My life has been filled with surprises . . .

CAREER MEMORIES

My life has been filled with surprises that emanate from small and almost trivial pursuits. It is astonishing to me that so many things or events that I had not planned, nor even anticipated, ultimately shaped my career and brought success.

I had planned on taking college courses in math and physics that would enable me to successfully compete for an appointment to West Point or the U.S. Naval Academy. This goal eluded my every effort.

After dropping out of college in order to work and pay off a small loan to my benefactor's estate upon his untimely death in an airplane accident, I managed to obtain a non civil service appointment as an Airways Weather Observer in the U.S. Weather Bureau in Helena, Montana. The starting pay was only $2.50 per day, when actually employed. That job's future dimmed when my pay was cut 15% in the depression year 1932, to $2.12 per day. This only kept me alive on a bare subsistence level. My entire mind and consciousness then concentrated on getting a better job wherever and whatever might be available.

Until then I had sort of 'drifted' and somehow day dreamed rather than mobilize all of my skills and instincts. From that time onward miracles and surprises began to happen. Forcing myself to learn to operate a calculating machine in just a few weeks opened a Civil Service job for me at the Fort Peck Project of the Corps of Engineers, U.S. Army, on the Missouri River in northeastern Montana. I managed to get a passing grade and a job after only a few weeks of arduous study and practice.

This Public Works Administration Project drew world wide attention. Fort Peck Dam would be the largest earth fill dam in the world at 120 million cubic yards. It would take 5 years or more for the fleet of pipeline dredges to place the hydraulic fill. The crest would span 2 miles across the Missouri plus another 2 miles of wing dam dike at the north end. Some ten-thousand workmen would be needed, first to construct the dredges in a boatyard, then build miles of trestles, open a rock quarry 100 miles distant, and bring in electric power 286 miles from Rainbow Substation at Great Falls, Montana A hundred mile long lake would be created providing flood control protection, improved navigation and needed electric power.

The existing small towns of Glasgow and Nashua provided only a fraction of the needed housing, warehousing and services that would be required. Local landowners near the dam site opened "boom towns" with saloons, stores, and countless paper shacks for the workers. Wheeler was the largest and most publicized boom town. It was notorious for the "Wheeler Inn" owned and operated by Ruby Smith, reputed to be from the Klondike. Joe Wheeler, a local barber, founded the town of Wheeler on a quarter section of land that he owned near the dam. He became a well known public character.

Lesser boom towns scattered about the dam site included New Deal, Square Deal, named after the New Deal of Franklin Roosevelt. There were numerous "red light" districts, the better known of which was called "Sleepy Hollow" and located just down hill from the Wheeler Inn.

It was a miracle that I was hired first as a clerk-typist in a clerical pool and from that spot be transferred to the Corps of Engineers inspection crew for the 286 Mile power line. My self taught mediocre typing skills motivated my typing pool bosses to get rid of me. Neither they, nor I, realized what a break this would be for me in the later part of my career.

The 154 kva power line from Rainbow Substation 286 miles distant from the project was completed early in the fall. My employment as a labor relations inspector on the transmission line had ended. I was offered another inspection job on the 160 acre steel sheet piling wall being driven the full length of the base of the huge earth fill dam to prevent water from seeping under the huge structure. There were two reasons why I would rather not accept that assignment.

First, it meant working outdoors in severe sub zero Montana winter weather huddled around an outdoor fire of burning railroad ties. My birthplace was only 125 miles away and I remember the many days and weeks of blizzards, cold waves and snow. None of that for me!

Secondly, powerful steam driven pile hammers were needed to drive the sheet piles to refusal depths of 160 ft.. The McKiernan Terry hammers went "ka-whoom", "kw-whoom", with almost unbearable ear splitting noise.

Fortunately the project was in a pre-construction phase and numerous jobs were being offered ranging from skilled labor the clerical and administrative jobs. When I read the advertisement for an assistant to the project photographer that seemed to be an ideal place to spend the winter and bide my time until something better could be found. My main problem would be could I muster the qualifying experience for the job. After all, my only experience in photography was to have used the brown Kodak that the Eastman Kodak Co. gave to every child in America who had a twelfth birthday, as my sister did in 1924.

In order to qualify for the photography post I had to document a certain amount of experience in photography. This seemed impossible. But Tom Claret wanted a warm bodied assistant to carry the gear and drive the car, and he was a very resourceful schemer. By the time he helped me complete the papers I had the required experience. My time as editor of my Froid high school annual, and assisting a photographer in taking college class portraits somehow turned the trick..

Clagett was a sandy haired burly man. He had a penchant for telling stories punctuated freely with many southern idioms. He was active in the Army Reserves, Masons, and many community enterprises. He was the Fort Peck correspondent to the Great Falls Tribune and the Glasgow Courier, both daily papers. His photography opened many opportunities for moonlighting and I was eager and willing to help him. It was exciting to be "in on" every significant happening on the project from construction details to public relations affairs.

Photography was the vehicle providing the "training ground" for my later construction engineering career, but I would not realize this fact until years later.

The Fort Peck Project drew world wide attention. President Roosevelt visited twice and I prize a photo printed in the Saturday Evening Post showing me photographing the President with an 8 x 10 view camera. We had dozens of visiting groups. Russians, Japanese and Europeans dignitaries came. College professors visited the project.

Two journalistic endeavors involved Clagett and me. The first issue of LIFE magazine featured Fort Peck Dam and the "boom towns" reminiscent of the Klondike that surrounded the project and housed the 10,000 workmen who drove the tunnels, manned the dredges, operated the trains and several hundred trucks. Ernie Pyle of Scripps Howard News covered the project. I spent 3 days with him and pasted up the articles on his visit and made postcards. Clagett and I sold hundred of these cards.

