea port of Novorossisk,

Wartime Views of North Africa

Top Left: Unloading ships at Oran

Top Right: Downed German aircraft

Bottom Left: Unloading ships at Oran

Bottom Right: Beach near Oran

Meanwhile, in the skies over Germany, the Allied aerial offensive has subjected the industrial city of Kiel to “a dense rain of bombs.” One also learns that in London, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill has just hosted French General Charles de Gaulle for a series of talks. Also in London—on a visit from New York—American archbishop Francis J. Spellman tells American troops of the Catholic faith that “Nous savons tous que la guerre ne peut être gagnée que par la force. Mais seules, la justice et la charité nouz permettront de gagner la paix.” [“We all know that the war can only be won by force. But only justice and charity will permit us to win the peace.”]

while, over Germany, the Allied aerial offensive has subjected the industrial city of Kiel to “a dense rain of bombs.” One also learns that in London, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill has just hosted French General Charles de Gaulle for a series of talks. Also in London—on a visit from New York—American Archbishop Francis J. Spellman tells American troops of the Catholic faith that “Nous savons tous que la guerre ne peut être gagnée que par la force. Mais seules, la justice et la charité nouz permettront de gagner la paix.” [“We all know that the war can only be won by force. But only justice and charity will permit us to win the peace.”]

Bob captured many of the details of his time in Oran in a diary he kept from July 93 through April 9 . His first entry, dated  July 93, is simple and dramatic: “invasion of sicily!”

Bob captured many of the details of his time in Oran in a diary he kept from July 1943 through April 1944. His first entry, dated 11 July 1943, is simple and dramatic: “INVASION OF SICILY!”

Thirteen days later he writes: “Swimming at Aix-el-Turek with mps. Water perfect. Got slight burn. Stayed at beach 2 hours. Building practice invasion barge ramps on beach.” The following day, 2 July 93, his entry reads: “Received package with semisweet chocolate from Dol. Whatta girl! Am certainly proud of my choice!”

Thirteen days later he writes: “Swimming at Aix-el-Turek with MPs. Water perfect. Got slight burn. Stayed at beach 2 hours. Building practice invasion barge ramps on beach.”

The following day, 25 July 1943, his entry reads: “Received package with semisweet chocolate from Dol. Whatta girl! Am certainly proud of my choice!”

Several times a week at least, Bob reports that he has attended a movie, often at the Casino Theater run by the American Red Cross. The cinema fare he dined on included such films as Moonlight Serenade, If I Had My Way, Belle of New Orleans, Pittsburgh, First Love (starring Deana Durbin), and various other films starring John Wayne, Bing Crosby, Betty Grable, Bob Hope, and others. Hope personally visited Algeria several times, performing in remote camps away from

Several times a week at least Bob reports that he has attended a movie, often at the Casino Theater run by the American Red Cross. The cinema fare he dined on included such films as “Moonlight Serenade,” “If I Had My Way,” “Belle of New Orleans,” “Pittsburgh,” “First Love” (starring Deana

Durbin), various films starring John Wayne, Bing Crosby, Betty Grable, Bob Hope and others. Hope personally visited Algeria several times, performing in remote camps away from

Oran where many of the troops were bivouacked. Through wars in Korea, Vietnam, and the Persian Gulf, Hope continued to entertain American troops in far off places well into his eighties.

Oran where many of the troops were bivouacked. Through wars in Korea, Vietnam and the Persian Gulf, Hope continued to entertain American troops in far off places well into his eighties.

Boxing matches provided another distraction for Bob.

Boxing matches provided another distraction for Bob.

One time Lew Jenkins, the 1941 world lightweight champion, performed victoriously on a card, with Hollywood actor Preston Foster acting as a second. Another time, John Steinbeck, Nobel Prize-winning author of The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men, strolled into the Oran MPs’ office looking for material for a story in his role as a wartime correspondent. Singer/ actor Al Jolson, who starred in the first “talkie” motion picture—“The Jazz Singer”— was another famous visitor to Oran during Bob’s time there.

One time, Lew Jenkins, the 9 world lightweight champion, performed victoriously on a card, with Hollywood actor Preston Foster acting as a second. Another time, John Steinbeck, Nobel Prize-winning author of The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men, strolled into the Oran mps’ office looking for material for a story in his role as a wartime correspondent. Singer/actor Al Jolson, who starred in the first “talkie” motion picture—

The Jazz Singer—was another famous visitor to Oran during Bob’s time there.

A string of military luminaries paraded through town— French general Charles de Gaulle, American generals Dwight Eisenhower and George Patton, British field marshal Bernard Montgomery and others. Late in 1943, with little warning, the ultimate “big wig” showed up.

A string of military luminaries paraded through town—French general Charles de Gaulle, American generals Dwight Eisenhower and George Patton, British field marshal Bernard Montgomery, and others. Late in 93, with little warning, the ultimate “big wig” showed up.

“Something really big coming off tomorrow,” Bob writes in his diary on 19 November of that year. “60 MPs down from Algiers, MPs must get up at 05:30 tomorrow, General Wilson’s villa fixed up & special guards appointed, Eisenhower in town, 3 plain clothes C.I.D. men must be ready for immediate call, all roads into Oran will be closed at certain

“Something really big coming off tomorrow,” Bob writes in his diary on 9 November of that year. “0 mps down from Algiers, mps must get up at 0:30 tomorrow, General Wilson’s villa fixed up & special guards appointed, Eisenhower in town, 3 plain clothes cid men must be ready for immediate call, all roads into Oran will be closed at certain

hour tomorrow, special interpreters being sent out at road blocks. Must be meeting of three Allied powers. Maybe Eleanor is coming.”

hour tomorrow, special interpreters being sent out at road blocks. Must be meeting of three Allied powers. Maybe Eleanor is coming.”

The next day, Bob continues: “Something really big came off today. Battleship Iowa & many cruisers here. All planes grounded & no traffic in or out of Es Senia [the local airfield]. It is rumored that Roosevelt & Churchill met on oat & came in here to leave via plane. Admiral King seen.

The next day, Bob continues: “Something really big came off today. Battleship Iowa & many cruisers here. All planes grounded & no traffic in or out of Es Senia [the local airfield]. It is rumored that Roosevelt & Churchill met on boat & came in here to leave via plane. Admiral King seen. Rumored Von Ribbentrop [Nazi Germany’s Foreign Minister] here too. More than 1,000 GIs formed guard around this area. Over by noon.”

Rumored Von Ribbentrop [Nazi Germany’s Foreign Minister] here too. More than ,000 gis formed guard around this area. Over by noon.”

On 21 November—a Sunday—Bob reports: “Rumors out today that an Armistice was signed, but I won’t take any stock in this.”

On 2 November—a Sunday, —Bob reports: “Rumors out today that an Armistice was signed, but I won’t take any stock in this.” On Monday, he writes: “Rumor now out among the civilians that

On Monday, he writes: “Rumor now out among the

Roosevelt, Churchill & 2 German high officers were here following some sort of a conference. mps advised, under threat of Generals Court-martial, to say nothing to anyone about what they might have seen for 30 days.”

On Friday, 3 December, Bob reports, “My dope is that the President, Churchill, etc. are returning from conference with Stalin & are using this area for some sort of jumping off place. Believe that excitement of 2 weeks ago must have been these big shots arriving from their various countries.” He concludes that day’s entry by noting, “Sent Dol Xmas letter and $2.”

History tells us that the big event Bob witnessed was the arrival of fdr at Oran aboard the Iowa. From Oran, the President flew to Cairo, Egypt where he, Churchill, and Chinese Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek met in the First Cairo Conference to discuss plans for the war against Japan. After Cairo, fdr continued on to Teheran, Iran for a summit conference with Churchill and Soviet Premier Josef Stalin. At Teheran, the Allies plotted their strategy for defeating Hitler’s Germany, including a decision to invade

northern France across the English Channel from Britain in June 9 . They also agreed to create an independent state in Iran once the war was over, while Stalin promised to bring the u.s.s.r. into the war against Japan once Germany was defeated.

An interesting footnote to fdr’s visit to Oran: On its way across the Atlantic, the American fleet was holding a submarine avoidance drill when one of the u.s. destroyers mistakenly launched an armed torpedo that headed straight toward the battle-wagon where the President watched from on deck. By a narrow margin, the Iowa outmaneuvered the torpedo, and fdr made it safely to Oran and kept his dates with Churchill, Chiang, Stalin, and history.

Bob frequently notes in his diary that he is sick—“feeling punk” or “feeling grippey” is how he most often puts it. He also complains often of the legions of bed bugs that attacked him at night. “My bed was made up of ropes going in and around a wooden frame,” he says. “And it was where the ropes went through the wood that the bed bugs hid. When you turned on a light you could see them scurrying around and hiding in there. So when you went to bed, they’d come out and eat you alive, especially on the neck and shoulders. That’s where they got me the worst. I powdered them and sprayed them, and the next night they’d still be there. No one took care of you. No one cared. ‘Take care of yourself. You’re a big boy now.’ That was their attitude. For a while, I stayed in an old French barracks. It wasn’t the cleanest place to stay. That was where the bed bugs were the worst.”

