Train Wreck in Traffic Control

My cousin-in-law, Carman LaFreeda (left) made the repairs to my car that the giant rock had left behind. He happened to be the owner of Tony's Auto Parts in Phoenixville. He was able to give me a good deal, but it still cost $210 and I wasn’t even able to get the work done until June. (Carmen died in 1999 at the age of 82. My First Cousin Milly was 78 at the time.) The saboteur stone had crushed my front end in its night sneak attack back in January. My parents picked up my car for me when the repairs were complete. I don’t know if they helped with the payment. That $210 was the equivalent of over $1,600 today. The rock didn’t pay a pebble, and neither did my insurance company didn't pay a penny. They said it was my fault because I didn’t have my car under control. Baloney! I had it under perfect control, there just wasn’t anywhere to control it to on that narrow stretch of road.

In good hands, my some-other-body-part. I jumped out of those hands and went to an old school teacher, “Bugsy” Moyer and got the “Careful Driver; Careful Buyer” insurance; that is Sate Farm. I figured I could trust “Bugsy”, after all that was the same nickname Jack Swarner called me way back in grade school and kind of for the same reason. I was collecting insects due to my interest in entomology; Mr. Moyer was a retired science teacher from NORCO, who also had an interest in crawly things.

But since rolling stones gather no moss, let’s move on with my life.

Moving on was the problem. I was stuck in the Addressograph Unit and it was going on four years. Everyone else who had been there when I came was gone. Even Dave Claypoole had escaped to Payroll and there I sat thinking I might be another Ron Paul.  It was time to make my move, too.

Atlantic Refining had a posting system of jobs. Every week Personnel tacked new openings up on the bulletin boards and anyone was free to apply. I checked the boards every week until in early June I saw a Level 6 was open for something called “Traffic Control Clerk”. Well, I knew we didn't have any airplanes circling the Flare Stacks at the refinery, so it must be something else.  That something else was trucks. It would have been called a Lading Clerk elsewhere, but Traffic Control Clerk sounded more impressive,or at least I thought so. It also sounded pretty clerical. The only machine I would be operating was a ten-key calculator. Duties included preparation and maintaining of Lading Sheets, assigning loads for pickup or receiving loads in for storing. I applied.

I got the job.

Freedom, free from Addressograph at last. Ah, the air of freedom would small sweet!

It was sweet if you liked the stinging odor of oil and natural gas. My new job was located in the center of the refinery itself.

On July 5 I was at my parents for a delayed birthday dinner and the whole family piled in my parent’s car and we took a ride to where my new job was located. My dad drove us that day, but on the other days, after I had taken this position, I had to drive. That’s right, no more relative comfort of jumping on a train at Paoli and reading a novel while I was hauled to my work destination. The only way really for me to get there now was drive myself over the highways and byways of urban sprawl, 30 miles of it.  here was nothing comfortable about the drive at all; it was downright hair raising, both going and coming. Even 52 years ago driving in Philadelphia at rush hour was a hassle. Besides ducking the speeding cars and trucks surrounding you as you made suddenly appearing lane switches, you would often be delayed by accidents and breakdowns on the throughway between yourself and your destination. My drive started out straight down Route 1 (The Baltimore Pike) into the city and then wound through various ever narrowing streets until I reached Passyunk Avenue, crossed it bridge and wended my way around the Flare Stacks of the Point Breeze Refinery to its very heart and my new office.

I use the term office rather loosely.  There was a room and at one side an indentation that pretended to the status of an office. A desktop with some under shelves was built halfway up into the wall just below a window, one of those affairs that slid back and forth instead of up and down.
It was always dark in the room. My “booth” jutted off of on one side, the window didn’t afford much light from the outside. Actually, the outside didn’t afford much light outdoors either. Directly on the other side of the window was a loading dock and this was hidden in the shadows of a bunch of huge pipes and other metal constructs. What light squeezed in around the yard structures was usually cut off by the trucks that lined up outside either bringing something in or there to take something out.

The drivers would press up against my window, yammering for their lading lists and orders, which they demanded and described in an unending stream of curse words during their impatience of having to wait 10 seconds. They had schedules to keep; oops, I mean, they had f------ schedules to keep. There was not a great deal of variety to their vocabulary, most of it was some form of conjugation of an old Anglo Saxon word beginning with the letter F. It appeared to be their favorite word and one used for every point they wished to make.

