The Family Cars, 1955-1969: Part I--The Ford

In 1955, my father bought his first car: a 1953 Ford sedan. And, of course, there's a story to that.

I've mentioned before that in the mid-1950's, we lived at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, where my dad had his first assignment in the Army. He decided that he needed a car. A friend suggested that he should go to St Louis to find a good deal on a car, there not being much commerce around Fort Lost-in-the-Woods at that time. The friend said he'd accompany Dad and help out with the dealing. The friend's presence was important for another reason: Dad had never actually driven an automobile! The plan was that they'd buy the car, and on the trip back to the Army post, the buddy would educate my father in the finer points of operating an auto.

On the appointed day, Dad took the train to St Louis. His friend had gone on ahead, and they would meet at the train station. When Dad arrived, however, his pal was nowhere to be found. Dad waited quite awhile. But he had limited time and had never been in St Louis before. So after some time as his friend had not appeared, Dad got on his cell phone and (oops, this was 1955!) Dad noticed a Ford dealer across the street from the train station.

The sales manager heard Dad's story: he was 23 years old, in the Army, with a wife and two young sons. The sales manager said, "I've got the just the car for you. My wife's been driving it and it's over at the house. I'll take you there." They went to the man's home where he showed Dad a 1953 Ford sedan. The wife served lunch and Dad and the sales manager made a deal for the car: $1100, [which seems to me a bit pricey for a two year old car in 1955] financed by the Boatmen's National Bank of St Louis, and insured by the United Services Automobile Association. The car was a Ford Mainline sedan; maroon with a white top.

Dad then commenced his own drivers education on the trip back to Fort Leonard Wood.

We would have that car for the next six years. It took us many times between Fort Leonard Wood and my mother's hometown of Kansas City. In April, 1958, we travelled to visit Dad's family in Houston.

In September, 1958, Dad got orders to Germany. We would take the Ford. We had to drive to New York to meet our ship and drop off the car. We went first to see Mom's family in Kansas City, then began the 11oo mile trip to Brooklyn. Dad, as usual, had carefully plotted out the route and scheduled stops. We'd travel across Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. We'd stop just east of Cincinnati and get a good night's rest. The next day, we'd take the Pennsylvania Turnpike through Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, and then enter the New York metropolitan area, and end up at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn.

The first part of the trip went well. My brother and I had fun spotting different cars and license plates. My mother had my almost year old sister [and in utero brother] with her in the front seat. (This was in the days before seat belts and baby carseats). As we approached our stopping point in southeastern Ohio, the sun set and an autumn rain began to fall across the mid-Atlantic states.

By the time we got to the motel, the rain was heavy and steady. Dad got out and went to register. He was back quite quickly. He started the car and pulled back onto the highway, as my mother looked at him quizzically. Hours later through the rain, we stopped at a motel in Pittsburgh. Years later, I learned what had happened at the Ohio motel: We don't take your kind. Better keep on driving, boy. I don't care if your wife's pregnant; didn't you hear me? We don't let you people . . . .[The first and only time this happened in our extensive travels; my careful parents didn't expect it in Ohio!].

The next day we made it to Brooklyn without further incident. We stayed at the now-defunct Fort Hamilton while Dad drove the Ford to the port. Two days later, we were on a ship bound for Germany.

We went to Frankfurt, Germany, where Dad was assigned to the NATO courier service, carrying secret documents between European capitals. The Ford arrived a few weeks after we did and Dad took the train to Bremerhaven to pick it up.

My youngest brother was born in Frankfurt. After eighteen months there, Dad was transferred to Karlsruhe, Germany. We drove to the new duty station in the Ford. On the way, it began to snow and soon we were driving through a major blizzard.

Dad and the Ford got us safely to Karlsruhe. The city is near the French border and we took the car on several weekend adventures in France while we were there. My dad was in charge of special services (now called Morale, Welfare and Recreation or "MWR") in the U.S. military community around Karlsruhe. On weekends, he sometimes took us in the Ford to visit some of the facilities in the area for which he was responsible. We also visited other towns and cities in southwestern Germany.

In 1961, Dad was ordered to Albuquerque, New Mexico. He decided it was time for a new car, so before leaving Germany, he sold the Ford to another GI. In late August, 1961, we departed Germany aboard a commercial airliner and, after a refueling stop at Shannon, Ireland, landed at McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey. The next day, we were on a train headed for Kenosha, Wisconsin, and the American Motors Company factory there.

