In a previous essay, we covered my alleged deafness and how it was “cured” by the Central Institute for the Deaf. Now let’s turn to Frank Denney, a mighty fine feller. The deafness story took place in eastern Missouri on the banks of the Mississippi. That’s about as far east as you can go in Missouri. The Frank Denney story takes place in the western most part of Missouri on the Kansas River in Kansas City. People there call that river the Kaw River, but I am at a loss to tell you why.
Somewhere in the 1890’s and into the 1900’s, it was decided that Southwestern Bell would have a charter for the five states of Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas. The Southwestern Company established headquarters offices for those states in principal cities such as St. Louis, Little Rock, Oklahoma City and Dallas. The lone exception was Kansas which had its main administrative office at 12th and Oak Streets in Kansas City, Missouri. This must have grated on political officials in Kansas and Southwestern Bell officers had to feel the heat. So in the first four months of 1951, Southwestern moved its Kansas headquarters from Kansas City, Missouri to Topeka, Kansas.
That was a sad day for those who were required to move to Topeka. In contrast to Kansas City, Topeka was a whistle stop with virtually none of the refinements that could be found in the bigger city. Some people tried to drive to Topeka every day, but that meant twelve hour days. Staying later in the evening in Topeka would mean a 14 or 15 hour day. The main eating establishments in Topeka were hamburger places and fast food emporiums. Not only was the food bad, but Kansas was a dry state. I am not sure they permitted the sale of any alcoholic beverages. At most, they might have permitted the sale of 3.2% beer in hotels – of which there were only one or two. People stayed in motels along the highway.
Moving Southwestern people to Topeka met with no cheering. Gloom and doom were found everywhere. With the move to Topeka, the large building that had housed the Bell headquarters staff for the State of Kansas, was left vacant at 12th and Oak Streets in Kansas City, Missouri. So Long Lines moved its Western Area Headquarters into those offices.
During the early part of 1951, AT&T Long Lines decided that it needed to decentralize its staff from headquarters in New York City. The man in charge was Henry T. Killingsworth. He was in charge of everything. Killingsworth decreed that there would be three Area headquarters and that none of them would be located in the headquarters city of an Associated Company. Thus, White Plains, New York was chosen as the Area headquarters for the Eastern region of the United States. For the Central Area, Cincinnati was selected. Kansas City, Missouri became the headquarters for the Western Area of Long Lines.
Anyone who thought that the moaning and groaning of the Southwestern people moving from Kansas City to Topeka was impressive, should have heard Long Lines people in New York who were designated to go to Cincinnati and Kansas City, those “jumping off places” in the United States. I can understand a fellow who had taken the subway to work every day for years, being told that your new place of work is 1200 miles west of here and you will have to get a car to get to work. Many of the people coming from New York could not drive so there were all kinds of problems. Nobody in Kansas City ever heard of bagels or lox. Most places served Kansas City steaks that dribbled off the platter at both ends because they were so big. Only one place served fish – notice I didn’t say seafood. There were no lobsters, clams, oysters or anchovies. The fish consisted of river fish taken from the Kaw River and other local rivers. And for icing on the cake, a large part of the people in Kansas City owned their homes so there were far fewer apartments for rent. So the New York exiles had to buy a car and a house and the Company gave them no help on either purchase.
On top of all that, many people in St. Louis, Denver and Chicago were also required to relocate to Kansas City. The people in St. Louis and Denver took it in stride, but Chicagoans moaned and groaned and tried to avoid moving to the big bend in the Kaw River.
In the Spring of 1951, I was part of the Union’s negotiating team in New York for a new nationwide contract. Often I found myself in the Company’s cafeteria with New Yorkers looking for a way to avoid moving to Cincinnati or Kansas City. I couldn’t help them as my brief had only to do with wages and working conditions for non-management people. Nearly all the people selected to go to the new Area locations were management people or engineers who did not belong to the Union. We were in New York for about six weeks negotiating the new contract that year. In that time I must have heard 50 or 75 sob stories, but as I say, there was nothing I could do about it.