There were a couple of other men who worked in the place with me. I guess they would be called warehousemen; I mean we really were in a warehouse. It was hollow and dingy and echoed and had a bunch of stuff up on shelves or on pallets. My workmates were very handy with folk lifts and those hand jacks you pump up to move things with. Their language wasn’t any more literary than the truck drivers who constantly came about.

The room immediately behind me also served as the break and lunch room. There was an old table against one wall and some battered chairs here and there. I was usually sitting at the window atop a tall stool. I had to bring a brown bag lunch in with me, there was no place handy to buy food. There were a couple vending machines along the warehouse wall out on the dock that held candy bars, small bags of chips or in the case of one, sodas. Half the time these machines would jam and you’d be out your coins.

The men in the place weren’t hostile toward me, but you would never mistake them for warm and fuzzy. Well, maybe fizzy, their grooming left a lot to be desired. Whenever they had a break or lunch they would come in and hang behind me. There was some reading material upon the table, a couple of battered ancient men’ magazines like “Stag” or “Adventure”. There was always a new tabloid newspaper, but oddly not one from Philadelphia. It was a New York paper, perhaps the New York Daily News or New York Post.  I am not sure what paper it was, except it had a page in it that displayed some pretty women posing in bathing suits, the daily fix of cheesecake. These other men had a real sweet tooth for cheesecake. They always turned right to those pictures and made their daily obscene remarks. I remember one such instance. One guy held the paper up, showing everyone in the room the photo of this young woman in a tight one-piece suit.

“Look at that b---,” he said pointing to the girl’s lower half. “Man, she could have a f------ c--- under there!” Everybody laughed, except myself. I was trying to look busy and engrossed at some tickets on my workspace.

I wasn’t shocked by the language these men used nor their gross and childish jokes.  I had grown up around a lot of guys who were just as vulgar and I had heard about every word you could think of before I got out of junior high; I just didn’t like being around this kind of atmosphere. I had flashbacks to the day Dad had me draw the naked woman on the garage door and how the mechanics laughed at my naïve knowledge of the female anatomy.

Maybe the problem was the truck drivers reminded me too much of my father.

I came to work the second week and halfway through the morning I began to cry. I couldn’t stop. I sat on my stool with tears running down my face. Ain’t that a manly picture? I sat there shaking, waiting for the mocking to begin, but instead the warehouse guys came over to me. One took hold of my shoulders, very gently and they talked to me quietly. I was led over to one of those battered chairs and bid to sit. I still couldn’t stop the crying.

In a few minutes the boss showed up. He came over and asked me if I was all right. Sure, I was. Nothing more cleansing than a good cry.  It was pretty obvious I was falling apart. He suggested I go home. “Take the next few days off,” he said. “Relax, get some rest.”

I got home somehow without crashing the car and took most of the next week off. I don’t know if I rested any, but I sure didn’t relax. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but expected it would be bad. I thought my career at Atlantic was over. When I got a call to come back in I was terrified.

On Thursday, July 9, I shuffled into the Personnel Department at 260 South Broad Street. I fully expected to be handed my walking papers and I wondered what the heck was I going to do after today. We were already struggling financially and who was going to hire me after such a pathetic display?

But the people in Personnel didn’t hand me a pink slip. They led me down to the Mailroom on the first floor, the area I had so joyfully exited only a few short weeks before, dropping me off at Bill Mayberry’s desk. It was explained I was being given the job of Parcel Post Clerk for the time being. It was only a Level 4 position, but I was told my pay and grade would not be lowered, I’d keep the Level 6 salary and they promised as soon as another Level 6 job opened I’d get it.

I wasn’t a very religious guy at the time, but I did thank God for this.

Three days later, on Friday, I wasn’t walking into any church, though. I was driving into Darby and taking Lois to the hospital to get a blood test. Come the 17th day of July and we were back to Philly for her to see the doctor. This was follow up to news we had gotten back on May 19. At the time Lois had been getting sick, and of course, it turned out she was two months pregnant. Now it was mid-July and she had reached four months.

