The First Thirty Years - Conclusion

I hope you have been enjoying reading the stories penned by my grandfather Timothy R. Marsh. It has been a journey of emotions for me to read through them again after many years. I enjoyed them when I first read them, but they take on a different meaning now that my grandparents are gone. All of the stories told were before I was born, so it gives me an insight into their lives before I knew them.

And now on to the final entry...

From Ledbetters, we moved to a house just off North Main Street on the Fairfield Pike, still in Edgemont - from there to second house on left on Fairoak, off Depot Street, later moving to the first house off Depot Street. Marsha started to school while living here. By this time, we had traded old "Lottie" in for a 1937 Chevy, "first class." Then we moved to Kingwood Avenue into Sam Warner's house, living here when Marsha had her tonsils removed by Dr. Carl Rogers, in the old hospital, now part of the First Christian Church. Marsha and Leslie played in the old shed behind the house. Ham Radio was good then and we worked the world.

We had two bad floods while here and we were forced to go around through the Narrow to reach the transmitter house. During one of these floods, the waters were so high that they were over the base of the tower. I had to wade in water up to my waist, out to the tower to disconnect the tower and connect my amateur radio antenna to stay on the air.

Norm Dye, Bill Johnson, Cleveland Ray, Dr. Roy Clark, Winston Roberts, I. D. Byers, Helen and some part timers worked for me. We had a console at the transmitter that allowed us to broadcast from there in the afternoons and from 8:00pm until sign-off at night. The engineers on duty did the station breaks, time and weather. I became a Communication Engineer for Motorola in 1947, servicing two-way systems, along with my WHAL engineering.

Highlights - 1946-1951

Did the first Walking Horse Broadcast. Set up most of the remotes in the early days, made the first voice transmission on the broadcast band while testing the night before we officially aired broadcast on 1400 KC.

First Amateur Radio to broadcast in Bedford County, W4IWV. Helen was first female amateur to broadcast in county, call W4WLH, and one of three women to work at broadcast transmitter in Tennessee at that time. Built first two-way system for Shelbyville Power System, built first two-way system for Duck River EMCV, maintained first Police System in Shelbyville and maintained first homer beacon at local airport, now Bomar Field.

We received FHA approval to build our house on Shelbyview Drive, on the south side in 1950. Only four or five houses on Shelbyview Drive then. Burham and Linda Drives were a cow pasture. Marsha and Leslie flew kites in that pasture. Leslie rabbit hunted there. It was a pasture all the way down to the WHAL transmitter. Moved into our house in the Fall of 1950.

Had an ice storm in the Spring of 1951. By June, we had settled into our new home on Shelbyview Drive.

This completes the 30 Years.

COMMENTS

By now, you are probably convinced that we experienced nothing but pain, hard times, depression, ward and rumors of wars, draft problems and job insecurity - well, yes and no.

From the end of World War I until 1945, was an unusual period in American History. A long festering depression, followed by  global war that completely consumed the United States of America.

Like each generation from the beginning of man, we had our special problems, but with the bad times, we had our good and wonderfully exciting times. Throughout it all, we were able to stay together, many were not that fortunate.

Now looking back from a distance of forty years or more, those good times have improved with age and we savor their memory. Those bide times, well, their memory has dimmed greatly so that we can now say that the bad and good collectively, balance out and prompts us to say, as dad would have said, "Those were the good old days."

April 30, 1993

Timothy Richard Marsh

Assisted by

Helen Crawford Marsh

Shelbyville, Tennessee

Headed Back to the South - WHAL Goes on the Air

An ad appears in Broadcasting - Seeking Chief Engineer to build broadcasting station in middle Tennessee town. Construction permit pending. Looked promising, made contact. "Hired."

The new station was to be in Shelbyville, Tennessee. About all we knew of the town was that we went through there once shortly after the courthouse was burned. Well, it was close to home anyway.

August 1946. We moved from Jackson to Flintville to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Jennie Braden until time to start construction of the station in Shelbyville. Installed my amateur radio station in the wash house, worked 40 meters C.W. W4IWV.

From Dad's notes:

R.A. and B.L. came back to Lincoln County, Tennessee in September 1946. Sold old home place at Lincoln for $3,250. Had moved to Lincoln May 20, 1920. Purchased place on the Big-Cut above Kelso. September 30, 1946, moved to Campbell Street, Fayetteville. Sold place on Big-Cut December 8, 1955. Built on Adams Street 1958.

