An American Odyssey

By Kenneth Weaver

Beginning with the story of his ancestor who emigrated from Europe and fought in the American Revolution and taking us through his own service in World War Two and his career afterwards, Kenneth Weaver depicts a truly American odyssey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Weaver
• Release date: May 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476437019

Kenneth Weaver

Lt.Kenneth Weaver served in Europe from 1945-47. His Army Signal Corps crew filmed the victors and the vanquished in France and occupied Germany. His non-fiction book "Rising from Rubble ...Germany Revisited' is illustrated with 49 documentary photos of France and Germany. A graduate engineer of Northwestern University, Ken worked in medical equipment marketing for 40 years. He resides in Boulder. Colorado with his wife Dorothy.

Book preview

AN AMERICAN ODYSSEY

by

Kenneth E. Weaver

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Kenneth E. Weaver

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re–sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * * *

Dedication:

To my wife, Dorothy

* * * * *

Cover photo by author at Eden Roc millionaires private club on the Mediterranean near Cannes, France at end of WWII, 1945. At celebration, it was open to American and French Officers with the American flag flying.

* * * * *

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 — Early American Ancestors

Chapter 2 — Jefferson Elementary

Chapter 3 — Century of Progress

Chapter 4 — Brookville Grade School

Chapter 5 — Grandpa Weaver’s House

Chapter 6 — Market Street

Chapter 7 — Summertime

Chapter 8 — Mantua, Ohio

Chapter 9 — Colonel White Jr. High

Chapter 10 — Fairview High

Chapter 11 — Jack Kohler

Chapter 12 — College and WWII

Chapter 13 — U.S. Army Basic

Chapter 14 — ASTP

Chapter 15 — Army Signal Corps

Chapter 16 — Post–War France

Chapter 17 — Germany, American Occupied Zone

Chapter 18 — Reunion in Germany

Chapter 19 — American Zone, Frankfurt a/M

Chapter 20 — Rotating to the States

Chapter 21 — Educational GI Bill

Chapter 22 — Picker X–ray

Chapter 23 — Gilbert X–ray of Texas

Chapter 24 — Ilchester, Maryland

Chapter 25 — Plato and St. Paul

Chapter 26 — Atomic Electric Power

Chapter 27 — Westinghouse X–ray Cleveland

Chapter 28 — Machlett Laboratories

Chapter 29 — Baldwin Associates

Chapter 30 — Machlett Advertising

Chapter 31 — The RV Emergency

Chapter 32 — Machlett’s Demise

Chapter 33 — Med–E–Quip Imaging

About the Author

* * * * *

Chapter 1 — Early American Ancestors

It began when a Portuguese royal DeBraganza ancestor fled to France from religious persecution. Jacobus DeBra later joined LaFayette’s French forces and fought in the American Revolutionary War with General Washington.

Jacobus had emigrated from the Alsace–Lorraine region of France to fight with the Maryland troops in the Continental Army. They fought fiercely at the Battle of Yorktown. After the Revolutionary War, DeBra joined the settlers going to the wilderness Northwest Territory. He brought his family to Ohio, and settled in the Miami slaughterhouse. The Miami, Shawnee, Wyandot and Delaware Indians were on the warpath against the white settlers violating their hunting grounds in Ohio and western Kentucky.

Great Grandfather Joseph DeBra served in the Civil War as a wagon maker in the 44th Ohio Volunteer Infantry of the Union Army. After he re–enlisted in 1864, the 44th became the 8th Ohio Volunteer Cavalry; and he served in the Union Army of West Virginia.

As a cavalryman in Sheridan’s Army, Joseph fought and was wounded at the Battle of Cedar Creek in Virginia. Confederate General Early lost 1,860 killed and 1,200 wounded in this battle, and the South never recovered its military strength after the defeat.

Following the Civil War, young Joseph DeBra studied medicine for two years at the Friends Academy in Cincinnati. He learned the practice of medicine by understudying a licensed medical doctor for three years. By the time of my birth in 1923, Great–Grandpa DeBra had retired from medical practice, and he and Grandma Carrie lived on Vine Street across from us in Brookville, Ohio. They must have been a picture in their prime, he was tall with flowing white hair and dark blue eyes, and she was tiny. His common sense advice for personal hygiene, medical treatment and clean living was deeply respected.