On the 24th she was bleeding some. I went to my parents the next day and my grandmother went with me to help me get groceries. Lois stayed home feeling she shouldn’t ride in a car. Her doctor was no longer the dreaded Dr. Lewis, by the way. We had ditched that butcher. This doctor was not in Malvern, but somewhere in Upper Darby. He was associated with Fitzgerald Mercy (right), a place I would eventually work.   The doctor told her to stay off her feet and told her to get Paregoric and put it on her stomach.

Before 1970 Paregoric was fairly easy to obtain, even without a prescription. It was really camphorated tincture of opium. Camphorated meant it came in a waxy and flammable solid substance called Camphor. A tincture is usually an alcoholic substance extracted from a plant or animal. Opium is opium. After 1970 Paregoric went through a variety of classifications as a controlled substance.

My mom and grandmother came down to help out as Lois was getting worse and still bleeding some. She was ordered not to do anything. Still, she continued to feel sicker.

I took her to Fitzgerald Mercy Hospital at Midnight on August 3 and soon after she loss her second baby. Since the fetus was just short of five months when it aborted it was classified as a miscarriage. The hospital took and disposed of the body. Lois’ father brought her home from the hospital on the 5^th and my mother and grandmother came down and stayed a couple days to look after her. They did the cleaning and cooking.In case anyone is wondering what a 4 ½ month old fetus looks like, see the picture on the right. Looks like a baby.to me. Some people say this isn't human life yet. Those people be wrong.

Although Lois was very weak, by the 6^th she was able to get up. The doctor said she could ride in a car so I took her to the Exton Drive-in on August 7 to see the Beatles movie, “A Hard Day’s Night”. It was an apropos title, we had certainly had one, more than one actually, hard days' nights, that is.
Lois snapped back to normal rather quickly after the loss this time, almost putting it out of her mind completely. Her physical recovery was very rapid. On August 8, five days after losing the baby she felt strong enough that we went to the Ridge Carnival for the evening.
i

She was raring to get get out and go now. We were up to my parents several time, bumming some money on at least one such visit. I took her to the Philadelphia Zoo and did some filming, then on August 30 we spent the day at the annual Wilson Family Reunion at my cousin Bob’s. On September 19 we took our second trip to the New York World’s Fair, going again via Werner Bus. I guess this trip was close enough to count as a celebration of our third wedding anniversary.  as well. The rest of the year was pretty well without incident, unless you count the shock I got at my 5^th Year High School Class Reunion.

That was out first reunion. One would be held every five years thereafter. This first one was held at the American Legion Lodge in Pottstown. It was very well attended and no one had died yet. The ballroom was off an entry hall. It was filled with round tables with space at the front for dancing. There was a live band that year, the renown stylings of Bob Eppeheimer, yeah, right! Fellow classmate, one of the popular, cute guys, Galen Lloyd was the Toast Master. Dancing went on until 2:00 AM. 
Lois and I came in and choose a table. Lois sat down and I excused myself to get us some drinks.

The Bar was in a side room. Let me use a passage from a story I wrote about this because it describes what happened very clearly. The story was titled, Modesty”.

He came to the bar. He stopped next to her and motioned for refills. One glance her way and his face simmered with lust. He peeked down at the roundness peeking from the bodice of her dress, then at the long smooth thighs more than peeking from the hem.

“Well, hello,” he said.

“You don’t know me, do you?”

He shook his head.

“I’m Maggie.”

He froze. The fresh drinks in his hands splashed dark spots across his tie. He walked away in a slump of defeat and embarrassment.

Her mother said if a woman displayed modesty men would show respect. She displayed what modesty hid and the men showed regret.

And that was so much more satisfying.

Excerpt from “Modesty”

“Creative Writers”

Barnes & Noble

Joe , Editor

2009

Of course the “Maggie” here was really Peggy and boy what a transition since high school. I didn’t really walk away feeling defeated and embarrassed, but I was shocked, I’ll tell you that. Remember, this girl had once been my steady until I did her dirty at a dance where I paid too much attention to a young lady named Carmella. In a way, then, Peggy did have her revenge.

Peggy passed away from Cancer on October 22, 2009 at the age of 67. She left behind her husband and their three children.