Port front view of Battleship Iowa —9

French soldiers parading in front of Oran City Hall —1944

Another view from atop Oran City Hall —1944 French soldiers parading in front of Oran City Hall —9

For the rest of the war, Bob remained near the Mediterranean’s shores, away from Dol but on occasion personally in touch with some of his family. His brothers-inlaw Ham Emery and George Burr both served as Army officers in North Africa, and the three of them were able to meet in Oran several times in 93, until Ham left for England and George departed for Italy with his Quartermaster unit a few days before fdr’s surprise visit.

For the rest of the war, Bob remained near the Mediterranean’s shores, away from Dol but on occasion personally in touch with some of his family. His brothers-inlaw Ham Emery and George Burr both served as Army officers in North Africa, and the three of them were able to meet in Oran several times in 1943, until Ham left for England and George departed for Italy with his Quartermaster unit a few days before FDR’s surprise visit.

In 93, Ham showed up unannounced in Oran and went looking for Bob. “We weren’t supposed to let people know exactly where we were stationed,” Bob confesses. “But I had ways to get the word out. Ham knew I was in Oran somewhere.” Walking down the street, Bob heard someone behind him sound “the Harris whistle,” a short, distinctive tune every family member knew (and knows). “Someone knows me!” Bob thought as he turned around and found Ham standing before him, grinning ear-to-ear. When asked

In 1943, Ham showed up unannounced in Oran and went looking for Bob. “We weren’t supposed to let people know exactly where we were stationed,” Bob confesses. “But I had ways to get the word out. Ham knew I was in Oran somewhere.” Walking down the street, Bob heard someone behind him sound “the Harris whistle,” a short, distinctive tune every family member knew (and knows). “Someone knows me!” Bob thought as he turned around and found Ham standing before him, grinning ear-to-ear. When asked

recently to perform the Harris whistle, both Rob and Doreen were able to deliver serviceable renditions.

recently to perform the Harris whistle, both Rob and Doreen were able to deliver serviceable renditions.

Frequent letters from Dol and family and friends buoyed Bob’s spirits. Much of his and Dol’s correspondence was in the form of V-mail (Victory mail), a process whereby letters were photographed and shrunk onto film, then flown across the Atlantic (or Pacific), enlarged and printed out upon arrival before their final delivery.

Frequent letters from Dol and family and friends buoyed Bob’s spirits. Much of his and Dol’s correspondence was in the form of V-mail (Victory mail), a process whereby letters were photographed and shrunk onto film, then flown across the Atlantic (or Pacific), enlarged, and printed out upon arrival in the U.S. before being delivered to their final destination.

Communicating by V-mail saved weight and, better yet, hastened the speed at which messages were exchanged. Dol has kept her wartime letters from Bob, including a stack of his V-mails.

Communicating by V-mail saved weight and, better yet, hastened the speed of message exchanges. Dol has kept her wartime letters from Bob, including a stack of his V-mails.

In a V-mail dated 0 February 9 , Bob wrote to Dol: “Dearest Dol:-

In a V-mail dated 10 February 1944, Bob wrote to Dol:

“Dearest Dol:-

Another view from atop Oran City Hall —9

“Wrote to you when I arrived at work this morning and am writing to you tonight—seems like you’re on my mind constantly, eh? This has been a hectic day all the way through and in any way one would care to look at it but yet as soon as I got your letter #23 this am I decided to make it a point to reply immediately. Your last three letters have been V-letters and I believe I prefer them—they are received more in the same order that they are written and usually within the period of  days—that’s good. And don’t worry about the writing because I can read it perfectly all the way thru— sometimes better than those typed.

“Wrote to you when I arrived at work this morning and am writing to you tonight—seems like you’re on my mind constantly, eh? This has been a hectic day all the way through and in any way one would care to look at it but yet as soon as I got your letter #234 this AM I decided to make it a point to reply immediately. Your last three letters have been V-letters and I believe I prefer them—they are received more in the same order that they are written and usually within the period of 14 days—that’s good. And don’t worry about the writing because I can read it perfectly all the way thru— some times better than those typed.

“Also got quite a kick out of receiving two letters from an old chum of mine that I went to Oak Ridge with some 0 years ago. Am sure that I have mentioned this fellow Ollie to you as he was a good friend while at college and I used to correspond with him after he left to go to Annapolis. This is the first time I have had any word of him since we spent an evening in Boston together some four or five years ago. He’s a Lieut in the Navy and up for a Lieut Commander (equivalent to Army Major). Is on a destroyer in the Atlantic but hasn’t had the opportunity of touching the shores of Africa.

“Also got quite a kick out of receiving two letters from an old chum of mine that I went to Oak Ridge with some 10 years ago. Am sure that I have mentioned this fellow Ollie to you as he was a good friend while at college and I used to correspond with him after he left to go to Annapolis. This is the first time I have had any word of him since we spent an evening in Boston together some four or five years ago. He’s a Lieut in the Navy and up for a Lieut Commander (equivalent to Army Major). Is on a destroyer in the Atlantic but hasn’t had the opportunity of touching the shores of Africa.

“Don’t like to get into too deep a discussion concerning the recent bill that was approved as a muster-out bill for us gi’s. $300 is not chicken feed and anyone would be a damned fool to kick too much about the thing but we have had a lot of talk (naturally) about this and we all seem to be of the same opinion that more consideration should have been given: first to the man on the front line,

“Don’t like to get into too deep a discussion concerning the recent bill that was approved as a muster-out bill for us GI’s. $300 is not chicken feed and anyone would be a damned fool to kick too much about the thing but we have had a lot of talk (naturally) about this and we all seem to be of the same opinion that more consideration should have been given: first to the man on the front line,

V-mail letter (actual size)

V-mail letter (actual size)

second to the man with the longest time overseas service, and a basic amount to be given to the soldier who remained in the States regardless of the length of service therein. Sometime I will explain our reasons for these considerations. But for now—stay healthy and remember you’re mine! Bob”

second to the man with the longest time overseas service, and a basic amount to be given to the soldier who remained in the States regardless of the length of service therein. Sometime I will explain our reasons for these considerations. But for now—stay healthy and remember you’re mine! Bob”

In an eight page, typewritten letter dated 2 April 93, Dol wrote to Bob,

“Dear Bob: ‘Twas one year ago this morning your father drove you over to Winchester to join the rest of the boys to be shipped to Camp Devens where you were examined mentally and physically and sworn into the United States Army. ONE YEAR AGO TODAY---

-------How well I remember---it was on a Friday. That night you tried in vain to call me, but unfortunately I was not at home…The first weekend you had off---Well, it wasn’t a weekend, but a day. I can remember it as though it was yesterday. It was one month later, May 2th at 9:3 am when the telephone rang. You, Bob, calling from Aberdeen. Could I come down as you didn’t have to be back until the next morning, and we could be together a few hours. At first I hesitated as the long trip alone scared me. But, before I knew it I was boarding the noon train bound for Norwalk. Arrived at :00 pm and you met me at :2. You were so sick with cold and fever you could hardly see. We drove out to the golf course to park---but, didn’t have much peace with cars whizzing by and your nose dripping a mile a minute. I was so happy to see you and be with you I well remember how hard I had to bite my lips to keep from sobbing. The most painful part of the whole trip was when you had to leave on the :, in order to return in time for bed check. We were together one hour and a half. I boarded the 7:00 o’clock train home and didn’t know if I was coming or going and I don’t think you did either. It was an experience, though, and

V-mail envelope (actual size) Notice the free postage, a special benefit offered to members of the Armed Forces fighting overseas another story for us to tell our children and grandchildren.”

Dol concludes her letter by writing, “On Monday October 8th you sailed away to Bonnie England and now you are stationed in North Africa---talk about seeing the world. Boy, you sure are seeing plenty of it now. But, I am sure as far as you are concerned there is nothing like good old U.S.A. and tomorrow or the next day wouldn’t be any too soon to return to me and God’s Country. Well, my darling, this letter gives you a resume of our grand and glorious weekends together from the time you

were drafted April 2 , 92 to the time you sailed the high seas October 8, 92. Take care of yourself, Bob, and always remember we have a life time ahead of us and it is the two of us who are going to plan things together and remain with each other always. My love is all yours…Dol”

Bob also regularly received letters from his former boss at Westinghouse in Boston, promising him a position with the company when he returned after the war’s end. “It was a government requirement that he take me back,” Bob tells us. “Not with an advancement or a promotion, just with the same job—and the same salary, too.” The Westinghouse Company also on occasion sent him gift packages, stocked with chocolates, gum, and other goodies. Back home in the States, the company periodically published the “Westinghouse New England News—To and From Our Men in Uniform,” featuring letters written by its various employees gone away to war.