This photograph is [probably] not the automobile my dad brought, but it looks exactly like it (including the colors)! This car is purportedly a 1954 model, while our car was a 1953. Photo from Wikimedia Commons.

Next: The Rambler

Comments Re: Leslie H. Sabo, American Hero

There are many pleasures and some pains in writing GeneaBlogie, but I don't think I've experienced anything quite as poignant as some of the comments I got about our piece on Sgt Leslie H. Sabo. I decided to give them upfront exposure and you'll understand why.

Moultrie Creek said...

Craig, thank you for spotlighting these stories. These men are great heroes and deserve our highest honors. My thanks also goes to the people who kept their stories alive and continued the fight to insure those honors were awarded.

Anonymous said...

My name is Rose Mary Sabo Brown. The article you posted is about my husband. I just wanted let you know that this article was wonderful. Thank you so much for recognizing his story. I am anxiously awaiting for him to be awarded the Medal of Honor. He so deserves it. I am so proud of him.

Anonymous said...

My name is Kathleen E. Starkey. I am Rose Mary Sabo Brown's sister. I was introduced to Leslie when I was 12 yrs. old, in which we immediately connected and became fast friends. I loved him like a brother, and he was always there for me when I needed someone to talk to.
A few years later I was asked by my sister and him to be in their wedding. Even though I was just a kid, I felt honored to be apart of something very special. The love that was between them was so real, it made we want to have someone that special in my life too.
The day we found out our beloved Leslie was taken from us, left a hole in all our hearts. We never really knew exactly what happened to him in that foreign country and imaginations all ran wild. When we finally found out the truth about how he died, it gave us closure.
Incidentally, we weren't surprised to find that he died a hero, he was all of our heroes to begin with.
I know in my heart he is in heaven with our Lord Jesus Christ simply because he gave the ultimate gift, his life for his comrades.
He deserves this Medal of Honor, not only for what he did in Vietnam, but for who he was in everyone's life.
I will always love and miss him. Till we meet again in heaven,
your little sister,
Kathy

Anonymous said...

My name is Rick Brown and I was with Leslie Sabo that day in Cambodia May10,1970.The day before I had my 19th birthday and so I was very young.There is not a day since that I have not thought of Les Sabo and the other seven men we lost that day.I am writing this because Les and the rest we lost made it possible that I am here.On Jan 24,2008 I lost my best friend George Koziol to cancer who fought so hard to see that Les Sabo received the Medal of Honor.George was a witness to what Les did and was severely wounded as well.Les Sabo was in the 2nd Platoon and I was in the 3rd Platoon.Les was a man that gave up his life to protect us on that battlefield that day.Les Sabo will always be remember by his Brothers from Bravo Co 3/506 101st Abn

I was glad to bring this story of heroism to our audience. I'm very sorry to hear of the passing of George Koziol who did so much to keep the memory of Sgt Sabo's heroism alive. Now that a date has been set for another overlooked soldier's Medal ceremony, we hopefully can expect Leslie Sabo's family and friends to receive word soon of their trip to the White House. May God bless them.

Two Heroes: WIlson and Shadrach of Andrews' Raiders

Note: This is the last in a series of four posts about heroic soldiers who were denied or overlooked for the Medal of Honor at the time of their extraordinary acts. Less than ten days ago, Congress authorized the award of the Medal to five of these men.

One of the most daring events of the Civil War took place in northern Georgia in April 1862. For their part in the affair, nineteen members of the Ohio volunteer infantry were awarded the nation's first Medals of Honor by Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton. Unfortunately, two men, George D. Wilson, and Phillip G. Shadrach, were left out of the wards. Now, 146 years later, Congress has passed legislation to award them the highest military honor.

Major General D.C. Buell, in command of the Department of Tennessee, had employed a sometimes spy and contraband runner named James J. Andrews from Kentucky. Andrews conceived a plan to execute Buell's desire to disrupt communications and transportation between Chattanooga and Atlanta.

With twenty-two handpicked men from the Ohio Infantry dressed as civilians, Andrews walked from a rendezvous point near Chattanooga to Marietta, Georgia. They reached Marietta at about midnight on April 11, 1862. At that Marietta, they boarded a train for a station called Big Shanty not far from the Great Kennesaw Mountain.