On Thanksgiving we ate with Lois’ father at the Fisher House on North Broad Street in Philadelphia. It was once a landmark establishment, huge and designed like a Bavarian Tutor Vastle, columns and all, and those hard round oyster crackers on every table. We had Thanksgiving with her father and we spent Christmas at my parents. And thus 1964 became history. The Fisher House became history as well, disappearing eventually as Temple University expanded, took over the entire block Fisher's stood on and tore it down.

Farewell, Frantic Frank; Goodbye, Wild Bill; Rest Well Ye Boyhood Shadows

In our final year the alleged educators deciding our lives tried to guide us on career paths or at least that was their story.  Since my section was part of the Academic program, sans higher math or not, they attempted to entice us with University life by bussing the three academic sections to Muhlenberg College. Nothing against the institution, but why in the world Muhlenberg? I would have thought a State College, West Chester State Teachers College perhaps (Today this is West Chester University). Muhlenberg was a private, Lutheran affiliated school. Separation of Church and State got no consideration, of course.
Really, all I remember about our day trip was a pep rally in their stadium and freshman having to wear little beanies and sing some stupid song. The pep rally was a big deal because they were about to play Moravian, their biggest rivals and located just up the highway on the other side of the Lehigh River. Moravian College was associated with the Moravian Theological Seminary, so it wasn't separated from religion either.

I mentioned this before, but the powers-that-be also took us to the Medical School of Temple University for a day. Wow, from the small to the large, Muhlenberg with less than 2,500 enrollment and Temple with more than 25,000 undergraduates, and maybe 10,000 postgraduates. It was here where Ray and Richard Ray and I wandered up North Broad Street to a little side restaurants to get lunch. Our booth had photographs of operations on the wall. All the booths did. All in living color.

In the spring before graduation,  in our waning weeks, people with portfolios of paperwork came from the Pennsylvania Department of Labor. They ran a series of aptitude tests. Some reminded me of toys you buy for your infants, fit the shape in the proper hole, that kind of thing. They then interviewed us each individually. A man and woman asked me what I wanted to be (when I grew up)? I said, a writer. They shook their heads.

The woman said, “I don’t think you have enough vocabulary to be a writer.”

The man said, “We think you would do best running a machine.”

He didn’t say what kind of machine, a giant shape sorter, perhaps.

Listen Lady, I could find plenty of vocabulary to say what I thought of you two. Maybe I should have gotten a government job like you two where you don’t need hearts or brains, where you smugly try to control everyone else’s life and dash people’s dreams, and then collect a big fat government pension check paid for by other people’s hard work.

The people from the Department of Labor were not aware I had taken a writing aptitude test earlier that year. In August I applied for membership in the Newspaper Institute of America, One Park Place, New York (pictured right) and was required to take a writing aptitude test. I received a letter about the results saying, “For one so young you have done very good work with our Writing Aptitude Test”. They suggested, however, that I “better wait until [I was] at least eighteen before enrolling as a member.”

How words are used, not the number, defines good writing. These Labor Department people didn’t understand this. If “Brevity is the soul of wit,” then it also applies to communicating in the written word. They should refer to what Ernest Hemingway called his best short story.

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

That is it, the whole story. It communicates a lot, as one analysis said, enough for a movie”.

So where did we all go after the days of Frantic Frank, Wild Bill Shakespeare and Gravely & Hearse?

Ray Dillard Ayres, Jr., known as Sonny, came from a family of mixed religions, Protestant and Roman Catholic. He had been raised Protestant, but in the senior year of high school decided to switch to Catholicism. When he began this he also decided he cursed too much. Why this feeling went with becoming Roman Catholic I can’t say. As far as I know Protestants take as dim a view of cursing,as Catholics, some maybe more so. He wanted me to help him stop the swearing habit. He instructed me to swat him on the back of the head anytime I heard him use a cuss word. Loyal friend that I was, I agreed and for a while he took a regular head bashing from me. We did as a result do a lot of explaining to teachers when smack in the middle of a class there would be a literal smack to the middle of Ray’s head.

He did stop cursing.

Ray had put a lot of pressure on himself that year, besides his religious conversion. First, he resigned from the football team. He felt it was interfering with his studies. He was one of the star players and his resignation did not sit well with either the coaches or his teammates. He stood on his convictions. Some of the other players called him names, but he refused to back down. He had enough other activities that he enjoyed more, besides in truth, he could have probably beat up most of the other guys anyway.