House on the Big-Cut

By the last of September, we were ready to start construction. We decided to stay at Flintville until the station was nearer to completion. This meant wheels, so we purchased a Model "A" Ford with a shiny new red engine in it, we called her old "Lottie." She served us well. The first engineer I hired was Henry Clayton Rutledge, a friend I grew up with at Lincoln and had gone to Coyne Radio the same time that I did. He, Helen and myself began the construction of the ground system and transmitter equipment located at the Flat Creek Bridge on the Lewisburg Highway. The location is now a pine thicket.

The studio was located on the east side of the square, upstairs, over the 5 & 10 and Brantley's Drug Store. While we were constructing the studio, we ate most of our meals at Pope's Cafe, a few doors down. Dad's records say we moved to Shelbyville November 25, 1946. I have no reason to doubt it. I know it was cold. We moved into one of the John Ledbetter houses, newly constructed, located in Edgemont behind  Shelbyville Lumber Company, where Nichol's Furniture Store once stood on Chockley Street. The houses were cold and damp.

Timothy R. Marsh - WHAL Radio
Shelbyville, Tennessee

We put WHAL on the air on December 24, 1946. Charlie Christian was program director, I was chief engineer, Clayton Rutledge was on of the staff engineers. Later Helen pulled a transmitter shift, as did Norm Dye, Winston Roberts and others.

Headed to Jackson, Tennessee and the Birth of a Son

Going Back South Again.

Marsha had for some time been plagued with bad tonsils and we regularly took her to a doctor up on Ashland Avenue. He would swab her throat and in a few days, same thing again. One day he said, "You need to take this child to a warmer climate." Each time she got sick, we thought of what the doctor had said. We had been thinking about going back south for some time, this was our ultimate goal, as it was mother and dads. They had no intention of going back to farming as dad had worked such long hours with little sleep so long that he was at the point of complete exhaustion. He had tooth after tooth pulled that had poisoned his system. He finally went to a doctor who told him he had a leaking heart valve and if he would go back home, just piddle around, he might last a few more years. Of course, that was 35 years before he died. He went home that year, but he sure didn't piddle around.

Helen Marsh, Marsha Marsh and Richard Austin Marsh

I began to scan the broadcast magazine, (the Bible for radio engineers and announcers, at that time). All radio stations advertised for position in this magazine. In June, in answer to an ad, I accepted a job as engineer at WTJS in Jackson, Tennessee. Left for Jackson on June 19, 1945.

Settling in at Jackson.
Helen, then pregnant with Leslie, accompanied by little Marsha, now two and a half years old, to the train to Mr. and Mrs. Crawford's at Flintville. Mr. Henry, being a railroader, helped a great deal with the free passes he got for Helen during our many moves during the war. Shortly they came via Nashville and Guthrie, Kentucky to Jackson, a hot humid day for Helen and little Marsha.

Marsha Joan Marsh in Jackson, Tennessee

We rented a roach infested room west of the square, off Highway 70, from a Mrs. Hornbeak. As soon as possible, we found an exceptionally nice apartment in a house shared by the Liggett family, on Neely, now Hollywood Boulevard, across from the Hollywood Cemetery. The house is gone and a car-wash is there now. The WTJS transmitter was at Bemis, south of Jackson, had a big pond with an artesian fountain out front. The building included an apartment for the chief engineer. The station was owned by the Jackson Sun.

Bob Gordon was chief engineer and wife, Inez, were both engineers and lived in the transmitter apartment. They were about our age. We became good friends and still are. They now live in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He was technical director of the Public TV station at the University of New Mexico.

August 14, 1945.
On watch at transmitter. "FLASH, Japan Surrenders, the war is over," four years of hell has ended. I Called Helen.

October 13, 1945. A fine son, Leslie Devons Marsh, was born to us at Jackson Memorial Hospital. Dr. Jones attending. Mother came down from Chicago on November 10th. Dad's notes say, "Thanksgiving Day in Chicago, all alone."

