A TRIBUTE
TO THE LIFE OF JEAN MC FARLAND LIVERMORE
AND
A COMMEMORATION OF MORE THAN 50 YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP WITH HARRY A. LIVERMORE
“We’ll Keep a Welcome” is a Welsh song that personifies Jean McFarland Livermore’s life and to some extent, Grinnell College in Iowa which she attended. “We’ll Keep a Welcome” goes back to 1941 when Welsh troops who were heavily involved in fighting in World War II were visited by a Welsh variety show called, “Welsh Rarebit.” The idea of the visits by “Welsh Rarebit” was to keep troops such as the famous Royal Welsh Fusiliers, in touch with events back in their Welsh homeland. The producers of “Welsh Rarebit” were a female composer, Mai Jones, and the male lyricist, Lyn Joshua. Their theme song produced especially for the production was the song, “We’ll Keep a Welcome in the Hillside.”
The lyrics for “We’ll Keep a Welcome” have three verses. Of course, this is a tease, but the first verse reads like this:
“Far away a voice is calling
Bells of memory chime
Come home again, come home again
They call through the oceans of time.”
The other two verses will appear a little later in this tribute to Jean McFarland Livermore. The third verse includes the Welsh word, “Hiraeth,” which ought to appear in all the worlds major languages. This old World War II soldier will explain what “Hiraeth” means as well as the diphthong that goes with it. Not so bad for an itinerant scholar, who did not attend Grinnell College, to explain all about diphthongs. And by the way, one of the attachments is a recipe for Welsh Rarebit.
Now before we get back to Jean McFarland Livermore, there is a fact or two that everyone should know about her husband of 63 years. Harry and this old essayist became great friends shortly before Mother’s Day in 1952, a span of 52 years which were counted out on the fingers of this ink stained wretch. You see, for 52 years, Harry has maliciously derided my ability with arithmetic. To improve my performance, the services of the world renowned Creative Arithmetic Institute have been engaged for perhaps the last 20 years. The CAI, not to be confused with the spooks who operate the similarly named CIA, was founded in the 1920’s by Charles K. Ponzi, the world’s best known swindler and the gentleman who completely looted the entire assets of the Hanover Trust Company in New York City. Ponzi took a graduate degree at Sing Sing Prison in Ossining, New York.
The professors at Creative Arithmetic Institute now are former executives at the Enron Corporation. Their efforts at CAI have been interrupted from time to time, by lengthy Federal stays at an advanced school located in Leavenworth, Kansas.
None the less, the faculty at CAI has produced a classic arithmetic doctrine called “TCE,” meaning “That’s Close Enough.” For example, Harry tells me as my 82nd birthday approaches, that my observations about ageing are the complaints of teenagers. He says, “Wait ‘till you get to be my age before you say anything.”
My research done with the help of the faculty at CAI, says that this year is 2004. It is a fact that Harry was born in 1915, AD. The suffix “AD” is cited because in Harry’s case, arguably, his birth could have been marked “BC.” So using the techniques developed by the faculty at CAI, 2004 minus 1915 yields some interesting answers. Using the long hand arithmetic taught at Clayton, Missouri public schools, 2004 was written down with 1915 with a minus sign written directly below it. My expertise does not extend to fractions or decimals, yet the answer to my long hand calculations was 49.73⅝. That answer is crazy as Livermore has been my pal longer than that.
So it was necessary now to turn to mechanical devices. In my desk drawer is a calculator which General Mills sent to me for sending in 310 box tops from Wheaties™. Given the same problem, the little calculator yielded an answer of 94 years for Harry. That seemed fairly close, but this calculator has been known to not carry over the one in subtraction problems. So we then turned to a larger printing calculator with the legend, “With the Compliments of the Enron Corporation” on the calculator’s screen. The print out said the answer to the problem was 103 years. This answer made me and the faculty at CAI much more comfortable. As an aside, the faculty at CAI let me have the printing calculator for $1100, which was obviously quite a steal.