One of my earliest memories was of 90 pound Grandma Carrie DeBra. I rode my tricycle on the sidewalk across from their house and waved to her. She would cross the street with fresh from the oven hot gingersnaps.

My father, Roy Newton Weaver, was the only son of Elgar and Martha Weaver. He was born on the last day of 1895 on the family farm in southwest Ohio. Farming was not in his blood, and after graduating from high school, he chose to be a baker. It was a big step for him to go to Bakers School in Chicago.

In 1917, the small town baker from Brookville, was transformed into an American dough boy. Along with 2 million others in Pershing’s American Expeditionary Forces, he was shipped to France. His bakery unit was located at Nancy in the American combat zone, east of Verdun. The American forces were engaged in trench warfare with the Germans across a muddy, shell pocked No Man’s Land covered with barbed wire.

When Roy returned home after the war in 1918, he carried memories of the wounded and dead, and poison mustard gas. He had a deep prejudice about the German Krupp munitions cartel that caused the war. My young questions about the bayonet combat drawings in his illustrated war book were rebuffed.

At the end of the Big War, he returned to his old job at Steck’s Bakery in Brookville, and began courting Esther Marie Freeders. During the hard times, as the oldest child she had left high school to help her parents and siblings struggling on the family farm. She worked at the National Cash Register factory in Dayton. On January 28, 1922, Roy and Esther were married at the Freeders’ farm in southwest Ohio.

The newlyweds rented a small house in the village of Brookville next to the railroad tracks. They pooled their savings to buy a table and chairs, bedroom furniture, and housekeeping needs. Since they had no car, they walked the three blocks to the grocery, drug store, barbershop, and Steck’s bakery. Most of the businesses were located on Market Street in Brookville (population, 1,250).

Roy joined the Masonic Lodge, and Esther the sister Eastern Star. They enjoyed playing cards with Esther’s cousin, Trellis, and her husband, Herb Rasor. The four were close friends throughout their lifetime. Herb had been an observation balloonist in France. After the War, he returned home and bought the town’s lumber–yard.

Brookville’s life in the summer focused on the band concert every Saturday night. The musicians played marches by John Philips Sousa, minstrel songs, and patriotic tunes. The kids enjoyed hanging out with farm buddies, and there was a great sense of community. Fourth of July and Armistice Day were the high points of the year with the American Legion parade and band music.

Dad enjoyed reading. He was intrigued by the great French writers, and owned books by Victor Hugo and Guy de Maupassant.

These were happy days for them, and soon they decided to start a family. Esther’s first pregnancy was very difficult and she was in labor for three days. Old Doc Summers delivered a 10–lb. baby boy in the bedroom of their small house. I was born on their first wedding anniversary, January 28, 1923, and baptized in the Lutheran Church.

Mother’s youngest sister, 13–year–old Dorothy, was attending a one–room–school near the family farm. Her school master lived in Brookville, and drove her to our home where she cared for her big sister and baby.

The train noise and coal dust from the main–line Pennsylvania Railroad caused many problems for our family. After the first year, Dad borrowed a horse and wagon, and we moved four blocks north to a double rental on Vine Street. It was directly behind grandparents Weaver, and across the street from great–grandparents DeBra.

Aunt Dorothy told how Grandma Weaver would walk shyly across the dirt alley to see her new grandson. She asked Esther if she could make a suit of clothes for her baby from a piece of green cloth she had been saving. Aunt Dorothy remembers the summer suit with cute short pants that Martha made for her grandson. Sadly, little else is remembered of this fine lady. Aunt Dorothy isn’t sure how she died, but thinks it was from pneumonia … a deadly disease in those days.

On special occasions, Dad would borrow Grandpa Weaver’s black Ford Model T sedan, stored in the old horse and buggy shed behind their house.

We would drive to grand–parents’ Fred and Dora Freeders farm. Aunt Dorothy, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Marion would entertain me with rides on their old plow horse, and visits to see the livestock. I remember the sweet smell of silage for the cattle, and tagging along with Dorothy as she gathered eggs scattered in the barn hay and chicken–house.

* * * * *

Our neighbor on Vine Street was Suzy Fisher. She lived with her sister in a tiny bungalow next to us. They heated their modest home with a coal oil stove in the center of the sitting room. To protect the carpet, the heater rested on a metal covered asbestos pad. There was a rarely used unheated parlor in the front of the house for funerals, weddings and holidays.