In May, 93 they printed a letter from Bob:

“From North Africa,  April 93

“I’m getting to be a globetrotter, but regret that I couldn’t stay in England a little longer. Was only there about a month. Did get a glimpse of Coventry and spent about a half day in Birmingham. All the English folk made every effort to entertain and make us feel at home and succeeded even more so than the treatment we received from Americans while in the States. I don’t know how our girls treat Limey sailors on leave in the States, but they needn’t be quite so willing as are the “Jills” in England.

“As for Africa, I am anxiously awaiting and hoping that soon we will be shipped out of here, and on our way to some new spot.

“You will be interested to know that the majority of the lamps used here are of inferior quality to Mazda and are manufactured locally or sent from England.

“Since arriving in Africa, I’ve had various jobs. Was an mp for about three weeks, and although I’m still working under the Provost Marshal, am now doing office work for the Criminal Investigation Division. Don’t work nearly as hard as I used to in civilian life, although I’ve put in some tough manual labor while with an ordnance ammunition company in December.

“We are rationed on everything obtained through the Army. And that includes everything, since all merchants have nothing to sell. Our weekly ration usually includes: 7 packs of cigarettes,  candy bar (often an extra piece of British chocolate), can of pipe tobacco, 2 cigars, bar of soap, 3 razor

blades, toothpaste, shaving cream, pack of gum, and periodically such items as stationary, shoe polish, etc. At first, all of this was issued free, but now we must pay cash (francs).”

Rumors circulated regularly in Oran—and everywhere the war was being fought—about one imaginary development or another. Usually they involved a report that the war was about to end. In late 93, it was whispered that the Allies had landed an invasion force in northern France. As the day progressed, reports became more and more detailed, identifying the divisions involved and positions captured. It all turned out to be false, of course.

Interest in the monumental series of events that made up the actual D-Day— June 9—has undergone a tremendous resurgence in recent years. In 99 , ceremonies commemorating the 0th Anniversary of the Normandy Invasion gained worldwide attention. More recently, Stephen Spielberg’s epic war film Saving Private Ryan introduced a new generation of Americans to what Cornelius Ryan once called “The Longest Day” and was dubbed by the Allies “Operation Overlord.” Spielberg’s masterpiece also captured the drama and sacrifice of World War II soldiering more effectively than any previous film had done.

D-Day found Bob still stationed in Oran, and somehow he has managed to keep a copy of the local edition of The Stars and Stripes announcing the landing of Allied forces

Allied forces led by General (and future president) Dwight David Eisenhower—known to all as “Ike.”

Excitement at finally hearing the long-awaited news overwhelmed the citizens of Oran:

“On the streets the first bubbling enthusiasm began to spread among both military personnel and civilians. People walked a trifle faster and made it a point to exchange greetings and smiles with passersby.” The journalist quotes one American serviceman who remarked that “French people have been coming up all morning to shake my hand.”

An article titled “Nazis Deny Rumors of Secret Weapons” reports that “rumors that the Germans are prepared to hurl ‘invisible aircraft’ and ‘uranium bombs’ against the invading Allied troops today are wholly untrue, the Germans themselves admit, but in their place they claim to have rocket guns with fantastic range and extraordinary power.” The article goes on by quoting German artillery general Paul Hasse as saying that “while the effect of the rocket shell’s fragmentation is limited… the air pressure from their explosions can annihilate men, guns, tanks, and buildings over a wide area.”

Among the numerous murder investigations Bob conducted, one in particular stands out. Not long after the Allies occupied the French island of Corsica, he traveled there on an unusual case. In a rural barn filled with hams strung out to dry, five native Corsicans were sharing a bottle of wine when a black American soldier appeared and asked for a drink. After a while, the gi grew incensed over what he considered discriminatory

Bob and partner Sam Sekolnik working in the field

treatment. He left in a huff only to return a short time later with his rifle and shoot all five men dead. French police at the crime scene noticed a small hole in one of the hams and, upon closer inspection, discovered that a bullet had somehow lodged itself there. A ballistics test established that the bullet was a .30 caliber—in short, that it had been fired by an American soldier. The cid was called in and, one by one (“Don’t ever let them get together,” Bob advises) they quizzed the gis camped nearby. They soon established that one particular soldier had been seen entering and leaving camp around the time of the slayings. “When we confronted the suspect,” Bob says, “we told him ‘We’ve got you this time. You didn’t know it, but one of your bullets went into the ham, and we want your

9

These are the French army barracks where Bob lived while an MP during his tour of duty in Oran; later, after becoming a CID agent, he moved into a private apartment —1943

These are the French army barracks where Bob lived while an MP during his tour of duty in Oran; later, after becoming a CID agent, he moved into a private apartment —93

Pictured below are Bob, office boy Mahmoud and some of the people from the CID office in Oran; notice in the background there is a stack of boxes: confiscated goods. —1944

Pictured below are Bob, office boy Mahmoud and some of the people from the cid office in Oran; notice in the background there is a stack of boxes: confiscated goods. —9

Pictured above is the main square in Algiers, Algeria. The large board between the two entrances was used to track the progress of the land war in France. —9

This photograph shows the main square in Algiers, Algeria. The large board between the two entrances was used to track the progress of the land war in France. —1944

The above photograph of Oran’s harbor could have landed Bob in hot water. The Army did not take kindly to people taking pictures of sensitive military installations. —1943

The above photograph of Oran’s harbor could have landed Bob in hot water. The Army did not take kindly to people taking pictures of sensitive military installations. —9

had been traveling on the fringes of the Sahara Desert, right by the sand. I was in bed for three days, four days I think. Joe didn’t suffer as badly as I, and I asked him why. He said ‘Because I got under the jeep in the shade.’ I said, “I did too!’”

had been traveling on the fringes of the Sahara Desert, right by the sand. I was in bed for three days, four days I think. Joe didn’t suffer as badly as I, and I asked him why. He said ‘Because I got under the jeep in the shade.’ I said, “I did too!’”

Over the course of his service as an investigative agent, Bob developed considerable skills in that profession. He took extensive training in fingerprinting, to the point of mastering the fbi’s ten point identification system. He learned a great deal more while on the job, especially from fellow agent and frequent investigative partner Sam Sekolnick, a former New York City police officer, streetwise and case-hardened. Another fount of law enforcement knowledge Bob tapped into was Lieutenant Leon G. Tarrou, a former fbi agent and author of Confessions of a Nazi Spy. Prior to the war, Tarrou had helped to track down the notorious gangster John Dillinger and solve the Lindbergh kidnapping case. (When the war ended, Bob was called to Washington, dc, interviewed by the fbi, and offered a career position. He declined.)

Over the course of his service as an investigative agent, Bob developed considerable skills in that profession. He took extensive training in fingerprinting, to the point of mastering the FBI’s ten point identification system. He learned a great deal more while on the job, especially from fellow agent and frequent investigative partner Sam Sekolnick, a former New York City police officer streetwise and case-hardened. Another fount of law enforcement knowledge Bob tapped into was Lieutenant Leon G. Tarrou, a former F.B.I. agent and author of Confessions of a Nazi Spy. Prior to the war, Tarrou had helped to track down the notorious gangster John Dillinger and solve the Lindbergh kidnapping case. (When the war ended, Bob was called to Washington, D.C., interviewed by the F.B.I. and offered a career position. He declined.)

In December 9 , in northeastern France, Germany launched its final offensive thrust of the war, the famous Battle of the Bulge. Once their advance was stopped and their forces driven back across theRhine River, the Germans faced inevitable defeat. As spring approached, the rate of their military collapse accelerated. A 2 May 9 Mediterranean edition of The Stars and Stripes Bob preserved announces the welcome news that

In December 1944, in northeastern France, Germany launched its final offensive thrust of the war, the famous Battle of the Bulge. Once their advance was stopped and their forces driven back across the Rhine River, the Germans faced inevitable defeat. As Spring approached, the rate of their military collapse accelerated. The 2 May 1945 Mediterranean edition of Stars and Stripes Bob preserved announces the welcome news that

Adolf Hitler, “the most hated man on earth” is dead.

“Death most likely has come to Hitler,” Sergeant Lyle Dowling writes, “who in this century and for centuries to come was the living embodiment of death. The smell of death pervades each chapter of his career, and they are uncovering now in the Dachaus and Buchenwalds of his Germany the final towering mountains of corpses with which his path in history is strewn.”

A few days later, Bob was on board a ship in the harbor at Naples, Italy about to depart for New York on his first visit home since 92 when word came that the war in Europe was over. He was instructed to return home for a -day leave and await new orders there. The war against Japan was still being fought, and Bob expected to make his contribution to the struggle in the Pacific.