Three of us, Clagett, a Mr. Harper and I published the "STORY OF THE FORT PECK DAM' at Christmas time. We had the publication approved for release by the Army and printed in St. Paul by Buckbee Mears Co., the St. Paul publisher for the Froid High School Annual. The souvenir publication was a huge success. We sold 11,000 copies for fifty cents each and a cost of seven and one-half cents. My third share of some $1,500.00 resulted from my original investment of $100.00. I had a taste of wealth and I spent it freely and with great gusto!

Souvenir literature, postcards, group photos, news writing and a guide service kept Clagett, Harper and me in ample spending money. The guide service was an escorted tour of key stations on the project. The trip lasted an hour and the fee was $2.00 per car. The guide got a buck and we kept the other. The guides were young inspectors and engineers who had time to spare, a good knowledge of the project, and a need for a few extra dollars. Bear in mind that the average laborers wage at that time was about $5.00 per day so there was a "waiting list" of would be guides to work for us.

I fell in love with the cameras and was excited at each new event on the project such as launching the fist dredge, or starting the four mile long tunnels, or blasting trainloads of rip rap from Snake Butte (the quarry near Harlem). More than these construction "firsts" were the parade of visitors. FDR made two visits to the project, the first issue of LIFE magazine featured For Peck on the cover and tales of Ruby Smith and the boom towns on the inside pages. Ernie Pyle, Scripps-Howard reporter toured and wrote articles, and so on and on.

I pasted Ernie Pyle's articles on a sheet of poster board, photographed it and sold two thousand post cards. Clagett and I spent two weeks with famed photographer Margaret Bourke-White on the LIFE stories. It was exciting and interesting.

There were also sad times. I was shooting the crane on a 65 foot trestle placing a girder for the next span, when a cable snapped and down came the steam crane, girder and all in a cloud of dust fire and steam at my very feet. I was at a tunnel face when the entire face of Bearpaw Shale caved in killing several workmen. I was just out of danger. My job was to picture the heading which was suspect for possible sliding.

Eleven million cubic yards of the dam slid out like a door on hinges and moved a half mile up river. I had just crossed it by car and had set up my movie camera to record that the dam was almost completed. 240 feet high above its foundation. My 16 mm. movies were immediately confiscated by my bosses. It was a major failure and disaster. Eight men in a large pump boat in the core pool atop the dam were washed down and out in the slides. Neither the men nor the 100 ft. long pump boat was ever found.

In the ensuing investigation of the accident Dr. Arthur Casagrande of Harvard headed the team. Huge areas of the slide material were frozen in order to drill 3-ft. diameter holes to obtain core specimens of the hydraulic fill material. Some of these were 200 feet deep. I was lowered into these shafts on a boson's chair with a flash camera and a wire brush to photographer the texture of the earth. It was scary. But I had a transfer to California's Shasta Dam project in the making and one day I handed in the photo gear and told Capt. Richard Lee, who headed the field work, that I was quitting.

Thanks to my lovely and beautiful Dolores, I was chosen by officials of the United States Department of the Interior, Bureau of Reclamation, to become the project photographer on Shasta Dam in northern California. This happened on day when Ben Glaha, who headed photography on California's Central Valley Project paid and official visit to Fort Peck.

Ben was the project photographer on the Boulder Dam Project and knew the Newlands and Dolores well from dining in Newland's Green Hut Cafe there. Naturally, he made it a point to visit the Green Hut in Fort Peck.

The introduction by vivacious and beautiful wife led to a fine interview and to a formal transfer between the two Cabinet Departments. That, alone, was a miracle for which I shall be forever grateful to her. Then came days and weeks of waiting for the papers to come through.

Dolores was pregnant and undergoing prenatal care in Glasgow. As time passed it became evident that the baby's birth probably would not fit into the transfer plans. So Dolores and I decided that she should go to Coulee Dam, Washington and live with her sister until the child could be delivered.

Meanwhile winter had set in and the Corps of Engineers was vigorously investigating the massive Earth Slide that moved out perhaps one fifth of the volume of the dam. The slide area was frozen by means of refrigeration directed to rows of refrigeration lines driven vertically in to the ground. Three foot diameter calyx core drills opened vertical shafts as deep as 200 feet. My job as project photographer was to go down into each of the 200 odd holes and make photos from bottom to top to show the nature and texture of the soil.

Barbara Ann, our first child arrived at the Deaconess Hospital in Spokane, Washington on Saturday, January 28, 1939. As I recall the hospital bill was about $10.00/day and the physician's bill was a hefty $50.00. I passed out cigars and celebrated her birth outwardly, but inside I was lonely and missed Dolores terribly. We had not been apart for even one night in more than three years.

The strange combination of loneliness and dangerous work preyed on my mind.

About six weeks after Barbara's birth on a frosty Sunday morning in March I was scheduled to photograph more holes. The first one was o.k. I sat in a sling on a piece of 2 x 8 plank and was lowered by means of an air tugger operated by a workman. The electric cable and flood light for photo lighting was at my side.The electric cable was slightly frayed and sparks kept jumping from it to the wire rope that I was riding, About 50 feet into the hole a few pebbles fell onto my hard hat. I had fears of a cave in. At that point a three foot section of corrugated metal culvert had been installed to strengthen the wall.