The point is that in this case of a seeming discrepancy between 94 and 103 years, the infallible doctrine of “That’s close enough” applies. If the professors from Enron say its close enough, that not only suits me in this case, but it does a great deal to reestablish my arithmetic credentials so abused by Harry Livermore. In April of this year, the faculty at CAI will nominate me for enshrinement at the World Wide Arithmetic Hall of Fame. The enshrinement takes three days and Mr. Livermore will be asked to escort me at the coronation ceremonies. It is hoped that he will not plead old age and senility when all the festivities take place. And finally, in its Doctoral Program on arithmetic studies at Grinnell College, it is hoped that the Doctrine of “It’s close enough” will be a central theme.
The Arithmetic Hall of Fame does not have elaborate, permanent headquarters such as exist in Canton, Ohio for the professional football Hall or at Cooperstown, New York for the pro-baseball Hall. The Arithmetic Hall is located outside St. Louis near a junkyard on old Highway 66. The Hall uses $8 rooms at a hot sheet motel for its work. The coronation ceremony is held in a Popeye’s Restaurant where the feature is all the hamburgers you can eat. Popeye’s believes that mad cow disease has to do with a cow that is angry. The CAI faculty feels that Harry and his honored guest will feel quite at home in this setting.
Fate has an interesting way of doing things. Harry was a native of Omaha, Nebraska who attended Grinnell College as did Jean, his future wife from Jackson, Michigan. Josiah Bushnell Grinnell (1821 – 1891) an American pioneer, clergyman and abolitionist, came to Iowa because Horace Greeley told him personally to, “Go west, young man, go west.” He founded Grinnell, Iowa (1854) and gave land and buildings (1859) to Iowa College which was later named Grinnell College. Although related to the Congregational Church in the beginning, Grinnell is a non-sectarian school.
Sometime later, Harry wound up before World War II working for AT&T in New York. When war broke out, he served aboard the carrier Ticonderoga which suffered several hits from Japanese kamikaze aircraft. After the hit, the Ticonderoga limped back into port, was repaired, and with its crew, went back out to fight another day. Because of his indispensability, the American Navy kept Harry on duty until 1946. Jean also served with honor in WWII by staying home and rearing three youngsters on her own while Harry was away. Grinnell must have prepared her very well. After leaving the Navy, Harry went back to AT&T in New York until he was transferred to Kansas City in 1951 or thereabouts.
As it turns out, my roots are in Clayton, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis. When Clayton High School graduated me in January, 1940, there were no jobs so it was necessary to continue my work in filling stations. Obviously, pumping gas, fixing flat tires and lubricating car chassis equipped me superbly to deal with the curriculum at Creative Arithmetic Institute and at Grinnell College in Iowa. For example, in the Iowa Collegiate Mathematics Competition at the University of Iowa on April 5, 2003, there were 28 teams of three students who worked on a collection of ten problems. My score was something like 97 or 114 points. The exact score is not important at all. The next higher score was 88 points – so take that – Harry Livermore.
In any case, a great break happened to me in September, 1941, when a drafting job opened up with AT&T in St. Louis. From 1942 until November, 1945, there was an enlistment with the United States Army Air Corps – later it became the Army Air Force. In 28 months overseas, it was possible to see the devastation that war brought to North Africa and Italy. Josiah Grinnell was an ardent abolitionist who incurred severe penalties as he argued to stop slavery. If Reverend Grinnell were around today, he and this old soldier would combine forces to argue to stop wars, starting with the current pre-emptive invasion of Iraq which has cost 530 American lives so far.
After World War II, it was my duty to obey the voice of “We’ll Keep a Welcome” by observing the lines about, “Come home again, come home again.” So it was back to St. Louis. In 1951, AT&T offered me a management job in Kansas City. It was there that Harry’s brother, Monte, became my friend. Before long, another transfer within Kansas City brought me to work for Harry Livermore.
It was near Mother’s Day in 1952 when work for Harry actually began. Harry was the District Traffic Manager for AT&T in Kansas City. Mother’s Day was not an auspicious time to try to learn the intricacies of a new job in the traffic department of any of the Bell System Companies. Every person was hard at work preparing to handle record long distance calling on Mother’s Day, so that there was very little time to show a neophyte what went on.
