CHAPTER VII

The first few months of working in the repair shop of the Anchor Motor Freight Company was rather hectic since Anchor had taken over about fifty trailers from the former owners who had been serving the different areas. All of them had a variety of makes of trucks such as Chevrolet, Ford, GM, etc. I forget the other makes, but there were at least half a dozen which meant we had to carry a large stock of different parts to make repairs.

As the trucks got older, they were scrapped or sold and were replaced with standard Chevrolet trucks direct from the factory, but with extra heavy duty parts in them. They were put in service until the whole fleet, about fifty at that time, were all of a standard. Any truck could now be hooked up to any trailer, including all lights, with Just one plug-in to match every rig. It took a little while, but we finally got things Just the way we wanted them, and I had a lot to do with this standard pattern and was often complimented for my work and the suggestions I had made.

I don't boast much about my abilities but I know my own capabilities and many times have made innovations on most of the Jobs I have held over the years. I like the challenge and always look for a better way to do things and was often asked by others for my opinions on problems. These things make me a little uncomfortable to say now, but you all have lived with me long enough to know that your old Dad was no "dummy", to put it in a few choice words. I know you will agree and I guess all of you can testify to that, as can most of my fellow workers and friends.

Anyway, ,we gradually settled down with a good knowledgeable group of mechanics. We worked well together and asked each other for advice. About a year after Anchor opened, the Foreman was off work for about two months due to illness and I was asked to take over. Then when he came back to work, I was made the Assistant Foreman and recognized as such as I had a real happy crew to work with; I got along well with everyone in the shop.

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I hope that my remarks on this tape don't sound too tiresome to you, but I would Just like you to know what I was doing at work when I left the house every day while you were all at home and in school.

About two years after I started with Anchor, the Teamsters Union, with headquarters in Yonkers, New York, began nosing around Anchor in Tarrytown. They would talk to some of the drivers on the side, take them out for a drink and get a little information as to their feelings about Joining the union. I did not like the idea of hooking up with them as they did not, in my opinion, have a very good reputation for honesty. They did get better working conditions and other improvements for the individual drivers but the Teamsters had a national reputation for foul play and graft by the top officials. But we mechanics didn't have the opportunity to say much. In fact, I don't remember even being asked. If the drivers agreed to Join the Teamsters Union, we would Just have to go along.

The Chevrolet factory was organized by this time by the C.I.O. In my opinion, this union was much more honest in their leadership. But I had no voice in the matter so eventually, the drivers held a meeting and voted to Join the Teamsters Union. We mechanics knew we had to Join up with them or else. Against my better Judgment, I Joined them and surprisingly, when the mechanics held a meeting I was nominated and elected as their Shop Steward. After some consideration, I accepted as I felt I could do the Job to their satisfaction.

I've always been a "Union Man" in my thoughts and had belonged to the Amalgamated Society of Engineers in Glasgow when I started my apprenticeship at the age of 16. To this day, I still have that membership card among my souvenirs here in my house in Florida.

Although I belonged to the Teamsters Union, I did not like their policies and especially did not care for the head of the Local. He was a big ignorant Irishman. I guess he graduated from a horse and wagon to his present Job because of his physical toughness.

I knew from some of the talks I had with him that he was like the others, Just as big a crook as the head men in the Teamsters. In fact, he wound up serving three years in Sing Sing Prison for stealing union funds in Yonkers as well as charges of Assault and Battery. Once again, my Judgment was right. I made sure I had no personal trouble with him, but if I had a complaint, I usually was right and got it straigtened out. But after a year as the Shop Steward, I gave it up as a thankless Job in most ways and I felt much better after I had no more responsibilities like that. I had enough worries at times as Assistant Foreman, which at least paid me a little more money.

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[ I think a word or two about my father's work while he was at Anchor is in order. I know he was a hard worker and a good worker. I believe he worked at least eight and perhaps nine hours a day, Monday through Friday, and at least four hours on Saturdays. I think this was considered the "normal" work week in those days for "Blue Collar" workers.

Dad carried his lunch, consisting of a sandwich, perhaps a piece of fruit, and a Thermos flask of hot coffee every day. Often during the summer months and as a special treat, my Mother would prepare a fried egg sandwich for him. She would put the fried egg between two pieces of his favorite bread, Italian bread, wrap it in waxed paper...usually the wrapping from the factory baked bread she bought for the rest of the fanily...and then give it to me to deliver. I would jump on my bicycle...actually my sister Jean's hand-me-down...and pedaling as fast as I could, cover the 11/2 mile or so trip timed to arrive at the Anchor shop just as Dad would start his 30 minute lunch period. I remember he was always so appreciative and would let me sit with him and his co-workers as they ate their lunch, chatted and kidded one another. I remember that they did seem to be a happy group of hard-working men.

One thing that stands out in my memory about this group of men, and especially my father, was the absence of bad language. Perhaps the other men abstained because of my presence, but I can honestly say that I never heard my father use any bad language, even the words "Damn" and "Hell" in my presence until I was at least nineteen or twenty years old. Quite a departure from today when, it seems, "Four Letter" words are so commonly used by so many that they no longer have shock value; they are considered part of everyday language. What a shame!

