My dad grew up in the Lincoln Park area of Chicago. He lived with his widowed father, three brothers, and his dad’s sister. His dad was a traveling salesman for a shoe company, so my dad and his brothers were raised primarily by their aunt, a person who brooked no nonsense from the boys.
Every day after school and on weekends, my dad sold newspapers on a street corner in his neighborhood, and in 1917, he enlisted in the Army, and after basic training, he was sent to France where he was engaged in heavy fighting against the Germans.
He was discharged in early 1919, and when he returned to Chicago, he got a job with the Tribune loading newspapers on delivery trucks, but it wasn’t long before he was promoted to driving a delivery truck. His route covered the same neighborhood where his family lived, plus the nearby neighborhood where he moved after he was hired by the newspaper. Colonel Robert R. McCormick, the owner and publisher of the Tribune, made a point of promoting people who had served in the armed forces, as had he.
My dad’s next promotion was to travel Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin in order to find men who could be trained to own Tribune newspaper agencies. The Colonel sent my dad and other interested white-collar personnel to night school at the lakefront campus of Northwestern University, where these men and women studied newspaper management.
When my dad completed the course of study, he was promoted to the circulation department, and in 1937, he became circulation manager. My mother and dad met in 1937 through a mutual friend, and they married in 1938.
Their pride and joy arrived in March of 1940.
My dad told me many stories about both the famous and infamous people he met during his many years at the paper. For instance, the Colonel lived in Wheaton [Cantigny] during the summer months and on Belden Street during the rest of the year.
Because of the fact that he was often threatened by thugs due to his strong law-and-order stance, he arrived at the Tribune each morning in an armored limousine driven by his armed chauffeur. After the chauffeur parked the car in front of the Tribune Tower, he manned his post in front of the Colonel’s office on the top floor of the Tower.
The Colonel also kept two guard dogs in his office.
Various politicians frequently visited the circulation department, where they complained to my dad that the Colonel was constantly maligning them in his editorials. Over the years, my dad met athletes, entertainers, politicians, and shady types who visited his department, some to complain and others to say hello.
He told me that the finest visitor he ever met was Jimmy Durante.
Many of the visitors wanted to meet the Colonel, but none of them were granted an audience because the Colonel was not one to discuss trivial (to him) matters with anyone.
My father was a kind, mild-mannered, quiet man who believed in devotion to family, God, country, friends, and work. He taught me many things, but the greatest lesson was to live a life of brave unselfishness.
To me, this is a lifelong job.