Harry had an outstanding staff to help him. There was Chief Operator Helen Billow and Assistant Chief Operator Jeannev Bradbury. Veta Mae Irwin was Harry’s Welfare Supervisor. You called on Veta Mae if your boyfriend was two timing you and you felt aggrieved. The Chief Force Clerk was Blondie Hunter who took all kinds of grief because an unexpected evening tour might interfere with an operator’s love life. Harry’s Office Manager was a lovely woman named Leona Miner. Clarence West of the Plant Department was the Union Ayatollah of Western Missouri and Eastern Kansas. Clarence was a good guy who enjoyed life and laughed quite a bit.
As things in the Kansas City Traffic Department grew more familiar to me, it became clear that the staff worked so well together because they liked Harry Livermore and they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Harry would always treat them fairly and do so with a generous spirit.
Although my service in Harry’s department was only three or four months, when Harry left for vacation in August, he told me to run things. Specifically, he did not say conduct a holding operation until his vacation was finished. Given Harry’s vote of confidence, my efforts were dedicated to running things. Among other projects, there was a new index board produced for Kansas City Traffic department results. It fell to me to welcome a new Inward and Through Chief Operator as a result of Harry’s earlier arrangement. That would have been Helen Seghers.
Knowing that Harry had confidence in this 30 year old worker with only a short time in Traffic operations, gave me an inordinate amount of confidence. And like everyone else in the AT&T Kansas City Traffic operation, it made me a booster of the boss. In other cases where work has taken me, the boss gave no authority to his helpers and jealously reserved his right to criticize if things were not executed perfectly.
Harry took a much more refreshing outlook. In effect, he said we’re all in this together. Let’s make it work the best we can. Needless to say, everyone in Kansas City Traffic preferred Harry’s way overwhelmingly.
Aside from work, it was my pleasure to see Harry socially for a little bit of drinking and some softball games. In retrospect, it may be clear that we were both Mid-Westerners who spoke non-flowery English. And we were both involved in World War II. If memory serves me correctly, the Aircraft Carrier Ticonderoga that Harry served on lost as many as 300 men in a devastating kamikaze attack. Like me, Harry was not a gung ho promoter of more violence and destruction in another war.
Good things came to an end, however, when AT&T promoted Harry to take over the AT&T Chicago Traffic operation. Everyone was happy to see Harry recognized, but there was a sense of foreboding in the Kansas City Traffic department. The foreboding was eminently justified as Harry’s successor was picked by an unmarried Eastern executive and he turned out to be a young, unmarried protégé who had no managerial experience in Traffic operations or in directing people who reported to him. This young man was given to nit-picking and an overwhelming aversion to making decisions. For example, he absolutely and completely refused to sign off on the force scheduling assignments for operators on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day or on New Year’s Eve. Blondie Hunter, the Chief Force clerk was frantic. When she told me what was happening, the force schedules were given my approval which had no backing at all in the AT&T Schedule of Authorizations. But, it got the job done.
This young manager’s management style or lack thereof, soon caused his bosses to relieve him of the manager’s job in Kansas City Traffic. In the meantime, not long after Christmas on a Sunday morning, Harry came to my house in Prairie Village, Kansas to tell me that he wanted me to join him in Chicago. It was not easy to leave the friends that had been made in the Kansas City area, but asking me to go to Chicago to work under Harry was a confidence builder of the first sort. So in late January and February, 1953, we began weekly commutation trips to Chicago.
Now there is something everyone should know about our living arrangements in Chicago. The people at Grinnell College ought to think about the incident which will now be described to see if the College wishes to endorse such action by Mr. Livermore, Junior.
More than a year ago, this old writer and mathematician wrote an essay about the Livermore-Carr living arrangement in Chicago. Now that more than a year has passed, this excerpt from the essay becomes a matter of REVEALED TRUTH. Here is what was written a long time ago:
One way or another, while searching for a permanent place to live, Harry and I took a two room suite at the Webster Hotel on Lincoln Parkway in the Near Northside of Chicago. We got along very well. Harry did not snore much and he discovered that putting peanuts in the refrigerator made a nice hors D’oeuvre. I reserved an opinion on that subject.