I also remember Dad sharing his workday experiences with my Mother each evening at the dinner table. We all became quite familiar with the names and characteristics of his co-workers: Dick Leonard, the Foreman; Joe Hayes, the Tire Man; Cliff or Clayt Ault, the Dispatcher, (called "The Boogieman" or simply "The Boogie" because of his mysterious ways of assigning car deliveries); fellow mechanics Ernie Gower and Frank Bronick; and the Boss, Mr. Gregory, known by the workers as "Greg"; and his secretary, Mary. There were others, but I don't recall their names although at the time, we knew them all. Also, Dad must have been well liked by his co-workers for they would often come by on a Saturday evening or a Sunday afternoon with their families for a social visit.

As reported earlier, I worked for Anchor as a "Drive-Away" for about six weeks during the summer of 1951 while I was a college student. Several of the drivers and others, including "The Boogie" and Mary, immediately recognized me as "Scotty" Barr's son. It was a nice introduction and they were especially kind to me, I'm sure, because of the respect they had for my Dad. -Ed.]

Another event took place that I think was interesting. When the President of the Irvington Lawn Bowling Club learned that I had a 16 mm movie camera he called and invited me to come to the Bowling Club green to take some movies of the Opening Day Ceremonies in May, 1933. They would supply the film. Although the Club had been in existence since 1930, I had never taken the trouble to see it. I knew about 60% of the Club's members through Clan Cameron since the members were predominently Scotsmen.

So I agreed to go there on a Saturday and film the Opening Day Ceremonies scheduled for 2:00 pm. I arrived at the Green and was amazed at the layout just behind the Irvington Presbyterian Church in Irvington. There was a beautiful bowling green. It was well kept with flower beds and rock gardens. Four of the members, who were Scotsmen, were Superintendents of large estates in Tarrytown and Irvington so they laid it out and landscaped it. All the work was done by the members of the Bowling Club.

I Although Dad states the year as 1933, I believe it was actually 1938 or 1939. My mother, as well as my brothers George and Jack, and I joined Dad for this event. Still and movie pictures were taken and I was photographed wearing a brown wool suit with long pants...this was the first time I had worn a suit with long pants, so I remember the occasion well. George and Jack wore the traditional "Little Boy's" summer outfit of white shorts, white shirt, white jacket, and white shoes and socks. Obviously, in those days, youths and grown men did not wear shorts; shorts were for little boys. As a matter of fact, I clearly recall visiting Gibralter during my cruise with the New York State Maritime Academy in the summer of 1947 and seeing British sailors and officers wearing shorts. We Americans thought it was quite novel and quaint! -Ed.]

I will take the time to go into some detail to show you what can be done with the cooperation of the wealthy people in the church. The minister of the Irvington Presbyterian Church, the Reverand Dr. George McGowan, was a native born Scot from Ayrshire, Scotland. He was a wonderful speaker and admired the works of Robert Burns. He had also been an enthusiastic lawn bowler in Scotland.

Dr. McGowan was well educated and a graduate of the University of Edinburgh. When the occasion called, he could speak the "Broad Scots" as if he had never been to school. He called most of the members by their first names, using the "Broad Scots" names such as "Tam" or "Tammy" for Tom, "Jock" for John, "Willie" for William, and of course, "Rab" for we who were named Robert.

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He was a real fine gentleman and a wonderful speaker and Master of Ceremonies. When the Depression first hit in 1929, most of the local men were tradesmen. Many worked in the Lord & Burnham Company factory in Irvington, some worked in the Otis Elevator Company and Alexander Smith Carpet factories in Yonkers, and of course, several worked for the Chevrolet plant in North Tarrytown. Others were in the building trade so many of these men were laid off by the cutbacks.

Being a sympathetic man, Dr. McGowan could understand their problems, and as most of them were long time members of the church and had families, he decided to do something about their misfortune. Remember, there was no such thing as "Unemployment Benefits" in these times. Skilled working men were just hanging around looking for odd jobs each day. Even jobs requiring nothing more than a strong back and the use of a pick and shovel were grabbed up immediately; it was a job!

About 25% of the members of The Irvington Presbyterian Church were wealthy. Dr. McGowan called them together at a meeting and explained his plan to put some of these idle men to work and to help the church at the same time. He proposed that they donate some money towards building a lawn bowling green on a piece of property which lay behind the church. This property was an "eyesore" and was being used as a dump by many who did not even live in Irvington. People were throwing their garbage, as well as old furniture, newspapers, boxes of junk, etc. on this lot owned by the church. One old man had even planted a tomato garden there; the place was a mess.

Most of these wealthy members had large estates which meant that they had several men working for them. They were enthusiastic about Dr. McGowan's proposal, especially since it meant getting rid of this dump on church property. They agreed to have their estate workers, plus teams of horses, be used to clear the grounds.

Arrangements were made with the village to haul the trash and to do the preliminary work before the filling and grading of the bowling green would take place. They appointed an administrator to make all the arrangements and also appointed two of their members to take care of the finances.