The head man on the Company team was Vern Bagnell, the top man in the Personnel Department. He was all right, but he was an engineer by training and the humorless side of him was there for all to see. When it was announced in July that Bagnell was to be the first General Manager of the Western Area in Kansas City, I attempted to joke with him. He
was now my new boss, several rungs up the organizational ladder. As an old Missourian, I told Bagnell that “it would be tough sledding in Kansas City.” Remember, he was supposed to take up his post in July, one of Kansas City’s hottest months. Bagnell looked at me with doubt in his eyes and asked “Why?” Eventually, someone on the Company side explained the joke to Bagnell who still seemed to be puzzled about tough sledding in Kansas City. I never joked with Vern Bagnell after that.
At the conclusion of 1951 bargaining, the General Plant Superintendent, Gil Jones, who was also a member of the Company’s bargaining team, asked me privately to have a drink with him. This was a very unusual invitation. So I met with Gil Jones in a midtown hotel in New York City and we had a couple of drinks. Mr. Jones, whom I admired very much from his conduct on the Company’s bargaining team, told me that I would soon be offered a management job in Kansas City. The person who would be offering me the job would be none other than Vern Bagnell of tough sledding fame.
So I went back to St. Louis and in a week or ten days, Bagnell sent word from Kansas City that he wanted to see me. Bagnell did not know that Gil Jones had tipped me off before I left New York. There was a big flood in Kansas City as the Missouri and the Kaw Rivers had left their banks and covered the main airport which was located downtown. So we had to land at Grandview where Harry Truman had a farm and where his sister still lived.
I had my meeting with Vern Bagnell about 10AM. He offered me the job and said the pay would be $450 per month. I flinched at that low pay, but Bagnell would not go any higher, so I took the job. The job was in General Services and mostly it involved at the beginning, getting the new Area office started in terms of desks and all the things that people need to make them productive employees. I thanked Bagnell and told him that I would give the new job all my energy. I also told him that I had to resign from my job as the President of the St. Louis Union Local. Bagnell said he understood. I used the phone of his secretary to call back to St. Louis to set up my resignation.
The people in St. Louis were very generous to me as I bid them good-bye. Both management and non-management people wished me well so I left St. Louis on a happy note.
When I arrived in Kansas City to start my new job, I was pretty much a one man band. My temporary boss was leaving and my new boss had not been named, so I did what I thought was right. I’m sure that several AT&T policies were violated, but Vern Bagnell said he wanted to provide a decent place for the people transferring in. And that’s what I did.
The space we occupied was about six or seven floors in the recently vacated space by the Southwestern Company’s move to Topeka.
Within days, it became clear that I needed help. My boss, two to three rungs up the ladder, was George Armstrong who knew less than I did about what people would need to become productive. I made it my business to see Vern Bagnell, with or without Armstrong. I told Bagnell that I needed help. He asked where are you going to find the man you want? I said Jimmy Kunce in the St. Louis Division Office. In less than a week, Jimmy Kunce was delivered to Kansas City. I still needed help so I used the same ploy again. I told Bagnell that Vince Bowen was the man we needed. Bowen showed up in no time from St. Louis. And finally, I asked for Bill Millerschultz from St. Louis and he was delivered.
Jimmy Kunce was a country boy from Southern Illinois. Bowen and Millerschultz were St. Louis natives. All were involved in World War II. Now we were ready to roll.
When people were to be sent from other locations to Kansas City, they were supposed to have their desks, chairs, tables and file cabinets sent with them. Everybody in Chicago, St. Louis and Denver played the game as it was supposed to be played. But the hot shots in New York took this occasion to unload all of their oldest furniture and file cabinets on Kansas City. Probably, 50% or 60% of the stuff they sent us was unusable. Chairs collapsed; drawers wouldn’t open and the old golden oak desks had splinters galore. In short, the New York people unloaded their junk on us.
So I went to see the General Manager, Vern Bagnell. By this time, people around the Western Area office assumed that my connection with Bagnell was not to be messed with. I did nothing to disturb or upset their view. In this case, I told Bagnell that we badly needed desks, chairs, tables, file cabinets and all the other pieces of furniture and equipment that would make Kansas City a better place to work than New York. It took no time for Bagnell to tell me to go buy the furniture and equipment that would make the Western Area office work. And so that leads me to that happy feller, Frank Denney.