He was also the star of the school’s gym show. His best performances were on the ones I couldn’t do, horizontal bar and rings. During the same time he was preparing for the gym show, he was wrestling at the YMCA for a championship. There were two performances of the gym show, once for the students in the school and once for parents and anyone else that cared to come the next evening. Ray did the student’s show in the afternoon of the same day he was in the big YMCA wrestling tournament finals. He went from the school gym to the Y gym. I was at the show to see him, and Peggy, whom I was still dating at that time,  and I went to the YMCA to watch his wrestling. He was tired. He made it to the last match in his weight class at the Y and was pinned. I had never seen him so devastated. You couldn’t talk to him. I am certain he would have won that Y championship match if he hadn’t done the gym show. Sometimes we just put too much on ourselves.

Ray and I were close friends in high school. We helped encourage each other at times. He was the kid in the class everyone liked. He had looks and wit; he was a fine student and an all-around athlete. He was the type of guy people often vote most likely to succeed. We really didn’t have that sort of selection in our school. If we had, Ray certainly would been a top candidate. He was named one of the Class Clowns instead.

After he graduated he seemed to drift, though. In 1964 he remained single and was living in Seattle, Washington. In 1969 he was back in Pennsylvania and married. He was a student at West Chester State College (now West Chester University), where he earned a teaching degree. In 1974 he was in the restaurant business with a brother-in-law named Coffee co-owning The Angus Pub in Birdsboro.  He soon disappeared from that scene when the restaurant failed. After that he simply disappeared for the next 25 years, at which time he showed up as a retired carpenter/chef living in Reading, Pa.

I heard nothing from him or about him in the interim years. When I saw he was back living in nearby Reading, I considered contacting him but as so often happens, I never did. He died in September 2012.

Raymond D. Ayres Jr., 71, of Reading died Sept. 29, 2012, at 7:15 p.m. in Tremont Nursing & Rehabilitation Center, Tremont, where he was a guest since Aug. 19, 2011. Born in Pottstown, he was a son of the late Raymond D. Ayres Sr. and Anna Pauline (Dowhunick) Ayres. He is survived by his companion, two daughters, three sisters and one grandson. Graveside services with military honors in Indiantown Gap National Cemetery, Annville, will be private at the convenience of the family. edited Published in Reading Eagle on October 3, 2012

In the fall after we graduated, Richard Ray Miller contacted me and asked if I would go to Philadelphia with him. He had never been to the city, at least not on his own. He knew I had been and he wanted company, someone who he presumed knew his way around. He was going to the Bell Telephone office to apply for a job as a Linesman.

We took the Reading Train from Royersford to the Market Street Terminal. Although I had no desire to be a Linesman with my acrophobia, I thought it would look better for Ray if I also applied. Potential employers just might have a tad resistance to applicants who com with a babysitter. The receptionist sent us into a back room for aptitude tests. It took several hours. I did very well on the electronic test, but poor on the mechanical test. Ray did badly on both. They turned him down for a job consideration. He was very depressed on the ride home.

In 1964 he was still living at his parent’s home, but there was no other information about him. In 1969 he had a new address, but still no other news. By 1974 he had moved to an apartment in Spring City. He was married with two children and working as a plumbing and heating contractor. In 1979 he was again at a different address with no other information available. By 1984 he had disappeared from view. He died in 1989 at 48 years of age. I heard from former classmates that his life had went downhill and he became an alcoholic, which they assumed contributed to his demise.

My friend Phil Hahn, the big guy who had bloodied my nose wrestling in gym, renewed our friendship for a couple years when he lived in Gibbsboro, New Jersey and my wife and I lived in Pine Hill. He was a large fellow with a gentle heart. (Pictured left Phil and his wife Pam in our 1974 apartment.) He played a roll in our Shakespeare Play. He was an account executive for a funding company. He died in 2009.

The girl who I refused to dance with at a Sadie Hawkin’s Dance married after high school and had three daughters and a son. She died in 2008.

Walter Stanley Marsland III, better known as “Wally Segap”, the boy who almost lost a thumb during the Shakespeare Assembly died in 2000, age 59


.