When the place was all cleaned up and the local men were ready to go to work, the minister was told to go to the local hardware store, buy picks, rakes, shovels, and other materials he would need and charge it to the members. They also provided wheelbarrows and other tools that were needed for use on the new green. The local men were paid $1.00 per hour from this special fund. One of the Bowling Club members took the names of the men who worked and paid the men off every day in order to give them a few dollars to start with, and then they were put on a weekly pay schedule. These few dollars each day made quite a difference for many men as to whether or not a family could eat or pay their rent.

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It was amazing to see the spontaneous response given by the wealthy people to Dr. McGowan's appeal. Of course, I didn't know any of this until after I Joined the Bowling Club and heard the story from the older members.

At first, the green was built only four rinks wide, then a few years later, four more rinks were added. This made it a full sized regulation bowling green, 120 feet by 120 feet. Now games could be played East or West to allow for normal growth of the grass.

Mrs. Thomas Luke was one of the original and most enthusiastic of the wealthy families associated with this project. She had a large estate which ran from Broadway in Tarrytown, east and up the White Plains Road to where the First National Grocery Store now stands. She honored the Bowling Club on Opening Day by raising the flag. After a few speeches by the Club President, Dr. McGowan and the priest of the Irvington Catholic Church, the first day's games were started.

I took movies as the flag was raised and also of the honored guests. Then I roamed around taking pictures of the individual members as they played: At about 3:30 pm, the games were halted and the ladies of the club served ice cream and cakes to everybody. During this time, the President of the club and another old friend of mine came to me and thanked me for my trouble and asked me what I thought of the bowling green. I told them that I was amazed at the beautiful layout of the whole place and this was the first time I had seen it. My friend said to me, "I've often thought of you Bob, and wondered why you hadn't become a member. How would you like to Join us now?"

I was happy to hear this and said I would be pleased to belong to this club. So the President said, "I will personally put your name up for membership at the next meeting." And that was that. I was voted into membership a week later and was a constant and steady member until the Club was finally dissolved in 1967 or 1968. Then I joined the Greenwich Lawn Bowling Club in Greenwich, Connecticut.

I was very active in the Irvington Club, serving as Vice President and then President twice. Mother was very active also in the Ladies Club and won the Ladies Singles Championship twice, I think, and the Ladies Doubles Championship twice. She had her own set of bowls and was a very good and a keen player for many years.

I also won many titles and led teams against other clubs on away games and brought back trophies and prizes to both the Irvington and Greenwich clubs. Over the years I enjoyed many games of lawn bowling and the good times that went with them until I left North Tarrytown and moved to Florida in 1977.

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Lawn bowling was one of the activities that I sorely missed after I left North Tarrytown and moved to Venice, Florida. The nearest bowling green is in Sarasota and I've played there a few times. Their play is limited to certain days and this didn't always suit my schedule. Besides, it's quite a little drive to go to Sarasota to play so I don't bother now, but often think back to the many happy days Mother and I shared while lawn bowling at the Irvington Lawn Bowling Club. [ After my father passed away, my sister, two brothers and I decided to keep his set of lawn bowls in the family since they meant so much to him and provided him with so many hours of pleasure. Each of us has one of the four bowls. Unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the set of my mother's bowls. -Ed.]

In the meantime, I was still working away for Anchor Motors. The years passed on, one by one, until in 1938, the U.S. Army gave Chevrolet a huge order for hundreds of Army trucks. Work was now plentiful and the Army trucks, along with cars, were pouring out of the factory. The workers were on two shifts. This went on until December 7th, 1941, which as you all know was Pearl Harbor Day.

I don't know if all of you remember that in 1939 we made a trip to Lorain, Ohio, to visit with Mother's Uncle Jim and his family. We visited Niagara Falls on that trip and Mother was not yet a citizen, as she was waiting for her final papers to come through. But I had my final papers and all of your birth certificates with me, so we had to leave Mother sitting alone on the US side of Niagara Falls while the five of us crossed the bridge into Canada.

We all enjoyed a few hours there looking in the stores, eating and buying a few souvenirs. I remember George and Jack wrote and sent post cards to the young Camalleri boys, our neighbors next door at Beekman Avenue.

Canada was at war with Germany and there were Army recruiting tents all over and several times I got the offer to enlist, but nothing doing. We went back across the bridge into New York and the USA and picked up Mother after her lonely vigil by Niagara Falls.

We all got back safely to our home at 131 Beekman Avenue, tired but happy. I think we all enjoyed that trip and I guess it was the last trip we took together as a family. The war really changed everything.

[ While on this trip, Dad registered for Seledtive Service. Since he was 39 or 40 years of age at the time, he didn't expect to be called, nor was he, but he still had to register. He did this, I believe, in Dunkirk, New York, a small town on the shore of Lake Erie, southwest of Buffalo, New York. -Ed.]

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After Pearl Harbor all of us at Anchor knew that the end of our jobs was in sight. Chevrolet built the last car on the line and then closed the factory to prepare for the manufacture of airplane wings and other partsfor US Navy Grumman fighter planes. I think the Chevrolet factory also continued producing Army trucks. Since the factory was at the end of Beekman Avenue, I remember often seeing long lines of Army trucks rolling up Beekman Avenue on their way to Army camps or to the New York City docks for shipment overseas. -Ed.]

