Before I Forget . . .: Memoirs of a Great Life

By Herbert W. Hobler

When I was young, the Civil War and the Revolutionary War was ancient history to me. However, as I now reflect on my life, I suddenly realize how young our country is for I knew somebody who knew people in the Revolutionary War that ended over 225 years ago!
GrandmotherGranniemother of my Grandfather Herbert Windsorwas born in 1835 and died in 1927 when I was fivea wonderful old lady I loved. She was 10 in 1845, 60 years after that war ended. I am sure there were numerous veterans then 80-90 years old. And so, I touched the woman who touched some veterans of the Revolutionary War! She also had to know quite a few in the Civil War when she was 20-years-old, a war that ended only 57 years before my birth. Put in this perspective, what has happened to our country in that time is incredible from total population, to trains, planes, telephones, automobiles, medicines, radio, TV, computers, a man on the moon and millions of new citizens from all over the world! None of these people could even have conceived of such marvels nor a life expectancy from about 35 to 40 to 83 plus. My life has seen an explosion in technology that now affects the entire world. I have been privileged to be in on the beginning of some of that technology.

* * * * *
I have written these memoirs so that the family and possible future generations might share in my experiences of a life of many involvements, many accomplishments, some failures, many contacts with the famous, and a life for which I can be so grateful.
As the youngest of four, I often was rebelliousI wanted my own way. I suspect this was partly due to inheriting some of my fathers genes. (Occasionally I had tantrums which were easily handled by mother who would say, Go on and yell, Ill wait. That pretty well cooled my attempt at getting attention.) Still, I was brought up in a loving family, the four of us with our parents were all for each other. Thanks to Dads success in business, we were brought up, even with the Depression, with comfort.
Throughout my career, I was known for being quite creative. I think that too came in part from Dad being very positive about doing things his way. I wanted to challenge him on many things and that caused me to think about new ways.
I never could have guessed I would marry a girl from my kindergarten class. I was based in California and fearlessly spoke up to my commanding officer (a Major) whose name was the same as a fellow member of Tiger Inn at Princeton. He changed my orders that permitted me to call a girl I had dated at Vassar and while on a weekend date in La Jolla, I visited the parents of Mary Randolph who lived there.
I always enjoyed the Randolphs, each of whom had creative talents and an unusual sense of humor. They enjoyed small situations that would pass by most people. Their only child absorbed the best of each. Sixty years later she could still reel off a classic story while having fun doing it. Randy has been an extraordinary companion all these years.
She was always very creative with great talents in so many ways. Still, except for our common background in Bronxville, from the start we had different interests. Mine were sports and music and taking risks. Hers were reading, writing and avoidance of conflict. By necessity she was brought up frugally. The fact we stayed together all these 68 years is a great tribute to her hanging in as she raised our kids, cooked their meals on time, dressed them, and drove them to wherever. In our earlier years when we were still trying to adjust to each other, she once said she should have married a 9-5 husband who didnt commute. Her support for my passion for various jobs with late hours and business trips while she was stuck at home made my life possible. How lucky can a man be.
She raised four wonderful children, each quite different from the other yet each closely and lovingly attached to each other and to us.
NOTE: To minimize confusion when Randy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483610283

Herbert W. Hobler

Herb Hobler, a WWII B-29 South Pacific navigator, had a career with NBC-TV, CBS-TV and founded his own radio and cable company. A Princeton, New Jersey native energetically involved in community activities and sports, he stopped jogging at age 60 when a friend introduced him to the "wonders and joys" of walking before breakfast. Invigorated physically, mentally and spiritually by casual explorations and encounters during over 600 caonsecutive pre-breakfast walks under every circumstance, he has written "Walking, a Moving Experience" in hopes it will inspire others.

Book preview

Before

I Forget...

Memoirs of a Great Life

Herbert W. Hobler

Winter 2013

Cover Captions:

TOP—from oil painting gift to Herb

CENTER—Mary Randolph, Randy and Herb, Herb

BOTTOM—Abby, Randolph’s 65—Nancy, Mary, Debbie, Randolph, WHWH 10th Anniversary booklet

Copyright © 2013 by Herbert W. Hobler. 122447-HOBL

ISBN: Softcover     978-1-4836-1026-9

ISBN: Hardcover   978-1-4836-1027-6

ISBN: Ebook         978-1-4836-1028-3

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

Rev. date: 08/08/13

To my wife Randy

For your 69 years of patience, perseverance, partnership, participation, and love, I thank you. Your lifetime of support has enabled me to do what I wanted to do most in my life, which often meant too much time away from you and our family. As you created the space for me to work, you managed our home, raised our four children into fine, talented adults, loving each other and loving us. You worked side-by-side with me on building WHWH, and on other innumerable projects on which I have labored. I couldn’t have done it all without you. Your creativity, keen sense of humor and true grit has complemented and sustained me. You have my admiration, appreciation and love. I am a lucky man. And, thank you for your input on these memoirs.

* * * * *

To Debbie Hobler

Thank you for taking my final draft and spending hours catching duplications, suggesting rearrangements of stories and chapters, showing concerns about how I presented some things, and questioning my inadvertent exclusion of people and stories. Love you, Deb.