The giddy girl in the Baby Doll PJs Richard and I "kidnapped" to the Tropical Treat in one of the “borrowed” cars married a fellow classmate. She was a vice-president of a bank for a while, then they moved to Montana where they own two outlet stores. I think they are both retired now.

 

Howard "Homer" Turner was the first friend I made at NORCO High. He remained a member of our "Clown Squad" throughout high school. After Graduation he faded away and disappeared. He died sometime between 1999 and 2009

I do not know of the after school lives of the notorious Q Gang. They all became mote to my life by twelfth grade because they all dropped out of school at age 16. I heard scuttlebutt that they were involved in a riot and knife fight at Sunnybrook Ballroom during one of Dick Clark's shows, but know no real facts.  Now the leader of the gang has went on to own and run a successful business since. So remember, children,  this is what happens when you never pay attention and disrupt every class in school and drop out in eleventh grade, you become a successful businessman.

Gary Kinzey, was one of my earliest friends and after Kindergarten we had an on again off again relationship. He was an electronic wizard and he and I shared a common bond over electric trains. In Junior High School we had a falling out. Later in his life he became a tugboat captain here in Delaware. One evening he came home and said he was tired. He went into the living room, sat down in an easy chair and he never got up again. He was around 70.

Gary E. Kinzey

Age 70, of Wilmington, died on Saturday, October 15, 2011 at his home.

Gary was born in 1941 in Pottsville, PA to the late Ralph and Anne Kinzey. He attended Downington High School and Drexel Institute's Engineering program. He was employed by the DuPont CO. until 1973, then he started Kinzey Insulation. In 1992 he became building inspector and code enforcer for the Town of Newport until retiring in 2001.

Gary's range of interests, knowledge and skills was wide. He could drive anything, build anything, and fix anything. He will be greatly missed.

Gary is survived by his wife of 41 years, Lorraine; his children, Scott, Pam and Adam, and his 4 grandchildren.

Another early friend we discussed in these post was Denny Myers, who lived up the street

from me in Downingtown.  Denny was a close buddy before I moved to the swamp house, no so much when I moved back. He died last year at 73.

Dennis C. Myers of Downingtown

Dennis C. Myers, 73, of Downingtown, passed away on Sunday, September 27, 2015, at his residence. He was the loving husband of Sue Serafino Myers, with whom he had celebrated his 56th anniversary on September 26.

Born in Coatesville, he was the son of the late William Myers and the late Earl and Dixie Shirk.

Dennis was a 1959 graduate of Downingtown High School. After high school he worked for Bell Maintenance Products, retiring as president after 40 years of service. He then went on to work as a sales representative for the Philip Rosenau Company.

He was an avid sports fan and loved watching sporting events. He especially enjoyed high school and college wrestling and he officiated high school wrestling. Dennis also coached little league baseball, Babe Ruth baseball, American Legion baseball and Little Whippets football.

In addition to his wife, he is survived by his son, Mark (Michele) Myers, of Downingtown; daughters, Lori (Paul) Romano, of Downingtown, and Dawn (Frank) Cosella, of Chester Springs; brothers, Michael (Jobi) Myers, of Florida, Stephen (Marianne) Shirk, of Millsboro, Del., and David (Barbara) Shirk, of Nebraska; sister, Tammy (Ray) Houston, of Phoenixville; seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.

He was predeceased by his son, Scott Myers.     

A number of my earliest friends were girls, who lived near on Washington Avenue You saw them over and over in photographs of my pre-school and grade school birthday parties.

Bonnie Lou Walton, who often played in our groups, especially in our evening hide and seek games, died in Detroit, Michigan on March 17, 2010. She was 68. I know almost nothing of her life after our school years. Other than she never married.

Another was Judy Baldwin, a close friend in those days of Iva Darlington. That is Judy just slightly behind Iva in the photo. Judy is making a face. In her later years she developed Alzheimer’s and she passed away in 2012.

Judith Baldwin Nixdorf, 70, of Stacy, died Wednesday, December 12, 2012, at home.

A memorial service will be held at Otway Christian Church on Sunday, December 16, 2012, at 3:00 p.m., with Chaplain Jack Mumford, presiding. Another memorial will be held at The Donohue Funeral Home in Downingtown, PA, on Saturday, December 28, 2012, at 2:00 p.m.

