PEOPLE

The world is full of people. There is some person who will be of long term and decisive importance in your life - he/she may be a person of place or power, teacher or relative, but, in any case - a friend. With all of the pressures of past and present, you may be sure that the past, over which you had no control, will be one of the deciding factors. In spite of the diverse forces, you are responsible for the quality and character of your own days. Just as this is true for you, it was true for C. Allen, when he came north to start a career. Now I shall write some of the tales which I recall about some of the people who influenced C. Allen's life, mine, and indirectly, you who are the family members.

Timing and place are always important factors. C. Allen was born so late in the centuries that his Harlan forebears had already established a good reputation, taken their chances in the new world, been through the problems of family growth; some of them had reached the point that the struggle for a livelihood was the greatest problem that they had. His past had given him the genes, the intellect, and the drive which would lift him to meet the challenge and to accept the opportunities which Detroit offered in the late twenties and early thirties of the nineteen hundreds, the chance to prove himself - no questions asked, and no quarter given for the city was filled with hopefuls.

Possibly the remark of that un-named man, who stood near C. Allen in the employment line at the Dodge plant in Detroit, was a most fortunate happenstance: 'hiring electricians today'. His greatest need then was money to continue his college education. That chance remark set him upon the track that led to a career. Electricity was as new then as computers and space travel are today. C. Allen came into the early years of a relatively new and growing industry. He was partially prepared; he had limited knowledge coupled with the determination to succeed. Detroit was one place that would accept a determined young man. It was a city accustomed to accepting migrants from many parts of the home nation, from many parts of the world, to allowing them room and time to prove their capabilities. When the individual succeeded, both the city and the individual benefited. It was a city of 'self-made' men.

He began at a Dodge plant, went on to Turner Engineering. Some of the men with whom he worked at Turner's stayed with him when he formed Harlan Electric - Ed Gudum (Swedish), Irwin MacNeil (his name speaks for his origins) and, later, Ernest Wallis (English). Somewhere working, he met David Murray, who introduced him to Emmett Eagan. Van Grant and Atwood Austin brought with them Ozwald Knopf. There is always a connecting link, beside time and place, between the people whom you know, some acquaintance, some shared goal. These were all the men essential to the formation of Harlan Electric Company.

While working at Turner Electric, C. Allen had established a reputation for being honest, sincere, and reliable; those were characteristics for which I often heard him praised; those were the characteristics which drew others to work with him; those were the characteristics with which his dreams were shaped. That reputation persuaded Arthur Seaman, head of the Detroit News press installation, to arrange for H.E.C. to bill early for work soon to be finished. He relied upon C. Allen's word that the work would be finished. Was Seaman playing Russian Roulette with the News money? That early payment made it possible for one payroll to be met, the job to be finished as promised. That early payment from the Detroit News meant survival at that time for HEC.

Emmett Eagan had just graduated from the U. of M. law school. He had been hired by the firm of Miller, Canfield, Paddock and Stone which hiring was an indication of his potential. He became the company lawyer and he is still serving H.E.C. well. He became the family friend. Many times he rescued C. Allen from some folly for a good lawyer protects his client from that damaging combination of good intentions and half-knowledge. In time we came to know the family. There were times when I was certain that all Emmett and Virginia (Mrs. Eagan) saw of one another was as they passed on the home stair - one coming from an important meeting, the other on the way to a meeting of a non-profit. Emmett, yearly, sold Girl Scout cookies; his clients bought Her non-profit activity was pleased. His company opened doors to him which he opened for C. Allen. In today's more complex world, I still rely upon the protection and direction of Emmett.

Van and Millie Grant were special people. Van was an investment banker with knowledge and skills related to forming and directing young firms. This was an area which C. Allen did not know. Van was involved in the beginnings of Motorola, Cub aeroplanes, and the Shakespeare (fishing tackle) organization. There were otheryoung firms which Van set upon the road to success. Why not H.E.C.? Even the knowledgeable are subject to enthusiasms. Van came one time with the tale of a potential investment in uranium mining. The contagion spread. Emmett, C. Allen, Atwood - all invested - and all lost. But what is one loss when the future looks so bright? That Green Fire burned very low before it finally went out. Van had been well educated. Part of his studies were at the Julliard School for Music in New York. He would never permit any of his children to study music for, in those days, the incomes from a musical career were very small. In fact it scarcely supplied the essential bread. Part of my education was watching Petrillo, in Chicago, fight Professor Madden, thenhead of the U.M. School of Music. (According to campus students, Madden was admiral of the Swiss Navy). Madden, who was organizing Interlochen, needed freedom for his students to perform before a live audience. Petrillo and his union wanted an equal number of paid stand-by musicians present at every concert. I think that they both won for the musicians' union is strong now and the students of Interlochen present their concerts without stand-bys. (That is an interesting bit of information, very much beside the point. It is a part of Van's contribution to our lives.) Van and Millie lived for a while in Birmingham with their family of six children. One son was named 'Land'; they threatened to name a daughter 'Emma'. Fortunately they never did. One time we oldsters were off to a wedding at Christ Church; the children were left at the cottage with Mattie. Now, although the presence of water worried many people, I was never concerned. It was not my children who fell in. They might go 'laking' with clothes and shoes on. Such immersions were never accidental. We returned from the wedding to find Mattie chuckling. Young Land had fallen into the lake. Since he did not have another suit of clothes at the cottage, Mattie had dried him off and dressed him in some of Cam's clothes. Campbell watched the process and then remarked: 'I have a shirt just like that.' No hassle; just an observation.

Atwood Austin had a great future growing for himself. Atwood's field was finance and business management: the hard practical bits of 'you do it thus and so'. HEC was only a fraction of Woody's life. He had political connections which involved him during WWII years with the representatives of the Republic of China. Finally he went to California to become treasurer for all of the Kaiser businesses which was a growing responsibility as the Kaiser domain expanded. Woody was married Mary McEvoy. They had a son and two daughters. Son, John, on his way to university, tried selling pots and pans. The children of the well-to-do had to earn their education just as did the sons and daughters of poorer families. John sold. C. Allen bought. Joyce would complain about the quality of the pans. That was long before these days of miracle metals. We have visited the Austins in their California home. That was a beautiful place. Woody said that for years anytime he opened a magazine he would find in it a picture of the wind-swept pines that were between his house and the ocean. Good people, both of them. Mary is gone now and Woody is remarried. For years their Christmas cards were a record of the family growth. The Williams are the only other people who follow that custom. Politicians did follow that practice, but, after C. Allen's death, only the Williams continue the yearly gift of family pictures.

Ozwald Knopf was the one amongst the others who stayed with C. Allen until the company had spread out into other areas and became successful. Ozzie had his own personal problems. He had married and was very much in love. Millie died, young, of cancer. It was then that Oz's life began to fall apart. With no family to establish direction for him, living alone for a man can be difficult. Oz continued his dedicated work for HEC during the weeks and sought escape during the weekends. C. Allen sent him off to survey the several scattered offices and check their moneys. When Oz did not fulfill the job assigned. C. Allen began to complain to me. I began questioning, looking for the reason. C. Allen was upset for I 'was always against him.' The last time that I saw Oz was in old Grace Hospital; he showed me his radium burnt shoulder. The doctors thought that they were fighting lung cancer. Too often C. Allen reacted sharply to a situation and then regretted.

These were the men who helped C. Allen get started. We have much for which to thank them for they each gave of their special skills and knowledge. It took them all to make a rounded whole, to give C. Allen the skills, the self-confidence, and the knowledge on which to build our lives.