I stayed with Anchor until I was finally laid off and then went to work for an old personal friend of mine named Herb Young, who owned The Tarrytown Welding and Machine Shop. I soon settled in at this new location and was named the Foreman. [ I think Dad left Anchor early in 1942. -Ed.]

In September, 1943, I applied for a job in Alaska working for the Corps of Engineers, US Army. They were building the ALCAN Highway through Canada to Alaska. I signed up for one year as an automobile/truck mechanic and in a few days, I was on my way to the Snow Country.

Along with several others, I left Grand Central Station in New York City for Montreal, Canada, and I had some sad thoughts as the train rolled north through Tarrytown. We got to Montreal late that night after many stops along the way. We found buses waiting to take us to the Canadian Pacific station where we boarded another train and were off for the west coast of Canada and Alaska. [ I remember riding with my father from Tarrytown to Grand Central Station on this eventful day. My close friend during my youth, Joe Camera, had invited me to visit him for a few days while he was vacationing with his relatives in Astoria, Long Island. This was a sad day for our family as our Dad left home for the next year. -Ed.]

I'll admit, I was already a little homesick and missed all of you kids in North Tarrytown, but I was sure I was doing the right thing for all of us. The wages for the job were attractive: $1.75 per hour for a 48 hour week plus time and a half for overtime. We were paid at this rate during our travels on the train, plus we ate good meals in the dining car and at the camps we stopped at along the way.

It was a long, uneventful ride across Canada. We rode on a one track rail and saw little except tall pine trees that grew close to the track. Occasionally we would come to a little village and had a stop of about half an hour to take on water and coal. Then we started off again.

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Finally, we came to the end of the forests and the start of the plains of the Province of Manitoba. This was all flat country with corn and wheat fields for miles and miles. We made Just a few stops at small hamlets until we finally reached Winnipeg which seemed to be quite a big city. I remember there were large wheat and corn storage warehouses all around.

We left Winnipeg and finally arrived in the Province of Alberta which was also flat and level country with big cattle farms on each side of the tracks. Then we arrived at Edmonton, our destination. A bus was at the station waiting for us and we were driven to the company's camp on the outskirts of the city.

We stayed at this camp in Edmonton for three days and were provided with clean and comfortable beds, and the best of food at every meal. The food included salads, pitchers of milk, steaks, turkey, chops, ham, and desserts of all kinds. All we had to do was ask and it was served up to us by waitresses, and all on china dishes, too. It truly was unbelievable and made our stay quite comfortable.

We went to various buildings and had our personal records checked and recorded. We were fingerprinted, photographs were taken and we were given a complete physical examination. Then it was off to the clothing store where we were issued our winter clothing consisting of parkas, hightop boots, rubbers, snowboots, and heavy woolen pants. We had been told to bring heavy winter underwear as well as heavy wool shirts with us, which I did.

After three days, we were put on another train bound for the west coast of Canada. It was a wonderful scenic trip to the Canadian west coast over the Canadian Rocky Mountains and through beautiful Jasper National Park. The scenery was spectacular...and we were being paid to enjoy it!

After two days on the train, we arrived late at night at Prince Rupert, on the coast of British Columbia. Again we were put up in clean accommodations, but this was a US Army camp called Camp Meade. There were thousands of US soldiers here training and waiting to re-inforce the US troops on the Aleutian Islands. The Japanese had captured some of these islands earlier and were in possession of them.

Since we were civilians, we had nothing to do with the Army. This was also the dispersal area for the civilian workers who were to be sent north to their respective companies working on the ALCAN Highway.

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My new employer, The Metcalf-Hamilton Kansas City Bridge Company, had a little office here. We had to check into the office each morning and look at the latest order posted to see if our names were listed for travel. We were there about a week since transportation was a big problem. Men were being sent north by plane and by boat everyday to work on the Highway, but there were not nearly enough planes or boats to keep it going on a steady basis. So all we could do was to lounge around the camp all day after the check-in each morning.

We got three meals a day, but this time it was US Army rations; the same as the soldiers received and we ate in their Mess Halls. There was plenty of food, but strictly plain and included lots of Spam. It was not like the food we got in Edmonton.

Let me go back to Edmonton for a moment. Edmonton was where all of the US civilian construction companies engaged in building the Highway had their headquarters. At the time, Edmonton was just a small prairie town about the size of White Plains, I would guess. Now it was a mass of new wooden buildings and camps.

Edmonton was also being used as a training area for Royal Air Force pilots. Because it was so flat and was crisscrossed with runways, there were planes taking off and landing in all directions as the young pilots were going through their training. The sky seemed to be crowded with planes flying at all different heights. It was quite a sight to see.

Unfortunately, there were several crashes in mid-air while the pilots were learning landings and takeoffs but that did not keep them from flying. This was one of the biggest training bases for the RAF as there was no fear of Japanese or German air raids. There must have been thousands of young men training here, all wearing the RAF uniform.

The young pilots wore shoulder patches to indicate their home country: Canada, France, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Poland, Australia, New Zealand, USA, India, and of course, many from Britain. They were all young, lively, fresh looking men of 18 to 21 or so, and I guess they were all anxious to earn their wings and get off to the fighting front to meet the Germans, who were occupying many of their homelands. The place was like a circus and seemed as busy as Times Square, but there was order all the same.