My jerks on the rope signal line meant "Highball, get me up and out!". Within seconds I was out and on top. Capt. Richard Lee, Corps of Engineers was standing a few feet away. As he turned to ask why I had come up without taking any pictures I said "Captain Lee, by your leave sir, I am not doing this any more." "I am joining my wife and child in Washington".

The 1937 Tudor 1937 V-8 2-door and I drove the 900 miles to Coulee Dam in two days with only a brief overnight stop. I dashed up the stairs above the Green Hut Cafe to the apartment in which Dolores and Bebe, her mother, were staying with the baby. And I made one of the worst faux pas of my life when I blurted out "She's so small!" Actually in six weeks she had gained a lot and I was ridiculed and shamed for my lack of perception.

Snooky, our family dog, had accompanied me.. We had had her for at least two years and she was spoiled rotten and was very jealous. She loved to retrieve any object from a ball or a match to a 4 x 4 plank. Snooky and Barbara's crib shared the back seat of the Ford on the way to California.

I took three days to reach Sacramento where I reported in to Ben Glaha at the Bureau's Regional Headquarters for the Central Valley Project. It was near 0 degrees Fahrenheit when we left Coulee Dam. It was 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Sacramento. We were far from ready for that warmth.

Next day, back to Redding and Shasta Dam, to report in at Shasta Dam headquarters in the government town of Toyon. There was no housing available to us. We found temporary rooms in a group of shanty tourist cabins a mile away in a "boomtown" named Central Valley. Dolores rose to the occasion and daily washed and boiled diapers. She still remembers the strange young lady next door. There was little fellowship.

After a short time we left the "Tandy" cabins and moved up the hill into one of three new well constructed small two room "Ganim" cabins. They were cozy and warm, but the owner was an odd little swarthy fellow and the interior of the cabin reflected his peculiar decorative tastes. When it rained we could not drive our car up the hill to the cabin in red miry clay.

Within three months our new home in the town site was built and, at last, we had a small, more comfortable and modern home. But the government's architect who designed the Toyon homes had never married and the floor plan and arrangements lacked most of the features that a housekeeper would want. Our home had eleven doors, but only one bedroom and bath, and a screened sleeping porch which I converted to a second bedroom.

The massive 602 ft. high Shasta Dam nestled in the rocky walls of the Sacramento River canyon was a photographers dream. The project officials were so different from the military regime at Fort Peck. We mingled with top brass on a first name basis. Many unique engineering feats were initiated and there was a variety of activity over a 30 mile range from the headwaters of the future lake to the dam site. It was a wilderness region on three beautiful rivers, the Sacramento, the Pit and the McCloud. Mt. Shasta rose 14,000 ft. skyward in the 40 mile north horizon. I was excited, challenged and thrilled to have the responsibility for documenting this great project in motion, color and still photographs.

My first week on the job brought tears of apprehension. I had the misfortune of having my camera smashed in falling from a cliff. With fright and fear I rushed back to the office with the pieces fully expecting to be verbally chastised and even fired. But Ralph Lowry, head construction engineer for the dam was almost fatherly with kindness and understanding. He listened to my sad tale and then said "Get busy and have a replacement here as quickly as you can".

There were hundreds of visitors to the project. National radio broadcasts were often scheduled from the construction sit e. I remember one especially because a radio reporter, Chet Huntley, almost forgot his lines. Famous novelists, writers and magazine people who needed an escort were often tuned over to me. Seeing the possibility of a full time public relations job just handling visitors and journalists I applied for and was promoted to Public Information Officer. A diorama of the Central Valley Project and an adjacent grandstand with public access facilities were built. We registered more than a million visitors each year.

My heart was not fully separated from the photography duties, but the $50.00 added income more than soothed my longings until Pearl Harbor Day, Dec. 7, 1941. Having been a one time National Guardsman, and having been influenced by Reserve Army Captain Tom Clagett, I could not see America at war without my participation.

The armed services all were anxious to recruit photographers. The U.S. Naval Reserve quickly accepted my application,and, to my surprise, offered me a commission as Ensign even though I had not finished college. The rigorous physical standards overwhelmed me. A skin rash on my back caused some concern and I had to change shirts twice a day for several days in order to pass their requirements. My having only 28 and not 32 teeth also was noticed.

PHOTOGRAPHY AGAIN - THE NAVY WAY

My commission as Ensign, AVS, USNR and dated October 1, 1942 put me into that organization as an aviation specialist in photography and came with orders to report to NAS, Pensacola, Fl. for training at the Naval School of Photography. Nearly a year had passed since Pearl Harbor and I had made countless trips to San Francisco of medical tests, oral examinations and boards of officers. One delay was caused by a scandal in which a celebrity supposedly had given a Studebaker car to the officer in charge of personnel. I am almost certain that naval intelligence people had looked thoroughly at my application papers, inasmuch that I was would receive a commission without a college degree.

We sent our household goods and furniture to storage in Redding. Dolores and Barbara went to Coulee Dam, Washington, in our year 1941 blue Pontiac Metropolitan Sedan. The Navy travel request authorized $009/mile from Redding to Pensacola from which I had to purchase tickets, sleeper and food. It was a long ways and I remember the good feeling I had as the clicking of the rails totaled up mileage earned and a small profit over my actual expenses. My minimum layout of uniforms, purchased at ships service store on Treasure Island consisted of one dress blues, a hat, gabardine raincoat and two khaki service uniforms.

Trains were crowded with military personnel, and civilian passengers. While I had a reserved seat with a berth, I could not bear to see mothers with small children standing in the aisles and between the cars. They welcomed the invitation to use my seat and I stood most of the time, sitting only when I managed to get a seat in the diner.