The sisters had a vegetable garden in back, and earned money hanging wallpaper in the village. It was a struggle for a single woman to earn a living in those days. They also gathered scraps of colored cloth, and wove rugs on a simple loom.

I enjoyed visiting Suzy. When she hugged me, there was a strange odor about her; not a perfume but more medicinal. She would help me crawl upon a tall stool at the kitchen table next to the window. It overlooked her garden and our house. She would make us cups of hot tea and milk to drink with her fresh sugar cookies. Mother would jokingly chide her for spoiling Kenny, but never interfered with my trips next door.

About this time, Dad began suffering from an allergy to flour at the bakery, and had to find other work. He was fortunate to get a job sorting the U.S. Mail on the railroad moving in and out of Dayton. It was a stressful life working at night and trying to sleep during the day. It also meant that my little brother and I didn’t see much of Dad during the week.

One summer, when I was five, he taught me how to make a kite. He split thin strips of wood for the backbone and cross piece. Then he mixed a paste of flour and water and covered the skeleton of the kite with old newspaper. Mom’s rag box was raided for pieces of multi–colored cloth that were torn into strips and knotted for the tail.

We walked three blocks to a pasture on the edge of the town. With Dad holding the kite–string and me the tail, we would run and launch it into the light wind. It took a bit of adjusting to get the right amount of tail to balance it so it wouldn’t dive into the ground. It was fun being with Dad… just the two of us on a warm, sunny day sitting on the grassy knoll watching our kite.

* * * * *

When Mom became pregnant again, they thought it best to move to Dayton where she could have good medical care. They wanted their second baby born in a hospital. We move into a rented house next to Aunt Esther and Uncle Albert.

All were concerned about Mother, during her second pregnancy. My brother, Richard Lee, was born on February 5, 1928, at Miami Valley Hospital without any complications. It was a blessing for the family.

As the Great Depression worsened, Grandpa Freeders’ tobacco cash crop was ruined by bad weather. His two sons left the farm looking for work; Marion rode the rails following the harvests in the West. Joe played semi–pro football and worked in a gas station at nights. Without their help, Grandpa was forced to sell the farm, and they moved into a house in Shiloh on the north side of Dayton. At that time, Fred also bought a rental house on Philadelphia Drive and rented it to our family. We settled in with friendly neighbors and family nearby.

* * * * *

Chapter 2 — Jefferson Elementary

It was the end of the turbulent twenties when we moved to Dayton. Our new home was a white, two–story frame house with sidewalk in front. There were trees in the back, and a garage on the alley. We were at the intersection of Philadelphia and Riverview where a street lamp shone into our second floor bedrooms. On the corner across from us was a grocery store and barber shop. A coal yard and gasoline service station was on the other corner. The Dayton Rubber Company was a half–mile east.

Behind the coal yard, the Pennsylvania railroad ran west for 13 miles to Brookville, and east to Pittsburgh. Next to the tracks was Wolf Creek…a great place for us kids in the summer. On hot days, we waded in the cool, shallow water in our sneakers. We learned to ignore the scrapings and pinching from crawdads hiding on the bottom. They scurried away as rocks were overturned trying to catch them.

My first four years of school was at Jefferson Grade School. They were happy days. The teacher ignited an interest in reading, and Mother drove me to the Dayton View library every week. The corner of the children’s room had cushioned seats around the windows where we could sit and read. The popping and sizzling steam radiators kept us warm on the cold days. It was fun learning the Dewey Decimal library system, and picking out books to take home. My favorites were The Wizard of Oz, and the adventures of Dr. Doolittle about a man who talked to animals. I read all of the Andy Hardy adventure books.

When the Stock Market crashed in 1929, there was a heated argument between my parents… something about Dad gambling his World War I Army bonus on the market. One night there were loud voices in the hall, and I crept to my bedroom door to listen. Mom was standing at the top of the stairs holding the heavy clothes iron, Don’t come near me Roy, she warned. He backed down the stairs without a word, and I sadly climbed into my bed. That scared me and I didn’t know what to do. What would happen to Richard and me?

Jefferson Grade School was a 14 block walk for me through vacant lots. A wooded area contained a fort dug–out with a wood roof and dirt over the top. I never learned who built the fort, but always skirted the area. It looked like a gang’s hideout. Could it have been a shelter for a hobo during those hard times?

One day at school, I visited the school nurse and complained of not feeling well. With a fever and chattering teeth, I bit the thermometer in two. This surprised her and embarrassed me. She kept me in the dispensary until I could get a ride home.