Almost everyone smoked in the 1950’s. In our suite at the Webster Hotel, when the last cigarette was smoked, the packages would be crumpled into a small ball and would become a source of athletic entertainment and achievement. Over our door to the hallway, was a screenless transom which could be opened to varying degrees of wideness. With one person in the bedroom and the other man in the hallway, the balled up cigarette package would be pitched through the transom with the door closed. The fellow receiving the throw would not know when it was thrown or whether it would be to his left or right. The object, of course, was to catch the thrown cigarette package ball. While we were on the honor system about catching the ball, as soon as the ball was pitched through the transom, the pitcher would run for the door and open it to see if the catcher really did catch the ball. When our neighbors alighted from the elevator and occasionally saw our game of pitching the ball through the transom, we were helped by the liberal view of the Chicago Police Department on minor crime. They did not send the paddy wagon for us.
There is one other story on which Harry Livermore considered me as a practitioner of shady play. In this case, the balled up cigarette package was again being used. Our living room at the Webster was quite large probably 12 feet across and perhaps 18 feet long. Harry was sitting on a divan at the far end of the room. Across from him was a window that was opened to a height of two or three inches.
Standing at the entrance to the room some 18 to 20 feet away, I told Brother Livermore that it would be possible for me to pitch the ball out that window. Harry immediately took the bet saying no one could do such an impossible feat. Now remember, my offer was to throw that ball out that window. Nothing was said – at least by me – of the window opening being only two or three inches or of my distance from the window.
With the bet firmly in hand, I simply walked over to the window and opened it to seven or eight inches, and while standing next to the window, the cigarette package ball was thrown out on Lincoln Parkway.
As you might imagine, old Harry screamed bloody murder. Foul play was all Harry could say. It has been 50 years since my triumph of cigarette package ball through an open window in the Webster Hotel. When talking to Harry over all those years, he still accuses me of enticing him into a nefarious betting operation. As always, I claim complete innocence, and rightly so.
It has been my pleasure to know Harry for more than 50 years. We have never had a cross word, if you exclude the cigarette ball out the window episode. Harry originally comes from Nebraska where he was born in 1915. That makes him nearly 70 years of age or thereabouts. I hope he lives to see his 100th birthday. If he does achieve that goal, however, I am absolutely sure that he will still be protesting my brilliant move to throw the cigarette package ball out on Chicago’s Lincoln Parkway.
Now that the revealed truth has been disclosed, it is time to go forward.
The AT&T Chicago Traffic operation was immense to a fellow from Kansas City. It became apparent at the outset, that Harry had a difficult job ahead of him as he succeeded an unfortunate and an unpopular martinet. When Harry’s predecessor was the Traffic Manager in St. Louis, it was my pleasure and duty to deal with him harshly as the President of CWA Local 6350 in St. Louis. Straightening out the chaos caused by this fellow gave Harry a Herculean job to do.
But it was apparent that Harry went about that job just as he had done in Kansas City. In one instance, for example, there must have been at least 300 or 400 Service Assistants in Chicago. They were non-management employees who trained new operators and who provided assistance to operators having difficulty with a long distance call or caller. As a matter of fact, long distance calls were all AT&T handled. Local calls were the province of the local companies such as the Illinois Bell Telephone Company. At the time we are speaking of, there were few – if any – long distance calls that could be dialed directly. When a subscriber wished to make a long distance call, he or she dialed 211 and spoke to an AT&T operator who then handled the call.
So there was plenty of work for Service Assistants. Sometimes they sat at the switchboard. On other occasions, they would patrol behind a section of operators. They worked in the large #1 Office on Franklin Street in Chicago’s Loop. There was an office on the southeastern edge of the Loop District and a third office on the South Side about 10 or 12 miles from the Loop. There were operators and Service Assistants on every shift because this was a 24/7 day operation.
When Harry succeeded his unpopular predecessor, he set out to meet personally with every Service Assistant. This took him to meetings all day and into the dinner hour to say nothing about the women who worked the midnight tours. The results were dramatic. Grievances were handled on the spot. Promises made were kept. Morale took off when Harry assumed command.