After reporting to the Air Station Administration Building No. 18, I was somewhat surprised, if not shocked, to find out that, rather than start classes at the photography school, I would have to spend four weeks at the Marine and Navy indoctrination unit.

My hair was cut short. All insignia was removed from my uniforms. We wore issue sweat shirts and pants and began rigorous athletic drills at 4:30 a.m. One hour of free time was ours every other day. Dolores sent me registered letters and this meant that I had to run to the station post office and back to the barracks within that one hour. There was no relaxation for me.

Athletic directors were professional sports figures that had volunteered for duty with the Navy. Mine was Lt. Ted Cook, of tennis fame and husband of great lady tennis player Sarah Palfrey Fabian. In the early hours of the morning we could lie face down and arch or backs so as to let us rock our bodies. I was neither limber nor athletic and couldn't do it well enough to please Ted Cook. He would kick me in the ribs and yell some disparaging words.

The morning run took us across a gully, over various tire and lumber hazards and through a maze of crooked paths between bushes and trees. The athletic directors kept stop watch timing of each day's run, a fact that was unknown to me. Priding myself on being resourceful, as usual, I would dash to the gully in the dim dawn light and crawl a couple of hundred yards at right angles to the track. Then, when I heard the "thundering herd" approaching the gully, I would dash out and join the crowd on the home stretch.

Ted Cook was impressed that I, a 28 year old man, was consistently coming in with the first third of the group and not showing undue exertion. I shall never forget the morning formation in readiness for the run when he stood face to face with me and said "This morning I am going to run with you." "I want to learn how you older fellows perform so well". My heart almost stopped and a cold chill ran up my spine. I kept up with him, but it was one of my life's biggest challenges. And I was far from refreshed at the finish. He had punished me enough and did not inflict any additional exercises. To this day I wonder whether or not he knew of my little trick. Any how it worked and I no longer cheated in my routine.

Photography school lasted four months. About 200 photographers comprising all ranks from seaman to Navy Captain were enrolled each month. I was in Class 6-43, Starboard Wing. What I had learned or new in eight years of civilian employment had been self taught. This would be my first formal training in the classroom and in the field under experts from career naval personnel and prominent civilians serving as uniformed instructors. Classes from 7 am to Noon and field assignments on the station or in the air each afternoon from 1 to 5 PM. In the evening we did lab work and printed our shots.

The formal training expanded and distill my knowledge. I loved it immensely and did my very best. On April 1, 1943 in graduation formation on the parade grounds I was shocked to hear Lt. Cdr.. Bill Harlow, commanding officer of the photo school announce that Ens., Robert A. Midthun of California was to be commended for graduating at the top of his class! Tears welled in my eyes and I was excited beyond all imagination.

The orders handed me were to "Report to NAS, Kodiak, Alaska, for further transfer to Fleet Air Wing Four. My excitement waned rapidly. It meant that Dolores and Babs would have to travel alone in the Pontiac on well worn tires all the way to Coulee Dam. while I would be heading for Alaska via Norfolk, Va.

Upon completion of my indoctrination and athletic training I sent for Dolores and Babs to live with me during the four months of photo school. She made the rugged drive from Coulee Dam to Pensacola over icy mountain roads, into long desolate stretches with a four year old in a car that had no heater. She had only one flat and that was in a service station. Tires and gasoline were rationed. In all the years of my service we managed to drive the Pontiac on original tires. They had been recapped often and logged over 80 thousand miles of road wear.

Dolores, Babs and I drove to Mobile, Alabama. From there they headed for Coulee Dam, and, by the grace of God, made it without event but with plenty of hardships.

On my way to Alaska, I was ordered to Naval Air Station, Norfolk, Va. to Photographic Squadron Two (VD-2 Navy designation) for a temporary assignment. Comdr. McElroy who headed VD-2 welcomed me aboard and handed me a new set of orders. Alaska was cancelled. Now I was to "Report to NAS, Quonset Point, RI. for further transfer to AirAsDevLant (a top secret antisubmarine R & D unit whose mission was to clear the Atlantic of U-boats.

Dolores was flabbergasted when I called her with the news. Yes, I wanted her and Babs to come to Rhode Island. I had found a two story duplex in Yorktown Manor, near the air station, With a little persuasion I checked out.tables, chairs and beds from the Navy to furnish the place.

She drove across the continent from Washington to Rhode Island with her mother and Babs. A General Electric engineer who worked on Grand Coulee Dam Westinghouse generators, accompanied them and helped with the driving. He was headed for his family in Pennsylvania. They arrived at Yorktown Manor and had a hectic several trying hours in finding me. It was wonderful to see and have them with me again!

AirAsDevLant was a top secret antisubmarine warfare squadron. One hundred twenty-nine officers and 200 enlisted men were the personnel complement. I was one of the four ensigns and junior lieutenants. I had never before even met, not worked with, so many top rate professionals. They came from the Navy, universities, and industry. Cdr.. DeFlorez, inventor of 100 octane gasoline, would soon be promoted to Rear Admiral and head the Office of Naval Research. Nelson Aldrich, grandson of John D. Rockefeller, was in charge of personnel. John Meyer, administrative assistant to Capt. A.B., Vosseler, our skipper, was Senior Partner, J.P. Morgan and Co. Chas.. Lockhart who was married to Kitty DuPont, handled all DuPont charities. On and on, it seemed, each one had a pedigree except me. Oh yes, our librarian was Roark Bradford.