Leslie Marsh, age 6 months and Marsha Marsh in Jackson, Tennessee

July 1946. UH-OH. Radio station manager whose name shall remain anonymous, says cut staff. Chief Bob Gordon was put on a regular shift. Bob raised cane, to no avail. They were sick over the deal, we weren't feeling too good either. Began looking in Broadcasting for positions. Nothing now. Checked several leads, still looking...

A Birthday Tribute

Today would have been my grandfather's 99th birthday. I wanted to share some of my favorite photos of him as a tribute.

After the War - F.C.C. Radio License

Some of us from the Chicago area began to talk about the post war days and making plans. Two of my close friends, Bob (Mac) McEwen and Bill Barlow, both from Oak Park, were about ready to go back to Chicago.

I had been studying for months for my F.C.C. Commercial Radiotelephone License, that would allow me to become a broadcast engineer after O.S.S. Helen would quiz me on the question and answers (Q & A) for hours preparing me for the exam. I was confident I was ready for the exam.

November 22, 1944. Back in Chicago, back to West Congress. I went downtown to the F.C.C. office in the Post Office, passed the exam, then joined the Elextrician's Union, went to work at Majestic Radio up on Division Street, who was still making communication gear for the army, was waiting on a call from the union for a job as Broadcast Engineer, made trip down to Hammond, Indiana, to a little two-by-four station, they wanted a part time engineer, wanted no part of that.

February 9, 1944, went to work as first shift engineer for WSBC, first licensed to Willard Storage Battery Company, thus - WSBC. They shared studios with WGES who had their transmitter, 10,000 watts, out in Elmhurst in West Chicago. WSBC studios and transmitter was on the ninth floor of a building at the corner of Western Avenue and Madison Street. The tower was on top of the building. Ed. Jacker was chief engineer for both stations.

Tim Marsh at the WGES console. 1944.

WGES was primarily Polish and Yiddish language broadcast. WSBC primarily Italian and Black. WGES and WSBC shared the same frequency but shared studios on the same ninth floor. Part of the time I would open up for WSBC at 6am with "Waiting for the Sunrise." This Jewish fellow, Peter ______ (somebody) did the announcing, we would broadcast mostly Irish programs to the Irish community on the near west side. Had one black (raised in Memphis) who would introduce black records and sell ads to the black community. WSBC would sign off at 2pm then we would trot down the hall to the WGES studio and control room and fire up. In the control room we also switched network lines for NBC when they fed West, East or South. Remember back in the old days of radio when NBC, New York, wold say "now we switch you to Chicago" and sometimes all you would hear was an open circuit buzz, likely the engineer in the WGES control room failed to switch the patch cord. Of course that never happened on my watch - well perhaps once.

As WGES was primarily Polish and Poland was still under German control, the United States Government required that all Polish be monitored for propaganda purposes. I remember the Government Polish Monitor as he sat next to me in the control room each time a live program was broadcast.  To my knowledge, he never had to hit the kill switch to interrupt the program. I remember it was a hot early summer an d the announcers often sat in the announce booth in their short to beat the heat, no air conditioning. The Jewish Network program "The Goldbergs" originated their program for the network in the WGES studio. I was the control room engineer on a number of their feeds, had to follow a copy of their script, to fade in or out three microphones plus the sound table.

I will mention here one of the first major service techniques I learned from Chief Ed. Jacker. One morning after sign-on, the station monitor indicated that the WSBC transmitter was off the air. I checked meters, all were reading, tubes lit up but not output into the antenna. This was my first "off the air" emergency, a time of extreme pressure. Luckily the chief was down the hall servicing the WGES console. I ran down the hall, told him we were off the air. He said let's take a look. He walked in, looked to see that the tubes were lit, checked to see if the meters were reading, then lightly kicked the transmitter front panel with the toe of his shoe. The transmitter immediately came to life, back on the air. I looked at him dumbfounded, he kind of grinned and mused "damn crystal switching relay not making." Then he said that's what we call the kick and slap method of servicing, son, next time you'll know where to kick it. A lesson I never forgot. It served me well. Ed. did not believe that smoking and radio equipment mixed, if he caught you smoking, you were automatically fired.