Then there were the men of the unions who did construction work. They admired and respected their boss. He picked up their speech habits, insisted upon using them and drove me wild with frustra-tion as I drove him wild with corrections. I would correct - he would insist. Time won for speech styles change and he and the workmen found new useless phrases to use and to discard. Many of them had been American for only a short while. Detroit was and is a wonderful mixture of people. There was one Italian whom Allen insisted upon calling 'wop' - "fine, but it will be 'Sir Wop'."So it was always. The fact that the men liked working for HEC made things run more smoothly - they liked the management. To be sure when C. Allen gave control of HEC to John, even though they had worked with John and they liked the young man, (he had gone through the union's period of training), it was sport and fun to brush a little dirt from a joist unto his white shirt. I suppose that a little deviltry makes the job seem lighter.

C. Allen and John were one father/son team. There were many such teams. Fred Snow came to serve as supervisor. His only son, Alfred, worked at estimating in the office. The Wurms, father, son, and grandson kept the rolling stock rolling. They were wizards with machines. They even helped me when machines at 3535 could do no more - especially the pump at the spring house which did not function on the coldest day of winter - or a neighbor child had worked his way in and pulled a plug! There was the Krahl family - father and three sons. It was they who wired 3535 as it was being built. It was they who tried to do everything to please me. I had outlets under library shelves, in the kitchen cabinets. Finally Lewis, after I had pointed out the lack of outlets where parlor table lamps would be, robbed power from the lights in the ceiling below and installed three floor outlets in the parlor for me. It was they who bought and hung the kitchen clock and door chimes - their gift to the new home. Young Allen tells me that today there are many second-generation men working with the Company. Nepotism? Seems to work well.

Changing jobs would mean that some of the men were laid off for a while. The next job that came meant that a look at the union lists would determine which old workers were available to be rehired for the new contract. C. Allen had a deep knowledgeable base on which to build: he knew his men. He was often invited to their affairs and I went along.

The office staff came and went. Some of them served for years. Ozzie Knopf kept the books. I recall stopping by the old office one day to find Oz worrying about thirty-five cents for which he could not account; to me it was toss thirty-five cents in or take it out. What would be the difference? The figures would balance? Not for Oz; his figures had to be in proper balance. C. Allen's use of his checkbook always was lax - he never kept a stub - he never knew what was in or what was out. Manufacturer's Bank would call Oz: 'C. Allen is overdrawn'; off Oz would go to settle the problem. Mewhart, V.P. of Manufacturer's Bank, chuckled with Oz and with C. Allen about that. Banks, just as Oz tried to do, must keep their records straight. To be sure that all happened eons ago. Bankers knew their customers when both were young and growing. (It was always fun to compare notes. Mewhart's daughter taught fourth grade at Birmingham's Adams school - Joe was in her class. Patricia was born and Joe announced to his class that he was 'Uncle Joe'. Miss Mewhart reported to Mr. Mewhart who reported to Mr. Harlan. Then the word came home. Everyone enjoyed that chuckle.) Do you recall who really was 'Uncle Joe'?

Carl Schuman was a purchasing agent hated by the people with whom he bargained prices. HEC thought that the man did an excellent job. It all depends upon your point of view. The estimating staff varied from time to time. Most often their work was right to the cent. There were mistakes but the maker of any mistake got his chance to correct the problem. Some of the staff decided that, if C. Allen could, so could they. Then they took a swing at being entrepreneurs. They never succeeded. Thanks again to Oz, Atwood and Van. It was they who had the knowledge needed to fill out that lacking in C. Allen's expertise and to help form the basis of a successful firm.

Miss Cook ruled the secretarial world. She is the one whom I remember. It was she who kept C. Allen's life organized and on time - at least as much as one woman could. There had been a secretary who was prone to carry tales. That was forbidden. Helen Cook came into the office to stay until C. Allen, himself, left. It was she who would type up the three by fives with a listing of all of the day's meetings. Those cards went into his pocket and, ten to one, were forgotten. It was she who would call me in the morning to ask: 'Which way did he go.' I found out later where he went for C. Allen could never keep a secret, especially when it had unintentionally become a secret - he liked to talk.

C. Allen occasionally hired unusual people for unusual purposes. We were introduced to a Pahlevi. Two of that man's nephews had been students at Cranbrook. He had studied at the U. of M.. His friend had taken his PHD, from Wayne State, in public relations so that he might understand how to handle the problems of union workers. Introduced to that friend by Pahlevi, C. Allen hired Manu Partovi, expecting that he would be able to handle any problems which HEC's union men or their families might have. Manu, although he was a pleasant interesting person to know, had little actual experience with the problems of the working man. Manu was part of the aristocracy of Iran. So it was not long before Manu had to go. The last I knew of him and his German-born wife was that they were living in Beruit. Just as with Leda I wonder what has happened to them. Always C. Allen hired; Ozzie fired - the unpleasant job.

The unions were growing in strength during these years as politics, since the wars, made room for them. Turner Engineer- ing had been open shop. HEC began when there was little choice - you just went along. C. Allen could handle his workers well. There were men, working for the firm during the later years, who were devoted to both firm and union. That kept a happy balance and HEC's troubles were only those common to all contractors. C. Allen knew and admired Walter Reuther. Gus Scholle, union executive, who with his wife and daughters were guests at 3535. He was campaigning for a one house legislature. I was certain that would result in galloping legislation, and we already had too many laws, too few choices to make for ourselves. His wife was scornful of cashmere sweaters. I still think there is nothing wrong with enjoying the touch of velvet. Even now I wonder whether both or only one of their points of view were posturing. The Reuthers came to the house for dinner. Walter Reuther was enchanted with the Acton table in the parlor, asked for pencil and paper so that he could copy the design. He wished to make such a table for himself. Woodworking was a means of relaxation. From my point of view, Hugh Acton was hungry for orders and would have preferred making his table himself - it was Acton's design. I got the pencils and paper.

Years back before the beginnings of strong action by the local unions, young Walter Reuther meeting with the first Henry Ford was disgruntled when the negotiations were broken off because Ford and Sorenson were to visit Maxim at Black Lake. Maxim was Ford's advertising man and owned the Black Lake lodge. Reuther swore that he some day would own that lodge. It was Reuther's invitation which took us to Black Lake for, not Reuther, but his union (thus are the 'Big Boss's' yearnings realized) had bought the lodge, was updating it and expanding it so that it could accommodate union meetings, regional and national, a school for union stewards, etc, etc. It really was quite a place for union cash had poured in from around the world to help create the dream. Since Reuther's death the funds are less and the dream is smaller just as the unions are weaker today. A special leader dies, general conditions change, an organizations can lose drive. C. Allen was invited to the union's Black Lake Camp on three different occasions; I tagged along on invitation.