I don't know how they managed to keep it going in such order, but they did. It was a spectacle that I will never forget and it was something worthwhile seeing and I was proud to be a part of it.

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At Camp Meade in Prince Rupert, we civilians were allowed to roam around on our own, but there was no place to go. There were just acres of plains on one side and since we were on the west coast, we had the Pacific Ocean stretching for miles ahead of us.

The only bad feature of this place, as far as we civilians were concerned, was the PX. We could buy only two packs of cigarettes, a bar of candy, and an ice cream cone at a time and we had to stand in a long line outside while the GI's Just walked in and bought anything they wanted. But it was their PX and as we had nothing else to do but wait, we just took it in stride and enjoyed our candy bars, ice cream and cigarettes. Luckily, the weather was very good; it was bright and sunny so we didn't suffer too much.

Incidentally, I was walking over a little bridge at the camp one day and I saw a soldier coming towards me. I thought I recognized him. We looked at each other and then a big smile came across his face. He was a -

Tarrytown man, Joe Ttmney. Jean knew him quite well. He had been a teller at the Washington Irving Trust Company office on Broadway in Tarrytown and I knew him well since that is where I used to cash my Anchor Motor paychecks for years. Also, I had made arrangements with this bank to have Mother deposit my paychecks from this job.

It was a pleasant surprise for both of us; we were more than 3000 miles away from our homes and families and to meet each other like this! Years later, we met occasionally in Tarrytown. We would have a little chat and recall our chance meeting in British Columbia, when both of us were so far from our homes and families.

Finally, our group boarded a coastal freighter and we headed north through what is known as the Inner Passage to Alaska. It was a long and slow sail, but a very scenic trip as we looked out at the high snow covered mountains of western Canada and Alaska. After three days and nights, we arrived at Skagway, Alaska, a busy seaport.

As we approached the dock, a small motor boat with a US Navy officer aboard came dashing up to our ship. The Navy officer shouted to our captain through his big megaphone that there was no docking space for us and we should anchor for the night. We turned and went back about a mile or two while the captain looked for a place to anchor.

However,,. the water was very deep, so we spent about an hour and a half with two deck hands at each side of the bow, throwing the lead line as they measured the depth of water in order to find a location suitable for anchoring. It was interesting to watch and listen as the sailors kept throwing their lines in the water, retrieving them and calling out the depth. Then they finally found water of the proper depth and the captain ordered "Let go the anchor!" And so we spent the night in the middle of nowhere.

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At daylight, the ship heaved up the anchor and we started off for the dock to try our luck again. They were ready for us this time and we finally tied up at dockside. It was also a bit chilly and snow covered the surrounding land.

We had had nothing to eat since our lunch of a sandwich and coffee the day before. The plan had been for us to have had our supper in the camp at Skagway. Since there were about 300 men aboard ship, the food ran out and we were all looking forward to a good breakfast.

Soon after docking, we were taken to our company's camp in Skagway. We were shown to first class lodgings and received a fine breakfast. This time there were no women waitresses; we were served by cookhouse men, but we didn't care about that. We could Just ask and get as much food as we wanted.

After breakfast, we went back to our sleeping quarters, washed up and sat around waiting. Then we were taken to the company office. There were about twenty of us from our company. The rest of the men belonged to several other companies so we did not have too long a session at our company office.

Again, all of our vital statistics were recorded, but no photographs or fingerprints were taken at this time. The only new question they asked was if anybody had any sickness to report, but we were all OK. The only bad news was that a heavy snowstorm and landslide had washed down some big rocks from the mountainside a few days earlier and had temporarily damaged sections of the railroad tracks. Since this railroad was the only way out of Skagway to the Yukon Territory where we were headed, we were delayed another day or so.

Skagway was a small but interesting seaport and very busy since it was one of the very few ice-free salt water ports in that area. It was as busy as a beehive, day and night, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

As you all know, former Secretary of the Interior Seward bought Alaska from Russia for Just a few million dollars. It was known at that time as "Seward's Folly." But since then the country and the world have agreed that it was one of the greatest bargains in history.

Skagway Was an old historic frontier town and was the starting point for thousands of men who wanted to get into the Yukon Territory at the start of the Gold Rush in 1848. They had to struggle through Chilkoot Pass, which was the. only route. It was all uphill for miles into the Canadian Yukon to Whitehorse. They then had to get a boat from there to Dawson City where gold had been found.

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Most of these prospectors carried heavy packs with iron cooking pots, food and extra clothing. As they made their way through the deep snow, they gradually threw these things away, and eventually wound up with only the clothes on their backs and finally collapsed and died.

As you know Bob, Robert Service was a well known writer in these days and spent many years in this area. He wrote several stories and poems of the Yukon and Northwest Territories and I had read many of them quite a few years ago. Therefore, I was familiar with this area through reading the writings of Robert Service.

I was thrilled to see so many things in this part of the world that I had read about and they took on a lot more importance to me.I had a boOk of Robert Service's for many years and you Bob, very kindly thought of me and sent a second book by Service to me many years ago.