The work was so secretive that many of the experiments could only be photographed by a commissioned officer (usually me). My special projects involved intimate interfacing with Mass. Institute of Technology and Dr., Harold E. Edgerton, inventor of the strobe light for high speed night photography. Another project took me to the Ladd Observatory of Brown University in Providence, R.I. A civilian cinematographer, Gordon Avil of the Jam Handy Corporation, was a special assistant in slow motion photography of aircraft rockets. AirAsDevLant was commissioned to develop a new aircraft solid fuel rocket by uniting the British and Cal Tech rockets.

Our pilots included highly decorated officers who had served in the RAF and came back to the Navy when America declared war. Our mission soon expanded to include training of Navy squadrons in the tools we had developed. Frequency modulated radio sonobuoys could be dropped in a pattern about a submerged enemy submarine and relay its position to aircraft overhead. Although many of these then secret inventions have been publicized in journals and magazines, I am still bound by an oath of secrecy that I took some 50 years ago. I shall let it rest there.

The Atlantic antisubmarine war was well under control by 1944 and I longed to get some sea duty. My application for an aircraft carrier billet was denied and I was again ordered to stateside duty as photographic officer for VD-2 Photo Recon Training Unit in New Cumberland, Pa.

Dolores and I packed and drive to New Cumberland on Christmas eve in 1944. We found a small upstairs apartment in a red brick row house in nearby Harrisburg. I not only paid rent, but also stoked the furnace for landlady Mrs. Rousch. We shared the apartment with two other Navy officers and their wives, thus filling all rooms to the limit. Dolores was about 4 months pregnant with Rick and it was a very trying time for her.

With lots of trying and looking we found a three story duplex close to the base. The owner was a very kind and gracious business man. He let us have it for thirty-five dollars a month. Hospital corpsmen from the base often visited us and brought goodies such as butter and candy, and medicines for colds. When I was away on temporary orders the shore patrol wold keep an eye on my home. They were wonderful friends.

Each month a new fighter squadron would come from the Pacific for photographic training. The pilots were seasoned veterans with a yen for a little fun. They often took the photo assignments very casually. One day I announced to a group of pilots "It is easy for me to tell who are the best and most skillful pilots by the manner in which you bring back your photo assignments". "This is a test of your piloting skill". All ears perked up and I had the most eager and competitive photographers after that. They would keep the engine oil off the camera lenses, see that full magazines were on the cameras, and hang around the darkroom long enough to view one another's pictures.

On May 8, 1945, my thirty-second birthday, the war in Europe ended. On August 17, 1945 the Japanese surrendered. All officers with combat decorations were eligible for immediate release from the Navy. I had earned only American Thither and WWII Victory medals and a Letter of Commendation ribbon.

That left me the "fall guy" to remain until the squadron could be decommissioned. The aviators and planes were gone. But I was given the Administrative Command of closing the remainder of the base.

Now I had a son, Richard Alan, born July 8, 1945 in the Deaconess Hospital in Harrisburg as well as a six year old daughter. Dolores' mother did not come to Pennsylvania with us but returned to Coulee Dam. Dolores and the two infants decided to fly back to Spokane, Wash., where Vera Newland wold meet time and take them to Coulee Dam. It was a harrowing trip as Dolores tells it. Long delays enroute as the DC-3 laid over in frequent stops. Sick and crying kids, and the worry of travelling 2,500 miles alone and unaided with little money.

My brother Kermit, freshly discharged from the Air Corps joined me for the long drive home in the Pontiac with no heater. We wore purloined flight suits and face masks. We went by way of Froid, Montana to see dad and mom. It was a cold and brutal journey over the frozen highways of the Northern Plains.

Thus ended both my Navy duty and my professional photography career Photography had provided me with an excellent education, not only in its technical aspects, but much more importantly in what I learned from the subject

SECURE THE NAVY - BACK TO CIVILIAN LIFE

A short vacation rest with the Newlands at Coulee Dam ended and we were back to Redding and Shasta Dam. "Welcome back, Bob, we have saved your old job for you", the personnel director of the Bureau of Reclamation informed me.

There had been a couple of small administrative promotions for the position during the three and one-half years of my absence. I was not only the Public Information Officer, but also had charge of the Guard Force on the project..

Once again I lectured every hour at the grandstand overlooking the mass concrete that had risen a couple of hundred feet in elevation. The curve of the dam glistened in the sunlight and the 460 ft. high red head tower and a web of half-mile long cables radiated over the site to carry concrete, forms, men and materials to the huge structure.

A million visitors a year poured down the winding approach road to see the sights and hear the lectures. Authors, reporters, writers and photographers came in a steady pattern., Politicians and celebrities found the dam irresistible. With completion of concrete placement Shasta Lake began to rise. A boat concession was granted and the National :Park Service and Forest Service operated large barges on the lake.

Among the celebrities given the "royal treatment" were members of congress, politicians like Jimmie Roosevelt, the governor and members of the state legislature. With no money in the Federal budget for entertainment of such persons, it was a collateral duty of mine to raise funds from individuals,chambers of commerce, political groups, and others. We even collected beef from ranchers for barbecues on the barges.

These activities were no small task left only to me. During my absence a District Manager Bureaucracy had been formed and now in addition to the construction engineers, there was a higher layer of supervision. Each of the several District Managers was selected for political savvy and management of public and legislative affairs.