The O.S.S. - Part 2

On the train out to Washington in the spring of 1944, we all went first class in Pullman, somewhere northwest of Baltimore, one of the cars back of us, came uncoupled and it came to a halt, it was carrying one of our immediate group, a big old boy from Nebraska by the name of Harvy Myers. For some reason the engineer never got the disconnect signal and we went on into Baltimore where the problem was discovered. Harvy arrived the next morning by special limousine from O.S.S. headquarters, after that we addressed him as General Uncouple.. He lived in our cabin. At breakfast Harvy would always drink a full glass of grapefruit juice without stopping, beat on the table and slap the nearest person to him. This happened every morning without fail.

Poor Harvy later decided the O.S.S. was not exciting enough so he resigned and signed up with the Merchant Marines as a radio operator. We heard later that his ship was torpedoed on the Murmansk Run in the North Sea, losing all on board.

All of us, Civilian, military and agents alike, lived in cabins, eight to a cabin. In our particular cabin we had Lt. Ellis Marshall, our next in command, a real gentleman who had been R.O.T.C. and received his commission in the signal corps at the start of hostilities. They grabbed him up due to his radio training before the ward. He was still living five or six years ago at Falls Church, Virginia. Next was Bill Barlow, my old instructor at Coyne, Mac. McEwen, Corporal Ray Cook, who was drafted at the beginning of the draft and hated every minute of it. He was Captain McCallen's secretary. McCallen being in charge of all O.S.S. activities in the camp. Ray had been an amateur radio operator before the war as had Lt. Marshall. Ray and I became close friends at camp McDowell before we went out to Washington.

Before Helen and Marsha came out, Ray, Barlow, McEwen, and myself went into Washington most weekends - none of us caroused around, were family men and had a lot in common. We would stay at the Ambassador at a good discount, wander around see the sights, spent hours on the Capitol grounds talking about family, radio, home and the war. D.C. was a quite safe place then. How things have changed.

Tim Marsh with 2 O.S.S. Friends in D.C. - 1944

The Commandant of Area "C" was Major Frederick Willis, a disgruntled Marine with ulcers, who wanted to be in the field but was stuck in a camp that few knew existed, where he didn't know who was agent, Army, Navy, Marine or civilian. At review he didn't know by uniform who had rank on him. I'm sure he must have felt about as comfortable with all of the civilians running around dressed in uniforms as he would in a camp full of transvestites. He had to put up a good front and gie the impression that he was commandant of a little dinky camp back in the woods that housed conscientious objectors but was actually a camp where strange things were happening. Where weird dit-dah tones of Morse Code echoed through the pines night and day, a camp where the psychological warfare group, in the barracks on the edge of camp, delighted in broadcasting to the entire camp at night, spine tingling, hair raising ghoulish sounds of women screaming and pleading for mercy, groans of agony, wolves howling, a child crying and screaming as the wolves approach, hear them snarling and growling with increased tempo as they closed in for the kill, then a whimper and it starts all over again. Late at night after lights out, Major Willis must have often thought "What a mad mad world." I know I did. The natives that lived in the area would whisper in the Coffee Shop in Manassas about the weird goings on at that camp out in the woods.

A Morse Code Class at the O.S.S. Training Center

The purpose of the O.S.S. at this camp was twofold. (1) To furnish uninterrupted high speed telegraphy (voice was not used on high security circuits), to and from O.S.S. centers all over the world and to subversive agents and cells behind enemy lines and supply a transmitting vessel for the psychological warfare division. (2) To train prospective agents in the rudiments of basic radio theory and maintenance in the field behind enemy lines, master the Morse code at a speed sufficient to receive and transmit vital coded messages, and learn the art of cryptographics. Most of our trainee agents were of German, Italian, French, Austrian, or Polish extraction. Most Asian agents were trained in O.S.S. headquarters in the Burma-India theatre.

By late Fall of 1944, the allies were rolling across Europe and the axis powers in full retreat. Sighs of the end were in sight. New agent trainees for the European theatre were dropping off as activities began to shift to the Pacific Theatre.