There were two or three saloons in Skagway and they were nearly always crowded with men waiting to go on further north on the Highway. It was interesting to see the inside of these saloons for they were still maintained as much as possible as they were during their heyday in the mid-1800's.

One saloon in particular had the entire floor of the barroom embedded with silver dollars. The silver dollars were in the floor like tiles and one could see from the condition of them that they had been there for many years. It was like the old time barrooms one sees in the western movies today. There was a long bar with the big mirrors behind and the heads and horns of deer and moose hanging on the walls. There was also a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and small tables and chairs in front of the bars, but no bar stools.

Skagway had been a wild and open town in the old days and there were many stories about the characters who lived there then. One in particular was about a man known as "Soapy" Smith who was a holdup man and a killer. For many years the local folks didn't seem to do anything about him. Finally, several of the citizens got tired of his conduct and formed a vigilante committee. They caught him one night, gave him a rough and ready trial, found him guilty, took him outside and then hung him from a tree.

His name "Soapy" Smith, and the year of his death are on his headstone and this/is one of the main tourist attractions in the little cemetary in Skagway. Most of us took advantage of the free time and saw the headstone of "Soapy" Smith and I'll bet everyone told their families of their visit to the cemetary after they returned back home as I have now.

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It is said that this was the beginning of the name, "Vigilanties." The process spread across the northwest part of Canada in the early days as the men who wanted law and order took the law into their own hands. This kept down a lot of robberies and shootings in the frontier towns.

Well, I've talked a lot about Skagway and I have one last little rememberance. Skagway was just a small settlement before the war and I think it had been the jumping off place for the thousands who flocked there in 1848 to get to the gold mines of Canada and Alaska. As you may know, Skagway was settled by Russians many years ago before Alaska was sold to the USA by Russia. Most of the buildings were built of wood and the town looked just like any other small town when one walked around it. You could see many buildings that had been built in the Russian design with the onion shaped dome on the top. Many of the buildings were fancy and ornate, some with stained glass windows and painted in bright colors such as red, yellow and blue with trim around the windows.

Some of the most elaborate buildings had been Russian churches. The biggest ones had two or three onion shaped domes on them and had many carvings and other fancy touches. I guess now they were the homes of the wealthy merchants. It was like looking at the pictures we see of Moscow and Red Square as the architecture of the buildings is very similar. These towers were much taller than the regular wooden houses and one could look across the rooftops and see these fancy towers. It gave the city a "foreign* look and was very interesting to see.

It was really a beautiful and picturesque scene against a tremendous background of high snow covered moountains. This was especially true in the late evening as the sun settled in the west .

Well, so much for Skagway. I never saw it again so I'll return to my comments about Whitehorse and Camp #3.

We finally got aboard the train at Skagway, on our way to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. The train would start off with a lot of whistle tooting between the engineers in the-two locomotives, one at the front and one at the end of the train. The locomotives would put on top speed and make.a dash for the steep hill, then the train would gradually slow down and finally stop. The engineers would signal with their whistles then the train would slowly back down, with the whistles blowing every minute or two, and we would return to the Skagway station.

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The engineers would signal with their whistles again and make another mad dash at top speed to try and make the steep grade. This happened several times until they finally made the crest of the hill at White Pass. Then, since we were on level ground, the locomotives would stop for fifteen or twenty minutes while they took on more water and coal. We then continued in,a more liesurely fashion until we finally arrived at Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, to the relief of most of the passengers.

I guess it was about a six or seven hour ride because we left Skagway in the evening and arrived at Camp MacRae in Whitehorse at daybreak. Camp MacRae, which was right alongside the railroad track, was our final destination. Most of us were half asleep and stiff with sitting so long. We straggled off the train with our hand-baggage, got into a bus and went directly to the Mess Hall. Here again we had a breakfast fit for a king...eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, everything we wanted except fresh milk. Milk was the only thing missing and this is the way it continued all the time I was up there.

This railroad was named the White Pass & Yukon Railroad Company, and on the locomotives and carriages, it read, "WP&Y Railroad Company." Each time I saw this name, my thoughts went back to Westchester County. I read it as the "White Plains & Yonkers Railroad Company." I thought it was apt, and it made me feel more at home .

These were all pretty old railroad carriages and I guess you have all seen them in movies of the Old West. They were painted a dark red and had been in service many years as Canada grew and expanded westward. The carriages had plain wooden seats and hanging from the ceiling of each carriage were three large and fancy kerosene lamps. They were brightly polished and were lit at night. They had a little open rail platform at one end while at the other end of each carriage was an iron cooking stove and a big wooden box filled with round balls. The balls were made of a mixture of coal dust and some kind of special adhesive to make them as firm as pieces of regular coal.

These stoves were used on long trips across country by the settlers heading west in the early days. Many families made these trips and they would bring their own food and cook it on the train. I guess in those days they used small logs of wood as fuel instead of the balls made from coal dust. Some of the carriages had velvet curtains at the top of each window and the carriages must have been well built as they were still in good condition. I'm sure they carried thousands of immigrants across the plains of Canada years ago.