Table Of Contents

Introduction

Astrology

Chapter 1 | Mother

Chapter 2 | Dad

Chapter 3 | Bronxville, The Early Years

Chapter 4 | Early Girlfriends

Chapter 5 | Ephraim

Chapter 6 | The Hill School

Chapter 7 | Princeton Undergrad Experiences

Chapter 8 | Air Corps Part I: Atlantic City & Michigan State

Chapter 9 | Air Corps Part II: Santa Ana Preflight, Las Vegas

Chapter 10 | Air Corps Part III: Hondo, Navigation, San Antonio Wedding,

Boca Raton Radar School, McCook, Nebraska,

B-29 Herington, Kansas Goodbye

Chapter 11 | Tinian, Japanese Missions

Chapter 12 | Thurman Walling, My Best Friend

Chapter 13 | 9th Bomb Group Reunions

Chapter 14 | People Who Changed My Life, People Who Inspired Me

Chapter 15 | 295 Mercer, Budget Books, Genealogy

Chapter 16 | Broadcasting in New York: Mutual Broadcasting NBC-TV, CBS-TV

Chapter 17 | TelePrompTer, Videotape Productions

Chapter 18 | WHWH, Nassau Broadcasting

Chapter 19 | Hank Mosiello, Life Termer

Chapter 20 | Cable and Radio II

Chapter 21 | Sale of Nassau Broadcasting

Chapter 22 | My New Fortune, Failures, Greatest Sales and Missed Fortunes

Chapter 23 | Around Town, YMCA, Rotary, Dogs and Walks, Nassau Club

Chapter 24 | My Experiences with Negroes and Blacks

Chapter 25 | Sports, Hill School, Princeton, Golf

Chapter 26 | Princeton ‘44 Class Involvements, Reunions, P-Rades

Chapter 27 | Princeton University Involvements

Chapter 28 | Creativity

Chapter 29 | American Boychoir School

Chapter 30 | My Brush with History, Notables, the Presidents

Chapter 31 | Trips, The Plaza, Airlines

Chapter 32 | Potpourri

Chapter 33 | Moonrise Over Hernandez

Chapter 34 | Family

Chapter 35 | Stonebridge

Chapter 36 | Authoring Two Books, Legacy

Finally

Post Script | Bonnie Chiravalle

Introduction

When I was young, the Civil War and the Revolutionary War were ancient history to me. However, as I now reflect on my life, I suddenly realize how young our country is for I knew somebody who knew people in the Revolutionary War that ended over 225 years ago!

Grandmother—Grannie—mother of my Grandfather Herbert Windsor—was born in 1835 and died in 1927 when I was five—a wonderful old lady I loved. She was 10 in 1845, 60 years after that war ended. I am sure there were numerous veterans then 80-90 years old. And so, I touched the woman who touched some veterans of the Revolutionary War! She also had to know quite a few in the Civil War when she was 20-years-old, a war that ended only 57 years before my birth. Put in this perspective, what has happened to our country in that time is incredible from total population, to trains, planes, telephones, automobiles, medicines, radio, TV, computers, a man on the moon and millions of new citizens from all over the world! None of these people could even have conceived of such marvels nor a life expectancy from about 35 to 40 to 83 plus. My life has seen an explosion in technology that now affects the entire world. I have been privileged to be in on the beginning of some of that technology.

* * * * *

I have written these memoirs so that the family and possible future generations might share in my experiences of a life of many involvements, many accomplishments, some failures, many contacts with the famous, and a life for which I can be so grateful.

As the youngest of four, I often was rebellious—I wanted my own way. I suspect this was partly due to inheriting some of my father’s genes. (Occasionally I had tantrums which were easily handled by mother who would say, Go on and yell, I’ll wait. That pretty well cooled my attempt at getting attention.) Still, I was brought up in a loving family, the four of us with our parents were all for each other. Thanks to Dad’s success in business, we were brought up, even with the Depression, with comfort.

Throughout my career, I was known for being quite creative. I think that too came in part from Dad being very positive about doing things his way. I wanted to challenge him on many things and that caused me to think about new ways.

I never could have guessed I would marry a girl from my kindergarten class. I was based in California and fearlessly spoke up to my commanding officer (a Major) whose name was the same as a fellow member of Tiger Inn at Princeton. He changed my orders that permitted me to call a girl I had dated at Vassar and, while on a weekend date in La Jolla, I visited the parents of Mary Randolph who lived there.

I always enjoyed the Randolph’s, each of whom had creative talents and an unusual sense of humor. They enjoyed small situations that would pass by most people. Their only child absorbed the best of each. Sixty years later she could still reel off a classic story while having fun doing it. Randy has been an extraordinary companion all these years.

She was always very creative with great talents in so many ways. Still, except for our common background in Bronxville, from the start we had different interests. Mine were sports and music and taking risks. Hers were reading, writing and avoidance of conflict. By necessity she was brought up frugally. The fact we stayed together all these 69 years is a great tribute to her hanging in as she raised our kids, cooked their meals on time, dressed them, and drove them to wherever. In our earlier years when we were still trying to adjust to each other, she once said she should have married a 9-5 husband who didn’t commute. Her support for my passion for various jobs with late hours and business trips while she was stuck at home made my life possible. How lucky can a man be.

She raised four wonderful children, each quite different from the other yet each closely and lovingly attached to each other and to us.

Note:

To minimize confusion when Randy is mentioned, that’s my wife Mary (a name she never liked). Our son Randolph is also known as Randy but is always referred to in this work as Randy W.

Astrology

In 1931, when I was nine, Dad hired an astrologer to examine each of us for a forecast. It was all tied into the stars when we were born though it is obvious to me—looking back—that between her talking to Dad and Mother about me, the stars were mixed as she made her own observations. Highlights of the twelve pages produced some amazing predictions. None of it seemed too canned nor was mine like Ginny’s, Ed’s or Wells’.

046--Astrology.tif

Reading of the Birth Chart—Herbert Hobler 25 September, 1922 1:20 a.m., Central Standard

Excerpts: out-of-the-common boy... He will face great risks to do the things he wants to do... a charm that is well nigh irresistible (Really?)... Herbert will not be satisfied unless he is at the head of any undertaking... will do best work when he is in control... isn’t a bit like your other three children... when his mind is made up you might as well resign yourself. . a certain obstinacy and very positive opinions... imaginative, ability to feel things psychically and intuitively... ability to create a perfectly real thing out of unreality... interested in doing things for others which bring no material reward... during early years should he be ill, he might easily present symptoms he hasn’t got at all (how about the faking appendix in 1936 that ultimately happened?)... Music…wonderfully soothing and inspiring to him... I doubt if he will actually perform on any instrument (oh well, she can’t be right every time)... do not think that making money could ever be the prime interest in his life would care so much more for what he was doing... possibility of lack of understanding by his parents—do everything to promote love and encouragement... might even be blamed and censured for things he hadn’t done at all... looking after the amusements or welfare and improvement of the general public... much of his success around the period of 38 to 40 years of age (Nassau Broadcasting started at age 37)... hopes and plans lead towards an early marriage... his ability to see both sides of any question makes him an easy person to live with (again, she can’t be right all the time!)

Incredibly, the chart Miss Booth made about Ginny said she couldn’t see her future clearly beyond age 30.