Reunion in 1950 with My Best Friends from O.S.S. after the War in Chicago
Ray, Tim, Sam, Mac and Bill

Blanche Marsh and Helen Marsh are in the Crowd as they Celebrate the end of the War in Chicago

The O.S.S. - Part 1

On November 15, 1943, a group of us civilian recruits assembled at O.S.S. Headquarters in downtown Chicago. We were led by a liaison officer to the Aurora and Elgin Station where we boarded for Warrenville, Illinois, a sleepy little prairie town about the size of Lynchburg, Tennessee. It had gone up when a C.C.C. Camp called "Camp McDowell" was built there in the 1930's. We were all loaded into an Army Troop truck driven by Army personnel. We all looked at each other and wondered to ourselves, what have we gotten ourselves into. I remember in this truck, as I later found out, was a doctor in his 30's who had a severe heart condition, a Jewish restaurant owner, an artist, a 50 year old radio and appliance store owner, an insurance agent, a retired postal telegraph operator who was about 55, this man lived in Oak Park and his name was McEwen. We called him "Mac." He knew nothing about radio but was the fastest code man I ever saw. I spent long hours with Mac in the barracks on base, in Washington, D.C. and Manassas, Virginia, teaching him radio theory for his amateur radio license.  Another man on this truck was, of all people, Bill Barlow, who had been my communications instructor at Coyne Radio School. Bill was probably 20 years my senior, born in Canada and lived in Oak Park near Mac but did not know each other. While in Washington, D.C., Bill was one of my best friends. Helen and I visited Bill and Reba Barlow in Oak Park after the war when we had a reunion with Bill, Mac, Sam Jenkins who was the appliance store owner on the truck, and Corporal Ray Cook the only military man from Warrenville. We always had vans to take us to and from the train each day.

For three days, we were indoctrinated into much of the intent and purpose of the O.S.S. Some things we were never told. We were told up front that the people on base, regardless of uniform, may or may not be military, civilian or agent and the rank insignia on uniforms were often deceptive. I can remember seeing General Bill Donovan two times, once at a brief visit at Camp McDowell as he walked through the main code room and in the mess hall at lunch, and later at Area "C" near Manassas when he brought down a British Major, whose name now escapes me. He was famous in British Intelligence on unethical practices behind enemy lines. His specialty was knife warfare. The complete camp was assembled and General Donovan introduced him and he gave an hour demonstration, with prompts, on how to steal up and cut the enemies throat without alarming anyone. Of course we all had to sit in. "Gross."

In the spring of 1944, about 20 of us were transferred to Area "C," the main communication and agent training center for O.S.S. that was located south of Washington, near Dumfrees and Manassas, Virginia. The site was well camouflaged in a dense wooded area in a rather isolated part of Prince William County. The camp was about a mile into the woods on a country road. It, as was Camp McDowell,  had been a C.C.C. (Civilian Conservation Corps) Camp.

A sketch of Timothy Marsh done at Area "C" O.S.S. Camp.

A point of interest here...
In 1991, Helen and I drove up to that region to find where the old camp had stood, after nearly fifty years we were sure it was a long shot at best. We passed the little narrow road leading off the main road, I recognized it as we passed, we turned around, went down the road and smack into the old camp with parade grounds, headquarters buildings and cabins. It had grown up, not well kept but still there, being used by some group out of D.C. for underprivileged teenagers. We then went on in to Manassas, the nearest town of any size to the camp, where those with families lived.

Entrance to Area "C" in Prince William County, Virginia in 1991

We located the spot where the old Prince William Hotel stood in 1943. A Motor Inn on the spot now. When Helen and little Marsha Joan came out later in 1945, we stayed at Prince William and Helen worked as a waitress in the Coffee Shop. We later moved down the street and shared a house with another couple named Willis. The husband being army at the camp. We shared a ride when we came in from the camp with Lt. Ellis Marshall, my immediate supervisor.

Part of an article from the Shelbyville Times-Gazette about Tim Marsh and his service with the O.S.S.

WW II and the Draft

May 11, 1943. Helen and I purchased an old used car with recycled tires on it. New tires, cigarettes, sugar and gasoline were all rationed. If you had an "A" sticker on your windshield, that meant you were contributing to the war effort. We had an "A." Occasionally we drove into Chicago to West Congress.

Mother (Mrs. Blanche Marsh) went back to Fayetteville in March of 43 to bring Mrs. Bagley, of the Draft Board, up to date on my employment. I was still 1 A. The Signal Corps indicated to several of us 1 A technicians when we signed on that a deferment was no problem. Bur we had heard by the grapevine that they were slow in this commitment. The board gave me an extension to October 1, 1943.

