The Event Makers I've Known - Softcover

Bell, Elvin C.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1475947933 ISBN 13: 9781475947939

Publisher: iUniverse, 2012

Synopsis

This memoir presents author Elvin Bell's recollection of his own history and of his encounters with some of the most well-known movers and shakers of the times. He provides us with astonishing revelations based upon his discussions, meetings, and casual conversations with them. The Event Makers I've Known shares incredible close-ups of everyone from President Richard Nixon and his secretary, Rosemary Woods, to Elvis Presley and screen siren Marilyn Monroe. Bell reveals shocking details of the love affair between Woods and the Interior Secretary and describes the impetuosity of General William Westmoreland, among other stories. In addition to sharing stories of the famous people he has known, he tells his own personal stories, including the tragic story of his grandmother's death within just a few minutes of his mother's birth in a fire that engulfed the hospital in flames. He talks about the daring rescue of his mother by the young doctor who delivered her-a rescue that cost the doctor his eyesight, his occupation, and eventually his life. He also shares fascinating stories of the hardships, ingenuity, and perseverance that many parents and grandparents endured on their "dust bowl" quest to reach California. In his tenth book, The Event Makers I've Known, Bell takes readers on an emotional roller-coaster ride of superstar meltdowns, victories, and heartfelt personal stories.

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

THE EVENT MAKERS I'VE KNOWN

By ELVIN C. BELL

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Elvin C. Bell
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4793-9

Chapter One

Event Makers:

Part A: DAVID E. HAYDEN

David E. Hayden was born in Florence, Texas. After his service in World war I he moved to Fresno, California and lived near the Fresno City College campus at Clinton and Maroa Avenues. Our friendship lasted from the first time we met in the mid 1960s. We never discussed old war stories, but I certainly knew of his "above and beyond" military service.

It started a couple days after the United States entered World War 1. Dave was first in line at his hometown to enlist in the Navy. He became a medic, and after basic training and some clinic work in a hospital emergency room he was put on a troop ship for France.

On September 15, 1918, and within hours after stepping onto French soil, Dave was sent to Thiacourt, France where he was attached to the United States Marine Corps' 2nd Battalion, 6th Regiment.

The USMC infantry unit was engaged in its third day of close combat with German troops.

With minutes, Dave found himself in the middle of the fight.

A marine was badly wounded on the forward edge of the battle area.

Dave disregarded his own personal safety and ran across an open field swept by enemy machine-gun fire to reach the wounded marine. Realizing that the marine would die without immediate hospital care, Dave lifted the marine and unhesitatingly carried him in a zigzag race back across the open field.

While the wounded marine was being evacuated, Dave made another daring rescue in the same open field.

Both marines lived. So did Dave.

Although partially disabled from war wounds, Dave became a Deputy U. S. Marshal with offices on the second floor of the Fresno Main Post Office. He was my frequent coffee break companion in the Hotel Californian coffee shop on Kern Street.

During my 16-year tenure in elected public office, it was my honor and privilege to be invited on several occasions by Federal Court Judge M. D. Crocker to be the principal speaker at the swearing-in ceremonies for new United States citizens.

On those occasions, I brought Marshal Dave Hayden with me, along with a USMC Color Guard that presented and posted the colors. At Judge Crocker's request, Dave wore his Medal of Honor as he stood with us in front of the bench as we faced the 100-plus large audience.

Judge Crocker, who had a deep resonate voice that sounded like it had been dipped in bronze, looked regal and ecclesiastic in his black robe as he held a copy of Hayden's Medal of Honor citation and read it to the audience.

The part that brought the first tears to the audience—who sat in rapt attention—was when Judge Crocker read how Hayden, as a Navy battlefield medic, volunteered to run nearly two hundred yards through enemy machine-gun fire to aid a Marine who was wounded in combat.

And he read: "When Hayden reached the wounded man, he examined the wounds and knew the man could not survive without immediate hospital care.

"Disregarding his own safety, Hayden picked-up the marine and carried him in his arms as he ran back through the two hundred yard field of intense fire until he reached friendly forces. Hayden's actions saved the man's life and one other marine's life that day."

When Judge Crocker finished reading, he slowly and decisively pointed several times to persons in the audience; left to right, right to left, front to back and back to front. Then he took a side step and pointed to MOH recipient David Hayden and said in a booming voice to the soon-to-be-citizens, "Here is the role model I want each of you to follow as citizens of the United States of America."

Then, in a command-style voice he asked, "Will you promise me that you will do that."

After a moment's pause and more wiping of watery eyes, the crowd responded with a united, boisterous shout of "Yes. Yes we will."

Then the applause started, followed by a unanimous standing ovation.

An ear to ear grin came over Judge Crocker's face as he leaned over, took Hayden's right hand and held his arm high.

The shouts turned to respectful exuberance.

There wasn't a dry eye in the chambers.

And as the principal speaker, I had to follow that!

Every six months for several years I had to follow that!

And each time, afterward, following a pleasant, brief conversation in Judge Crocker's chambers, Dave and I rode in silence as we took the elevator down to Fresno Street, and gave each other a warm, knowing smile and a firm handclasp.

Each time, as I turned and started back to city hall, I felt as though I had been baptized anew—but this time it was in the blood of our founding fathers and our brethren who came ashore at Omaha Beach, and all of our patriots—those fallen and those still alive.