Dol has saved a copy of the 8 May 9 issue of the Boston American announcing victory in Europe: “A Germany thoroughly smashed in battle surrendered unconditionally to the western Allies and Soviet Russia,” the paper announces, “… finishing history’s bloodiest conflict after 2,39 days. At least 0,000,000 men, women and children were casualties from this global war fired by Hitler’s armored plunge into Poland on Sept. , 939. Hitler’s Reich lay shattered. Victory in Europe was won—at tremendous, unassessable cost in human lives and treasure.

“

“The Germany, which once overspread almost all of Europe, had dominated northern Africa and waged U-boat war that came near to controlling the seas, had been reduced in this final hour to trapped, though large, garrisons in Norway, in Czechoslovakia-Austria-Yugoslavia, in French ports and on channel islands, in Latvia, on Aegean islands, and in desperate, diminishing pockets in Germany itself.”

The Germany, which once overspread almost all of Europe, had dominated northern Africa and waged U-boat war that came near to controlling the seas, had been reduced in this final hour to trapped, though large, garrisons in Norway, in Czechoslovakia-Austria-Yugoslavia, in French ports and on channel islands, in Latvia, on Aegean islands, and in desperate, diminishing pockets in Germany itself.”

On his way westward across the Atlantic, Bob found himself in the company of soldiers from the 3th Infantry Division, fresh off the front lines in Italy. The fight northward through Italy had been extremely difficult, marked by fierce combat at places like Anzio and Monte Casino. These were tough, battle-hardened veterans. Thanks to his status as a cid agent, Bob wore civilian clothes during the voyage. Basically, these consisted of an officer’s uniform without the brass. On his shirt colors were “usa” insignias rather than a lieutenant’s or captain’s bars or a major’s oak leaves or a colonel’s eagles or a general’s stars. Most often, troops saluted him as though he were an officer anyway. Bob even lived in officers’ quarters on board ship, and became quite friendly with some of the 3th ’s officers, who proved to be good guys. Their division was bound for Trinidad in the British West Indies, where they were planning to set up a new air base to be used to shuttle troops back to the United States. It would facilitate a short route, from Africa to Trinidad to the u.s. The Army figured they would lose fewer troops in airplane crashes that way. Consequently, before reaching New York, the troop carrier veered southward into the Caribbean. Bob joined the officers as they went ashore in Trinidad and accompanied them to the local officers

On his way westward across the Atlantic, Bob found himself in the company of soldiers from the 34th Infantry Division, fresh off the front lines in Italy. The fight northward through Italy had been extremely difficult, marked by fierce combat at places like Anzio and Monte Casino. These were tough, battle-hardened veterans. Thanks to his status as a C.I.D. agent, Bob wore civilian clothes during the voyage. Basically, these consisted of an officer’s uniform without the brass. On his shirt colors were “USA” insignias rather than a lieutenant’s or captain’s bars or a major’s oak leaves or a colonel’s eagles or a general’s stars. Most often, troops saluted him as though he were an officer anyway. Bob even lived in officers’ quarters on board ship, and became quite friendly with some of the 34th’s officers, who proved to be good guys. Their division was bound for Trinidad in the British West Indies, where they were planning to set up a new air base to be used to shuttle troops back to the United States. It would facilitate a short route, from Africa to Trinidad to the U.S. The Army figured they would lose fewer troops in airplane crashes that way. Consequently, before reaching New York, the troop carrier veered southward into the Caribbean. Bob joined the officers as they went ashore in Trinidad and accompanied them to the

Rome, Italy —1945

Rome, Italy —9

club. These soldiers, only a few weeks removed from deadly frontline fighting, wore mud-stained combat boots, fatigues, battle gear, all of them without ties. Walking through the club’s doors, they encountered a scene from another world: a room filled with officers dressed in immaculate dress white uniforms accompanied by women bedecked in their finest formal gowns. “We asked ourselves, ‘Who are these people? What country do they represent?’ We’d never seen anything like it,” Bob relates. “It took us a minute to realize that they were mostly Americans and Brits. We were shocked. Then these officers from the 3th started to ask the women to dance. They didn’t care how they were dressed. They didn’t care that these women were there as someone else’s dates or wives. They weren’t afraid of anything. They’d just spent the last few years fighting Nazis. After an hour, I thought a riot was going to break out. But it didn’t. I’ll never forget that night.”

local officers club. These soldiers, only a few weeks removed from deadly frontline fighting, wore mud-stained combat boots, fatigues, battle gear, all of them without ties. Walking through the club’s doors, they encountered a scene from another world: a room filled with officers dressed in immaculate dress white uniforms accompanied by women bedecked in their finest formal gowns. “We asked ourselves, ‘Who are these people? What country do they represent?’

We’d never seen anything like it,” Bob relates. “It took us a minute to realize that they were mostly Americans and Brits. We were shocked. Then these officers from the 34th started to ask the women to dance. They didn’t care how they were dressed. They didn’t care that these women were there as someone else’s dates or wives. They weren’t afraid of anything. They’d just spent the last few years fighting Nazis. After an hour, I thought a riot was going to break out. But it didn’t. I’ll never forget that night.”

Dol tells us what happened when Bob finally arrived stateside: “He came home from North Africa on recuperation leave, R and R, and that’s when we got married. In one week we planned a wedding. Bob came in on a Saturday. The following Saturday we were married!… That’s the day our parents met for the first time. At our wedding in the same church where Bob’s parents were married—Trinity Episcopal Church in Melrose.”

Dol nearly didn’t make it to her own wedding. The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 8:00 pm. Long before she knew she was going to be married, Dol had agreed to serve as a bridesmaid at a wedding scheduled for :00 in the afternoon that same day. Dol kept her promise and took part in the ceremony. Afterward, the new bride—Elly Buell—held her reception in her backyard, despite the humid weather, and forgot about Dol. Finally, Dol excused herself and hastened home with only an hour to prepare for her own nuptuals. Changing clothes quickly, she stuck rollers in her hair and made ready. Meanwhile, her family forgot about her, too, and took off for the church. All of them. Without Dol. Each one thinking someone else was driving the bride-to-be. Ready at last, Dol discovered that everyone was gone, something of a problem given she had no car herself, no way to get to the church. Just then, her friend Betty Wallace showed up with a wedding present to drop off. Dol asked, “Can you please give me a ride to my wedding?” and Betty agreed. They pulled up in front of the church just as the ceremony was about to begin. The photographer shot a picture of Dol emerging from the car. With no time to spare, Dol hurried up the stairs and marched down the aisle to an anxiously awaiting groom.

They spent the first week of their honeymoon on Nantucket Island, staying at a rooming house. “While walking on the beach at Nantucket,” Dol recalls, “we came close to a bird’s nest and were attacked by a flock of sandpipers that swooped down at our heads like a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock’s

Dol’s triumphant, almost-late arrival at her wedding —9

movie, The Birds. Bob picked up a piece of driftwood and used it as a bat to drive the birds away.” They spent the next 0 days in Gloucester, Massachusetts, then returned to Melrose, where they stayed with Bob’s Aunt Katherine. After that, they went down to Norwalk. When Bob’s recuperation leave ended, he was sent to Camp Richie outside of Washington, dc.

“The camp was in Maryland,” Dol says. “I’d take the train down to Baltimore and you would meet me there. We’d take the bus together back to the camp. You’d hold my hand all the way.”

“That was a training area for people to go to Asia,” Bob continues. “There were a lot of Japanese there. I was sure I was hooked on being sent to Japan. But I wasn’t, because in August of that year was VJ Day.”

Dol remembers an encounter the newlyweds had with a couple that lived in the same boarding house: “There was a Japanese couple across the hall—nice couple, too—and they invited us to dinner. I couldn’t understand why she waited on him hand and foot. Her husband just sat there and let her do it. Then I realized it was just their custom, Japanese custom.”

When Bob and Dol heard that atomic bombs had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they knew that the end was near for the fighting against Japan. Like most Americans, they hoped the U.S. would be spared from having to invade Japan, a fight that surely would cost millions of lives, American and Japanese alike.

Bob and Dol were living on base at Camp Richie when news of the cessation of hostilities arrived on  August.

“Boy did we celebrate,” Bob recalls. “We were just so thrilled. Everybody was so happy. The party lasted a couple of days.”

“I got out in October, the middle of October. October 7— that’s when I got my discharge,” Bob says.

“An honorable discharge,” Dol adds.

“I hope so!” Bob replies.

Victory kiss in Times Square, New York —VJ Day, 9

The transition from soldier to civilian was as sudden as it was welcome. As Bob explains it: “Three-and-a-half years in the Service, two-and-a-half years overseas—more than twoand-a-half years—and I got discharged. I got my discharge from Camp Lee in Virginia. It’s called Fort Lee now. I got it on a Thursday and I was back in Boston working for Westinghouse on Monday!”