Henry Crawford, Vertna Crawford (with Marsha)
Earl Crawford and Jennie Braden 1943

By mid May, the draft boards were getting desperate to fill their quotas and deferments were getting rare. On May 17th, Helen, the baby and I took a few days off and went back to Lincoln County. Uncle Grady carried me to Petersburg to talk to Russell Beasley, owner of Beasley's Funeral Home, and related to us through grandma Marsh. He told of their desperate need for draftees to meet their quota and that the Signal Corps should make a strong request for extension of my deferment.

Helen and Marsha with Brownie
Flintville, Tennessee 1943

By mid summer 1943, the Signal Corps had trained enough of its own communications people that they could now use them to replace the civilian people whom they had been using to keep their systems on the ir from Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, 1941. These civilian techs could now have their deferment dropped and be called up. This is what happened and the Signal Corps would not ask the draft boards to continue our deferments. Seven or eight of our group were double crossed by this policy. We all went into Chicago in mass to talk to deaf ears. "Bad times for us."

In September 1943, the draft board began to send out notices to appear for induction. I received my notice September 17, 1943 to appear for induction October 6, 1943. As you will note, this was little Marsha's first birthday.

I was the only southerner that talked real American in a bus load of Italians, all from the area, in and around Congress, Ogden and Roosevelt Road. I felt like a country preacher in a house of prostitution.

I was rejected outright, citing an irregular heart beat, a condition I had experienced from my early teens, particularly when under stress or upset. I can safely say that I was under stress and upset that day. I vividly recall one specific question the psychologist, a weird looking little man with very thick glasses and bad breath, asked me and I quote, "Do you like girls?" I said NO SIR because this country boy thought he meant, do you like to fool around with other girls, and I certainly did not. Thinking back, it appears that my answer may have put the icing on the cake for my rejection.

Breathing a little easier now, in a few days I went downtown in answer to a full page Chicago Tribune ad that stated, seeking men who knew radio, transmitting and receiving equipment, proficient in the Morse Code and capable of instructing, must stand rigid loyalty check. This ad was placed by the OSS (Office of Strategic Services, forerunner of the CIA).

The people that interviewed me were evasive, saying only that it would involve highly confidential work for the Federal Government at a place near Chicago, close enough that I could commute if I so desired. I filled out all the papers, listing my qualifications. They said you will hear from us within two weeks. I did.

Our Firstborn and My First Radio Job

On October 6, 1942, a little girl was born to us at Presbyterian Hospital. Marsha Joan, weighed in at 5 lbs and 8 oz, delivered by Dr. Billington, internist. Dad called her "Snooks" and later "Blondie." Helen's mother Mrs. Vertna Crawford came up to see her first grandchild and stayed a few days. At this time, mother and dad lived across the street in the same block.

Helen Marsh and Timothy Marsh with newborn Marsha Joan
Chicago, Illinois - October 1942

Helen Marsh with Daughter Marsha Marsh - Age 4 Months

November 9th, 1942. "Got a Job." The Placement Service at Coyne lined me up with a position as Communication  Technician with the Sixth Service Command, a branch of the Signal Corps. Immediately after graduating from Coyne, I went downtown to the F.C.C. Office and passed my amateur exam, having studied the Morse Code in the communication branch at Coyne. This got me the job. My place of employment was at the Merrillville Station, Indiana, located on Highway 30, north of Crown Point, Indiana, about twelve miles south of Gary, Indiana. The Sixth Service Command had taken over the old Mackey Postal Telegraph Company Network, that consisted of several stations located out on the prairie to get away from man-made noise. There were stations at Merrillville, Hobart, Lowell and St. John, all interconnected by land lines called order wires, that we used to talk by telegraph sounders (clickety-clack) to the other stations in the network. Our ID call was MV = Dah Dah - Dit Dit Dit Dah. I learned to read my ID even if I dozed off, as you were prone to do on a slow night at 2:30 in the morning. These stations were all equipped with huge long rombic wire antennas, fie hundred feet long and ninety feet high, headed toward Greenland and Canada, so that the Chicago Headquarters could communicate via our stations to Canada or Greenland and relay to the European Command.