Chapter 1

Mother

June 13, 1893—May 23, 1989

A separate book could be written about this woman who was a great wife, incredible Mother, Grandmother, and Great-grandmother. She was always there for her husband, her children, relatives and friends. Her first priority was her family. She always tucked me in at night. She always made sure I combed my hair and didn’t wear sloppy clothes. (She dressed me with proper colors though the habit didn’t stay with me.) She was extraordinarily kind to her help both while they were employed and in many cases for years afterwards. At age 95 she was mentally alert and in touch with her widespread family and amazingly kept some 75 descendants (blood relatives and spouses) clear in her mind. She was Mom to me until she became Grammie—a beloved matriarch to us all.

087--Gram%20and%20brother%20wee.tif

Mother age 10 with brother Laurence age 2. Grandfather William Windsor background

In 2011, I read a book about President Grover Cleveland and how, in between his two presidencies, he had a daughter born in 1891 named Ruth. She was promptly known nationally as Baby Ruth. (Presumably the candy bar had no connection.) I can’t recall how mother was named Ruth but she was born two years later in 1893 when the name Ruth had become popular. (In these memoirs I refer to her as Mom or mother or Gram or Grammie—her name to everyone in the family once grands and greats arrived.)

Many claim to have had the most wonderful mother in the world. For those hundreds who knew mine, I’d bet they might agree that my Mom, my Grammie, was one of the most exceptional mothers ever. For my children, their cousins, and their children who knew Grammie, what I now recall may merely add to their own loving memories of Grammie.

093--gram.tif

Gram

Born in Riverside, Illinois (now a part of Chicago), she grew up in Walworth, Wisconsin. She apparently was the first woman to drive a car in town when she was about 16. Her father, Herbert Tylee Windsor, known to me as Gramps, to some as H.T., had a keen sense of humor and called a spade a spade. He lasted 42 years with my Grandmother Julia before they divorced. I suspect she was a difficult woman to live with. Then he was married for another 27 years to Jessie.

H.T. built a short haul railroad from Walworth to another town some 7 miles away. Mother once told me how she and H.T. pumped up and down on one of those two-man pumpers now seldom seen anywhere on railroad tracks.

When Mom was 8-years-old, her Mother gave birth to Lawrence, who years later was known to all of us as Uncle Wee because of his 6’3" stature. We loved this man who taught us how to use tools and was a Mr. Fixit. I well remember him in the workshop under the stairs in the basement at 17 Masterton Road. We have a picture of him on the roof of the house stringing antenna wire the length of the roof so as to get reception on a radio. This had to be about 1929.

Wells became a Mr. Fixit all his life thanks to Uncle Wee getting him started (me too–but not as good as Wells). Sadly, Uncle Wee was irresponsible over the years and caused a permanent separation from H.T. He married and had a child called Joy, who later grew to be six feet tall. He deserted his wife and baby Joy and a divorce followed. His second marriage to Marge brought them to live in Bronxville when he was working for General Foods. My Dad loaned Marge money to start a dress shop in Bronxville across from the railroad station near the movie theater. There never was an attempt to pay back any of it. Apparently there were many times Dad and Mother loaned or gave them money and none came back.

When Laurence died at age 68, I remember hearing about it about the same time as mother. She shed no tears and was very matter of fact that her brother had died.

I first met my cousin Joy in 1940 when Mitch Beardsley and I toured the U.S. and stopped off in Los Angeles. Her mother, whom I met, had remarried someone named Romaine. Joy became a WAVE during WWII and later joined the Tip Toppers Club (for tall women).

Marge and Laurence had a son Laurence, Jr. (known as Chuck) on July 4th, 1935. I called him Bang. For many years Joy and Chuck were not in touch with the Hoblers apparently feeling our family might be unfriendly because of their father. Happily, the ice was broken somehow—I may have helped—and we kept in touch. Chuck and his half-sister finally got together. Indeed, both of them were at Mohonk for one of Gram’s family gatherings.

Joy had 3 kids but early on got diabetes which led to a long period of declining health over the years. For much of her adult life she played the organ at bowling conventions. In the last stages of her sad life, Joy lived in one bedroom that was created out of an adjoining garage of her daughter’s California desert home. She was confined to a wheelchair. Her husband, whom I once met, had long since died and his means of support during their lengthy marriage was minimal. I think he was an RCA service man. Toward the end of her life I sent her $500 to buy a motorized wheelchair.

While Grammie moved to Batavia where she met Atherton (she was engaged at the time), her roots were in Walworth. She drove me there for lunch one day when I was about 16. My principal memory was a lunch when I ordered a steak and all the trimmings. It was so good, I ordered a complete second meal!

At bedtime over the years mother always came to my bedroom, tucked me in tight, and gave me a kiss and said don’t let the bed bugs bite! I never forgot that. The sheets always smelled clean. My hair was properly combed and she dressed me neatly whenever I went out on any occasion. The Hobler boys, Ed, Wells and Herb along with sister Ginny, were always neatly dressed and polite. From time-to-time she felt compelled to spank me. Down came the pants for the sting of a slap on my bare fanny. I always seemed to get a hug after she made her point.

Everyone in our Bronxville Public School class knew each other. Economically and ethnically Bronxville was mostly one of a kind. From the time I was about 7 or 8, I would go to friends’ houses for birthday parties and for other occasions. Grammie frequently let me have friends over, as she did for Ed, Wells and Ginny. She so enjoyed life and often would join in our fun. While I was not a good skater, we sometimes would go down to the frozen lake formed by the Bronx River and she would put on skates and somewhat shakily join in with us. While mother was constantly on the move, Wesley, our chauffeur and handyman, jitneyed us to and from schools and other places. Mother was often described as driving like sixty. Gram’s driving was legend. (In those days, 60 was a pretty high speed.) I was with her once when the police stopped her. She promptly admitted that she was beyond the speed limit, was friendly with the policeman, and received no ticket. Driving like sixty was, of course, not in and around Bronxville, but on trips. Each year when I was from age 8 to 12, she took me to summer camp in Vermont and later to Maine. She took me to and from The Hill for vacations. She took Wells, Ginny and me to New Orleans once during Easter vacation. We unexpectedly spent two nights en route in Mobile, Alabama. After lunch we left Mobile, Alabama and mother drove for three hours to find a sign that said Mobile was 30 miles away. Thanks to detour signs, she had come full circle!

Besides being known for accumulating tens of thousands of driving miles, she was also known for running up stairs! That habit stopped about the time she and dad moved to the smaller, one-story house on the Great Road in Princeton when she was about 65.