In first grade, there was a cute girl with long blonde curls; her name was Nancy Iams. She was my first love, and I was determined to buy her a gift for Valentine’s Day. Although the words and signals have been forgotten, the message from my parents was clear … this was a little rich girl. However, Mom helped me buy her a small bracelet. The next day, I found Nancy on the playground slide and climbed up to hand her my present. She took it and ran into the schoolhouse without saying a word.

In the spring of ‘34, the school bell in the corridor rang and the teachers herded us onto the front lawn. At first, we thought it was a fire drill; then we looked into the sky. Overhead was a graceful silver, helium–filled airship, the Akron. It was making its maiden voyage for the U.S. Navy. We could barely hear the purring engines on that quiet morning. Weeks later, we learned the dirigible had crashed at sea in a storm, killing the Navy crew.

My seven year–old buddy, Fred Buckey, lived up the block on the opposite side of Philadelphia Drive. His parents were postage stamp merchants in Dayton. When the weather was bad in the summer, he and I played in their basement near the printing press for making stamp catalogs. As a boy, Fred was taught to hand set type, and run the press; I watched him work after school. Later in junior high, this experience encouraged me to take a course in printing and hand typesetting.

In good weather, Fred… and another kid named Wayne…and I would run through the vacant fields, playing cowboys and Indians, and build forts. Other times, we would look at the Buckey’s classy new Auburn automobile. They were stamp merchants, who survived the stock market crash of 1929, and were successful during the Depression.

One day, Fred and I were exploring Wolf Creek. He was wearing a new wrist watch his parents had given him for his birthday. Suddenly, a bully appeared on the other shore. He said something to Fred, and grabbed his shirt. There was a flash of metal as the youth pulled a knife from behind his back. I crouched helplessly on the opposite side of the stream hiding in the bushes. Fred gave him his new watch. The robber took off running along the opposite side, and we hurried to Fred’s home. His father told him to forget what had happened, and the theft was not reported to the police. This was a big deal and confusing to us kids.

Our rental home had an underground brick cistern in the back yard where rain–water was collected from the roof. This soft water was good for washing clothes, and our hair. In the basement, Mom would draw water from a faucet and heat it on an open gas burner. Then it was poured into the electric washing machine with the hand wringer on top.

On the Fourth of July, Uncle Marion gave us kids a metal toy with a devil’s face. By pressing a lever on the bottom, a wheel spun inside and sparks flew from the eyes. One day, little Richard was running in the back yard holding the whirring toy. He tripped on the rim of the cistern, and fell on the toy. By a miracle, the sharp edge missed his right eye but cut deeply into the eyebrow above it.

Crying with blood streaming from the wound, he rushed into the kitchen for help. Mom pressed a cold, wet cloth over the cut. A neighbor heard his cries and hurried over to help. We didn’t have a telephone, and Mom asked her to call our doctor. Since our car wasn’t at home, he came to our house for the emergency. While the women held Richard down on our kitchen table, the doctor stitched the deep cut without an anesthetic. I was not much help sitting nervously in the living room, listening to his screams. The wound healed well despite the absence of miracle drugs.

* * * * *

On many weekends and holidays, we would load up Grandpa’s old Model T and visit Grandpa and Grandma Freeders in the Shiloh suburb. Other times, we drove 13 miles to Fairfield to visit Aunt Ivolue and Uncle Stuard on their dairy farm.

Patterson airfield was across the road from the Andes farm. This was an Army Air Corps airport for training pilots and testing experimental aircraft and lighter–than–air ships. There was a large hanger for helium filled dirigibles directly across from their farm–house.

On week days, fighter aircraft with live .30 cal. rounds of ammunition made strafing runs at ground targets on the west–end near Mad River. It was exciting to watch them swoop down with machine guns blazing. One day Grandpa Freeders filled a burlap bag with .30 caliber empty shell casings and metal gun–belt pieces. They had fallen on the Andes farm when the plane made the strafing run. A few years later this practice of firing live ammo was stopped. We still heard machine–gun fire from airplanes being ground tested.

One summer afternoon, a barnstormer landed his WWI biplane in the Andes pasture and began hopping passengers. The pilot made a deal with Uncle Stuard to use the field in return for free airplane rides for his family. After a hushed conversation between my parents, Dad and I climbed into the front cockpit. He put on