The company I worked for had two camps, about half a mile apart: Camp MacRae and Camp #3. At Camp MacRae we checked into an office and gave all our particulars again. I was assigned to Camp #3, which was a bigger and newer camp than Camp MacRae. With the long trip across Canada and the stops at Edmonton and Prince Rupert, British Columbia, the days dragged on until the train finally stopped at Whitehorse and we went to Camp MacRae. I think the trip from New York City to Camp #3 took about three weeks.

All of the clerks at the camp office, by the way, were all really nice, friendly and helpful people. One of them, while we were checking in, said, "That reminds me, we have a lot of mail here that arrived on the same train as you men." He then brought in a big box of mail and most of us received at least a letter or two. I received a large stack of letters; one or two from Mother and one from each of you and I, like the others, just stopped and sat down immediately to read them. Truthfully, I had to read them several times as there were tears in my eyes and I saw many of the other men wipe their eyes. It was a special time for all of us.

It was such a happy surprise to read these letters and to read what each of you were doing. I especially remember George writing about his pigeons and listing the names of the wing and tail feathers. And Jack wrote about having been with Mother when she visited Mr. and Mrs. Fairlie in their apartment in The Bronx. I think they lived in the Parkchester Apartments and Jack described the iron railings the Fairlie's had on their windows as a safety guard.

What you and Jean wrote Bob, I don't remember, but I do recall that at the time you gave me all the details of your most exciting experiences of those days. I know I really enjoyed hearing from all of you. I had written to Mother and gave her my address and it was good to know that the mail always arrived safe and sound all the time I was in Whitehorse.

E I remember very clearly writing to my father at least once a week during the eight or nine month period he was away. The highlight of my life at the time was my part-time job as a Busboy at the Sleepy Hollow Country Club and my success (or lack of) as a member of the North Tarrytown High School Varsity basketball team. I remember sending Dad the newspaper clippings of every game we played, whether we won or lost.

Also, the mailman who delivered the mail to our house for years was named Al, and his last name escapes me. On Christmas Eve, 1943, Al made a special trip late at night to our house to deliver a record Dad had made at Camp #3. It included his Christmas greetings to each of us. My Mother gave me a few dollars and I went racing out of the house to find Al and thank him for making this special effort for us. As we played the record and heard my father's voice, we all broke into tears. He was loved and missed, especially that Christmas Season. -Ed.]

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Camp #3 was a big place with about seven hundred men of alLtrades. Every type of building tradesman was represented; truck drivers, bulldozer drivers, crane operators, heavy duty equipment mechanics who worked on the bulldozers and other heavy equipment, auto and truck mechanics like myself, etc.

There were three large Mess Halls with a full complement of cooks, assistant cooks, dish washers, and the rest of the staff that was necessary for such an operation. The men who kept the tables supplied with platters of food were called "Bull Cooks". Also, there were gas station men, grease shop men, and men in each repair shop who took care of the replacement parts.

There were a few clerks in the superintendent's office and also a staff of about thirty men who worked in the main office for the Camp Manager. Some of these staff men took care of the mail and delivered it each day to each section. We also had barbers, but they cut hair on their spare time. It was all well organized and everything seemed to go along in good harmony. The camp was really equipped to handle anything.

I was assigned to a bed in a large barracks which housed about fifty men and we had plenty of space on each side of our beds. When I got settled down in the barracks, much to my surprise and pleasure, I discovered that the three men who slept just opposite me were all Scotsmen. This was a Red Letter Day for me, and I soon became goad friends with the three of them.

One of the men was Harry Jamison from Barrhead, just outside Glasgow, and a longtime resident of Yonkers, New York. He was a carpenter and had an artificial eye. Another was a more elderly man, Jimmy Geddis, who originally came from Edinburgh, and now lived in the Bronx. He was a cement finisher and a real friendly person. Like me, Jimmy was a longtime member of the Order of Scottish Clans.

The third man, Jimmy MacIntosh, was a little older than I. He was also a carpenter and came originally from Inverness, but now lived on Long Island, New York. Jimmy was a veteran of World War I and had served as a drummer in the pipe band of the Seaforth Highlanders. He served in France and Belgium and was wounded-twice as a stretcher bearer. He too was a real nice fellow and was later promoted to Supervisor of the carpenters.

To top it all off, the General Superintendent and head man of this entire section, was Canadian. He had been born in Nova Scotia of Scottish ancestry. He was a large well built man and also a World War I veteran. He was a civil engineer and had served as a Major of the Royal Canadian Engineers. The only person over the General Superintendent was a United States Army Major from the Corps of Engineers.

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The Superintendent was very friendly to the four of us Scots and we had many talks together. A few times he invited us over to his-house or private office to have a drink with him. One thing he could not understand was why none of us could speak Gaelic as we had all been born and raised in'Scotland. On occasions, he would give us a blast in Gaelic and we would all have a good laugh.

Like Harry Jamison, he had only one good eye, having lost the other eye during the war. Harry told him that his glass eye used to freeze in his eye socket and give him a lot of pain. The Superintendent made arrangements for Harry to work indoors in the Carpenter's Workshop where they made windows, doors, etc. In the Workshop they kept a fire going in a large 50 gallon oil drum whick kept the room warm.