Mother’s long-time friends besides her Chum, Betty Bailey in Walworth, her Bronxville friends were Grace Francis—wife of Uncle Clare, the Crawfords, and the LaPierres. We saw a lot of them as well as Homer Crawford who became a good friend of Ed’s. The Francis children were Dick (Ed’s age), John (Wells’ age) and Barbara, my age. Dick died at age 26 in a car in California. He apparently was driving too fast down the mountainous side on a winding road. John later married Dick’s fiancée. He drank too much and died of cancer about age 70. Barbara was married, had a child and her husband died in a United Airlines crash over the Grand Canyon. She too later died of cancer. A lot of sadness for Uncle Clare and Aunt Grace.

I forget where mother met L.J. Mowery and Alice Nigh, but they wound up in Palm Beach running a secretarial service where Mother saw them frequently. (They lived in Cleveland during the off season.) When Alice died, we got her small desk which opened up at the top like an old school desk.

For about five years we went to Miami Beach for Christmas and would take two cars. Ed would drive one, Mother the other. (Many years later in planning to drive to Palm Beach, the family was concerned about her driving alone. I don’t know who arranged for a companion, but it was a man-size air filled dummy who sat straight up on the front seat next to her. At one gas station, the attendant looked in and said, He doesn’t talk much does he? I suspect she chuckled about her passenger for the two-day trip.) At least once we went on the train. A memorable trip was to see a movie—a depression promotional feature to attract Florida customers. I remember seeing It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. During our vacation years in Miami Beach we lived aboard Dad’s yacht, the Harwell, which was tied up at the Flamingo Hotel dock.

089--Gram%20and%20Wesley.tif

Mother with Wesley, Mohonk 1983

Some of mom’s best friends were her black help. She loved Wesley our chauffeur. Many years after he left us, he came to one of our Mohonk reunion outings. She never asked her help to do things she wouldn’t do. More than once I saw her outside washing and waxing one of the cars not only in Bronxville, but in Stamford, Connecticut. Another time I saw her on her hands and knees laying tile (I have a photo of that). While in Bronxville her staff was: Wesley, his wife Geneva, and Mary the cook. She always seemed to be working with them and helping. She had a particular affection for a woman she called my Scotch Jean. Jean had come from Scotland, worked for us for some years. Mother never lost track of her and, kept in touch.

091--Gram%20with%20ABS.tif

Gram during American Boychoir Christmas recording in 1986, at 295 Mercer.

The four of us got broken up in 1934 when both Ed and Wells went off to The Hill. Suddenly Ginny and I were on our own. I saw more of her friends, she of mine.

We were living at 26 Northway, a new 1932 house dad had bought under construction. (By 50 feet it technically was in Eastchester.) It was a mile from school so Wesley would pick us up for lunch. We had fun while eating, holding our pinky up, like royalty. If we didn’t like the food we’d take two steps to the window and quietly toss it out. We came to very much love each other and she was always sympathetic with my sometime behavior problems.

When dad and mom decided to live in the country, we left Bronxville to live on a 132-acre farm just outside of Stamford. With a distant view of Long Island Sound, it was a beautiful farm with numerous farm buildings and a lovely big house. (Years later the farm became a municipal golf course and the beautiful old home became a restaurant.) Behind the house they built a tennis court. While Ed, Wells, Ginny and I and our friends used the tennis court a lot, one story must be reported. Forty-six-year-old Grammie decided to take up tennis once again. She called the tennis pro at the Stamford Yacht Club and invited him come out to Woodacres to give her lessons in the morning. When he asked, What time, Mrs. Hobler? she said, 6 a.m. so it won’t intrude on my daily schedule. He was dumbfounded but agreed to meet her. I woke up more than one morning hearing the sounds of tennis balls being batted around at 6 a.m.!

When mom was about 45, she hadn’t skated for some years. When a little pond in the woods at Woodacres Stamford froze over, she put on her skates to join me trying not to fall. She didn’t, but I did.

One summer aboard the Harwell on a trip to Maine, we stopped at Matinicus, a small island with perhaps 200 people. The Harwell’s Captain Ames was a native and had dozens and dozens of relatives there. We went ashore to watch two weekly Saturday night events: Young and old taking turns riding in the only car on the island up and back on a half mile road—-the length of the island. The other was square dancing with energetic singing, clapping, swinging this way and that. Suddenly, there was Mother amongst them all—weaving in and out and having a ball!

The cows and household furniture had to be moved from Woodacres, Stamford to Woodacres, Princeton in June 1941. One farm truck was loaded with bed frames and mattresses. Mother lay down on a mattress or stood up in the truck all the way, smiling, waving to people right through the Lincoln Tunnel. What an incredible sight!

Wells entered the Air Corps in June 1941, was commissioned a pilot and then spent 3 years in Newburgh, NY teaching West Point cadets to fly. Dad and mother visited from time-to-time. Upon one occasion, Wells asked mother if she’d like to fly in an AT-7 which was his training plane. Yes! she said. With dad watching, Wells put a parachute on mother, pushed her fanny up onto the wing and then into the cockpit just behind the pilot. Off they went with Mother waving at a nervous Atherton. About 3,000-4,000 feet Wells said, through the intercom, Are you up for a loop? With great enthusiasm she yelled Sure! So Wells looped the plane. (Subsequently, Dad reported he was very concerned when this happened.) How about some rolls? Sure! she said. She thoroughly enjoyed the half-hour ride, as did Wells, but not Dad. However, Dad did see her waddling along with a big parachute on her back. I vaguely recall seeing a photo of her on the wing but can’t put my hands on it.

If she had a favorite child it was, of course, Ginny. They were great friends from the time Ginny was perhaps about 12. (For several years when Ginny was 9 to 11, they had something special in common—long hair that reached below her waist. They both wore it in a large bun. And, for a year or two about this age she had a narrow blonde streak in the middle of her hair from front to rear. Sometimes she wore a pigtail.) They so thoroughly enjoyed each other, lovingly and respectfully.

132--Hobes%20with%20gram%20young.tif

St. Louis, 1922

Some Memories of Ginny

Ginny’s long time best friends were Jane Sebring and Ann Bucky Starbuck in Princeton, Barbie Beardsley from Wyonegonic and Mary Brigham from Dana Hall where she spent three years before going to Smith where she met Marty Davis.