When Shasta Dam was completed I was transferred from the Sacrament Valley District to the Delta District at Stockton, California. It was a substantial promotion as to salary and scope of work, but most unappealing to me. I was expected to favor the liberal Democratic regime in congress and to help in every way I could think of to promote their candidates. The last straw, for me, was being asked to help elect Helen Gahagan Douglas to congress. Her opponent was Richard Nixon, a Republican. I decided to leave federal service after 20 years, all told, including my navy years. Unlike photography which challenged my imagination and creativity, public affairs became increasingly boring.

It seemed to me that finding employment would be a "snap" because I knew hundreds of prominent persons, and dozens of contractors. Was I surprised when not one of these leads would do more than listen quietly and then say "We cannot use someone who has never managed money, operated under a controlled budget or worked in a business.

The employment opportunity came in a routine slip tucked in a life insurance billing for a policy I had purchased some ten years previously from California Western States Life Insurance Company. It read "If you are between 28 and 40 and are interested in earning more money than you are now doing, call this number". I did. It seemed like a good way to launch a career. Three months training in selling the product, a 90 day draw for expenses and income, and no obligation to pay back any short fall in earnings...My strict minimum budget of $350.00/month was accepted by management

With my "canned speech" presentation and a system for finding leads and getting sales interviews, I was able to earn more than my budgeted "draw" and even more than my $466.66/monthly Civil Service pay. In fact I had earned over $10,000 in cash and deferred renewal commissions by the end of my 90 day probation.

Long hours, many disappointments in closing sales, and the uncertainty of income often brought periods of depression. I can still remember coming home each day and having my 11 year old son ask "How many 'aps' today, Dad?" He knew that 'aps', or applications, meant cash earned. The company taught us that constant effort at a steady and intelligent pace would pay off handsomely, and not to worry about a few dry spells, because there would also be periods of abundance.

Two years passed and I began to question my wisdom in pursuing the insurance career further. Dolores was unhappy and uncertain. She was also tired of a tight budget and lonely evenings. A bright light appeared in the form of her cousin, the Reverend Sam Bradford, minister of a large church in Denver. Again Dolores had come up with what seemed like an excellent solution to our dilemma.

Dr. Bradford suggested that Beth Eden Baptist Church, of which he was and had been Pastor for many years, could well use a business manager to coordinate affairs of the 1,800 membership, a Weekly TV program, "The Baptist Hour", a Bible College and a summer camping program.

Dolores' dad was a Baptist minister and brother to Sam. Shortly after Dolores and I were married I took a lot of interest in her testimony and began to look into church membership. In March, l936, I accepted Christ as my Savior. For some reason, perhaps her urging me to study scripture and become a practicing Christian, I held back. It was my immaturity at its worst.

Now that we both were most unhappy in life insurance sales as a career, and very frustrated over our quality of life and lack of money, I was game for an escape. We prayed about my going to Denver and interviewing for business manager at Beth Eden

A CALL TO CHRISTIAN SERVICE

Cal-Western Life management was shocked at my resignation as one of their most promising agents. They could not understand why I would relinquish claim to several thousand dollars of renewal commissions that would be mine as time passed.

But I had decided to leave the insurance business with no "ties to apron strings" that would weaken my Christian witness. I was going to Denver.

The little 1937 "junker coupe" that I had bought from Mr. Fife across the street for a hundred bucks was the vehicle that took me the 800 miles. My interview went well and I was hired by Beth Eden at the remarkable salary of $500/month. Dolores and the children followed soon in our 1949 Mercury. We found a rental and settled in.

It was exciting, indeed. There were constant meetings with deacons and trustees and with staff employees. It was a vibrant congregation with lots of music and a flair for the dramatic. There were 200 men in the Men's Bible Class. Many were top executives in major enterprises. The youth activities were many and well attended.

My first building project was to remove the sloping floor from the old sanctuary and convert it into a basketball court and gymnasium. I was expected to be there night after night to supervise the volunteers. There was great fellowship, but not for Dolores and the children.

With no prior experience I found myself in charge of a 5 station weekly TV broadcast. My spot was a 5 minute update on news of interest to the Christian Community. There was always some unexpected problem, and there was always a last minute solution, thank God. Financing the broadcast was undertaken by a gentleman who owned the largest mortuary in Denver. His weekly gift to the Baptist Hour was $750.00. He was a Presbyterian and did not even attend our church. We were very thankful for his generosity.

Dr. Bradford had founded Rockmont Bible College in Denver many year before my time. :Political differences with the college board caused Dr. Bradford to resign his ties. Now he was attempting to found Baptist Bible College, using the church buildings as the founding location of the new school. With practically no funds, whatever, and with only three dedicated church members having Bible college degrees, the new college was announced. There were only a half dozen youngsters who enrolled in the first freshmen class. I remember with great admiration, two young men from a small southwestern Colorado town who gave themselves fully and ardently to the new institution.

The summer camp in Coal Creek Canyon, high in the nearby Rockies, was a cluster of dilapidated stone and frame structures. There were rodents living in the dormitory buildings and the site was overgrown with weeds and brush. It is remarkable how this nondescript place blossomed as a hundred kids were brought up each week in June and July. Donations and contributions had to be raised for expenses and that was no mean task. Pastor Bradford "twisted a few arms" to balance the ledger.

Almost immediately upon by taking office I became aware of several small but tightly organized and controlled groups competing for leadership in the congregation. I was expected to break up the cliques and weld them into unity. It was not only difficult, but practically impossible. Again, in my life, I realized that a great injustice had been done in hiring a business manager. I soon discerned that the real need was not to have management efficiently handle business and finances, but to have as many church members as possible in volunteer tasks with spiritual goals.