The next large elements in the company's days were the competition. I met many of these people at conventions of the National Electrical Contractors Association. Beth and John meet another group when the Federated Association convenes. Lester Brooker (he had known C. Allen during the Turner years - Brooker always had a soft spot in his heart for C. Allen.); - Brooker Electric - had installed the lights at Navin Field (Tiger Stadium). We were often his guests at the ball games until C. Allen began to use the games for HEC entertaining. Jack Frost did much of the city work on Convention Hall and similar public places. Joe Schoenith (Gale Electric) struggled to compete with HEC in the area of heavy industry. He did very well. For a while he raced one of the big boats on the Detroit River; one son drove. The Schoenith sons were twins - Tom and Jerry (does that speak of the drinking habits of a father?). Finally the other contractors raised the question about the legality of racing the boat: did it actually benefit the company enough to justify the tax advantage. I do not know what the legal decision was but Gale boats disappeared from the River. Of course, cost and obsolescence would do that for those big boats are expensive to run, to maintain, and to fuel. Then there was the Offenstein company, smaller, family run and just getting by, the owners growing older. Eventually the family offered to sell their company, good will and equipment to C. Allen. C. Allen or HEC bought. A potential manager was in mind for young Fred Somes had come to C. Allen to talk about the Offenstein company and his desire to manage such a firm. He was put in charge of that firm, newly named Motor City Electric; Fred did all right. The elder Offensteins have died; their son, Julian, has came by 3535 to report progress to me. Financial combinations often made it possible to meet large job requirements when a single firm could not handle the problems alone; no contracting firm wanted the contractor to go broke and leave the job unfinished. The Great Lakes Steel job was a case in point; Harlan of HEC and Hall of Triangle Electric pooled their resources to handle that job. Competition with Fischbach and Moore (New York) caused occasional problems but not many gray hairs. Always there are the fringe firms who try to fight using dirty pool. Early on C. Allen came home to tell me that some of the contractors were thinking of having him shot. That was probably just talk although the city was then getting over the Purple Gang period and a contract on a man could be bought. At any rate that idea rankled in C. Allen's mind through the years and manifested itself in many ways. It did not stop progress.

National boundaries did not stop acquisitions. A firm in Windsor was purchased and Ernie Lacy ran that firm. The draw had been the numerous Canadian government jobs which were out for bidding. Time showed that the Canadian government was slow to pay its bills. Ernie wanted C. Allen to buy the Windsor company a plane to shorten the time and distance between Windsor and Sudbury. C. Allen refused - he was not about to lose a good man because of a defective plane or bad weather. That part of the world had lots of changeable weather. I think that money was lost in Canada but it was not because of a lack of effort on Lacy's part. Fred Beck came at one time with the prospects of a possible job in Venezuela. After much discussion that idea finally fell through. After all Kaiser was doing work in all parts of the world. Why not HEC?

This all sounds as though it belongs in a category covering the company growth but these were the 'people' with whom C. Allen had to work or to contend.

There were the companies for which HEC did the actual work. First were the architects through whose offices contracts were channeled. Detroit was always a leading architectural city -the firm of Albert Kahn was the largest of these companies. A strong relationship grew up between HEC and the Kahn firm. The Hughes plant in New Orleans was a Kahn design. C. Allen sent Ed Gudum down to handle that work. We came to know many of the Kahn people. Floyd Gasdick had worked for Kahn and C. Allen, thinking it a diplomatic move, hired him to oversee much of the Hughes construction. Gasdick was an ambivalent character whose first concern was Gasdick. One time, Gasdick, having dined with Mr. Kahn, offered to sign the check. Mr. Kahn refused the offer saying that he would pay less if he paid the bill now. Kahn definitely knew the ways that man padded his expense account. Gasdick had a wife and two daughters in Detroit whom I had met. He had a girl friend in New Orleans who was attracted to him because of the size of his wallet. That wrote doom for him in so far as I was concerned, for my philosophy said that 'you can't park your morals in the umbrella stand when you leave home: 'you will do to your associates what you will do to your family'. Jack Halliday was another one of the Kahn men. He had a Detroit wife and a Detroit girl friend. That was probably all very British for wife knew the girl friend and girl friend knew the wife. It was the girl friend whom Halliday took to New Orleans. Quadroon Hall? Nothing is new. Except in these cases everybody was of the same complexion. Jack Halliday often borrowed to cover his gambling debts; he liked to gamble and in New Orleans there was every opportunity. I suppose my thought is that one problem must have another to keep it company. Kahn hired the nicest people. Incidentally, Gasdick finally married the New Orleans girl friend. They moved to Detroit where they bought a florist shop. She turned out to be, according to reports, a battle axe. (Who claims that only women gossip?) She knew how she had got him and she knew how she could lose him. When there was enough equity in the floral company, she divorced Gasdick and took the equity....that was all she wanted.

From amongst the Kahn employees came Hugh Sloan with Lois. We had exchanged social visits for a long time for Lois remembers John when he was very young. After WWII, Hugh joined HEC. The Sloans and the Harlans became good friends. Hugh finally headed the Flint operation. It was sheer delight for very small Jay when the Sloans dropped in at 3535 for a visit of a Sunday and joined the family at dinner table. No one ever knew when the Harlans were going to have Sunday dinner. I didn't. Jay would sit in his youth chair, refuse John's offer to move him up to table, beam, no words were necessary, at Lois until she would come around the table and slide his chair into place - that was love with no strings attached. Hugh did my ego a great service. Lois reported that he had defended me when some of the wives of employees were critical of Miss Ivabell because she did her own laundry. I knew no other way and had the money for none. Hugh did a good job for HEC. One peculiar circumstance existed; Hugh, put in charge of the Flint operation, never moved Lois to Flint. He came home every weekend. It reached the point that the dogs (substitute for children) instinctively knew when it was five p.m. on Friday and met Hugh at the door. There was much that the man blamed on the lingering effects of the depression years. There was complete harmony and respect between Sloan and C. Allen. As Lois and I cleared up after a meal, the two men would sit in the parlor talking. Hugh waited patiently for C. Allen to awake after Allen had dozed off to sleep. Long years later, Hugh retired. He and Lois divorced - they simply had lived apart for so long that they could not live together.

Beside the Sloans there were many other fine people employed by Kahn. Jospeh Henniger and his wife, Myrtle, became the first of the Harlan in-laws when their only daughter, Beth, married John. Joe had worked on the designs for the Holland (Lincoln ?) tunnel under the Hudson River. Coming to Detroit had simply changed locale not work. The Henningers recall that wild trip to the Michigan/Ohio State football game in Columbus. There were Victor and Mitzie Wagner. It was this Victor who rode the cottage slide to its end. There were the Kiebs, Nels and Easter, who, adopting parents of one, wondered if they could ever manage a second even though they felt that an only child's life was not complete. Easter even asked me for books which would help them decide. My reply: there is only one thing certain - that every problem will end and be followed by one more daunting. and, that faced with the problems of a second child, you will be elastic enough to handle those new problems. They never adopted that second boy.

Architects were ever in our lives. Louis and Ruth Redstone are outstanding. During the depression years, it was Lou who kept the Detroit art colony alive for in every building which he designed and supervised he put a piece of art, his gift to the firm which had hired him, to the artist who was struggling in a blue-collar community and against a deep depression, to that limited community which could and did live without 'art', and to the city which made it possible for Lou and his brother to develop a growing company. He did many pieces of work for HEC and C. Allen helped him to many commissions. I once nominated Lou as patron of the arts at a meeting of the Michigan Foundation for the Arts, reinforced my nomination with letters from many of the artists whom he had helped. That was only one honor among many which he has received. I am not certain who hung the moon and the sun. Was it the Redstones or the Harlans? They are confused about that too.

Remember the people in the lobby of the Fort Lauderdale hotel? Crossing the straits on the way to an architects' convention on Mackinac Island, I suddenly said that they were architects. Father asked "Who?" "The couple in the lobby at Fort Lauderdale." They were. When C. Allen saw Gus and Dorothy Languis, he simply had to tell. We laughed many times about that. Languis was a Lansing man who had an assignment to restore the Biddle House on the Island. Some one, jealous because the job had been given to Languis, wrote and had published an article putting the work down. Gus, distressed, called C. Allen to ask advice. He got me for C. Allen was not home. I assured him that the situation did not deserve a reply for there are many people who can only gain stature in their world by putting some one else down, standing on those shoulders. The people, whose opinions mattered, knew and understood. The restoration job had been well done.