Mrs. Nixdorf was born on January 19, 1942, in Downingtown, PA, to Russell Gibson and Margaret Mae Jamison Baldwin.

She is survived by her husband of 49 years, G. Bruce Nixdorf of Stacy; daughters, Dana N. Reinhart of Coatesville, PA, Lauren N. Riddell of New Castle, DE, and Shannon N. Wright of Stacy, NC; sisters, Lois Sample of West Chester and Eileen F. Buck of Bradenton, FL; and grandson, Leo M. Wright, IV, of Stacy, NC.

In addition to her parents, her brothers, Russell G. Baldwin, Jr. and William F. Baldwin; and sister, Joyce L. Baldwin, preceded her in death.

Her husband, who was another acquaintance and playmate of mine during our boyhoods, died from an accident in 2014. That is Bruce in the white shirt. The woman to his left dressed in black is Judy.

        

Whereas, the Almighty God, in his infinite wisdom has removed from our midst on Sunday, August 3, 2014, one of our beloved brothers and Life Member, G. Bruce Nixdorf, who was always found faithful in the discharge of his duties and whose every thought and purpose was for the welfare of his company and department. And, while we deeply regret and mourn the loss sustained in the death of our late brother, we bow in humble submission to the Divine Will.

Therefore, be it resolved that we, the members of the Alert Fire Co. No. 1 of Downingtown, PA, do hereby extend and convey to the bereaved family and friends our deep and heartfelt sympathy.

Bruce passed away at UNC Hospitals, Chapel Hill, NC after the result of an accident. He was the loving husband of the late Judith B. Nixdorf.

He was born on November 2, 1940, in Philadelphia, PA to the late George E. and Eloise Nixdorf and then moved to Downingtown as a child, and lived there until after his retirement, where he and Judy moved to Stacy, NC with his daughter Shannon and family. Bruce was employed at the Naval Surface Warfare Center in Philadelphia, PA until his retirement, and then he did consulting work.

       

Richard Allan Wilson was the first friend I met upon moving to Bucktown and became one of my closest.

When I got the Belcor Tape recorder for Christmas he and I would spend time making up little plays. Rich proved to be very quick at adlibbing. We did comic interviews ala Bob and Ray, the radio comedians. We called these the “Mike Walrus Interview Show”. Richard got to be such characters as Dr. James Q. Whitemeat and John Cameron Swayback. We never got to perform together in school due to our grade separation.

He sold his $40 car and got a 1955 Chevy after he got his driver’s license. In my senior year he sometimes drove us places. He was always modifying his cars. He was switching the Chevy’s column shift to a floor shift, but had not completed the job. He had to reach through a hole in the floor with a screwdriver to change gears. He did this bent over looking down, not at traffic. Somehow we survived.

Richard served as an usher at my marriage in 1961 and then drifted out of my life. He never reached his dream of designing cars. He died in August 2002 at the age of 60.

I included the death and obituary of Suzy Cannell in my prior chapter. She was not the only one of my girlfriends to pass away. Margaret “Peggy” Whitely has also died, the girl I dated for several month and who bit my thumb at the drive in.

Margaret A. Farling, age 67, died of complications from cancer on Thursday, Oct. 22, 2009. Pegge, as

she is known to family and friends, was a Chester County resident for most of her life. She was a graduate of Kutztown University (BS Education) and Temple University (MA Education) and taught in the Pottstown School District prior to marrying David J. Farling.

After raising three children, Pegge went back to teaching in the Tredyffrin/Easttown School District. She was an avid horseback rider and an active member of the book club at Aronimink Golf Club. She enthusiastically supported her sons’ interest in rugby at Conestoga High School and in their college years.

Pegge and her husband shared a passion for travel. After retirement the two of them set out for adventures through out North America and Europe.

Most recently, she and her husband settled at Waverly Heights where they found many new friends.

Pegge is survived by her beloved husband, David, her children David, Linda Clemons, Robert, their spouses and grandchildren Peri, Sydney, Jeffrey and Hunter.






An era had ended. For one year I was kind of like somebody. With the end of May of 1959 I was Nowhere Man again.