Sadly, I realized that I must resign. After just one year I left Beth Eden and returned to our home in Stockton, California. With some humiliation I approached Cal-Western asking to be reinstated as an active agent. To my surprise they welcomed me with open arms, reinstated my renewal commissions, and even paid me for renewals that had accrued during my year's absence. The elation and excitement did not last long. Very soon we were again in the same old "rut".

The search for a job began in earnest. Dolores had taken a job as sales clerk in a major department store to help us meet expenses. Our budget was so tight that we had little or no spare funds for new clothes, much less recreation.

The ad by United Concrete Pipe Corporation recruitilng a manager for its Stockton plant immediately appealed to me. I had worked on many projects wherein United was prime contractor during my photographic career. With a bad case of pneumonia I interviewed at the Stockton Hotel. After two later sessions, I was taken to the home office in suburban Los Angeles for the final interview and hired at $700/month. So began 'DRINKING OUT OF A FIRE HOSE'. Photography had equipped me with all of the right answers and Cal-Western sales experience was just "the ticket". The Company needed a man who could meet people and obtain business. There were plenty of manufacturing people who could make the product once the sales orders were executed.

DRINKING OUT OF A FIRE HOSE

2,286 Wurds 5 Pages

The new concrete pipe plant manager's job was a challenge that I call "drinking out of a fire hose". I had made dozens of photographs of pipe installations manufactured and produced at my plant. I could rattle off performance statistics until the "cows came home". But my professional training and manufacturing skills were "zip".

Nevertheless, I was selected from some thirty applicants, as I later discovered, on the basis of the excellent sales record I established with the insurance industry. It seems that the pipe company had such a good result from recruiting U.S. Bureau of Reclamation engineers as managers they more or less assumed I was an engineer, also. Funny thing, no one asked me about my Bureau experience, only about my sales ability. "We have plenty of people who can make pipe, but we need someone to promote the products and bid the jobs so that the plant can operate."

The Vice President of Sales conducted the initial interview and I was taken to Los Angeles headquarters for the final interview by the President of the Company. He never asked me a question. He spent an hour telling me how great he was, how he was the largest individual stockholder in United States Steel Corporation, and had worked up from a working machinist to a multi-millionaire industrialist in just a few years with only an eighth grade education. He was handsome with a shock of white hair and ruddy complexion that glowed from his expensive blue suit. His Company car was a Cadillac convertible. His only handicap was his 5ft. 6 in. height. I realized why his desk was elevated and I sat at a lower level on a very low couch.

Before he said "Glad to have you aboard, and good luck!" he called in his son, a Stanford University student, working in a summer job, and had him show me his $300,000 stock portfolio. As a follow up gesture the Vice President of Sales reduced my $12,000 salary by $100 per month. He would be my corporate boss, a man who had avoided World War II service being in an "essential industry." A rugged ex pro football player, my new boss had a serious inferiority complex. He seemed to have no more reason to be with the company than I.. All of us reported to the President and personnel management consisted of pitting one man against another. Salaries were secret and one never knew just what was the status of any other key official. I look back on my corporate time as being just another animal in the "circus" under an egotistical and ruthless "Animal Trainer". Later on, I was to be privy to the workings of the corporation in a system that made the Mafia "look like a pushcart operation."

I returned to Stockton and was assigned to a 25 year Vice President of the Company stationed 38 miles away in Modesto. who had charge of eleven so called "small plants" in California, Utah and Washington This was the name given to the plants which produced culvert pipe and small diameter concrete irrigation pipe for the Bureau of Reclamation projects.

He had no jurisdiction over the Company's pressure pipe plants like mine at Stockton which manufactured large diameter pressure pipe for major projects such as the Hetch Hetchy aqueduct from Yosemite Park to San Francisco or the East Bay Municipal Utility District aqueducts some 50 miles long between Pardee Dam and Oakland. I realized what was before me in the new career when I first unlocked the gate to the forty acre site with its idle steam locomotive cranes, the 300 ton concrete batch plant and all of the rusting iron. There were cows grazing in the plant. A squatter hurriedly herded them out.

Fred was in his fifties, a quiet and stern Western type from manner of speech and dress to administration of his domain. He had a depth of experience that held me in awe. We spoke very little. Fred showed me around the area, discussed production operations, and indoctrinated me into Company policy. The bookkeeper actually clued me in on the product and the pricing.

My sales skills and personality as a communicator, from in Reclamation project public relations, and backing from the home office in Los Angeles enabled me to get our pressure pipe specified in new projects and enter bids. This pleased the Company because they lacked people who could do that part of the promotion while 400 miles from the Los Angeles home office.

In three months time I had succeeded in obtaining the first manufacturing contract at Stockton and I wisely chose old hands from employee rosters of the similar facilities. Needless to say the days were too short and the work and learning were endless, week in and week out.

Fred died out in the field from a ruptured aorta, I was shocked and dismayed. He had been my "symbol of security" and confidant. Fred noted my insecurity and wisely assured me that all would be o.k..

I was acutely aware that I now was "on my own", a "geenhorn" 400 miles from the home base and doubting that I would marshall the skills and self confidence to carry on . But my fears were short lived.

We were seated at the dinner table one Sunday shortly after the funeral. It was the Company President on the phone. "Bob, are you prepared for a shock?"

"Yes" I said, knowing that I was about to be fired, "shoot!".

"We are giving you Fred's 11 plants, too. Get off your ass and start digging".

The fire hose seemed like an aqueduct. I was speechless, and worried.

All eleven small plant managers had at least 15 years time with the Company. I had been asking them naive questions. Now they looked at me with sneering smiles as if to say "You won't last long!"