Between the customer and HEC, after the architects, there were two major companies - Barton Marlowe and Darin & Armstrong who were the construction companies responsible for all of the other major work. There were two of the Darin & Armstrong engineers whom I saw - John DeBona and Harold Morrison. Things started well enough for DeBona and Harlan and ended later in a feud and a poison-pen letter from DeBona. (I, knowing of the stress, recognizing the letter as from DeBona, opened and destroyed it for there was no point giving it to C. Allen and adding fuel to a useless fire. Men are not as logical and unemotional as is supposed. Have you never seen two men standing toe to toe, growing red in the face, shouting at one another until they both develop ulcers?) Harold Morrison was very partial to C. Allen, worked well with him for C. Allen knew and understood the man and his problems. Harold was Jewish and felt that he was a constant target of discrimination. C. Allen included Harold whenever we could. Apparently the man was a good engineer. He and his wife, Estelle, so frequently involved in the many things which we did, invited us to participate in their family activities. They asked that we help solve some of their family problems. Life amongst those families is much the same as our's. Father and Mother sighed with dispair about the condition of Sharon's (highschool age) room - "everytime we pass the door to her room, we turn our heads away and close the door." After Sharon married and I asked concerning her, the reply always told me that - everytime I call, she is busy cleaning this or doing that. I do not understand for the contrast is so great. The difference was simply the difference between possessions - her parent's or her own. Young Arthur's school reports were not what they should have been. Harold suffered for, like most fathers, he wanted his son to be perfect - a reflection of what he, Harold, should have been and could have been when young. The two men worked to establish Arthur in a steel company - Sharon Steel, as I recall. The results were poor. Harold, like so many people of his times and position, had a psychiatrist who was to help him solve all his of problems. Frequently, when the Morrisons had been invited for a Sunday supper, he brought that doctor and his wife, uninvited for he wanted that man to see a 'perfect couple'. The 'little woman', whom C. Allen thought he saw in the lobby of the Fort Lauderdale hotel, was that doctor's wife. There was no need of my asking.

Then there were the customers. Many of them very special people whose personal lives affected this family. We, over the years, became friendly with several of those families. I wonder if my suggestion that we 'entertain entire families' did make a difference. One Kahn man, whose family we knew, went physically down the drain, his family broke up - these were all problems created by the entertainment that sent a man home late at night with the material for the next day's big hangover and Lord knows what else to a worried and disgruntled wife. The last that I heard of that man was that bladder and kidneys were damaged. Then after a year, a broken leg, result of a car accidnet, would not heal because alcohol had so badly damaged his system. That man's oldest son married very late for he was concerned that he might do to his wife what his father had done to his wife and his family. Herman went to hell on his overtime pay.

There were the fine strong families whom we delighted to know.

Doing work for Midland Steel C. Allen met Einar Almdale, plant manager, a man who had migrated from Norway with his dreams and ambitions. He started on the line and slowly worked his way up over the years until, just before he retired, he was manager of the company's plant in Cleveland. He was truly one of the 'self-made' men who made Detroit. He did have the help of a fine wife. It was a rule in that home that no money be used if there was not an equal amount left in the bank. The only exception was the purchase of a house. (That was all before the days of the credit card and the huge national debt for, of all our debtors, the government is the greatest.) There were times, Ruth Almdale assured me, when the family ate oatmeal and then more oatmeal. It was they who owned the cottage on Lake Orion and wanted people of their own choice in the cottage which was for sale. To their right, was the cottage of Dr. Birkelow, a very acceptable Scandinavian. (In that portion of this paper where I wrote about the house in Bremerton, I must have mentioned this man's nephew who lived just across the alley from the little house on Fourth and who sent us that plate filled with cleaned smelt - thoughtful gift.) It was the oldest son, Einar, who brought C. Allen word of the cottage for sale, took him out to the lake to see it and carried word to his delighted parents that the Harlans would buy. HEC had hired young Einar and later hired, daughter, Margery and, second son, Howard for summer jobs as these three were on their way through the U of M. Margery was employed at the field office of HEC at the Baraboo plant in Wisconsin. The presence of a woman in that field office upgraded the language of everyone according to Russ Scannel. All three of the young Almdales are married, established and, I expect, retired. The Almdales were salt of the earth. Young Einar, in his late teens, was the spice.

Ruth Almdale told me of the time that she found herself under the careful scrutiny by the Grosse Pointe police as she drove down city streets after having returned from surgery in Cleveland. The police recognized the car which she drove and were concerned about its driver. While mother was away, young Einar had her car and had been having wild rides about the town with friends. Once the boys had turned a corner too sharply and upset the car. All passengers popped out, set the car back on its wheels, and drove off. No wonder the police were watching. Then while a student at the U. of M., reading an article "Why I Hate Men", young Einar had decided to marry the young woman who had written the article.

He did and when the older Almdales were transferred to Cleveland, he and Marion came to use the cottage every summer. We often wondered how that marriage hung together. It still does. They had three children: Karen, beautiful red-head, born deaf, Kristen, lovely curly headed blond, and Charles, poor neglected Charley (from my point of view). I have often seen Marion stand screaming at Karen while that child, not hearing, could only see the signs of frustration and hate in her mother's face. Jim loved nothing better than to run his fingers in Kristen's curls and pull until she screamed. When she saw Jim coming, she simply froze to the spot too paralyzed to avoid the attack. Everybody swam of course. Only the smallest Almdales had life preservers. One day Kristen, probably three, was upset in the water and floating face down. She could not right herself. C. Allen saw the child's problem, rushed down the hillside, jumped in (laking) and turned her over. One life saved. One more bond. Charley would come down the hill early in the morning with his sleeper's seat bulging with the morning collection. Mother was not up yet. Mother's day was well organized - into fifteen minute units. God protect the person who disrupted that schedule. Marion is the genius who painted 'keep oof' on the side of the Almdale dock (a college education does help when you are painting upside down). Karen, up early, would come down to visit, come into the cottage, bang on the piano (she could sense the reverberations.) and get me up. Then we would quietly sort the dried laundry. She learned the numbers on each boys BVDs. When she came to C. Allen's, she would hold it up, say 'beeg', then put it on the proper pile with a great smile. Ruth Almdale had seen to it that Karen was sent to the school for the deaf (that school had been founded by Grace Coolidge). It helped. Karen and Joyce became good friends, a friendship that lasted for long years. One time after Sunday dinner at the golf club, we tried to introduce Karen to Toshiko Takaezu. She read our lips carefully. We repeated, but the Japanese words were beyond comprehension, smiling and tossing her red hair, she moved off to join her friends. The other two, both highly intelligent, were the victims of the times and peer-pressure and went the primrose path. Kristen, having finally got her head on straight, tried to rescue Charley. I do not know just how that worked out.

The time had come when young Einar was looking for a career for himself. Educated as an engineer, he asked his father and C. Allen for recommendations. The Birkelow cottage was rented then by Dick Robbins, president of Carboloy. He was advised to go talk with Mr. Robbins. Both men were certain that he would have a job. Independently young Einer applied through the regular channels and was hired. Father Almdale, C. Allen and Robbins were all pleased. Einar moved easily up into the company ranks. He became one of their best salesmen. That job took him away from home frequently which was the downfall of Charley. Mother was a late night reader and a later riser in the mornings. Charley began to follow her pattern, rise late and not go to school. His school reports changed drastically from excellent to 'what is wrong with the boy?' Things had to change and change they did.