While the engineer, conductor, and other passengers were eating breakfast, Andrews and his men uncoupled the locomotive called The General, its coal tender and three box cars from the rest of the train, all without arousing the suspicion of the soldiers at nearby Camp McDonald. Sixteen raiders secreted themselves in the boxcars. Andrews and Privates Wilson Brown and William Knight, both locomotive engineers, entered the cabin. Another soldier acted as fireman. The legitimate crew of The General looked up from their breakfast to the sight of the train teaming out of Big Shanty without them.

The raiders cut telegraph lines, removed rails, and burned bridges. According to the railroad schedule which Andrews had with him, they should have met only one other train, but for some reason they met three. The raiders told inquirers where they were compelled to stop that they were conveying powder to Beauregard's army. The first train that came to a broken spot had its engine reversed and became a pursuer of the raiders. About an hour was lost in waiting to allow these trains to pass, which enabled their pursuers to press closely upon them. Despite their best efforts, the time lost could not be regained. After having run about one hundred miles, they found their supply of wood, water, and oil exhausted, while the rebel locomotive which had been chasing them was in sight. Under these circumstances, they had no alternative but to abandon their cars and flee into the woods on Chickamauga Creek, some15 miles from Chattanooga.

Thousands of Confederate soldiers scoured the country in all directions and eventually captured Andrews and his companions.

The report of the Judge Advocate General about this incident to the Secretary of War included the following:

The twenty-two captives, when secured, were thrust into the negro jail of Chattanooga. They occupied a single room, half under ground, and but thirteen feet square, so that there was not space enough for them all to lie down together, and a part of them were, in consequence, obliged to sleep sitting and leaning against the walls. The only entrance was through a trap-door in the ceiling, that was raised twice a day to let down their scanty meals, which were lowered in a bucket.

They had no other light or ventilation than that which came through two small, triple-grated windows. They were covered with swarming vermin, and the heat was so oppressive that they were often obliged to strip themselves entirely of their clothes to bear it. Add to this, they were all handcuffed, and, with trace chains secured by padlocks around their necks, were fastened to each other in companies of twos and threes. Their food, which was doled out to them twice a day, consisted of a little flour, wet with water and baked in the form of bread, and spoiled pickled beef. They had no opportunity of procuring any supplies from the outside, nor had they any means of doing so; their pockets having been rifled of their last cent by the Confederate authorities, prominent among whom was an officer wearing the rebel uniform of a major. No part of the money thus basely taken was ever returned.

While the group was imprisoned at Chattanooga, Anderws was tried as a spy, convicted, and hanged at Atlanta on June 7, 1862. Following his execution, twelve others were transferred from Chattanooga to Knoxville, where seven of them were put on trial for spying. All seven were convicted and sentenced to death.

The Judge Advocate General's Report continued:

Among those who thus perished was Private Geo. D. Wilson, Company C, 21st Ohio Volunteers. He was a mechanic from Cincinnati, who, in the exercise of his trade, had travelled much through the States North and South, and who had a greatness of soul which sympathized intensely with our struggle for national life, and was in that dark hour filled with joyous convictions of our final triumph. Though surrounded by a scowling crowd, impatient for his sacrifice, he did not hesitate, while standing under the gallows, to make them a brief address. He told them that, though they were all wrong, he had no hostile feelings toward the Southern people, believing that not they but their leaders were responsible for the Rebellion; that he was no spy, as charged, but a soldier regularly detailed for military duty; that he did not regret to die for his country, but only regretted the manner of his death; and he added, for their admonition, that they would yet see the time when the old Union would be restored, and when its flag would wave over them again. And with these words the brave man died. He, like his comrades, calmly met the ignominious doom of a felon—but, happily, ignominious for him and for them only so far as the martyrdom of the patriot and the hero can be degraded by the hands of ruffians and traitors.

The fourteen remaining raiders were taken to Atlanta where they were confined. In October, 1862, all fourteen escaped from prison. Six made it back to Federal lines, six were recaptured, and the fate of two others has remained unknown.

On March 25, 1863, Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton presented the very first Medals of Honor to the six remaining Ohio infantrymen, and gave them brevet commissions as lieutenants. Eventually all the raiders would be awarded the Medal of honor, save four: James Andrews, who was not eligible as a civilian, another civilian, and George Davenport Wilson and Phillip Gephart Shadrach.

It's not clear why Wilson and Shadrach were left out of the award of the Medal of Honor. Some reports say that Shadrach was disqualified because he had enlisted under a false name.