In Chicago, there were some mature, old time supervisors who were Irish women. If they were on your side, nothing could stop you. If they were not on your side, no force on earth could make the head man succeed. In no time at all, all the Irish women were on Harry’s side. To name a few, there was Welfare Supervisor Ann Hincks. There were Chief Operators Ann Gairns and Kay McCormack. While she was not Irish, Betty Kruchten was part of that group. In Office #17 was Mildred Grant while Office 20’s Chief Operator was Lois Watson. Mrs. Grant and Miss Watson were what ladies magazines called “full figured women.” These women together with Kay McCormack (Office 19) and Ann Gairns (Office 18), made a formidable force. When Mildred Grant married for the second time after her first husband’s death, she let us know that the second husband could stand some improvements which she promised to make. It is a good bet she did that. As a survivor of World War II, it was obvious to me that it was a prudent move to get on the same side with the Irish Mafia. On one occasion, my instincts told me to slyly point out my Irish ancestry. One of those women told me to forget it as they had checked me out long before it was my turn to show up in their operating rooms.
In December, 1953, my wife at that time joined with her husband to adopt a two month old little girl through the offices of the Illinois Children’s Home and Aid Society. For months afterward, these women from the operating rooms in Chicago, specifically including the Irish Mafia, brought little dresses for me to take home. They were often delivered with the stern warning that packages were for Maureen, not for me. It was a stroke of genius, it may be supposed, that we gave the little girl the name of Maureen, meaning in Irish terms, little Mary.
When the adoption first happened, it was announced by me of all people, that Maureen’s bow in society would take place at Wrigley Field at nine months of age, when the Chicago Cubs took on my St. Louis Cardinals. They thought it was delusional for me to pick the Cards over the Cubs, but it had no effect whatsoever on those women buying presents for Maureen. They would say, we went shopping last Monday evening and saw this dress that would look stunning on Maureen. They would then order me to take the dress package home without any hesitation enroute. There was absolutely no choice for me but to obey.
On many occasions, Harry and Jean came to see Maureen. On many occasions, Maureen appeared at the Livermore house in LaGrange, Illinois where my memory now places it. To this day, Maureen and her sister, Suzanne, refer to Harry and Jean as Uncle Harry and Aunt Jean. Those kids have not used any other names for the Livermores at all in their lives.
There are one or two more thoughts about the Chicago Traffic operation when Harry was the Division Traffic Manager. But we interrupt this narrative to remind every reader of the importance of remembering the doctrine of “That’s Close Enough.” That doctrine will appear, perhaps twice more, before we are finished with Jean and Harry.
It must have been in the Summer of 1954, when Harry asked us to come by where he was vacationing in Jackson, Michigan. The highlight of the day we spent there was the ability to have a long discussion with Dr. McFarland, Jean’s father. One way or another, that evening was filled with a lively discussion about his practice which intrigued me and with his questions about the Army and our lives in Chicago. There is this much to say about Dr. McFarland. If my physical condition had required me to have an appendectomy or a brain transplant, Dr. McFarland would be have been my choice to perform the operation.
Seeing Dr. McFarland brings up another point. Jean and Harry married at an early age. Apparently, wedding vows were exchanged without notifying the parents. When the two of them visited their parents, Harry told me that the marriage license was laid out on the night table six inches from the new bridegroom’s head in case one of the parents looked in during the night and found not one, but two occupants in the bedroom.
It is suspected that if Dr. McFarland found the newlyweds with their marriage license prominently displayed, he would have collapsed from laughter. Harry’s parents soon became well known to me. It is clear that Harry Senior would have also collapsed from laughter by the sight of the prominently displayed marriage license.
Early in the year 1955, Harry was entertaining Dick Dugan from Long Lines Headquarters in New York. Harry asked a few of us to join him for a few drinks and dinner. Harry saw to it that Dick Dugan always had an ample opportunity to talk to me that evening. What was unknown to me was that Brother Dugan had come to Chicago to see if a fellow with my background would fit in on the labor job in Dick’s department back in New York. It is fairly certain that Harry sang my praises and fairly soon, the promotion was mine. This was one more occasion of Harry helping his subordinates to get ahead. Needless to say, Harry’s help was invaluable and greatly appreciated – again.
Leave taking Chicago was a painful process because my two years there was filled with genuine new friendships. And of course, there was the adoption of old Blondie, nee Maureen. In all the years that Harry has been my friend, both of us always point to Chicago as the place where enjoyment was at its greatest. As Harry says “Chicago is the place where we had the most fun.” Of course, he is right.