Einar came to C. Allen with friends: Carl Wiedman (chemist), Henry Lak (accountant), and one other man who was competent in factory management. They wanted to split off from Carboloy and form their own company. With the encouragement and help (funds) from Harlan, they did. There was some consternation among the wives for these men held good paying jobs with a future. Marion Almdale came to me to ask my opinion. Carboloy was a part of G.E., strong, quite independent and growing. There seemed no way but up when one was considering a position in that firm. I said: Go! Did I think of the probabilities which could arise from my directive? No, of course not. Opposition disappeared - the history of HEC was a powerful persuasive. Walmet was formed, grew, and prospered. Jim's first job was there making the balls for ball point pens, watching those thousands of little drops of carbide shaping slowly into balls. Eventually Walmet was sold to GTE and all of the families involved benefited.

Dick Robbins was the president of Carboloy. Edith Robbins, grown tired of the social climbing instincts of her contemporaries, took to telling people who asked for whom her husband worked that he worked for GE, never that he was the Carboloy president. GE sent Dick Robbins to Germany before WWII to bring home the German knowledge about carbides, an alloy which makes an exceptionally hard substance usable in machinery. Dick came back with the information and GE built the Detroit factory. HEC did the elec-

trical installation. That is how C. Allen came to know Robbins, to tell him that the Birkelow cottage was for rent, to recommend to young Einar that he go to Carboloy when he was job hunting. Much happened between the building of the plant, the end of WWII and the formation of Walmet to make it possible for C. Allen to go with the young men when they decided that it was time to create a new firm. There are always connections of one kind or another. (Incidentally, Carboloy was one of the first firms in Detroit to hire women to work on the line. Troubled times require innovative actions. Dick was amused to see the women, at lunch, take out from their pockets small bits of their work and then display them with pleasure - 'this I made today.' I do know that small pieces of carboloy were used in ball point pens and as the cutting edge on dental tools. Of course, there were many other uses in many factories.)

The Robbins, living in Grosse Pointe, rented the cottage. There were two children, Wilma, a beautiful young girl, and Dickey, retarded son. Of course the interaction of the children was immediate. Both Wilma and Dickey loved Mattie. Other than mother and father, one of Dickey's first words was 'Mattie' which bought her a spot in the Robbins' hearts and him a place in Mattie's and our's. Playing Hi-Ho-Silver with Jim and Joe, Dickey added that phrase to his small vocabulary. You just had to say it if you were to be part of the game - you just had to say it. We had good times together that summer, the Robbins, the young Almdales and the Harlans. Once when Mattie and I were working over a case of strawberries to make jam; the children, each, took a quart for themselves. Teasing, we said that 'too many strawberries would make you sick, that you would have to run up and down the hill seven times to prevent such illness'. Behold there was Wilma running up and down the hill, up and down. The Robbins family moved from the Pointe to 990 Cranbrook Road - the usual progression from one elite neighborhood to another. Robbins had a nephew who lived with them for a while. He was married during that time. It must have been while C. Allen was in training for his Navy service, for I, alone, was invited to the wedding. The ceremony took place at Christ Church and the guests sat in the choir stalls - there were so few of us. During the war, repair work was needed on the electrical installation at Carboloy; that job was let to a company other than HEC. When C. Allen returned from Bremerton, he was angered by that choice, blamed Robbins (some lower official could have made the decision pandering to a friend of his) and cut off all association. Some time later, the government charged Robbins with co-operating with the Germans. Those carbide formulas had worked efficiently for the nation during WWII; but such is the wisdom of our government. Dick, just before the trial, died of a heart attack. I think that he was only forty-four. That is truly a case of heartbreak. Of course, C. Allen regretted his hasty flare of anger. (Years later I had occasion to tell Ernest Jones that 990 Cranbrook Road was for years a 'back-door' house to the Harlans. Mattie's sister Virginia had worked there for a long time - our entry was to the master and to the maid.)

From the formation of Walmet came a strengthened friendship with young Einar and a new friendship with Carl and Rosemary Wiedman. Carl had been part of the group who wanted to form Walmet because he was the Carboloy chemist and had ideas that furthered the original German formula for carbides. Our relationship with the Wiedmans became like that with the Robbins - a back door affair. As time passed and the company prospered, Carl and Rosemary built a house in Bloomfield. They told me about the lot which they had purchased, described it. I told them that they were near neighbors to the Spinas. Rosemary and I did a bit of traveling; we drove to New York. On the way we stopped in the Peddlers Village area of Pennsylvania to search among the antique shops for Carl was interested in the old-fashioned bikes with the huge front wheels. We found one which was only the beginning of a growing collection. Carl has even expanded their house to hold all of the bikes he now owns. There comes a saturation point when one has collected all one wants, all one needs, whether there is space left for more or not. That was true of Rosemary and her collection of fine glass; Carl, many talented, had built her a special case to house that glass. I think that the end of her glass collecting came for her when the case was filled. I could buy her a piece of glass but never dared think of buying a bike. They both go now, properly dressed according to the style of the early 'wheels', 'big wheeling' all about the countryside.

Early on work for Freuhauf had introduced C. Allen and John Dyra. John and Anna Dyra had come to Detroit when they were just married. That takes courage: to start out on two new phases of life at the same time. John, who knew no English, had worked in a Danish factory that had manufactured seventeen automobiles in one year. He knew that there was a large settlement of Danes in Detroit and that there would be some one to help him find a job and get started. His new world would not be entirely alien. His job was with Freuhauf on the line. He soon worked himself up into a plant management position always with the handicap of poor script which would prevent further progress. Dr. Sorenson, head of the Danish community, had helped John to his job and found a lot which he could buy on which John and Anna proposed to build a house to be their home. The house was built in the evenings with spot-lighting, on weekends and whenever time allowed. When the house was almost finished, it was discovered that John had built on the lot next to the one which he owned. That could have meant calamity but Dr. Sorenson went to work. The owner of the lot with its misplaced house was happy to sell his lot. There truly are understanding people in this world. In spite of the educational handicap, the Dyra life was special to our point of view. With pioneering energy they built the house and with good taste they furnished it. The life style which they established there with their two children, Myra and John, was one which we admired. Many good evenings we spent with them, many good dinners, prepared by Anna, we shared there. Many evenings we spent with them enjoying the concerts of the Scandinavian Symphony, the evenings after concert and the company of the Scandinavians. Somehow when the Scandinavians came to the States, they found jobs that led them, engineers all, to plant management. I know that it was with them that C. Allen had learned to appreciate symphonic music. He was disturbed by the sounds of each musician practicing his own most difficult phrase, and the pre-concert tuning up; I turned that un-ease by pointing out that it required only the conductor with his baton to create harmony; and that the pianist had ten fingers, the stretch of his arms and hands over all the keys, and the notes of the music from which he would follow a pattern to make pleasing music. That turned music into a mathematical problem which was strong enough to hold C. Allen's attention until the charm of the concert conquered his unrest. To be sure it was the afterglow of Danish sweet breads, good coffee and dancing that finished out a wonderful evening and helped to sell one entrepreneural American on the values of the Scandinavians.

The Dyras felt towards the States just as C. Allen felt to this city. They had chosen it for their home - it was giving them opportunities which could not have been theirs in Denmark. Theywould travel their new land with their children so they could see its many faces and learn its many ways. They did, retaining the best which their background had given them.

They eventually built a house on their original lot, anticipating that the rental income would be welcome. The rent money was not the whole compensation. The renter, young, much in love, and with a first child, had painted the nursery walls with pictures from Mother Goose, work which showed skill. Although the house had been rented during the war years, when John and Anna returned they found Mother Goose still cavorting about that room. So it had been with my return to the little house in Silverdale - it isalways a delight to find that fine work has been appreciated.