George Davenport Wilson was the son of George and Elizabeth Clark Wilson of Belmonmt County, Ohio. According to one source, he was married once, but divorced in 1861, before enlisting. He had a daughter and a son.

Phillip Gephart Shadrach (if that was his name) is listed on the military rolls as Charles Perry Shadrach. A source says he was the son of Robert and Elizabeth Shadrack of Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Information about him is difficult to come by and even more difficult to verify.

Congress on January 28, 2008 authorized the award of the Medal of Honor to these two heroic soldiers.

Walter Scott of Spokane, Washington: A Brief Study

So last Wednesday, I had a long to-do list and I was making good progress. I took a break, went to my reading list and came across this great post by Miriam Midkiff. She'd spent Sunday of Memorial Day weekend visiting and photographing veterans' gravesites in the Spokane area. An excellent project! She posted a number of photos at Find-A-Grave. One of these was that of Sgt. Walter Scott, Company K, 27th Regiment, United States Colored Infantry. Noting that African-Americans are “a definite minority” in the Spokane area, Miriam wrote, “I'd love to find out more of his story!” Oh, no! I groaned. Because . . . I . . . was . . . busy. I didn't have time to take that on, as Miriam all but invited me to do! Doesn't she know that I'm an addict when it comes to tracking down stories like that?!

Oh, well . . . can't help myself!

Walter Scott was probably born in Ohio in 1847. If he was born in Ohio, which is suggested by most census records, he probably was born in Clermont County just across the Ohio River from Kentucky. Clermont County was a hotbed of abolitionist activity. There were numerous Underground Railroad sites in Clermont County, six of which have been preserved to this day. Walter may have been born near New Richmond, which hosted an Underground Railroad station. We have no record of his parents' names or his siblings' names. However, we have some clues that further research might bear out. These are mentioned below.

The fact that he lived in an area with so much Underground Railroad activity may suggest that he was born elsewhere and brought to Ohio by runaway parents or relatives. Perhaps 40% of those escaping by Underground Railroad passed through Ohio and a number of these stayed there.

Walter enlisted in the 27th Regiment, United Sates Colored Infantry, apparently at or soon after the time it was organized in 1864. He would have been seventeen years old. The 27th had a short but illustrious wartime experience. The unit went first to Maryland. From there, they pushed into Virginia, moving as far south as the James River. Part of the 27th's mission was to guard federal trains moving through enemy territory. They then participated in the siege of Petersburg and Richmond from June 1864 to December 1864. The 27th then moved into North Carolina where they helped capture Fort Fisher in January 1865 and then they were involved in the capture of Wilmington in February 1865. By April 1865, the 27th Regiment moved on Raleigh and was part of the occupying force there. In May 1865, the 27th was present at the surrender of Confederate Gen. Joseph E. Johnston. The men of the 27th Regiment were mustered out in September, 1865.

Walter Scott's service must have been exemplary. That's because, in less than two years, this teenager rose from private to sergeant. Only the best soldiers, black or white, were promoted to sergeant so rapidly. Most of Scott's fellow enlistees left the Army as privates. Scott left the Army at or shortly after the time the regiment was disbanded.

In 1870, he was back in Ohio, married to a woman named Josephine, said to have been born in Mississippi. They had a year old baby also named Walter. Living with them was 108 year old Phoebe Smith. The 1870 census did not show relationships, so it is not clear who this person is. She could be the grandmother or great-grandmother of either Walter or Josephine or she may not be related to them at all.

In 1870, Walter was working as a steamboat deckhand on the Ohio River. [Interestingly, Robert Fulton's first commercial steamboat, operating between Albany and New York City, was nicknamed “Clermont,” same as the county in which Scott resided.] On the 1870 census, Scott and his family are described as “mulatto,” suggesting that he had one white parent, most likely his father. The birth place of his father is blank, while his mother is said to have been born in Virginia. Also on the 1870 census is a 49 year old black man named Willis Scott, also living in Clermont County and working as a steamboat steward. Willis Scott is said to have been born in Virginia.

By the time of the 1880 census, Walter and Josephine were still in Clermont County, Ohio, but now with four children: the aforementioned Walter, May, age 9, Minor, age 7, and Martha, age 2. Walter had continued to work on the steamboat.