A bit pudgy as a youngster, Ginny exuded a spirit of honesty, beauty, and love for all. And, she loved to tease Dave Speer, his mother Aunt Wilda and others she truly loved.

About five foot seven and left handed (the only one of the four of us mother couldn’t break), she was good at tennis, loved to swim, and was a caring, fun-loving extrovert as a teenager into her adult years.

A memorable 1938 trip was with Bucky whose father was a top executive of the New York Central Railroad. The two girls rode alone in a private railroad car from New York to San Francisco! Then, like normal tourists, they went to Alaska by train for a wonderful 10 days.

For her 15th birthday, Mother and Wells arrived at Wyonegonic in Maine and took Ginny and me (at Winona) to Portland for the movies. On her 17th birthday Dad, Mother, Ed and I went with Ginny to a Broadway show. She was given a beautiful diamond and pearl ring and small opera glasses.

On her 21st birthday, we were in the midst of leaving Stamford for the new Princeton farm. In Stamford, there were 14 people there on her August 10th birthday including Meredith and Peggy Willson (who then took me to Hollywood). The night before lots of her friends and Wells went to a church supper where everyone sang college and song standards. On hand was Moo Thompson who was Wells’ date, his Hill and Princeton roommate Hal (Scottie) Scott, my date Emily Stewart, Jane Sebring, Ed and Anne and Walt Pettit (P’40) who was soon to unsuccessfully propose to Ginny. He was a wonderful person and, as of November 2012 he was still alive in California.

She went to the Flushing, NY World’s Fair in 1939. On April Fool’s Day 1940, she and I used a rifle to shoot at cans about 100 feet away in the backyard. She was very good. Later we played paddle tennis at the Stamford Yacht Club. That same summer she worked at Lord and Taylor with other college women.

That fall she came from Smith to be my date for the Yale-Princeton football game, a dance, and the Triangle Show. We got to bed at 5:45 am. I was so proud to show her off to friends. The companionship of Ginny played a conscious and unconscious part of my life. And, of course, she came to San Antonio in March 1944 with mother and dad to be a bridesmaid in our wedding. She was so enthusiastic about Randy and so proud of me. She and Marian Hershrud, (wife of Morrie Hershrud, a fellow cadet who lived in the same small apartment complex as Randy and me), had a lot of fun preparing some surprises for the bride and groom. They wrote silly notes and scattered them throughout Randy’s suitcase. They sewed up my pajama feet that caused me a few embarrassing moments in preparing for our first night together. What a great way to loosen us up!

My next to last night as a civilian, the interim Princeton basketball coach started me against Yale—a first for me. Mother and Dad, and Ginny and Bud came out from New York city to see it. I think the New York Times sport section box score showed—Hobler 0. 0. 0.

My last night as a civilian was spent in Mother and Dad’s New York apartment. The visitor was Ginny who was in P&S Nursing School in New York who went out of her way to say goodbye. I got an emotional hug.

While I was overseas, Ginny married Bud Redpath on February 10, 1945 in Trinity Church in Princeton. Randy was one of the bridesmaids.

On our third anniversary we went to New York to have dinner with Ginny and Bud followed by The Chocolate Soldier in the Century Theater. Little could I have imagined that 12 years later I would be in charge of production at Videotape Center in a Century theater that had been converted into a TV studio.

Oh, so many vivid memories of this girl and woman—loved by everyone who knew her. Suddenly, on December 26, 1947 at the Great Road house, our world of Ginny would end.

Ginny’s death had to break mom’s heart. It was Christmas day 1947 in Princeton. Seated around the dining room table for a big 1 p.m. dinner was Dad and Mom, H.T. Windsor and Jessie, Ed and Anne, Wells and Margy, and Herb and Randy. At a separate small children’s table was Dave, Windsor, Edso, Linnard and Randy W.. I excused myself to go upstairs to see how Ginny was doing. She had been in bed a lot since young Ginny’s birth on November 25th. I shared with Ginny that Randy was pregnant again even though we had not told anyone else. She was so excited for us. We left to go back to our Stanworth apartment.

The next day Ginny got up to go to the bathroom and fell over. Mom called an ambulance and it headed out the Great Road in the midst of one of the century’s worst snowstorms. They had told mother to take a door off, place Ginny on it and rock her back and forth. Having described her symptoms they apparently felt she was having an embolism. Mother said she was holding Ginny in her arms when Ginny looked up and said, I love you and died. This was an incredible tragedy for Bud and all of us and particularly for Mom. After she died I wanted to name our new daughter Virginia, but since her newborn was named Virginia, we chose instead to make Debbie’s middle name Virginia.

I was shoveling snow outside our Stanworth apartment when Randy appeared at the back door and urgently waved at me. I’ll never forget her three words, Ginny is dead. It was incomprehensible. I quickly changed from my work clothes, had a fast shave and drove as rapidly as I dared out the Great Road where snow plows had piled snow five and six feet high. I saw the ambulance coming towards me carrying, I suspect, Ginny. Upon arrival I had emotional, particularly tearful hugs with Mom and Dad and Bud and Ed and Wells. We sat in the living room and talked and talked while having food and drink. The next morning I again went to the house and joined Bud for a long walk down to the farm and back. It was a clear, cold early morning with the countryside blanketed with 25-27 inches of snow.

About three days later there was a service at Trinity Church in Princeton. Friends of Ginny’s and the family came from near and far notwithstanding the snow impediments. Afterwards we had a reception at the Great Road house where Gram was a peripatetic hostess counseling others who were bereaved. I remember sitting for a half-hour halfway up the hallway stairs with Bud’s older brother Bob, a successful insurance agent and user of semantic words. He provided me a great deal of comfort.

Shortly after Ginny died, in December 1947, I realized that the little baby girl she left behind would never know her mother. In 1951 I started looking at my diary from 1935 to 1944 and went through all kinds of photo albums to resurrect as many memories of Ginny as possible. Thus, armed with vivid memories of her, I wrote a 60-page recollection of Ginny some of which had specific dates. I completed it in 1952 but waited until young Ginny was 12 years old to give it to her. I am sure it provided her a warm and loving recollection of the mother she never knew. The pages were pasted up in a leather bound book, a carbon copy of which has been in my own duplicate leather book ever since.

When the Princeton Hospital built a nurse’s home near the hospital, Dad and I gave $1500 for a plaque in one building to honor Ginny. In 2012 when the new Healthcare Medical Center was built in Plainsboro, it was returned to me and I gave it to young Ginny, now 64 and a grandmother.