The transition from soldier to civilian was as sudden as it was welcome. As Bob explains it: “Three-and-a-half years in the Service, two-and-a-half years overseas—more than two-anda-half years—and I got discharged. I got my discharge from Camp Lee in Virginia. It’s called Fort Lee now. I got it on a Thursday and I was back in Boston working for Westinghouse on Monday!”

This is a photograph of the Criminal Investigation Division’s Arab office boy Mahmoud standing in front of Bob’s office in dowtown Oran. (Notice the stack of boxes sitting behind Mahmoud just inside the door. They contain goods and food that had been stolen from the Army by black marketeers. The C.I.D. has recovered them and is holding them as evidence for an upcoming trial.) —1945

This is a photograph of the Criminal Investigation Division’s Arab office boy Mahmoud standing in front of Bob’s office in dowtown Oran. (Notice the stack of boxes sitting behind Mahmoud just inside the door. They contain goods and food that had been stolen from the Army by black marketeers. The cid has recovered them and is holding them as evidence for an upcoming trial.) —9

Links: The Bob Harris Story

Links: The Bob Harris Story

– FAMILY

– Family

Daddy & “Deedles” at the Jersey Shore —1950

W

WITH the war over and Bob’s wartime service completed, the newlyweds set about establishing themselves in a dramatically transformed America. After more than twelve years in office, the patrician, New York-born, Harvard-educated

FDR was gone, replaced as president by a blunt-speaking former haberdasher from Independence, Missouri—Harry S. Truman. Truman took office upon Roosevelt’s sudden death in April 1945 unaware that the US had developed an atomic bomb. He told reporters,

ith the war over and Bob’s wartime service completed, the newlyweds set about establishing themselves in a dramatically transformed America. After more than 2 years in office, the patrician, New York-born, Harvard-educated fdr was gone, replaced as president by a blunt-speaking former haberdasher from Independence, Missouri— Harry S. Truman. Truman took office upon Roosevelt’s sudden death in April 9 unaware that the u.s. had developed an atomic bomb. He told reporters, “I felt like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen on me.” One of his momentous decisions as chief executive was to employ nuclear weapons against Japan. In later years, critics savaged him for his actions, yet his decisiveness undoubtedly saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Truman rarely dodged a fight and liked to tell people “The buck stops here.” He presided over American affairs for the first seven years of Bob and Dol’s married life together, orchestrating such landmark measures as the gi Bill that addressed the problems of soldiers adjusting to civilian life and the Marshall Plan that enabled war-torn Europe to rebuild.

“I felt like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen on me.” One of his momentous decisions as chief executive was to employ nuclear weapons against Japan. In later years, critics savaged him for his actions, yet his decisiveness undoubtedly saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Truman rarely dodged a fight and liked to tell people The buck stops here. He presided over American affairs for the first seven years of Bob’s and Dol’s life together, orchestrating such landmark measures as the GI Bill that addressed the problems of soldiers adjusting to civilian life and the Marshall Plan that enabled war-torn Europe to rebuild.

When Bob rejoined Westinghouse, the company transferred him from Boston to Hartford, Connecticut. “It was around the first of the year, 9,” Bob tells us. “We lived in the Hartford Hotel for about a month, until we found a better place to live.”

When Bob rejoined Westinghouse, the company transferred him from Boston to Hartford, Connecticut. “It was around the first of the year, 1946,” Bob tells us. “We lived in the Hartford Hotel for about a month, until we found a better place to live.”

Dol carries on with their story: “Then we moved to West Hartford. We had a room in West Hartford, and that’s where Doreen was born. February 2, 97. That was the year, a year and a half after we were married.”

Dol carries on with their story: “Then we moved to West Hartford. We had a room in West Hartford, and that’s where Doreen was born. February 12, 1947. That was the year, a year and a half after we were married.”

“We didn’t have a home, we boarded,” she goes on, “with a schoolteacher, George Halford. He had a big house at 9 South Main in West Hartford right across the street from the high school. We had a bedroom and a little room for a nursery. We shared the living room and kitchen with another couple. Would you believe it, the guy was a conscientious objector!”

“We didn’t have a home, we boarded,” she goes on, “with a schoolteacher, George Halford. He had a big house at 49 South Main in West Hartford right across the street from the high school. We had a bedroom and a little room for a nursery. We shared the living room and kitchen with another couple. Would you believe it, the guy was a conscientious objector!”

Bob and Dol were facing a problem endemic to newlywed couples in the postwar years: There was little or no housing to be found anywhere. During the war, the American economy had flourished while meeting the demands of wartime production. But America’s resources had been put to use turning out the matérial demanded by armies at war: tanks,

Bob and Dol were facing a problem endemic to newlywed couples in the postwar years: There was little -to-no housing to be found anywhere. During the war, the American economy had flourished while meeting the demands of wartime production. But America’s resources had been put to use turning out the matériel demanded by armies at war: tanks,

Daddy & “Deedles” at the Jersey Shore —1950

ships, planes, munitions, uniforms, food, and more. Precious little investment was made in new housing starts from 9 through 9. By the time Bob and Dol—and hundreds of thousands of other couples just like them—were in the market for their first homes, there were none to be had. Peace was of course welcomed, but it brought in its train a host of new challenges.

“There weren’t any homes, there weren’t any apartments,” Dol goes on to say. “There wasn’t anyplace to live. A lot of

couples were living with their families. Oh, yes. Most of them were. We would go to [Bob’s] house every weekend. We’d take the train from Hartford down to Norwalk. We belonged to the country club. We played golf. Tell them how much the country club cost for us because you were a veteran.”

Doreen outside of 49 South Main, West Hartford —98

Baby Doreen —98

Bob takes up the challenge: “Before the war my father had a family membership with the country club there in Norwalk, and that’s where I learned to play golf. I was club champion there, in the Shorehaven Golf Club. So they made an offer to returning vets that I couldn’t refuse even though we lived in Hartford, which is 7 miles away. I even remember how much it was. For a year’s membership at an exclusive country club it was  dollars!…We went down every weekend and played. We could play tennis and golf and go swimming.”

Bob takes up the challenge: “Before the war my father had a family membership with the country club there in Norwalk, and that’s where I learned to play golf. I was club champion there, in the Shorehaven Golf Club. So they made an offer to returning vets that I couldn’t refuse even though we lived in Hartford which is 75 miles away. I even remember how much it was. For a year’s membership at an exclusive country club it was forty-five dollars!…We went down every weekend and played. We could play tennis and golf and go swimming.”

“We moved out of the boarding house and into a nice garden apartment in West Hartford,” Bob goes on to say. “We thought we were in seventh heaven. The apartments were at 27 Arnold Way. Our rent—we couldn’t buy—was $0 a month. Two bedrooms, one bath, living room, dinette, kitchen. On the second floor. Brand new. It was great. And that’s where Nancy was born, June 23, 90.”

“We moved out of the boarding house and into a nice garden apartment in West Hartford,” Bob goes on to say. “We thought we were in seventh heaven. The apartments were at 27 Arnold Way. Our rent—we couldn’t buy—was $105 a month. Two bedrooms, one bath, living room, dinette, kitchen. On the second floor. Brand new. It was great. And that’s where Nancy was born, June 23, 1950.”

“I loved that place,” Dol exclaims. “It was our own home. We finally had some privacy. That was something, to be on our own at last.”

“I loved that place,” Dol exclaims. “It was our own home. We finally had some privacy. That was something, to be on our own at last.”

For the first few years after the war, it was nearly impossible to buy a car. There were long waiting lists at all of the dealerships, and the few cars that did come in were snapped up at once.

For the first few years after the war, it was nearly impossible to buy a car. There were long waiting lists at all of the dealerships, and the few cars that did come in were snapped up at once.

“I had a sales territory with Westinghouse,” Bob relates, “but no car. I asked my boss, ‘Where’s my car?’ He said, ‘We don’t have one for you. You find one, and we’ll pay for it.’ So I went to all the so-called dealers and they put me

“I had a sales territory with Westinghouse,” Bob relates, “but no car. I asked my boss, ‘Where’s my car?’ He said, ‘We don’t have one for you. You find one, and we’ll pay for it.’ So I

Doreen & Nancy outside 27 Arnold Way, W. Hartford —90

Doreen & Nancy outside 27 Arnold Way, W. Hartford —1950

on their lists. ‘When will I get a car?’ I’d ask, and they’d all tell me ‘We don’t know, maybe in six or eight months.’ Here I was running around my sales territory in northern Connecticut riding trolley cars, buses, trains. Sometimes I’d hitchhike. It wasn’t very efficient, as you can well imagine. One day I told my father about my problem. He was division manager for a major utility in southwest Connecticut and had a fleet of cars under him. He told me, ‘Let me see what I can do.’ A week later I went down to Norwalk and picked up a new car,

went to all the so-called dealers and they put me on their lists. ‘When will I get a car?’ I’d ask, and they’d all tell me ‘We don’t know, maybe in six or eight months.’ Here I was running around my sales territory in northern Connecticut riding trolley cars, buses, trains. Sometimes I’d hitchhike. It wasn’t very efficient, as you can well imagine. One day I told my father about my problem. He was division manager for a major utility in southwest Connecticut and had a fleet of cars under him. He told me, ‘Let me see what I can do.’ A week later I went down to Norwalk and picked up a new car,

a Ford sedan. It had wooden bumpers front and rear. A lot of little things were missing, but it ran. I was just happy to have a car to drive. It made life a lot easier.”