One Saturday morning, I opened the door of the little (Actually they were all 'little' houses - parlor, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms and bath - all small.) house on Fourth in Bremerton to find John and Anna standing there. They had come to visit. Traveling during the war years was a probable situation - probably you would reach your destination, probably not. I invited them in to a parlor that was furnished by a tent made from a blanket draped over strategically placed chairs - underneath were several children who had just been served V8 and crackers. The Dyra visit was a wonderful compliment to C. Allen and to me. We introduced them to our kind of Navy life.

John, Sr., following a similar compulsion to that which made C. Allen volunteer for service, had joined the Sea-Bees. Unlike the average U.S. service man for he was a thinking and working man, John, Sr., stationed on a Pacific island, had created, during his spare time and with available materials, for Anne a necklace of cat's eyes and aluminum - cat's eyes are the doors of a snail's shell and the aluminum came from the wrecks of planes. John, Jr. was drafted by the army. Somewhere along the way I knit young John a sweater for it was apt to be cold in Europe. WWII over, the Dyra family' returned to their home in Detroit. John, Jr. went west looking for his opportunity. Myra married a florist. Soon the elders followed John, Jr.. I lost them - that was my fault for it takes continued correspondence to keep a friendship alive. I did not have the time.

The Drummonds were a very important part of our lives. Work for Chevrolet introduced Victor Drummond and C. Allen. The ties of friendship were mutual - there was much of all backgrounds that were similar. C. Allen's father had died early; Vic's father and mother were separated, both families were poor. The drive for Vic, as for C. Allen, was college and a better life. Alice was part of the family of an Iowa Methodist minister, a calling that ordinarily has little cash. They both had standards. They both had dreams. She went on to become a nurse; Vic studied to become an engineer. When we first knew them they were living in a house on Murray Hill in Detroit; I think that we were already housed in Birmingham. Our children were close in age; our life-styles were similar. What else was needed on which to base a friendship?

We shared many good times: dinners at the golf club, trips that went around and about, afternoons and evenings at each other's homes. We were drop in friends, call late with an invitation. Whatever else you can do to a friend that it is not possible to do to an acquaintance? We watched one another's children grow and helped where we could. We shared enthusiasms.

Our vocabularies were different. It is true that both men talked electricity and shop. Alice and I discussed, in great detail, psychological and anthropological matters. To the un-initiated, that is woman talk. The vocabularies of Vic and Alice were filled with scientific words. Most of their children follow the sciences - Dave doesn't. For C. Allen, words expressed his interest in business. Now his sons are entrepreneurs. My speech has a rhythm and a variety of words which made an early acquaintance of the Drummonds, who had stopped at the house on Pilgrim, ask if I wrote poetry. That was the first time. My reply was, then as now, that I did commit doggerel on occasion when it would help ease a tense parent-child situation - Poetry? No way! The one common idea, the one common phrase of both families was 'do the best that you can and on to college.' The children did as they were told.

Victor and C. Allen were involved in Scouting when the Drummond children were the right age. I had worked with the Cub Scouts when Jim was involved. John had started scouting but when the time came that scout meetings interfered with home work that was the end of John's scouting. John was in perfect accord. C. Allen, of course, started at the top with the Scout executives. Where else?

The men shared a lapidary course at the Cranbrook Institute of Science. There they met Winifred Clark and Toshiko Takaezu, polishing stones. There these friendships began. The Drummonds went on to become interested in ceramics. C. Allen had too much business and non-profit organizational work to become involved; I simply had a full load taking care of family. This must have been one of the times when Mattie was not with us.

Victor became interested in the Detroit Skating Club which was new to the city. C. Allen became involved, investing money, sending his men to do the necessary wiring for the rink, worrying about the problems of insulation. Of the Drummond children, Phillenore pursued the lessons the most faithfully. David tried ice hockey. The schedule of lesson times depended upon the age of the student. The ages of the Harlan children were so spread that the driving required demanded too much of my time. School? Of course. Extras? That depended. I still hear reports of activity at that club. Once again C. Allen was in on the beginning of a project. I wonder who, today, knows. Does anyone ever read old minutes? I'll not answer 'never'. I will say 'no'.

C. Allen acquired some Bloomfield Hills property, sold a piece of it to Vic and Alice, and then helped them build a house. They had floor plans (either George Bery or Lou Redstone signed the plans) over which the city government hesitated because of the square area. The Drummonds wanted that floor plan and could not afford the extra required space. My suggestion was to turn the garage into a family room, extend a roof from the building to create a car port. That idea, which gave the house a new profile and was a good addition, worked well. The cost was minimal. Over the years, Vic had been picking up special stones as mementos of the many places where they had vacationed. Those stones became part of the face of the fireplace in the new family room, realizing an old plan. (Eventually that house and those stones had to be left behind as GM moved Vic on to other plants in other places.)

Before we build that house, put in furniture and a family, the lot had to be cleared of the growth of years of neglect. Alice put on her summer dress, took her rake and matches and set to work. She piled up the broken wood, the scattered weeds and the grasses. She lit the fires and then, leaning on her rake, watched as the smoke rose out of each pile, blew her direction and up under her light summer dress carrying with it the oil of the ivy. Her shoulders and arms were free of the rash which covered her skin where ever her dress had trapped and held that smoke........

Vic and C. Allen spent many weekends hunting trees, digging trees or planting them where ever they could find an owner who was willing to accept (had the necessary space) a tree and do part of the work. The Wiedman yard and the Drummond yard soon had all the trees that could be considered landscaping. And other yards - and other yards. Vic was as dedicated as was C. Allen.

It was on one of the tree-hunting excursions, (that time they were in Garden City) when C. Allen broke Jay's leg, that break which had been the point of the accusation: "Father broke my leg." Joe and Jay were riding on the bed of the boom truck. C. Allen 'knew' that he had all of the gears properly set and started the truck. Joe saw the boom moving, called Jay and jumped. Jay could not move in time. Vic must have shouted for C. Allen stopped the truck. The next call was to me; "Ivabell, call Dr. Kennedy, tell him that Jay's leg is broken, that he was on the boom truck, and that we are on the way to Grace Hospital." There was no more information to give the doctor. His was the experience to imagine many things. When C, Allen and Jay reached the hospital, Doctor was waiting with a line-up of specialists for he knew all that might have happened.

Both Vic and C. Allen are gone now. C. Allen because of a heart that could take just so much of his double-paced life - Vic because of a brain tumor. There was great empathy between those men. Alice and I still see one another to fill out the blank spots in the pages of the children's lives.

Tony and Frances Spina do not fit into any of the above lists of 'people who'. It was the Navy League (a logical outgrowth of the Navy years of both of the men) that introduced C. Allen and Tony although they had been stationed at opposite sides of the world during the war. Once home, Tony had gone to work for the Detroit Free Press. His contribution to C. Allen was many lines of print with pictures by Tony for Tony's camera is his livelihood. Driving along Adams road on his way to look at his property at the corner of Squirrel and Long Lake, Tony spotted a man whom he thought he knew working in that man's near empty acres. 'That's Harlan.' A quick turn into the drive to find out if it really was Harlan. All five of the Spinas came to the house to meet Miss Ivabell. That was the beginning of years of a friendship.

There was a new house to build and a new family to know. The Spinas had come from a city street with city spaces. Friends from town came out to visit the finished house. Friends from town could not understand how the Spinas managed to endure all that open space. The Spinas returned to visit the old neighbors and wondered how they could have stood the crowded city life for so long. All grins were smug, for each group had the best of life.