Representing Ginny

Another special memorial was the Virginia Hobler Redpath Foreign Student Scholarship that mother and dad funded at Smith. As the years went by they hosted many of these students for a weekend or more in their Princeton home. I met a number of students from India, Italy and elsewhere. And, of course, mother kept up correspondence with most of them.

In early 1992, I realized that sister Ginny’s 50th reunion at Smith was coming up. I got in touch with Smith, then with ex sister-in-law Margie Hobler (who was a classmate). Randy and I decided to drive up to Northampton for the occasion. In Ginny’s honor I gave Smith $1000.

Looking for ‘42’s headquarters, I thought we were in the right place and asked an elderly looking woman where ‘42 might be. It’s right here she said. I hadn’t conceived what Ginny would have looked like at age 72. Margie arranged to have 6 or 7 other classmates who knew Ginny to sit at a table with us for dinner. It was a wonderful evening for her classmates and me.

Ginny Lodge

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Camp Wyonegonic visit to Ginny Lodge. Ginny Redpath, her grandchildren Abigail and Elizabeth, summer 2012, holding picture of Ginny’s mom, Ginny Hobler Redpath (the girls great-grandmother)

While our daughters Debbie and Mary Bassett were at Camp Wyongonic around 1960, I thought it would be wonderful to do something to honor Ginny who had spent three years at Wyo. (We would see each other almost once a week while I was at Winona.) The Camp Director said they needed a nature lodge. The cost would be about $2500. I told Grammie about it and we split the cost and asked if we could have it called Ginny Lodge. And so it was. Her camp picture taken in 1934 remains on the wall by the fireplace.

Mom and Ginny shopped and had all kinds of fun together. Once, after a pretty good snowstorm, mother located a horse and wagon which came to our Bronxville house on Northway. The wagon was cushioned with bales of hay. About 6 of my friends and 6 of Ginny’s rode on the wagon through parts of Bronxville. When we got back an hour later, mother was waiting with refreshments in the basement at 26 Northway. She had made hot cocoa and snow candy for the occasion. She took snow in a pan and poured hot caramel sauce on it causing it to congeal into candy. Just like when I was a little girl in Illinois before there were cars and radios. On other occasions she attached several sleds to the back of the car with a long rope and towed us around town.

Gram’s 85th

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At Ginny’s in Massachusetts. First extended "Family reunion, 1978 for Gram’s 85th.

For mother’s 85th birthday in 1978, Ginny Redpath hosted the first Grammie Hobe family party in Massachusetts. Gram knew that Randy and I would be there along with Bud and Debby. Ginny had ordered customized T-shirts saying, Herb loves Grammie, Ed loves Grammie and so on. One-by-one many others would show up to surprise her. Debbie called from a nearby phone to tell her she was sorry she couldn’t get in from California for the event. Then, 10 minutes later Debbie showed up. Each of us always sensed a powerful, loving sensation when Grammie hugged us on arrival. She loved us all and knew the names and birthdays of everyone down to her youngest great-grand child. In the middle of that Saturday afternoon in Weston, I asked her how she was enjoying the surprise party. (She was wearing a special t-shirt she accepted with tears in her eyes that said, Grammie Loves Her Family.) Her eyes lit up and she loudly proclaimed, This is Grammie’s Family! I then said, Well, Gram, you’re paying for it. Her instant reaction with a clap of her hands was wonderful! We had 41 family members on hand. By this time, I was helping Gram manage her finances.

Thanks to having enough money on hand, I used her means to pay for three subsequent Mohonk Mountain house parties—transportation included—and she loved it. I asked her if she should like us all to have more parties after she was gone using some of the money in her estate and again, she exclaimed, Wonderful idea!

I was the contact for the all-expenses-paid weekend at Mohonk for her 90th, 93rd and 95th birthdays that attracted some 51, then 68 and then 74 family members. On one occasion Wesley Hatton (1930’s family chauffeur) and her black Palm Beach cook Julia Taylor also came. Cousins Burns Lee, Chuck Windsor, his wife Ruth, and Joy Windsor (Chuck’s half sister) all came at various times as did Herb’s assistant Bonnie Chiravalle. It was touching to see Gram and Wesley (the only black staying at the hotel), next to each other in rockers overlooking the lake and holding hands.

After mother was gone, we went back to Mohonk 3 more times (1991—70 people, 1994—75, 1997—74.) I sent reimbursement money to everybody for their air travel and, of course, paid for everything out of the Mohonk fund. Those family gatherings couldn’t have been a greater tribute to this incredible woman who kept us all together and loved each and every one.

Julia was known as JuJu by the second and third generation Hoblers as JuJu the Cooker. At one time or another, virtually everyone had the experience of staying in the Palm Beach lakeside home where Mother wintered for so many years. From the first thing in the morning to bedtime, Gram was there making sure everyone was enjoying the hospitality made possible by Dad’s generosity of their charming home and the pleasure of the Bath and Tennis Club.

Gram and Juju enjoyed each other day-after-day. It was a loving relationship. I sometimes think her best friends were Wesley and Julia and Scotch Jean. Close behind were the postal clerks and service people of all kinds who were recipients of her enthusiasm and interest in each of them. I know all these people felt special about her for time and again I was greeted by the same people with, How’s Mrs. Hobler? They often followed by compliments about her effervescent, upbeat attitude.

Another family friend was Jessie Johns (who was born in Wales) through her longtime friends L.J. Mowery and Alice Nigh. As a result, Jessie stayed with members of the family for weeks at a time when we were on vacation or otherwise needed babysitting help. When she died she was found with a dust cloth in her hand, dead on the floor. After she was cremated her son didn’t want to worry about her ashes. Gram put the ashes in a closet for many months—just in case. Ultimately, after about a year, she had Jessie’s ashes put in the Hobler Family plot in Princeton adjoining Atherton and Ginny.

Mother had congestive heart failure for several years before she died. Her doctor, Harvey Rothberg, shared with me that it was terminal without a target date. She started to slow down perceptibly and so I notified the family that if they wanted to see her once more to come to Princeton.