Thanksgiving Day, November 26, 1942. Helen and I with our little girl, six weeks old, moved to Gary, Indiana. Lived at two different locations here. This is where Marsha Joan would sit in her high chair, pounding her tray with her spoon and hollering, "nic-n-na nic-n-na," (for milk and bread). Bright kid! We had a little cheap short wave radio that we listened to broadcasts from allied and axis stations around the world. I would listen to Morse Code stations to improve my copy speed but we had to keep the volume down so the neighbor would not hear it. People had the "Spy Jitters" and code was a red flag that might earn a visit from the Feds.

Helen Marsh, Marsha Marsh and Tim Marsh
Gary, Indiana

Blanche Marsh and Richard Marsh with Marsha in Gary, Indiana

It was a record cold and snowy winter of 1942-43. Had no car, most days too bad to drive anyway. So I had to ride the Hobart Transit bus to within a mile of the radio station and walk the rest of the way. All the operators worked a swing shift, never could get used to this killer schedule. The only names that I can remember of this group was my boss that hired me, Aaron Wilcox, a security guard by the name of Dyer who was about 60 and had come up from Dyersburg, Tennessee, off a little farm, to keep from starving. When he found out I was from Tennessee, he was the happiest old feller I ever saw. One other I remember was a Norwegian from Minnesota named Mortareud, we called him "Mort" (naturally). He was an amateur radio operator, just past the draft age and a good friend. I lost track of him after I left the Sixth Service Command, never able to locate him until about four years ago when I found out he had moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Checked in with my old friend Bob Gordon there and found out Mort had just died.

WW II and Radio School

January 16, 1942. Helen and I went back to Lincoln County, Tennessee. The move was partly prompted by the pending draft that was now certain. According to the papers and radio, those engaged in farming were more likely to be given an exemption and I preferred to register in Tennessee rather than Chicago, where my status as a bell-hop would just about guarantee me a free ride to the induction center. We were playing the odds, with high stakes at risk. Dad and mother came down in April and prepared to plant a cotton crop.

Helen Crawford Marsh

Timothy Richard Marsh

I suppose looking back now, it was inevitable that at sometime I would be called up for the draft but I would have been foolish not to put it off as long as possible. We planted a cotton crop on the little farm that had been idle. On February 2, 1942, about a month after we arrived back, I registered for the draft. I still carry the card in my billfold, why I don't know, except one never knows when one may be called up. I remember that Leonard Mansfield, who had been my Ag. and Civics teacher two years before, casually said while he signed my card "Timothy you look like you would make a good infantry man." Needless to say I didn't split my gut laughing. I swore then that I would not lay down and play dead.

On July 1, 1942, I was classified as 1 A. "Oh Joy." We evaluated our situation once again. I still had this radio thing in my blood, having continued to study from magazines and used books I had purchased while working for St. Luke's. I had heard about Coyne Radio School and had some of their ads in my possession. We had talked about it as a possibility and learned from Mr. Burt Mansfield that Clayton Rutledge, his nephew and a friend of mine had gone to Chicago to go to Coyne Radio School and had received a student deferment until he finished. Dad had gone back to Chicago on June 14, 1942. He checked out the school, its payment plan, etc.

Being class 1 A was a shock to ones system,it did not mean immediate call up, it just meant that I could be called if the board needed me to meet a quota. We continued with our plans to go back to Chicago and go to Coyne. Dad had located an apartment on West Congress Street and near Coyne. With assistance of his old Greek friend Harry, he landed a job at Presbyterian Hospital, also on West Congress. Harry, the Greek, had worked with dad at St. Luke's in 1941-1942.

July 14, 1942. Back to Chicago, a 21 year old 1 A with a 20 year old pregnant wife. We had a basement apartment (no stairs for Helen now) on Congress Street within walking distance of Coyne, the El, and an Italian grocery store named "Leo's Market." Dad and Leo became good friends.

July 21, 1942. Started to Coyne Radio School, enrolling in the Complete Radio and Communications course. Coyne was a four story white brick building, large facility, at that time one of the largest schools in the U.S., that stood at Congress and Ashland. This area of West Congress is now Eisenhower Expressway. We rented a typewriter from Webster Typewriter Company, a couple of blocks west of us, and Helen typed my class notes (still have one of the notebooks). I know, it was a hot August and September. We went to the show a lot up Ogden and Halstead, was near Weibolts Department Store, that we patronized, got lots of baby things there before Marsha was born.