There were five Spinas: Anthony, Frances, Julia, Costans, and Cathy. Cathy was new when all this began. The house had been designed with the family size and needs in mind; they fit it snugly with no alternations. Embellishments were added to help the out door life for their acreage allowed for bar-be-cueing (No neighbors to complain about the smoke.), out-door games and planting. C. Allen was delighted for he had one more yard to fill with trees. To be sure such planting always went with the coldest weather. Frances and I became accustomed to watching that process of freeze and plant and then to serve a body-filling warming meal. Just outside the parlor windows, C. Allen decided was a proper place to put a dogwood - small it was but its potential was great. For some reason C. Allen was slow to learn that the city-born and city-bred could not envision the size of the hole that was required to plant a tree. Tony shivered and chipped the frozen soil with a pickaxe. C. Allen took a look and condemned the shallow depression as not being large enough to nest a goose. The tree was finally in. It survived, as did the many others that the two men put into Tony's yard. The last of the plantings for Tony was the line of white pines that, closely spaced, planned to shield the house from the noise of traffic on Long Lake for, as the years had passed, other people, overtaken with the same dream as Tony's, were building their houses closer, ever closer. That wonderful open space was disappearing. Who, amongst you who read, recalls the line of white pines at the corner of Telegraph road and Maple? Those pines had been planted in the same fashion, for the same reason, and had grown to the full height that Michigan white pine attain before they begin to show their age. Finally, that change, which the realtor calls 'progress', overtook the pines. Their numbers were reduced. They were removed and now all that remains are memories. Such is the end of life.

We did the usual family things together. Telephone conversations with Frances were something else! Mattie would, when she knew that Frances was on the line, get a chair for me. Those conversations went on forever and covered everything. I cleaned the entire utility closet one day while listening. It chanced one time, when I had initiated the call and Tony had answered, that I delivered my message, said goodbye and hung up. 'There', said Tony, 'that is what a phone call should be.' Frances called one day to ask me to stop by and pick up some Italian sausage which Tony had made. Dr. Ulbrech had finally found some 'natural' casings for Tony to use. 'I'll be by, meantime, please, ask Dr. Ulbrech for whom we should be thankful.' "Ivabell!" What an idea! Then Frances began to prepare New Year's eve dinners for a group of friends. The group remained largely the same; some additions on occasion. Always it was a pleasure to see people whom we normally did not see during the year. Frances' Italian food was always good. She made her own pasta, her own sauce. Tony helped.

This pattern continued until the year that Frances and Julia had spent time in the hospital together, when the doctors took a kidney from Frances to give to her daughter who had none. Julia, very young had to have a kidney removed. One could do. It did for many years until it, too, gave out and left Julia with a machine to help her live. The search for a compatible kidney was fruitless. None of the family was a correct match. Frances' kidney was the closest and then only the closest. It was not until there was medication which controlled rejection that the doctors and the family decided that they could take the risk. It has worked.

Politics was as large a part of C. Allen's life as were the non-profits. Young, he had dreamed of making a million and of some day becoming a senator. Early on we had visited the Senate Chamber, there we watched and listened as an elder statesman bumbled on to a near empty Chamber. Disillusion followed for C. Allen. It was not the same for me for I had expected as much. My Father believed that a politician was a man who could not manage his own business and so turned to politics where he managed to mis-manage the business of his constituents. To reinforce my opinion were the examples of two local politicians. Ewald averred that any kind of press coverage was good. It was important to have your name before the public. Kronk, a reputed crook, was re-elected often because people, who did not know the base of his reputation, remembered the name when they saw it on a ballot and voted for the name. Are our present day politicians better educated than the older? Evidence indicates that better educated they are. They are no wiser.

When C. Allen first came to Detroit, he said that he was of the Republican party -he was a southern Democrat. Now if you will study your history well, you will find that, as the nation developed, party philosophies and party names changed frequently. After the Civil War, the southern negro, honoring Lincoln, became republican. The southern white of old families, automatically, became democrat. That was a reflex reaction and not one based on philosophy or careful thought. They were conservatives. The old distinctions made by Jefferson, the Adamses, Madison, Monroe and Hamilton became blurred. Most people, even today, happily sit on the fence and swing their vote to the party to which they belong because of family loyalty, because of purse, because of peer-and press-pressure. Religion and politics come to us from our studies, our parents, and our financial position. Religion and politics are part of our inheritance. We seldom change either of them. Outside forces made the change for C. Allen. It was an easy change - the weight of head count in a city made up of working people, mostly poor, many immigrant, and many who had migrated from the poor South, led by the people who were in control of their jobs. More than anything else C. Allen wanted to succeed - he saw politics as a tool that could help him.

Kim Lincoln, helping me after our dinner one evening, quietly told me that C. Allen was in trouble with the heads of the party. I grinned to myself and said - 'Sounds like a good republican?' Her answer was a definite 'yes!' One thing about C. Allen, he could never, never conceal his convictions. He was, first of all, a business man.

Then to put the question to my statement that 'we seldom change', a man, Frankenstein (that really was his name), was a staunch supporter of Walter Reuther and the Democratic party. He became an entrepreneur and owned his own business; then he changed his philosophy. Do our politics depend upon the butter on our bread?

James Lincoln was running against an incumbent for the office of mayor of Detroit. C. Allen was intrigued by something in his campaign and gave him some support. C. Allen told me that he had given a hundred dollars. It has been said that the Harlans never exaggerate. It is a positive statement of Barbara Tuchman that 'politicians always lie' and sometimes their friends.

Their acquaintanceship became frequent meetings and social exchanges. Finally the families became involved. C. Allen would take the two Lincoln boys skiing, having completely outfitted them. Joe and Jay enjoyed the skiing. For Jim, a ski fall was too long. The Lincoln family had the use of the cottage for a couple summers. Einar Almdale was impressed by the quantity of scotch that Lincoln could down at a sitting. C. Allen once left Jay with the Lincoln boys and their friend at the cottage. The boys came home at ninety miles an hour on a two lane road, passing cars on the up slope. When asked, Jay had the courage to tell them that 'yes, I am frightened'. That takes courage or fear on the part of a youngster. After Jay had told me about the drive and the question, I praised Jay and told C. Allen to tell Jim Lincoln. Lincoln wasn't told until I told him. I do not know if those boys were ever grounded or not. They should have been for they were endangering more lives than their own.

There was nothing that Lincoln would have liked more than being a judge. Every time that there was an opening and an appointment to be made by Governor Williams, Jim would ask C. Allen to inter- cede. C. Allen tried. Finally I told C. Allen that Jim's problem was that his name didn't end in 'ski'. It seemed that every appointment was given to a Polish lawyer. The Poles always swing a big vote. Politics are always and everywhere politics. Finally Jim got an appointment as judge of the Juvenile Court. He was pleased. He tried his best. That was a thing special about Jim - he was sincere. There is now a special building in Detroit where all of the cases for the Juvenile Court are handled - it is named for Jim - a very nice compliment.

There are two instances from his years as judge that I have found interesting. Both of them I have used as examples. While C. Allen was skiing with Joe and Jay and the two Lincoln boys, Jim sat reading briefs and I sat knitting (as usual - I can count on the fingers of one hand the things which I made that were worth the yarn). Jim laid down his briefs, look at me to say - "I've got a problem. I have three children before me. Mother is a prostitute, grandmother was a prostitute. What do I do with the children?" My reply was that there was nothing that he could do - he would have to touch the lives of their fathers and their fathers' fathers. Enough of that conversation! He went back to his reading. I, with a mental shrug, returned to my knitting. C. Allen and the boys continued to ski. Later, in the summer, Jim came by the house, dropped onto the sofa and said - "I've done it." "Done what?" "I am changing the pattern. I have taken those children and put them in a foster home." He had heard me and understood. I wonder what happened to the children.