We don't know what the Scott family did in the twenty years between 1880 and 1900, except that they moved from Ohio to Spokane, Washington. In Spokane at the time of the 1900 census, Walter and Josephine resided with their daughter “Alfa” Keene [Martha], who had been widowed and their granddaughter, Josie Keene. Walter was working as an “expressman.”

Now of course, the most interesting question is raised. In 1900, Washington state had a black population of just over 2,500. So why did Walter Scott move his family across the continent to the Pacific Northwest? To answer that question, we may have to go back to the Army.

After the Civil War, the Army, as it does after every major war, reorganized and downsized. Two black infantry regiments were retained and designated the 24th and 25th Regiments. Two black cavalry regiments were retained and designated the 9th and 10th Cavalry. These four regiments were shifted to the west where conflicts with the Indians were becoming more intense and new settlements were being established. These regiments became known as the Buffalo Soldiers.

Both the 24th and 25th Infantry were at one time or another stationed at Fort George Wright near Spokane. This installation opened in 1899. There were in those regiments a number of men who had made the Army a career after the Civil War. Several had made sergeant; a number were from Ohio and Kentucky. It's easy to suppose that Walter Scott knew some of these men and had been in contact with them. So Scott's contacts in the Army may have told him about the social climate for Negroes in the Northwest. This climate was observed and described by Booker T. Washington during a tour of the region in about 1913. In a letter to the New York Age, Washington wrote: "As one travels still further in the direction of the Pacific Ocean, conditions among our people change, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse, but on the whole for the better."¹

Washington commented specifically about relationships between the community and the black soldiers:

I spent three pretty busy days in Spokane and spoke nine times to various kinds of audiences, One piece of information which was given to me by both white and colored people, especially by whites in Spokane, interested me very much and that was that the 25th Infantry, a Negro regiment of the United States Army,made a better record when in camp at Fort Wright near Spokane than any other soldiers that have ever camped there. One of the members of the Chamber of Commerce told me that the citizens of Spokane were practically unanimous in their regret that the colored soldiers were replaced by white ones. The members of the 25th Infantry made an exceptional record for fine and orderly conduct. It was very noticeable in Spokane that the reputation which these soldiers made had gone a long ways towards giving the white people a higher regard for the colored people in that vicinity.²

Washington goes on to note other examples of cordial racial relations in Spokane, Seattle, and Tacoma. It's not hard to imagine that this benign atmosphere was conveyed to Walter Scott by some of his Army buddies, who probably urged him to relocate. [It must be said that by the time of world War II, Spokane's regard for black soldiers seems to have cooled. In an official Army study entitled The Employment of Negro Troops, it is noted that "Spokane, Washington, citizens objected to stationing Negro Air Forces units at nearby fields, for they felt that their own Negro populations were too small to provide social contacts for Negro men.”]

Perhaps on the strength of such rosy assessments, the Scotts left Ohio and moved to Washington state. By 1910, Josephine had died. Walter was working as a porter at a hardware store. Walter the younger was a janitor; hid wife Blanche was a masseuse. Younger son Minor was a laborer at a smelter in the Tacoma area.

It's not clear to me that the Scotts were necessarily better off in the Pacific Northwest than they had been in the Old Northwest. Booker T. Washington's letter may provide a clue as to why:

One finds in a city like Spokane a few colored people who are succeeding in the professions and in business, and those men are well thought of. The principal drawback to the people in the city grows out the fact that they are barred, as I stated in my former communication, from the trades. As of yet, I have found no place where the trades unions give the colored man any chance at the trades. It seems pretty well understood in this part of the world that a colored laborer must be a porter, messenger, or something of that kind.³

This attitude on the part of working class unions may not have been motivated completely by racial animus. One must suppose that the government's use of black troops to suppress labor demonstrations had something to do with it as well.

In any event, Walter Scott moved out west for the same reason other Americans did: to find greater opportunity for his family. He died sometime between 1920 and 1930. His son Minor died in 1952 after working as a longshoreman in Seattle.

This is just a glimpse inside a much more complex story. Thanks, Miriam [seriously!] for opening up an area many of us don't know much about: the history of African-Americans in the Pacific Northwest.

Footnotes

1. The Booker T. Washington Papers, L. Harlan & R. Smock,, eds. (Univ. of Ill. Press 1982), Vol. 12:1912-14, p. 141, online at http://www.historycooperative.org/btw/Vol.12/html/141.html.

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid., p. 142