Not long after New York became my new place of employment, Harry came east also. We both located in New Jersey with Harry in his former stomping ground of Maplewood and with the Carr’s in a sort of country town called New Providence. The Livermores still had three kids with them. They were all good kids.
During the period starting in the 1960’s, AT&T made several changes in assignments involving Harry and me. As 1970 approached, it was necessary for me to find a new house after an assignment in Washington, D. C. The house was in Short Hills, New Jersey. Pretty soon, Harry downsized his housing requirements and moved so that both of us could ride the Lackawanna Cannonball every day from Short Hills to Hoboken, N. J.
In March, 1956, it became apparent to me that smoking was attempting to take my life. My father who smoked one cigar a week and an occasional pipe-full of tobacco, deplored cigarette smoking. He invariably referred to that practice as “sucking cigarettes.” On top of that description, he thought “sucking cigarettes” showed a distinct lack of manliness. If he were alive today, he would claim that smoking is a habit of gay men.
My old man did not figure at all in my decision to quit smoking. It had to do with my life expectancy. So Harry and your clean habited friend rode the Lackawanna every day to work. We rode in non-smoking cars. However, about 1.5 miles west of the Hoboken terminal, it was necessary to pass through a long tunnel. The darkness of that tunnel told Harry it was time to have a smoke and head for the door so that we could board the Hudson River ferry and drink some Lackawanna Railroad coffee. My non-smoking demeanor gave me much satisfaction as Harry’s smoke wafted over my nostrils.
Over the years, both of us occupied offices at 32 Sixth Avenue in New York and at #5 World Trade Center. When AT&T decided to move to Bedminster, N. J., Harry’s office was a few steps from my own. Whenever a question took me to Harry’s place, he quickly offered me a cup of coffee. Coffee drinking is not one of my failures, but his offer was always accepted because it gave him a chance to join me. It seems to me, that my unscientific research shows that old Navy guys drink a great deal of coffee. That’s fine with me. It sure beats chewing tobacco or snuff.
Well, it seems to this old essayist that you’ve heard enough about the two of us for awhile. Right now, it would give me pleasure to speak about Grinnell College and its benefactor, Josiah Bushnell Grinnell.
Until it was necessary to do some research so that this essay could be written, my view of Grinnell College was one where Jean and Harry Livermore attended college. The town itself became known to me because on a hot, hot August afternoon, curiosity caused me to go to Grinnell, Iowa to see what the town had to offer.
Executives at the Northwestern Bell Telephone Company had asked me to make a series of speeches in its principal cities. So Omaha was the first such presentation. This was followed by speeches in Minneapolis and in the Dakotas. Then came Des Moines. So after the presentation in Des Moines, a rented car was found for the trip to Grinnell. This was the late 1950’s and rented cars had no air-conditioning at all. What they had was an opening in the hood outside the windshield which theoretically directed air to the feet. At that time, there were windows that were cranked up and down by the passengers. No electric windows to roll up or down with the push of a button. In front of the two front windows, there was a triangular shaped window which could be rolled or cranked so far inward that it directed air toward the chests of the front seat passengers.
On this day, the main windows were down and those little triangular pieces were rolled as far as they would go. It was boiling. When dinner time came, there had to be a comment to a Grinnell native sitting outside the local café. My Missouri upbringing taught me that it is of great importance to speak to townspeople. As a matter of fact, the gentleman sitting outside the café in Grinnell spoke first asking if it was hot enough for me. He was told that it was plenty hot. Sensing that he was speaking to someone from out of town, he asked what brought me to Grinnell. This gentleman was told that my home was in Eastern Missouri where the weather got very warm also. The answer to the rest of his question was that it would be nice to see what Grinnell might offer in the way of higher education for my kids.
Now look here. Only a fool would tell this gentleman that New York was my home base at the time. It is quite true that if you go back to the beginning, Clayton, Missouri is my original home so my answer was factually correct. My daughter was perhaps six years old and her sister was three years old. It’s never too early to look at colleges. So truth was my yardstick.
Well, the Grinnell gentleman seemed satisfied with my answers. He reasoned that Missouri is like Iowa, a Mid-Western state. He also agreed that the Mississippi Valley produced hot weather, but probably not as hot as Iowa. So using the doctrine of “That’s Close Enough,” he shook hands with me as a fellow Mid-Westerner. His parting words were, “Hot weather makes the corn grow very nicely.” That was an appropriate comment. It also helps the watermelons.