C. Allen was bragging about 'his' children to Jim one day. Kim took a look at me and asked "Where did he get those wonderful children." Proper reply was 'just out of an old bag that happened to be around.' What else could I say?

After Jim had retired from Juvenile Court, I dropped a note congratulating him because I had read an article (top half of one sheet in the Christian Science Monitor!) based on an interview. Jim's reply carried news of the Lincoln family and a blast of frustration because "I've been sixteen years trying to find some of the answers. This young reporter comes in and in half an hour he's an expert." Jim wasn't slow. It was the young reporter who was. By now that young man should know everything.....or nothing.

There was the time that I planned a party for C. Allen, sent my invitations, received the acceptances, and registered my plans with Mrs. Cook six weeks ahead so that everything would be set in C. Allen's calendar. Shortly before the date set - May thirty- first - C. Allen informed me that Kim had decided that he had to go campaigning that day. He went campaigning. I never planned another party for him.

That was the time that he was running for the trusteeship on the MSU board. His life had been completely scheduled by Mrs. Lincoln who was his political guru. The evening of the election, the Lincolns had dinner at 3535 with the family. Then Jim, Kim and C. Allen took off to follow the round of parties which go on at such times. I stayed home, put the children to bed, went to bed my-self. Close to midnight, C. Allen came home dragging his tail feathers. He was losing. Kim had said so. My suggestion was - go to bed, go to sleep, in the morning you will have won. In the morning, he had. People had, as I suspected, split their vote to ensure C. Allen his place on the board because they knew that his interest was education. Still he complained for the margin in his own neighborhood was small. Indeed it was only 69 votes more than his running mate (Dr. Connor, democrat) had drawn. But those sixty-nine votes came from an area that registered a heavy repub-lican percentage. I have often wondered if he really ever saw the value of those 'yes' votes. Did he simply figure that what is past is past.

The board at Michigan State brought other democrats into our lives - good people, sincere people. I just question their logic. C. Allen became involved with two of them in a land development deal in Frankenmuth with a cousin by marriage, Arnold Kreuger. Clare and Hannah White (school teachers in Bay City - in their veins was the blood of politicians) and Warren and Mary Frances Huff whose livelihood come from cattle farming. That development project has run on for years. The only benefit which I see goes to the Whites. It is the Huffs whom I thought important. After C. Allen ran for his seat on the State board, Huff was no longer serving. Then he began to call C. Allen after every meeting asking for details of that meeting and C. Allen's opinion of what had taken place. There would be another election and he wanted a place again on the Board. He would bleed C. Allen of any information which might help him. He called one night at eleven o'clock. I answered the phone and told him that C. Allen had gone early to bed for he had an early morning plane to catch. A sleepy voice answered on another phone. Huff kept Allen talking for half an hour while I did a slow burn. It is a politician's method of survival to walk on whom ever may be in the way - friend or foe.

Soapy Williams, Governor G. Mennen Williams - formally, and Nancy are nice people to know at any time. Young Allen got a kick when he saw Soapy give me a peck on the cheek. Soapy was simply acknowledging the past.

The Governor knew C. Allen's worth and, trying to recognize it, let it be known that there was the possibility that he might appoint C. Allen racing commissioner - all of this went by on a route most circuitous. That route is called a 'leak' by the press. (I have since read that 'the ship of state is the only ship that leaks from the top.') I sizzled. That was the meanest appointment that a governor could make. (It may have been the only position open at the time.) I felt that it was below C. Allen's dignity, below his value, was apt to occasion much dissension and often led to close association with the shadiest part of society. In so far as C. Allen was concerned, Soapy had made the choice and C. Allen was ready to accept the appointment. Into town one evening, making some final phone calls from the office before dinner, a call came from Emmett. His secretary had just told him late that afternoon about the possible appointment. Emmett added his veto to mine. We escaped. That left the problem of compensation for C. Allen still up in the air. I have never considered what the life of the wife of a racing commissioner would be. Let's start positive - I doubt that I should like it. Before any solution to Soapy's Harlan problem developed, John Hannah's call came. It was Soapy's secretary who was given credit for suggesting to Dr. Hannah that C. Allen was the business man for whom he was looking. Sweeney was working on his PHD. C. Allen was impressed. Poor young man! Sweeny is probably wearing the same blinders and running the same race, asking "why don't the people in the upper part of the State vote for us when we can give them so much!" 'Give' is the key word to bought votes, votes bought with the tax-payer's own cash.

Entering the Williams' home in Grosse Pointe one evening, Linda Lincoln (youngest daughter of Jim and Kim) was checking people at the door. On seeing me, her words were "Thank you, Mrs. Harlan, I have my own apartment." " What did I have to do with that?" She reminded me of the evening that her parents, C. Allen and I had been going to some event at Western Michigan where Linda was a sophomore. On the drive west, Kim brought up the problem, telling us that Linda was asking permission and the money for an apartment. Kim was unhappy about the request. My reply had been that Linda had been away from home for almost a full year. She had had every chance to do any of the things about which Kim was concerned. If Kim had any confidence in the child, she should be allowed to have her own apartment. I had done a good deed whenever it was. Linda is totally on her own now and her parents are pleased with her progress. Linda had a sense of responsibility for she recognized her obligations to the parents, to me, and to her own future.

Perry Epler Gresham has long been a special friend. He has married us and buried us during the last thirty-plus years. I have mentioned that C. Allen, in a huff with something which I had/had not done, had gone off to church one Sunday morning when I would rather that he had stayed at home to share some of the morning with his children. Edgar DeWitt Jones was the preacher that Sunday. His assistant, named Gresham, was to be Jone's successor. C. Allen's name was the correct one in so far as they were concerned - Campbell Allen Harlan; his antecedents were right - he had been so named because his grandmother had been fascinated by a red-haired evangelist, Alexander Campbell who was spreading across the south a new version of an old religion, a variation on Presbyterianism, created by his father. Now there are lateral-members of the Harlan family who dispute that assertion. Such was the beginning of our association with Dr. Gresham.

Perry Gresham is a wise and educated man: a classicist, a theologian, a preacher, a teacher, the president of a college, a member of many boards, of many specialized organizations, and an economist who delights in writing. Any one of those fields was the key to a full career. Combined they make today's Renaissance man. It has been a pleasure to know him and his wife, Aleece, to visit them in their home and to travel, during these later years, with them to Greece and to Scotland - in the one country to study Plato, in the other to become acquainted with Adam Smith at St. Andrews' college.

Attending a meeting of the Michigan Council for the Arts, I chanced to meet and lunch with Joseph Maniscalco. Conversation led to our mutual acquaintance, Perry Gresham. Perry, shopping in Cleveland with Aleece and their friend, Elizabeth Ressiger, complained of feeling ill. He ended in a Cleveland hospital with a ruptured diverticulus - one or more. I had done the near-same thing some years before and, while being sympathetic, I was also very glad that the doctors did not have then all of the knowledge which they had when Perry was ill. It was amusing when Joe was describing the problem of his friend and I named the man. Perry, like C. Allen, liked to entertain. I met the Maniscalcos several times at the Gresham's parties. Joe, portraitist, and his wife, Barabara, and I have shared several other interests. There always is a connection.

If these tales seem to repeat themselves, and they do, it is because life does repeat repeatedly.

We have been privileged to know many fine people. They have enriched our lives. I do hope that we have added, to some small extent, to theirs.

Never discount the importance of the past. For whatever it may be worth, it leaves its foot prints in your life.

Can you put the world in a capsule? I can't.