Harry wore a black eye patch over his glass eye when he went outdoors. The Superintendent told Harry that he had the same problem with his artificial eye and also wore a black eye patch at times.

The Superintendent had a Chevrolet pickup truck assigned to him. When he needed any small job done on it, he would bring it into the shop where I worked and ask the Foreman to have me work on it. Of course, this was no problem for me, and in fact, I think this gave me a little more prestige with the others in the shop. Occasionally, I would hear a litle joke from one of the other mechanics, but I just laughed it off.

While his truck was in the shop, he would usually wait and talk to me while I worked on it. He told me of his experiences in France and when he was issued a leave in France, he would make trips to the Scottish Highlands where his folks originally came from. I think he said he was a third generation Scot and was very proud of this fact. He told me how he had traced his ancestors and located many relatives in the Highlands while he was visiting during his leaves.

He was a fine person and a real gentleman. I would say he was in his late 50's at the time. With his height and being well built, I bet he would look great in the kilt. He said he usually wore his kilt in Nova Scotia and on his leaves to Scotland.

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Besides the several large barrack rooms, where I lived with my three Scottish friends, there were about fifty small square huts called "igloos." They were made in the USA and were portable. The igloos were shipped from the factory and assembled in the camp for permanent use. The igloos were about 18 feet long and about 12 feet wide with a 12 foot ceiling. They accommodated four men with one bed in each corner. The walls were about six inches thick and made of heavy canvas and were well padded with insulation. The igloos had wooden floors and wooden roofs. The roofs sloped a little so the snow would not pile up on them and were insulated like the walls. They were well made with no loose parts or openings to let in the cold.

In the middle of the floor was a kerosene stove about four feet high with a chimney and ventilator going up through the roof and they were also tightly sealed. There was a heavily insulated door and outside the door by each igloo was a 50 gallon oil drum which was filled every day. There was a 1/4 inch copper tube running under the door and across the wooden floor in a groove which was hooked up to the stove. The stove was kept constantly lighted and at the right setting and this provided us with very adequate heat; we could sit in our shirt sleeves and be very comfortable. The igloos were really well made and very sturdy.

We had our own electric plant which provided the entire camp with electricity. Our lights never went off unless we turned them off at night. We also had as many blankets as we needed but usually two were enough. We had no sheets and slept in our heavy underwear and were quite comfortable.

Well, Harry Jamison was a fellow who "never missed a trick." He went to the Camp Manager and talked him into letting the four of us have one of these igloos. A week after I arrived at Camp #3, we moved out of our barracks and into our new home which made everything so much nicer and more comfortable for us. This igloo was our "home" for months until we left for our real homes!

Of course we were not the only men living in the igloos. There were about 50 igloos, each with four men, but somehow Harry found an empty one and as I said, he convinced the Camp Manager that it was just waiting for the four of us to move in. It's good to have a friend who can talk his way into almost anything; and Harry was a good friend!

We could.get all the lumber and sheets of inch plywood that we wanted. There were stacks of plywood sheets laying outside. So with all this available lumber and two carpenters in our group, we would get a truck and take as much lumber as we needed for our little projects. In a few days, each of us had a little table and a bedside cabinet for the storage of our personal items.

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We had only one electric light in the middle of the ceiling, but since I had access to electrical wire, sockets, switches, etc., in the machine shop, I was able to hook up a bedside lamp for each of us. I fastened them onto a large tomato juice can and set them up on our little bedside tables. We later had shades made in the body shop and were soon almost as comfortable as if we were living in the Astor Hotel.

And so our life went on, day by day, month by month, in our part of the world, Camp #3, Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, Canada.

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CHAPTER VIII

After settling down in the repair shop, I soon got into a routine and worked away as if I were back at Anchor Motors in Tarrytown. One of the drawbacks during the first month or so was that the floor of the shop was just bare ground and still contained patches of grass. Then one day a truck arrived carrying heavy wooden planks. About ten carpenters, plus a foreman, soon came to the shop and started laying a floor for us. After a short time, instead of lying under a truck on the cold ground on small sheets of plywood, we now had a nice, warm wooden floor to work on. This new floor made quite a difference for us.

Every day about ten men would drive into the woods and cut down trees. They would saw them into three foot logs, then split and deliver them to our shop and other buildings. In the afternoon the truck would return and stack additional logs beside our stoves. The heating system for the repair shop was all homemade. We had two stoves made from four oil barrels that were mounted on stands. Whoever was nearest to the stove would just chuck two or three more logs in the stoves when the fire burned low. It was a good system since there was no shortage of wood and it provided us with plenty of heat so we could work in comfort.

On one side of the repair shop were several large windows. They had no glass in them but were covered on the outside with clear plastic. Just below the windows was a long workbench which provided plenty of room for us to work. There was a shelf underneath the bench and plenty of vises, more than enough for all of us who were working there. On the opposite side of the building were four large doors through which the trucks entered and left the shop. All in all, it was a well planned and equipped,. repair facility.

On my first day on the job I reported to the shop foreman. We sat in his little office and had a chat about the job, my background and my experience. -*He was a pleasant man about fifty years of age and although I can't recall his name, I remember he came from Omaha, Nebraska.