Now about not mentioning New York to the Grinnell gentleman, that was the better part of valor. For example, when it came time for me to be interviewed by the Chairman of the New York Telephone Company, Cliff Phalen, the thought that one of my meals was taken in Grinnell, Iowa, was unmentioned. The point is, you have to know when to hold ‘em and when it’s time, to fold ‘em. The New York Company gave me the job.
Now about Grinnell College. The clergyman who made the land grant for the school, Joshua Bushnell Grinnell, was an abolitionist which means that he opposed slavery. As a matter of fact, he was pastor of the First Congregational Church in Washington, D. C., in 1851 and in 1852. He preached an anti-slavery sermon which caused such an uproar that he was fired from his pulpit. Washington, of course, is below the Mason-Dixon Line.
So Reverend Grinnell came to Iowa and founded the town and had land set aside for Grinnell College. It had never dawned on me that Grinnell had a founder with such a backbone. Grinnell College has my apologies for my being ignorant of the anti-slavery background of its namesake.
Now a personal note. Lillie Carr, my mother, was a religious woman. At various times, she attended Southern Baptist churches as well as those of the Pentecostal and Nazarene faiths. When it came time at age 13 to escape all this religiosity, my parents were attending a Free Will Baptist Church which banned all musical accompaniments when the congregation or soloists sang hymns. No pianos and certainly, no pipe organs were allowed.
The explanation seemed to be that organs and pianos did not exist when Jesus founded Christianity, so the Free Will Baptists wanted to be on four squares with the Redeemer. It could also be argued that automobiles and buses and street cars did not exist when Jesus went about preaching his sermons. Did that say that getting to the Church of God using only foot power was the only acceptable means of worship?
Even my mother was skeptical about the Free Will Baptists. Lillie Carr sang and hummed Amazing Grace every day of her life. But the Free Willers made it difficult to sing that hymn in their church with no accompaniment whatsoever.
When the American Army decided that the completion of 71 combat missions was no reason to send me home from Italy, they elected to send me to a large British-American base in Africa located a few miles outside Accra, the capital of the Gold Coast. Today, that African country is called Ghana. So Accra was my next military stop.
The port of Takoradi serves as Accra’s and the Gold Coast’s outlet to the sea. Research showed that John Newton (1725 – 1807) who composed my mother’s favorite hymn Amazing Grace, had been a slave trader ship owner before he became an Anglican clergyman. Takoradi was a regular port of call for John Newton when he captained his slave trading sea-going ship.
When the Army gave me a few days of home leave before preparing to move me from Europe and Africa to Japan, my mother and her youngest son, namely me, had a little conversation about my visits to Takoradi. There it was possible to see the wretched conditions the slaves lived in before boarding a ship like John Newton’s to start the trip to Confederate America. It made a lifelong impression on me. It was necessary for me to make three or four trips to Takoradi to take it all in.
Because of Lillie Carr’s fondness for Amazing Grace, it seemed like a good subject to bring up in passing. My mistake was immediately apparent. She waved me off and changed the subject. She had no intention of hearing anything derogatory about Amazing Grace. My put down was accepted with as much grace as could be mustered under the circumstances, but my opposition to slavery was with me for life.
So when it came time to deal with college for our two daughters, Dartmouth and Miami of Ohio were chosen by the two prospective students. If Grinnell College’s anti-slavery background had been known to me, it would have made me an honest man in my conversation with the man sitting outside the café in Grinnell, Iowa who asked what brought me to town.
Now it is time to move on to Jean and the thought of Harry proposing to establish a monument in her memory. When Harry told me about his thought, he explained that he had already been in contact with someone from Grinnell College. He flattered me by suggesting that it would be appreciated by him if this old soldier-essayist would see about producing an essay such as the one you are reading. Obviously, this was simply a request, but it will be treated by me as a commission to write an essay. That commission to write an essay will be pointed out and bragged about in my dealings with other itinerant essayists.
If Harry has made clear to me the description of what Grinnell College plans to do, it seems that buildings will be constructed in a prominent place on the campus. If my understanding is correct, a room in one of the new buildings will be named in honor of Jean McFarland Livermore.