One by one, the plant managers were summoned into Fred's old office. When each one sat down the conversation was brief and to the point. I knew that each of them believed himself to be better qualified than I.

"I just want to tell you two things", I said. "First of all, I will be outside the plant getting work for you to produce. You will be responsible for everything behind the gate, and I expect you to improve your quantity and quality."

"The second thing: "I set your salary and I want you to be well paid for using you skills. We are now a team with a new coach, and I'll do my part."

Fred's management style allowed no interplant visiting or communications between the managers. I encouraged that. To offset jealousy and strife between managers I said "It's like playing golf. Each of you will be judged solely on you own plant's performance. Helping one another with ideas and exchanging equipment, will help each one of you. You are not competing with other plants, only with your fifteen year production record.

We increased our sales the first year by 30 per cent and our bottom line net profit by 20 per cent, and all plants were "in the black". Hired in June, promoted in August, I received no change in salary until my first anniversary. Then my salary was doubled, I was told to buy a new car, but not a Cadillac, and I wisely chose the top of the line Chevy with air and a phone. The "little giant" President liked that very much and bragged to the other executives that "Bob didn't buy a Buick, like you, and he drives many more miles"!

In that first year I had learned the rudiments of Concrete Design, had studied the textbooks my son brought to me from Stanford University and learned a great deal about specifications.. I was well known in the industry, had attended National Conventions, had been sent into Canada to investigate possible purchase of an existing concrete pipe plant and was given a virtually unlimited expense account. The company kept a suite of rooms in a major San Francisco Hotel for entertaining guests. The dinners and events sponsored for City officials paid off handsomely. Because the brightest engineers were often Oriental Americans, not trained in social and cultural behavior, executive promotion was reserved for less qualified mediocre executives and politician bosses. The Asian American employees had no opportunity learn Western cultural behavior as applied to business.

One day I was called to home office for an important meeting. The Vice President of Sales took me aside and we had lunch at the Jonathan Club, a private business men's haven. To my amazement I was introduced to key executives of the five major competing concrete pipe plants. It was called "administered pricing" and each company had an established share of the market, based upon the many years of manufacturing experience. Because any one or two of the concrete pipe companies had production capacity to satisfy the market, it was agreed that each one would adhere to an established percentage share., Promotion records were kept, but not shared, and it was a "gentleman's agreement" understanding that sales records would be pooled and from them, the shares determined.

The group assured me that administered pricing was legal, for instance gasoline stations of all companies had identical prices, etc. With a comfortable salary well above anything I had experienced and with a family to support, I eagerly "grabbed the new fire hose for another drink!" My immaturity and the ego of the position I held blinded me. Had I the opportunity to retrace my steps, that meeting would and should have been my last one.

In retrospect I can safely say "The concrete pipe industry makes the Mafia look like a pushcart operation". With executive guidance I guided my eleven plants well and even opened a twelvfth one to service the Kaiser Steel plant at Napa, California. Our products were of highest qaulity and were manufactured with the current and latest technology. The list of projects includes several engineering marvels of the time: the Hetch Hetchy aqueducts to San Francisco, California's first aqueduct, the South Bay Aqueduct from Tracy to Livermore, California and the Russian River Aquecuct.. The smaller plants installed hndreds of miles of irrigation systems for the lands opened by the Bureau of Reclamation in the Western States.

My company was owned by the largest U.S. producer of cast iron pipe who had purchased it from the three original Slavic owners. The President of the compahy was a dynamic man, an eighth grade dropout, who had become the largest individual stockholder of U.S. Steel Corp. He, in turn recruited executivesd to staff the corporation from his friends in the various steel and petroleum conpanies. They were a well informed and aggressive group who knew how to run large businesses. Their contacts with our major competitors in the steel industry gaze our firm a front row seat in the competition for the large aqueducts which had been traditionally built by the steel companies using welded steel pipe with Coal Tar Enamel lining and coatings.

It was the greed of the five major concrete pipe companies that drove the steel industry "to the wall" and forced the latter to refuse to share this lucrative market with the smaller concrete pipe companies. It all came to a head in a series of anti trust lawsuits filed on behalf of all Cities who had been customers of the steel and concrete companies. Many of us in the "middle management" group were subpoenaed to testify before the Federal Grand Jury. The Cities won the lawsuits and the defending companies paide hevy anti-trust triple damages (without admission of guilt).

Monday, November , 1965 was the day two men walked into my office and confronted me with a surprising dilemma. My options were (1) resign, or (2) be fired. There was a modest severance check and a cashier's check for my retirement fund contributions. I said "fire me" .My ten years contributions to the pension fund were in my hands. I had lost my pension. The two home office goons took my car keys, had me clear my personal belongings, and I called a cab and went home.

I had taken the last "sip out of the fire hose" and was a sadder, wiser and unemployed executive. My leaving was under a cloud as I had been granted immunity for my grand jury testimony, and like the others in middle management, we had cleared our personal slates. All of us in the middle management group were fired or resigned. All of us were blackballed in the concrete pipe industry. No other company could, or would have touched any of us.

Before the week had ended a concrete pipe machinery company in the mid-west offered me a job as General Manager of their 85 year old industry. In California my plants had set production records using their machines and forms. We had innovated and invented many cost cutting methods and improvements. I was a logical and natural man for the job and not only was employed, but given a small percentage of the profits of the business.

A major competitor in the machinery busines purchased our factory and again I was out of a job. This time it was by my request. I had been offered an excellent job in the new group, but I wanted to return to California.