Bob’s work at Westinghouse prospered, and in 90 he and Dol were able to purchase their first house, a Cape Codstyle home they had built on Westover Terrace in Simsbury, Connecticut.

“It was farther out,” Bob remembers. “We paid  grand for it. The builder was John Cosmos. It was a great spot. We were with people our own age. The kids in the neighborhood were all the same age. Everything was brand new: the flowers, the landscaping, lots of stuff. Every weekend, the men would work on their lawns. We’d have another truck load of topsoil brought in every year. We were always outside doing something with that house. Those years were wonderful!”

“We stayed there,” Bob continues, “until I was offered a promotion to go to work at the Westinghouse Lamp Division headquarters in Bloomfield, New Jersey. That promotion pulled me out of the field and put me on a pedestal.”

Like his father before him, Bob was moving up the corporate ladder. The downside of his advancement was that it required a move to New Jersey. Initially, Bob lived in a hotel in New Jersey and searched for a place for the family to live on his time off, while Dol stayed in Simsbury with Doreen and Nancy. On weekends, she would visit Bob and they would go åout together looking for a place to live. It did not help that she was pregnant at the time with Rob. One hot summer

Bob as a civilian —9

Westinghouse’s finest marketeer —1957 Westinghouse’s finest marketeer —97

night she broke down crying and said, “Bob, we can’t do this anymore!”

Finally, they found an apartment at 20 Constantine Place in Summit, New Jersey. Bob returned to Simsbury one last time and loaded his family into the car. All four Harrises—Bob, Dol, Doreen, and Nancy—cried as they drove away from Simsbury on their way to a new life.

Bob describes what life was like there: “A brook ran underneath our apartment. When it rained, the basement floor got really wet and you could hear the frogs croaking. The biggest thing I remember was Dol being pregnant, with this fat round belly, climbing through the kitchen window into the back yard. You see, we lived on the first floor and had no back door. Everyone on the first floor did it. It was easy. I don’t know what the people upstairs did!”

It was while they were living in their new apartment in Summit that Robert Mowe Harris Junior was born on 28 September 9. Bob and Dol’s trip to the hospital that night was quite an adventure: “Remember,” Bob says to Dol with a chuckle, “I took you to the wrong door. There was a lot of construction, and it was dark. So I went to the new door and it wasn’t open. We climbed over this huge hole in the ground by walking across a narrow wooden plank. You could hardly see! Rob was born early in the morning, 3 or  am. I remember taking the girls to the hospital to see the new baby and proud mother. They wouldn’t let the children into your room, so we stood out in the middle of the parking lot and waved up at you.”

Bob at last had the son he wanted. Dol was happy, too, both for a healthy boy and for the fact there would be no more children to raise. “I told Dol ‘That’s it. Now we can quit,’” Bob remembers. “And Dol said, ‘Good! Three’s enough!’”

Suitable housing was still at a premium, even 0 years after the war had ended, and for nearly a year Bob and Dol searched in vain for a house to buy. At a party one evening at the home of some friends—Bob and Betty Zenker—someone mentioned to Bob and Dol that they knew another

Doreen in front of 111 Mountain View Ave., Summit —9

couple who were about to move and wanted to sell their house. Were Dol and Bob interested? Yes and sort of.

“Bob wasn’t crazy about it,” Dol reveals, “but I wanted our own place with our own yard. We had two young girls and a baby. We needed more room.”

“The guy who was selling it wanted 20 Gs for it,” Bob says. “I was buying it with a VA/GI mortgage, and the government had to inspect the place before they’d approve the loan. They took a look and told me, ‘We can only give you a loan for 9 thousand.’ So I went to the seller and offered to give him a thousand bucks under the table to seal the deal. Instead, he threw in the dining room rug for a grand, and that made the sale for $20,000 proper.”

Talking about his new job, Bob admits that “I was a little disappointed when I got to Bloomfield and discovered how small a raise they gave me. Then I found out that my new boss, Charley Erb, did that to everybody. I started out in New Jersey as something called ‘a staff assistant,’ but it was a supervisory job, and that was important to me. It was the only way to rise above the crowd and get ahead.”

“Things moved fast after that,” Bob adds. “Soon they made me tba Sales Manager for the whole country. ‘tba’ stands for tires, batteries and accessories. We catered to the oil companies—they had service stations, sold batteries, lamps, etcetera. I dealt with oil companies all across the country: Skelly Oil in Kansas City, Union Oil in California, Pure Oil in Chicago, Standard Oil in Ohio,

12 Dale Drive, Summit —90

Kentucky, and Texas, Esso in New York. That’s when I started traveling, because I had to see all of these people.”

About this time, after much searching, Bob and Dol found the house where they would live until after retirement, an expansive six bedroom home at 2 Dale Drive in Summit. At last they settled into their true home.

Bob’s advancement up through the ranks at Westinghouse continued unabated. “In 97 I was made sales manager of miniature and sealed beam lamps. The company was always thinking along product lines. I was always telling them to think in terms of markets. They didn’t get off the product

line kick until the early 90s. All this time I was telling my boss, ‘Why don’t we say manufacturing market or commercial/industrial markets or consumer markets?’”

“Miniature lamps/sealed lamps —that was considered to be an unprofitable side of the business,” Bob continues, “so I didn’t want to stay in that. You’ll always be ignored if you’re not making money. I got my wish and was made assistant large lamp marketing manager. I didn’t report to the marketing manager, but I had to deal with him. He was a nothing. I went to my boss and said, ‘I can’t work with this guy. He’s not a company man.’”

“After that,” Bob goes on, “I was promoted to sales manager of special accounts, which included selling lamps to our competitors. That was very interesting. I got the chance to meet with the competition. Not General Electric, though. ge wouldn’t buy anything from us. And we wouldn’t buy anything from them. That would have been 93 or 9 .”

With Bob busy at Westinghouse, Dol devoted herself to raising her brood. She recalls a time when Doreen entered baby Rob in a contest at a local carnival: “She came back and was so excited,” Dol tells us. “Rob won the prize for longest eyelashes! Doreen adored Rob.”

At Christmas Dol and Bob continued a Harris tradition that dated back to his growing-up years in Connecticut. “The Harris family always gave the kids pajamas at Christmas,” Bob says. “When I was a kid, we’d hear a knock on the door. We kids would run to the door and open it, and there’d be

wrapped packages for all the children left on the doorstep by Santa Claus. We never saw Santa, but my Dad would always say something like, ‘There he goes! Didn’t you see him? He just flew behind those trees!’ Those presents were always pjs. That’s how we got our bedclothes. And we did the same thing with our kids, with Dee and Nancy and Robby. They always got their pajamas at Christmas that way.”

Nancy, Dol, & Doreen —9

In New Jersey, Bob and Dol continued to indulge in their love for the game of golf. They joined the Canoe Brook Golf Club and played every chance they could. They both involved themselves in the club’s operations and served on many committees and in many positions. And they encouraged their children to play.

At Westinghouse, Bob’s “big break” came in 9 when the company made him Regional Sales Manager for the northeast United States. “I was responsible for selling all of Westinghouse’s lamp product lines,” Bob explains. “I had 30 salesmen and five district managers all reporting to me. That’s when I had to go to New York. My new office was in the PanAm Building. We didn’t have to move, thank goodness. That was one of the reasons I loved the job—I didn’t have to move the family. I commuted to work by train on the Delaware-Lackawanna Line. It was an hourand-ahalf each way. I’d get a lot of paperwork done on the train.”

“I traveled the Northeast, New York, the New England states, but I didn’t have a company car. Regional managers were not allowed to have cars. District managers and salesmen had cars. When I went somewhere, they were supposed to pick me up and take me wherever I needed to go. I didn’t like it, and neither did the other regional managers. So, about a year later, at a company meeting, we got together and made a play to get our own cars. We didn’t want to have to depend on underlings. We were sincere. We told our boss that we thought that the company would benefit, and that we were being discriminated against. He turned around and talked

to a vice president, and that same day we got our wish. They told us to go get cars for ourselves. I got a white car, a Chevy or Ford or Plymouth. Something like that. I don’t remember which make. But I had a car. So I drove to the city an awful lot, but not regularly.”