Frank was a fairly rotund man, pretty close to 70 years of age when he came to see Jim Kunce, Vince Bowen, Bill Millerschultz and me. He had graduated from a pedagogical school or college around 1900 or thereabouts. Frank explained that a degree in pedagogy made you a school teacher. When he came to see us, I believe he had worked for the John A. Marshall Company for nearly 50 years. The Marshall people called themselves “office outfitters.” Frank was a native of Kansas City.
Helen Santoro who worked with us and was considered one of the boys, immediately dubbed Frank as the “Big Butter and Egg Man.” She liked Frank just as much as the rest of us did.
Frank talked country. That is, his spoken works sounded very much like my parents. Jim Kunce, who came from the Little Egypt area of downstate Illinois, could speak Frank’s kind of language very well. As soon as he shook hands with a new person, Frank would say that person is a “mighty fine feller.”
Frank would come to the office and even before we ordered much from him, he would say, ”I am going to take you fellers to lunch.” It was not a case of saying would you be free to have lunch with me; it was “I am going to take you fellers to lunch.” When we did have lunch with
Mr. Denney, one of the four of us would pretend that there was a need to visit the rest room. Actually, the idea was to pay the waitress before she presented the bill. If the bill ever reached the table, Frank would have fought tooth and nail to pay it. The luncheon money came out of Frank’s pocket. We could voucher the expense so there was no point in impinging on Frank’s generosity. When the waitress would come to our table, Frank would ask for the check. She would say that everything was all taken care of. Old Frank would say “next time I’m going to make sure to treat you fellers.” He was such a nice guy that we never let him pick up a lunch check.
For all those 50 years with the John Marshall Company, my guess is that Frank probably sold three or four desks, a few chairs and a file case in a good week. Kansas City is not a big place, so he had to hustle to do that amount of business. I’m here to tell you that Frank was a hustler.
Forget that 70 years of age consideration; Frank worked every day from 8AM till 5PM and lots of Saturdays as well.
After I got the go ahead from General Manager Bagnell, we decided (Jim, Vince, Bill and myself) that Art Metal made the best office equipment. It just happened that John A. Marshall, Office Outfitter, carried Art Metal supplies. Now whereas Frank had been lucky to sell two or three desks per week, Jim Kunce told Frank in a very deadpanned way, that we would like to order 100 desks, 100 chairs along with tables and file cabinets. Frank thought this was a joke. He laughed and slapped the table. “Are you fellers in the market for some desks and chairs? I can fix you up.” Finally, I had to intervene as the most senior AT&T man in the group. I told Frank that the order for 100 desks, etc. would only get us started. When we had a better idea of our final requirements, we’d be back to him.
As my mother would say, “Old Frank liked to died” right there in our office. He began to pull strings with the Art Metal Company. Every day or two, Frank would give us a report on our purchase. In short, it made all of us pleased to see Frank so happy.
In the year I had that job, we must have bought 500 desks, 500 chairs and untold hundreds of file cabinets and tables. We had so much equipment brought in that Roy Horridge, the building superintendent for Southwestern Bell, complained that his people were spending all their time working for Long Lines instead of Southwestern Bell.
The three men who worked with me made it clear to Frank that we expected no kickbacks from the John A. Marshall Company and if any were offered, they would be rejected and we would probably look for another supplier. Frank said he understood our position; but surely we wouldn’t forbid him to bring little presents to the girls in the office. We told him that would be fine with us and Frank often brought little gifts to the office girls.
All good things must come to an end. In anticipation of Mother’s Day in 1952, I was transferred to Harry Livermore’s Traffic Office in Kansas City. When I told Frank at lunch one day, the old “Big Butter and Egg Man” almost cried. He said you fellers – see I am saying it too – have made my life a pleasure. When I saw Frank a day or so later, he said that he knew better than to offer me a gift. But he said even the great AT&T Company would permit me to have a miniature anvil for my desk. I told Frank, “absolutely.” He reached in his coat pocket and gave me a small miniature anvil. There was no wrapping or any fancy stuff. He wanted me to have the miniature anvil and he said “I’ll remember you for the rest of my life.”