In 1988, about a year before she died, she was taken to the hospital for some kind of heart condition. I was called at my office by Harvey (mother’s doctor and mine). I drove to the hospital, went to her room and Harvey asked me to step outside. He said, You may have to make some difficult decisions about your mother. That instantly caused me to lose my bearings. I got back to the office where Bonnie and John Ellis became concerned about my mental state. They walked me the several blocks to the hospital while I was having an amnesiac episode (as later diagnosed). It’s a temporary loss of memory. Apparently, I rambled en route, constantly repeating myself, asking about the tie I was wearing. After my visit with mother, I went to a psychiatrist who tested me as okay while telling me that a sudden shock can cause such a mind disturbance. Never had one before or since.

Gloria Brune had been living with mother for several years to help out, though Gram continued to cook and clean house. At age 95, she was very alert and in touch with her widespread family of some 75 descendants (blood relatives and spouses). At the end, Gloria did the driving. Each day, Gram would have breakfast, and then lie down on the sofa in her living room. Wells, Edso and others came, sat beside her to hold hands and talk with her. She quietly and slowly carried on conversations.

On her final day, Gloria called me to come out to the house. Grammie wasn’t doing well and Dr. Rothberg came out to see her. Her blood pressure was very low and he told us she would not live much longer. Gloria and I helped her off the couch and into a wheelchair to take her to her bedroom. She suddenly struggled, held on so tight we couldn’t straighten her arms out. We finally got her to bed. After a while I decided to go home. I hadn’t been home more than a few minutes when Gloria called to say she had died. I went back out to the house, sat on Gram’s bed to look at her and erupted in tears. I took off her rings and asked Gloria if she thought it would be all right if I clipped some of Gram’s hair to give to some members of the family. I did so, kept a bit for myself, and gave some to Ginny, Andy, Windsor, Nardi, Debbie and Bassett (I think that was all).

I arranged to have a service at the American Boychoir School where Ed, Wells, Bud and I spoke and the choir sang. She had been a great fan of the boys and adopted one of the black boys in the choir. Later the family went back to the house where we all sat audience style in the living room. I passed out some designated jewelry to several people and then gave everyone an inventory of everything in the house. The family then went through the house marking down what they would like to have—first choice or second choice, with an occasional strong request for something. It was a wonderful several hours as all of us who so loved Gram wandered through the house and turned in the requests. I think everyone got something of special importance without any arguments. Gram would have loved seeing the love she had generated amongst us all. She was the glue that held the family together. Not counting husbands and wives, she had 4 children, 20 grands and 22 great grands. Part of the memories the adults held were her enthusiastic goody, goody! or chess, chess or, mostly to the Princeton family she’d pop in with a knock on the door, open it and loudly speak out, yoo-hoo, anybody home?

That fall Ed, Wells and Jean, Ginny, Randy and I spent two days in the Palm Beach house at 218 Via Linda. We went over everything large and small and made an inventory. We then called in two women from the local Episcopal Church who reviewed the inventory of things we didn’t want. It was amusing as they made two piles: the good things that qualified for Palm Beach, and the rest for West Palm Beach. If only mother could have heard a comment by them. We’ve been doing this for years but have never seen such love and no arguments as we’ve seen today.

Mom’s Trip to Europe

At age 90, when she heard that Randy and I were planning a trip to England mom said, I’d like to go to Europe again. (Her first trip was as a 17-year-old.) So we took her. Whenever we were in England or Venice, every morning she was packed and ready to go sitting by her suitcase in her room.

As we walked down New Oxford Street in London, she asked why the people were walking so slowly. In Venice, the Gondolier extended a hand to help her down she said, No, I’m okay. We took the Orient Express from Venice to London. The train steps were steep and I pushed her up by her fanny. She had a fun trip, as did we.

Palm Beach Christmas 1988

In Palm Beach, mother was 95 and spending her first Christmas without family but with her companion, Gloria Brune. Knowing how much she loved each of her 75 descendants, I made a last minute decision. After Christmas morning stockings and presents at home, I flew to Florida having advised her companion Gloria of my surprise visit. Grammie was overwhelmed.

After dinner 56-year-old Gloria told us she had been an orphan, brought up by a Jewish father and Catholic mother in Cincinnati and now that Ohio had made it possible to obtain birth certificates of orphans, she had hers in hand. But how, she asked, could I possibly find my real parents now I know my name is Dowd. Are they alive, where might they live?

Excuse me I said. I’m going into the kitchen. There, on a hunch, I called Cincinnati information, found three Dowds and called the first. Have you ever heard of a George and Mary Dowd? No they hadn’t. I called the second Dowd. No luck. On the third call a teenager answered, didn’t know the answer but suggested perhaps his visiting uncle might. (I’ve used the names George and Mary only because I don’t remember their real first names.)

Again, my question about the Dowds. His startling answer was, Yes, my parents were called George and Mary. With a possibility in mind, I asked, how old are you? He said he was 53. I then pursued my possible connection idea with a key question. Did you ever have an older sister? He answered no but that his parents had told him they had a baby girl who died after childbirth.

I took a deep breath and said, Hold on a minute. I think I am going to put your older sister on the phone! A moment later Gloria was on the phone—with her brother. Later the story came out that because of the Depression, her parents simply couldn’t afford to keep her, put her in an orphan’s home, and several years later after two other children they had tried unsuccessfully to locate their first born.

A few months later her brother and sister visited and Grammie and I were startled to see the resemblances. After Grammie died at 96, Gloria returned to her roots in Cincinnati to be near her newfound siblings, nephews and nieces and grand-nephews. My spontaneous Christmas trip to Florida had not only been my mother’s best present and opened Gloria to a new life with a lost family, but I had given myself two unexpected gifts of rare pleasure and satisfaction.

Mom’s Records

As I was editing this chapter, I opened up the large brief case in which I have kept memories of mother—the glasses she wore when she died, a favorite pocketbook and six telephone books covering perhaps 40-50 years. In one book she listed all the family to whom she sent annual paper napkins—the initials of each after their name. For me, turning page-after-page was like having her with me for I recognized so many of the names and the stores she listed in Bronxville, Stamford, Princeton and Palm Beach. In going through her things after she died, I found birthday and anniversary cards all addressed and ready to go for the next 6 months. Some of them had checks fall out of the envelope.