And so that takes us back to the song at the beginning of this essay and to the world famous doctrine of “That’s Close Enough.” McFarland is a Celtic name. My overeducated Ivy League daughter pronounces Celtic as thought the first letter is a “K.” On dozens of occasions, it has been pointed out to her that the world famous basketball club in Boston, is called the Boston Celtics, as though it were spelled “Sell-tics.” But she is a lawyer who may wind up as Rehnquist’s replacement as the head man of the U. S. Supreme Court. So because this is my essay on commission from her Uncle Harry, the word will be “Sell-tics.” That Kel-tics stuff can stay in Texas.
Well, McFarland is a Celtic name as we said. Four groups comprise the Celtic family. There are the Scots and the Irish. Then there are the Welsh. And finally, there are some Celtics in France in Brittany. They use the name “Breton” to identify themselves.
McFarland could be a Scot’s name or an Irish name. But remember, the Celts belong to a family. So it is entirely appropriate to commemorate Jean’s life with a Welsh song, “We’ll Keep a Welcome.” It may be that Jean was not Welsh, but her name is in the Celtic family; therefore, under the doctrine of “That’s Close Enough,” We’ll Keep a Welcome applies to Jean Livermore, nee McFarland. Any objection? Hearing none, let’s move on.
It will be noted that in the final verse, there appears the Welsh word “Hiraeth.” That word should appear in all the world’s major languages. The “ae” letters in the last half of the word are a diphthong. They are pronounced like an English “eye.” So the word is pronounced as
“Hir-ith.”
At heart, Hiraeth is a nostalgic longing for home and people and things connected with home. For example, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers are the oldest Welsh infantry regiment. Only Welsh men need apply. The regiment is a family regiment in every sense of the phrase. Brothers, sons, fathers and close friends often from the same town or village serve in the regiment. The sense of belonging to the Welsh Regiment and to Wales are keenly felt. This is Hiraeth. English needs an equivalent word.
The words to Jean’s song, “We’ll Keep a Welcome“ go like this:
Far away a voice is calling
Bells of memory chime
Come home again, come home again
They call through the oceans of time.
We’ll keep a welcome in the hillside
We’ll keep a welcome in the vales
The land you knew will still be singing
When you come home again to Wales.
This land of song will keep a welcome
And with a love that never fails
We’ll kiss away each hour of Hiraeth
When you come home again to Wales.
The Celts are singers. The Irish sing “Danny Boy” and “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.” The Scots sing “Scotland the Brave.” And the Welsh people are famous for their singing choirs in nearly every town, no matter how small. The English, who for centuries have tried to dominate Welsh, Irish and Scots affairs, sing not at all, unless you count Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales, who hums as his Royal footman spreads toothpaste on His Majesty’s toothbrush each morning. There must be a lesson in the happiness of the Celts as distinguished from the dourness of the English. Can anyone imagine Queen Elizabeth singing “We’ll Keep a Welcome” at any time? Not likely.
In all her home’s in New Jersey, in Kansas, in Illinois or in the Pocono’s, Jean McFarland Livermore projected a genuine welcome to all her guests. Now that a room at Grinnell College may be named in her honor, the students may go there to study, and to discuss what the future holds for them. Perhaps they may find the McFarland Livermore room a place for quiet contemplation. Or may be it will be used as a place for meeting of friends. Whatever the room is used for, it is hoped that it will always be remembered as the Jean McFarland Livermore room. It is hoped that those leaving Grinnell College, will have fond memories of that memorial. And finally, there is the thought that the leave takers will consider Grinnell College and the McFarland Livermore Room as home. In that case, Hiraeth and We’ll Keep a Welcome will surely apply.
E. E. CARR
February 8, 2004
~~~
Well Pop certainly took his Commission seriously — this essay clocks in at just under 7,000 words.
Lots to learn in this essay, from the background of Amazing Grace to everything there is to know about Grinnell and Livermore. It’s really nice to know that even though this essay was written in 2004, their friendship lasted until the end of their lives. I guess once you make it to 50 years, the last handful is easy.
The doctrine of “That’s close enough” seems like a handy one. It certainly makes things simpler.