Coyne Radio School

September 11, 1942. Graduate from Coyne, now I are now smart. No job yet, start looking for a ob through the ads in the Tribune and through the School Replacement Service.

October 1, 1942. Dad had gone back home to pick the cotton crop planted in May. Dad had purchased an old worn out mule for $40.00 to do the work. After he picked the cotton and sold it, he pastured the old mule and went back to Chicago to his job he had taken leave from. No buyer for the old mule. Dad wrote granddad to give away or turn him out. Granddad wrote back saying, "Rich, that's immoral, I won't do it." Dad got a long weekend, caught a bus down, took the old mule to town on first Monday (that's mule day), sold the old mule for an overcoat, put it on, went to the bus station and caught a bus back to Chicago. Wonder who got the best of that deal?

Headed to Chicago

About a week after Helen and I married, I took the train to Chicago, arriving at Dearborn Station August 2, 1941, leaving my bride home in Flintville. Dad had rented an 8 x 8 cubby hole in a flop house on South State Street, north of the main bus station. For two days, I wandered around the loop seeing the sights and familiarizing myself with this huge city with all the skyscrapers and noisy street cars and elevated trains.  Then I went to work as a mail order clerk for Scott-Freeman, a wholesale school book depot, located at 620 Wabash Avenue, one block east of my cubicle at "Derelict Manor" on State Street. Dad carried out all kinds of fruit and ice cream and cakes from the kitchen and brought them up to me for my supper meals. Workers in the kitchen at the hospital were allowed to take home food for themselves as a side benefit. I ate no breakfast and paid thirty cents for a full noon meal including drinks and dessert at a stool and bar eatery on State Street, just up from the flop house. The food tasted good. I did not question its contents.

Helen and mother arrived in two weeks. Helen and I, dad and mother, rented two, one-room furnished apartments at $6.00 a week on Prairie Avenue from Mrs. Waterstraus. The rooms overlooked Soldier Field and the switching railroad yards. It was within walking distance of the hospital. Not a bad neighborhood. Mother took a job at St. Luke's, Helen a little later. I left the book depot, taking a job at a downtown men's club s an express elevator operator, for more money. Took two or three hit or miss jobs, all requiring long street car rides - was marking time while awaiting a job at St. Luke's. In a couple of months, a job opened up as operator of the elevator in the Physio Wing. I took it and we were then all working for St. Luke's Hospital. It was quite a trick to operate this elevator as it was an old hydrolic type, kind of like a car rack in a garage, you controlled it with a long handle sticking up out of the floor. It had a habit of leaking pressure and when you would level off at a floor by the time you got the door open, the dumb thing had sank a foot. Then you had to close the doors and start all over. I soon learned that you had to overshoot the floor and let her sink down. I finally mastered it about the time I was transferred. The only thing I liked about it was when I worked late shifts. I would take the - thing - as we called it, down to the basement and study my radio books, when traffic was light.

Tim Marsh, Helen Marsh, Blanche Marsh and Richard Marsh in 1941
Chicago, Illinois - Prairie Avenue - First Apartment.

I was glad when I was transferred to the front desk, as a bell-hop, where I carried up flowers, delivered messages, picked up food for the more affluent patients. I remember one was the Governor of Illinois. At the time, he had been in for some time, they were drying him out, had to go down Michigan Boulevard, about two blocks to a catering restaurant, who always prepared roast duck for him and I had to carry it back to his room. On one occasion the gravy spilled all over my uniform on the way back. Oh yes, I remember him well, he never tipped me once. Most days I had to take the street car down to Mercy Hospital, about twenty blocks south, to pick up mother's milk for babies and bring it back to the hospital. Often while not busy, we sat in a lounge behind the desk and listed to the war news. We could never get away from it. It consumed the country.

Tim and Helen Marsh - 1941
Chicago, Illinois - Prairie Avenue

On occasion, I would meet Helen going down a hall as I would be making a delivery and she would be dropping off something as a nurse's aid. She also worked as a dining room attendant while at St. Luke's. She was working in the dining room the day the flash came over the radio about Pearl Harbor. I continued to work here until January 1942.

Dad wrote in his journal: "Dec. 7, 1941, War - War - War. Worry - Worry -Worry." Guess that pretty well summed it up.