But the biggest surprise was the daily diary she kept of a trip to Europe in 1956. She left the U.S. on September 21st and flew on a sleeper. She spent about four weeks with the Newtons in Bournemouth meeting their friends, eating out, playing scrabble and seeing other old English friends. (Min Filer frequently was mentioned along with Penny Newton who Randy and I visited in England.) Then Athy arrived on October 18th. They stayed at the Savoy in London and night-after-night got to bed at 11:30 even 1 a.m.! Athy visited the Benton and Bowles office. They went to the theater, to movies, had cocktails and dinner and champagne with friends new and old. To the American Embassy they went to get an absentee ballot to vote for Ike and Nixon. Athy checked on some nearby cows, they played gin rummy evenings and often got to bed late. They took a short trip, of course, to the Isle of Guernsey. Off next to Paris for dinner with cousin Elizabeth and Ed Eisner. Lots of sight-seeing (including the Louvre). Then to Florence and Rome, Madrid and Toledo. Page-after-page she documents the names of great artists from Michelangelo to Botticelli. What she captured for her diary suggests she was far more into culture than I would have suspected. Likely she took notes during the day to report to the diary as I did on my trips. She was 63 and Dad was 66. They had a wonderful trip that brought them home on November 27th.

The Big House on the Great Road

The home that Mom and Dad lived in from 1941 to 1952 was bought by the Princeton Starkey family in 1952. Mr. Starkey later died and his wife became Mrs. George Cook who owned the house when she died about 2006. After being on the market for four years at $4.5 million, in 2011 it was finally sold for about $2.5 million to a Mike and Ruth Wood. (Dad and Mother moved to the small one-story house up the hill.) Her son, Austin Starkey, Jr. had handled the estate and gave several of us a private tour of the big house in 2009.

In 2010 some 15 professional decorators each took a room and dressed it up for a fundraiser. One of those decorators was Ruth Bayer who called me in mid-July of 2011 to say the house had sold. She had told the new buyers, the Woods, about Gram’s Home Journal which Debbie had lovingly put together in 1982 (with editing by Randy) and they wanted a copy. Debbie sent me a copy beautifully personalized to them on the inside first page.

On Sunday July 31st, I spent two hours with Ruth and Mike and their recent new born named Atticus (after the name of the lawyer in To Kill a Mocking Bird played by Gregory Peck). Also present were Mike’s parents, Ruth’s father and her mother was present for only a few minutes. Mike is in the finance business working for an Australian firm. He and Ruth presently have an apartment in Hoboken permitting them both to commute to New York. She is Assistant Dean of Students at NYU. I’d guess they were about thirty.

They were moving in on weekends and hoped to give up Hoboken in late September to reside in their new home that they accidentally found while driving around Princeton. I took them in to the pantry to tell them the story of Grampie and the ad manager of P&G filling up one basin with Duz to make suds and the other with a new product. What kind? A detergent. What is a detergent? What’s its name? The ad manager’s answer was they had registered three names: Ebb, Tide, and Flow, no decision yet (soon to be Tide). Next morning only the detergent suds remained sudsy. When a few more members of the family came, Mike and Ruth had me go back to the pantry to tell the story again. They were really revved up about Grammie and the house.

Now, talk about coincidences! I was there because Ruth Bayer told Ruth Wood about Ruth Hobler and Gram’ s Home Journal. Mike’s father is Irving, but he used to be called Irv until someone decided to call him Herbie! Finally, getting in the spirit of all this, Mike noted that his last name is Wood, they live now on 20 acres. Possible name for the site? Woodacres!

I wound up with tears in my eyes twice. The first was telling how Aunt Ginny died in Gram’s arms after she had looked up to her and said, I love you and then died. The second tears came telling them how Grammie died. (I told them I would not tell them in what room Ginny died.)

I then opened up Deb’s book about Gram, put it open on my lap facing them around the table. I went through page-by-page adding some new historical comments. I concluded by showing them the Henry Martin cartoon on the very last inside page about Grammie’s Family all seated around the long table. At the end, they asked if I would come back for they would like to videotape it all over for the other family members!

It was exciting to be caught up in their enthusiasm about the house, its history and the spirit that Grammie had contributed to it. I sent a more lengthy report than this to 15 Hobler family members with a photo of Ruth, Mike, Atticus and Herb.

Note:

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4 Generations: H.T. Windsor and daughter Ruth, Herb and Randolph, December 25, 1947 (day before Ginny died)

Atherton Wells Hobler might never have fathered me and my siblings. Indeed, we would never have existed had not Mother broken her engagement to Harry Aldrich after she started dating Atherton.

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Ginny, NYC, 1941

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Mother with four, Ephraim 1924

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Ginny, Smith College 1942

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Mother and kids, St. Louis, 1925

Chapter 2

Dad

September 2, 1890 – January 3, 1974

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A.W. Hobler, Sept. 2, 1891, age 1 year

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Atherton Hobler

Born in Austin, Illinois (now a part of Chicago), to George and Harriet Hobler, Atherton Wells Hobler was an only child. (An older brother Harry was born in 1888 and died in 1890.) His mother doted on him. She was a brilliant woman who graduated from Rockford, from one of the first classes. Later, she was a teacher and also a Dean at Rockford College in Illinois. Dad graduated from the University of Illinois in 1911. He was the father of Ed when he was called into the service in WWI. He left Batavia and trained as a lieutenant at Camp Upton on Long Island in 1918 but never got overseas He had worked at least one summer for Appleton Manufacturing, a farm machinery company started, I believe, by his grandfather, Peter Hobler. More importantly, he also worked at Gardner Advertising Agency in St. Louis while in college. He joined Gardner full-time after graduation and became manager at age 26. To impress everyone, he hired a driver and a Cadillac to be driven to the office each day. Look successful and you will be successful he’d say.

One of his accounts was Ralston Purina that included the popular Ralston Hot Cereal. He had a line drawing of his 7-year-old son, Edward, on the package, a sample of which remains in the Ralston Museum. Thanks to his good friend Uncle Clare Francis of General Foods we all moved from St. Louis to Bronxville in 1925.

In New York dad helped incorporate Erwin Wasey (later to become Erwin Wasey Ruthrauff and Ryan–an agency that I called on). His biggest account was General Foods and it was with this in hand that he joined Bill Benton and Chester Bowles to incorporate their partnership in 1929 into Benton and Bowles. Dad became the major stockholder and, from a $1 million a year business, he added some $5 million and from there it grew. He was a pioneer in using network radio.

He took an extraordinary risk about 1933 when his client Maxwell House Coffee had slipped to #2 behind Chase and Sanborn.