I took the present and placed it on my desk. It accompanied me to two jobs in Kansas City; to three jobs in Chicago: three jobs in New York City; one in Washington; one back in New York and one in New Jersey. It was always on my desk in all of those jobs. Now that I have retired, it is on my desk in front of me. So I have had the miniature anvil for more than 50 years. And I have remembered Frank Denney for all those years. As I say, he was a mighty fine feller.
My recollection in that Frank died around 1960 at the age of 80 years. The gift he gave me has the following stamped on the main part of the anvil:

John A. Marshall Co.
Office Outfitters
*VI 5368                     Kansas City, MO.**

*This was the Victor telephone exchange ** No ZIP codes in 1951.

E. E. CARR
OCTOBER 9, 2001
Post Script:
Gil Jones, the General Plant Superintendent, enjoyed life and laughed at jokes good and bad. He died I believe, at age 91.
Vern Bagnell went to Alaska and Canada after he left Kansas City to work on the Dew Line. Late in the 1950’s, he was back in New York working for Western Electric. One morning, he ran after a Lackawanna Commuter train and fell dead from a heart attack. He was about 52 years of age and from what I hear, he never seemed to enjoy life as Gil Jones did.
Helen Santoro’s maiden name was Fluegel. Jim Kunce and some of the rest of us referred to Helen as “Mother Fluegel.” She retired from the Long Lines Headquarters office in San Francisco and moved to a town where life was more tranquil.
Bill Millerschultz remarried some years ago and by now, I am sure he has retired.
Jim Kunce retired from a District Plant Superintendent’s job outside of Washington, D. C. My last contact with him was five or six years ago when he showed up at my daughter’s house in Austin, Texas on his way to find better living in New Mexico. I haven’t heard from him recently.
Vince Bowen was a tall, handsome, black Irishman. While he was in Kansas City, he found that he had cancer. Inexorably, it progressed, so I got a call from Jim Kunce that it would be a good idea to see Vince while he was still with us. I was working in Chicago at the time.
I went to see Vince. I rented a car in Kansas City and drove to the hospital. My memory tells me that the hospital was a Naval institution in Olathe, Kansas or it may possibly have been a V. A. hospital. Vince’s room was on the first floor.
Nobody said a word but Vince knew that I had come to say goodbye to him. He never whimpered. Instead we talked of old times in St. Louis and Kansas City. When it was time for me to go, Vince said he would walk me to my car. I said that the hospital staff would stop us. Vince said, “Oh, to hell with that stuff. Let’s go.” So we walked to my car. In the end we shook hands and hugged each other.
Vince who dodged death on a combat Navy mine sweeper in the Pacific for three years, died at the age of 28.
In 1955, I was promoted to a job in New York. Perhaps the first letter of congratulations came from Frank O. Denney. It was signed by “Your old friend.” Frank was indeed an old friend and he was a mighty fine feller.
E. E. CARR
October 9, 2001
Essay 23
(See Attachment – Denny letter)

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Kevin’s commentary: Pop says that this was his favorite essay that he’s written so far. I can see why that’s the case. It’s got a little bit of everything: old friends, jobs, and stories.
In many ways the characters who Pop surrounded himself with remind me of Ed himself. He is amiable like Frank, brave and personable like Vince, and clearly one of the most capable people in every outfit he was put in.
The essay also shows the flexible side of Pop, both in the I’ll-pick-up-and-move-without-whining-about it sense, and the I’ll-do-whatever-needs-to-get-done sense, though the idea of him having to outfit a whole office seems like it’d be pretty far removed from anything he had done before. Of course his solution was the right one; to surround himself with companions who could help him out. And of course, he was able to befriend most of those companions because from the sounds of things he befriended damn near everybody those days.
Long story short, Pop’s a mighty fine feller too, and I hope he knows that.