In November 9, while working in the PanAm Building, Bob was involved in “The Night the Lights Went Out” when the entire Northeastern Seaboard lost power. By then, electricity was an everyday part of American life. (You could

Young Robby Harris (middle) with friends —9

say that the lifelong electrification crusade carried on by Bob’s father Ned had succeeded.) Post-World War II prosperity remade the American home into a palace of electric consumption. Electric appliances had become commonplace, purchased partly in response to widespread promotional efforts by manufacturers and utilities. American offices and factories had also been transformed by electricity. Manufacturing facilities relied more and more on electricity to increase production. And, by the 90s, engineers and architects began sealing off buildings from the outdoors, constructing mechanical environments—like that in the PanAm Building—solely controlled by electric power.

On November 9, 9, just as the :00 o’clock rush hour was starting, the entire Northeast area of the United States and large parts of Canada went dark. From Buffalo to the eastern border of New Hampshire and from New York City to Ontario, a massive power outage struck without warning. Trains were stuck between subway stops. People were trapped in elevators. Failed traffic signals stopped traffic dead. In less than an hour, tens of millions of people were plunged into darkness. New York City was especially hard hit, due to its reliance on electricity to run nearly everything. Office workers, about to leave for their homes in the suburbs, were forced to find shelter in their offices or on benches in Grand Central Station. Theaters closed for the night. Thousands of stranded travelers were forced to sleep in hotel lobbies. Nearly 0,000 commuters were inprisoned on subway cars, unable to escape the darkened tunnels. By midnight, the Transit Authority began sending food and coffee to those trapped underground.

Bob describes the problems he faced: “With me in the PanAm Building office was my assistant Bill Robertson. We soon learned that we couldn’t work in the dark. We searched the offices and located a candle. With candlelight, we continued to work on our budget, but by 8 o’clock we were tired and hungry. With a battery-operated radio we could keep track of what was happening in the city. We finally decided that the chance of getting our power restored was not good. So, from the 2th floor, we started down the stairs. Remember, no electricity, no elevators. Bill led the way with me holding on to his shoulder. It was so tedious that by the time we reached the mezzanine our knees were shaking. We hastened to a nearby bar for martinis. The bar was packed 0-deep around two waiters. We had the martinis passed back to us. I don’t think we ever sent money forward to pay for the drinks.

The PanAm Building, New York (today the MetLife Building)

“After a couple of cocktails, we split company, and I walked down 2nd Street to the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Here was chaos. People were spread all over the terminal— stretched out on the floors, leaning against the walls, even sitting on the stalled escalators to the buses. I literally crawled over those half-asleep commuters to reach my bus to Newark. I arrived home in Summit sometime after midnight. In those days we didn’t have cell phones, so I couldn’t call Dol. Was that ever an experience!”

Despite the confusion and disarray, New Yorkers spent the night in peace helping each other, much like they did in the aftermath of the World Trade Center disaster. Some directed traffic. Others assisted the New York Fire Department as they rescued stranded subway passengers. The next morning, almost  hours after the massive blackout struck New York, power was restored citywide. It took six days to locate the cause. Investigators eventually determined that a single faulty relay at a power station in Ontario, Canada had set in motion an escalating sequence of events that led to the blackout. The system of power transmission invented by George Westinghouse eight decades earlier faced its greatest challenge that day. In the aftermath, numerous changes and improvements were made to the power system in the hope that a similar disaster could be averted in the future. Like Pearl Harbor, D-day, jfk ’s assassination, the moon-landing, and, more recently, 9 , “The Night the Lights Went Out” will forever be remembered by the people who lived through it.

A year or so later, Bob’s boss came down with cancer and had to have his voice box removed. Bob’s superiors called him in and offered him the stricken man’s job. “I said ‘Not if it’s because of his condition,’” Bob says emphatically. “My boss answered, ‘You’ve got the job. You deserve it.’ So that’s how I became General Sales Manager. I was responsible for everything, the tbas, the lamp people, everything. They all reported to me. But I didn’t want to lose my company car. My boss told me to name a man to take my old job. So I

Mustang Dolly (“You’d better slow your Mustang down…”) 97

named someone, but my boss didn’t like my choice. Because of that, we made it a temporary appointment. His replacement was temporary, too. I was able to keep my car! They didn’t want to give it to a temporary appointee. After six months, he asked ‘Where’s my car?’ Finally, I had to give back my car. I thought it was a perk. I wanted to keep it, but I couldn’t.”

About this time, Bob bought Dol her first car, a yellow Ford Mustang. “It was always in the shop having something done to it,” Bob says. “After I gave up the company car, I bought a Buick for myself, and that was our family car.”

Major changes began to take place at Westinghouse corporate headquarters. Bob’s longtime mentor was replaced, but Bob continued to advance. “I was made Marketing Manager. Now I had everybody in the country working for me. And I mean everybody. Customer service, warehousing, traffic, order desk, contract service, administration—everybody. I had 00 people working for me. I was the big wheel in marketing. But I wasn’t a vp. Our divisions had vice presidents, but not us. And we were corporate. We had power over them. It was a constant source of arguments.”

Life at Westinghouse consisted of more than just sparring over power and prestige. On occasion, humor worked its way into Bob’s routine. One day he found on his desk a pay check from Westinghouse for a penny—one red cent. He wrote a memo to the executive vice president saying that it was no wonder the company was not making any money when they did things this way. His boss wrote back, “They overpaid you.”

Bob & Dol —9

“I told him later ‘That wasn’t a very nice thing to do,’” Bob says. “He answered me, ‘You’ve got to learn to take a joke.’”

Their extended families played a major role in Bob and Dol’s lives. Reunions were frequent and warm. The children of Ned and Dora Harris soon had broods of their own, and the numbers of cousins and nieces and nephews just kept getting larger. As well, Bob and Dol enjoyed taking their three children to the New Jersey shore. They were frequent visitors to Beach Haven, Barnegat Bay, Ship Bottom, and environs.

The children progressed quickly with their educations, all three attending Summit Junior High School and Summit High School. Sooner than Bob and Dol thought possible, their fledglings grew up and began to graduate and move on.

Doreen was the first to fly away when she enrolled at Green Mountain College in Poultney, Vermont in 9. After two years, she moved on to the University of Colorado in Boulder and afterwards made a life for herself “out West.”

Nancy graduated from high school in 98, went to Cazenovia College in Upstate New York for two years, then finished at Wheelock College in Boston. She became an elementary school teacher in New Jersey and married William “Burf” Magenheimer.

Rob finished high school in 973 and continued with his studies at Franklin Pierce College in New Hampshire. After two years at Franklin Pierce, he decided he wanted to go to a bigger school with a good library and chose a much larger

school, Syracuse University. Once he completed his bachelor’s degree, he determined that he wanted to go to graduate school. At Syracuse again, he earned his masters degree and, for a time, thought about continuing on with a doctorate. Instead, he entered the business world and ended up moving to Seattle in 980. After a few years working with what was then known as Northwest Center for the Retarded as their director of marketing, he launched his own import business, Pacific Market International, which he sold in 202.

Bob & Rob at Franklin Pierce College 97

In the late 970s, Bob began working with a consultant out of Pittsburgh on a plan to reorganize Westinghouse’s

Lamp Division. “They wanted to reorganize my division, and I was the guy they picked to represent the division in the reorganization discussions because they knew I was nearing retirement. Then they picked a guy out of corporate headquarters in Pittsburgh to work with us, someone from the staff that dealt with my division, the Lamp Division. So I acted as the consultant on reorganizing the marketing side of the lamp division. And as we tried to imagine what the new structure would be like, we created a position we laughingly called ‘The Big Guy in the Sky.’ He was the guy that was going to run everything, that was going to make all of these things happen. The man from corporate kept saying ‘Bob, when you get up there…Please, that’s not what I’m here for.’

When we finally presented the plan, my boss got pushed aside. They said they liked the plan. The next thing I knew, they’re introducing the changes and I’m not the Big Guy in the Sky. I went to my boss and asked, “What’s happening?’ He told me, ‘Don’t take this as discrimination, but you’re going to retire in a year-anda-half. You can understand why no one wants someone who’s leaving in a year or so to take this job.’ The guy who got the job was the guy from corporate headquarters that I’d been working with all this time, Bob Cappali. I could understand their thinking, but I didn’t like it. My boss said to me, ‘You reorganized this, what job do you want?’

I decided to become consumer products general manager. By now I was getting stock options and other benefits like that, but when I became gm I lost my options. I’d been downgraded!”

Daughter Nancy 99

A sample testamonial letter from when Bob retired —1981

Bob continues his story: “That reorganization took place in 1979-1980. I was to retire in 1981. I thought I was going to continue on as a consultant. We talked about it and agreed to it. For five years. Then they changed their minds and said I couldn’t. Westinghouse’s chairman had just retired at 65, and I would have to do the same. I had no choice.”

Bob continues his story: “That reorganization took place in 979 80. I was to retire in 98. I thought I was going to continue on as a consultant. We talked about it and agreed to it. For five years. Then they changed their minds and said I couldn’t. Westinghouse’s chairman had just retired at , and I would have to do the same. I had no choice.”

In July 1981 Bob retired from Westinghouse. The company threw a lavish party, and scores of letters arrived from friends and colleagues acknowledging his leadership and contributions. Bob set about enjoying retirement with Dol. For the next two decades they devoted themselves to travel, to golf and, eventually, to four dearly-loved grandchildren.

In July 98, Bob retired from Westinghouse. The company threw a lavish party, and scores of letters arrived from friends and colleagues acknowledging his leadership and contributions. Bob set about enjoying retirement with Dol. For the next two decades, they devoted themselves to travel, to golf and, eventually, to four dearly-loved grandchildren. Ten months earlier—on  September 980—Doreen had given birth to Bob’s and Dol’s first grandchild, Alison. On 30 August 98, Rob and Jody followed suit with a daughter, Jayme. In 989 paydirt was struck twice. On  May, Nancy gave birth to daughter Lyndsay, while on 2 October, Rob and Jody welcomed Becky into this world.

Ten months earlier—on 5 September 1980—Doreen had given birth to Bob’s and Dol’s first grandchild, Alison. On 30 August 1986 Rob and Jody followed suit with a daughter, Jayme. In 1989 paydirt was struck twice. On 1 May Nancy gave birth to daughter Lyndsay, while on 21 October Rob and Jody welcomed Becky into this world.

At the time that Links was originally written over the summer and fall of 200, Bob and Dol lived in a spacious, comfortable home on a golf course in the upscale retirement community in Stuart, Florida, a mile or so inland from the Atlantic Ocean. By then, the aftereffects of a stroke kept Bob from playing golf, but he continued to drive a cart for his golfing buddies—keeping score and dispensing good cheer while Dol played golf regularly with her gal friends.The game remained a common topic of conversation around the dinner table. Through their enclosed back porch windows, they they could easily spy foursomes working their way down the course. A typical testamonial letter from when Bob retired 98

Today Bob and Dol live in a spacious, comfortable home on a golf course in an upscale retirement community in Stuart, Florida, a mile or so inland from the Atlantic Ocean. The aftereffects of a stroke keep Bob from playing golf, but he continues to drive a golf cart for his golfing buddies, keeping score and dispensing good cheer. Dol plays golf regularly with her gal friends, and the game remains a common topic of conversation around the dinner table. Through their enclosed back porch windows they can easily spy foursomes working their way down the course.

Christmas and New Years remained busy family times for them, and every year the children and grandchildren appeared in Stuart to fill the house on Brandywine Way in Mariners Shores with shouts of laughter. For some years, Bob and Dol made an annual summer pilgrimage to Seattle to visit Rob and Jayme and Becky and, since 998, Doreen and Alison.

In 998, Rob arranged for Bob to work at the U.S. Open Championship held at Sahalee Country Club east of Lake Sammamish. Bob’s many years of service as an official at Canoe Brook in New Jersey served him well that week.

Bob’s sisters Janet and Elaine and brother Paul all lived with their spouses in South Florida within comfortable driving distance of Stuart. Every few years, the descendants of Ned and Dora Harris met for a reunion, and the number of their offspring continues to grow and grow, as new generations are born.

Well over a century has passed since Ned Harris’s birth. He left a lasting legacy, one carried on for many years by son Bob and daughter-in-law Dol, and now passed on by them to their children and grandchildren. The links between the generations endure—from the Lost Generation of Ned and Dora Harris, through the Greatest Generation of the Grand Ones, to the Baby Boomer Generation of Doreen and Nancy and Rob, to the Generation X of Alison, to the Millenial Generation of Jayme and Lyndsay and Becky, and, of late, on to the Alpha Generation—each generation inextricably linked to the others in spirit and blood and history. For, truth is, the Bob Harris Story is a never-ending tale that surely will be continued.

Bob & Dol in Jamaica 93

Links: The Bob Harris Story

In the 8 December 1921 edition of Printer’s Ink , Fred R. Barnard wrote that “One look is worth a thousand words.” In the 10 March 1927 edition of that same journal, he changed the wording to “One picture is worth a thousand words.” Barnard later remarked that he called it “a Chinese Proverb so that people would take it seriously.” If we accept this measurement of a picture’s worth, then here follow forty-eight thousand words in the form of forty-eight pictures drawn from the life of Bob Harris.

In the 8 December 1921 edition of Printer’s Ink, Fred R. Barnard wrote that “One look is worth a thousand words.” In the 10 March 1927 edition of that same journal, he changed the wording to “One picture is worth a thousand words.” Barnard later remarked that he called it "a Chinese Proverb so that people would take it seriously.” If we accept this measurement of a picture’s worth, then here follow forty-eight thousand words in the form of forty-eight pictures drawn from the life of Bob Harris.

– Pictures

Links: The Bob Harris Story – PICTURES

Top Left: Harris home on St. John Street in Norwalk —2000

Top Left: Harris home on St. John Street in Norwalk —2000

Top Right: Dorothy in 1918

Top Right: Dorothy in 1918

Billy & Ned Harris —1918

Billy & Ned Harris 98

Left: 1936 Parade at ORMI

Left: 1936 Parade at ORMI

Granddaughter Alison at the Victoria, B.C. Marathon —2000 Alison & Jayme at Alison’s graduation from UPS —2001

Dee & daughter Alison —2000 Granddaughter Alison at the Victoria, bc Marathon —2000 Alison & Jayme at Alison’s graduation from ups —200

Dee & daughter Alison —2000

Jayme, Grandad & Becky —2000

Jayme —2001

Jayme on her 14th birthday —2000

Jayme, Grandad & Becky —2000 Jayme on her 14th birthday —2000 Jayme —200

Granddaughter Lyndsay —2000

Burf & Nancy Magenheimer —2000

Lyndsay, Nancy (her mom) & Alison —2000

Granddaughter Lyndsay —2000 Burf & Nancy Magenheimer —2000

Lyndsay, Nancy (her mom) & Alison —2000

Jayme & her sister Becky —1995

Becky with her dad Rob —2000

The Grand Ones with Jayme & Becky —2000

Granddaughter Becky —2000 Granddaughter Becky —2000 Jayme & Becky —99

Becky with her dad, Rob —2000

The Grand Ones with Jayme & Becky —2000

50th Anniversary: The Grand Ones & their brood —1995 The whole family —Christmas, 2000

Our 3 children (Rob, Doreen & Nancy) —2000 50th Anniversary: The Grand Ones & their brood —99 The whole family —Christmas, 2000

The Grand Ones’s progeny: Rob, Doreen & Nancy —2000

The Harris clan —1997 The Harris clan 997

Bob & daughter Nancy —2000

Rob & Daddy Bob —2000

Bob with his two daughters —1998

Dee, Becky, Bob, Dol, Jayme & Rob —1998 Bob & daughter Nancy —2000

Rob & Daddy Bob —2000

Bob with Nancy & Doreen —998

Dee, Becky, Bob, Dol, Jayme & Rob —998

Doreen’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 1965

Doreen’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 9

Nancy’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 1968

Nancy’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 98

Rob’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 1973

Rob’s graduation picture from Summit High School —June, 973

Rob & Jody with Becky & Jayme —1991

Granddaughter Ali & daughter Doreen —2000 Burf & Nancy —1998

Doreen & Rob tripping the light fantastic —1999

Rob & Jody with Becky & Jayme —99 Burf & Nancy —998

Doreen & Rob tripping the light fantastic —999

Granddaughter Ali & daughter Doreen —2000

Rob the golfer —200

Nancy’s pals: Huey Lewis & the News Rob the golfer —2001

Nancy’s pals: Huey Lewis & the News

Rob, Jayme & Becky —1998

Nancy at Bob & Dol’s 50th Anniversary —1995

Rob, Jayme & Becky —998

Nancy at Rob & Dol’s 50th Anniversary —99

Harris Clan Reunion —1959 Harris Clan Reunion —99

The

The RMs & WAs – Dol, Bob, Betty & Bill —1966

Brothers Paul, Bob & Bill —1985

The siblings: Dodie, Bob, Bill, Bud, Elaine, Janet & Paul —1959

The RMs & WAs: Dol, Bob, Betty & Bill —99

Brothers Paul, Bob & Bill —98

siblings: Dodie, Bob, Bill, Bud, Elaine, Janet & Paul —99

The Grand Ones —1997 The Grand Ones —997

Links: Generations

Twenty eventful years have passed since the original publication of Links: The Bob Harris Story.

The “Great Ones” have both passed, and new generations have made their appearance, beginning exciting new chapters in the expanding family saga.

Look for their stories to be told in print in 2023.

The following images offer glimpses of what is to come. Enjoy!