* * *

Part B: GREGORY "PAPPY" BOYINGTON

Gregory "Pappy" Boyington was more than a friend. He was a frequent horizontal passenger on the back seat of my car on those occasions when I drove him home after his night of drinking at Charley's Restaurant at Clovis and Butler Avenues in southeast Fresno. The bartender knew that when Pappy fell off his bar stool and curled up on the floor, that was the signal to either call a taxi, if Pappy had any money left, or me. I lived nearby on Huntington Boulevard.

Even with his faults, I viewed Pappy as an icon among the toughest American patriots and freedom fighters this country ever produced. So I was usually handy and willing if he needed a ride.

No other American fighter pilot in the history of aviation shot down as many enemy aircraft as Pappy Boyington. He had 28 confirmed kills in his F4U Corsair "Lucybelle," while his squadron was credited with destroying 197 Japanese aircraft.

Eddie Rickenbacker's solo record was in second place with 26 kills.

And Pappy, unlike Eddie, had several additional records that were, well, just a little over the top.

Pappy was the only pilot who escaped eight different general court-martials, survived a career that floundered amidst a series of drunken brawls, and was unceremoniously kicked-out of the Marine Corps.

Within a couple days of being booted-out, Pappy was recruited and welcomed into the China-based Flying Tigers. His new job, with a pay increase, shocked Pappy's widely disliked former incompetent wing commander who ranted and raved his angst.

Pappy's new job had the reverse impact on the wing chaplain who posted his glad tidings on the pilots' alert room bulletin board. His note read:

    "Goodness gracious,
    lo and behold,
    and golly gee.
    Pappy parted the sea
    and went ashore
    so glory be!
    "When improvements
    are made to this
    woeful, needy Wing,
    Pappy will return,
    You just wait and see."

It didn't take long for the "improvements" to occur.

Three days after the Secretary of the Navy received voluminous mail with attachments denoting documentation and lists of witnesses, the incompetent wing commander, who had a history of never acknowledging exceptional performances or promoting deserving marines, was relieved of command and escorted off the base.

Concurrently, while the Flying Tigers were soaking in the media blitz on Pappy, the Navy Secretary ordered a promotion for Pappy and reinstated him in the USMC with his own squadron to command!

Once again, Pappy was walkin' in tall cotton.

(Pappy carried the chaplain's verse in his wallet for many years, and read it to me often when he was able to do so).

Pappy's pacific theater squadron, called "Boyington's Bastards," gained considerable fame, and when media attention grew intense, Pappy had to placate the populace so he renamed his unit the "Black Sheep Squadron."

Boyington got his nickname "Pappy" because he was always at least a decade older than everyone else in his unit. And stories of his consumption ability spread far and wide.

On the day President Harry S. Truman presented Pappy with the Medal of Honor, Pappy was stone drunk, but standing. He had spent the night drinking and smoking at the Marine Barracks Officers Club with the USMC Commandant who lived on the base. And, following tradition, no marine worth his salt could leave the bar before the Commandant departed.

The Commandant left at 0525 hours!

The White House Rose Garden ceremony was at 0830 hours.

At 0945 hours, Pappy and the Commandant were back in the club at the Marine Barracks.

Pappy was born on December 4, 1912, in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. His father was a garage mechanic and his mother was a long distance telephone operator. Both parents were Sioux.

Pappy lettered in aeronautical and automotive engineering at the University of Washington, Tacoma. He was the only known student at the university who was ordered by the Dean to attend Alcoholic Rehabilitation and Recovery Meetings on Tuesday and Thursday evenings at St. John's Episcopal Church adjacent to the school. He did so with a flask in his pants pocket and packs of cigarettes stuck in his socks.

School records listed him as "multiracial but predominantly of the Sioux Indian Nation." His USMC record referred to him as "multiracial."

On one of his missions in the Pacific, he was shot down and taken to a Japanese POW camp. He credited the courage and bravery passed on to him by his Sioux ancestors for his ability to survive nearly 18 months of intense, cruel punishment as a prisoner in Japan's most notorious torture camp.

Pappy's book, "Baa Baa Black Sheep," was a New York Times best seller but Pappy often complained to me that he saw very little of the proceeds.

When a Hollywood studio wanted the movie and TV rights to the book, Pappy proudly told me that he refused to hire a lawyer to negotiate the contracts. Pappy said he would do his own talking. And he did. And he lost a ton of money.

His income for the movie and TV rights came to a total sum of $700.00.

Actor Robert Conrad, who starred in the TV series, reportedly received $25,000 per show, and the weekly program was on the air for several years.

In addition to our weekly luncheons, Pappy and I had a common interest in the state of Oregon, and we frequently coordinated our trips there. We met for luncheons at a popular restaurant in Cottage Grove just off Interstate 5.

Pappy and his wife, Dolores, visited Cottage Grove to spend some time with Pappy's sister who lived there, and I was at Cottage Grove because it was the midway point between my brother in Salem and my sister in Coos Bay.

Dolores selected the restaurant because it did not have a bar, nor did it allow smoking. My visits with Pappy in Oregon were the only occasions when I did not see him intoxicated and in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

His last words to me as we parted for the final time were the same words I had heard from him so many times during previous conversations, "Just name a hero and I'll prove him a bum."

I received the sad, but anticipated, news of his death on Monday afternoon, January 11, 1988. He died in his home in Fresno. Lung cancer and emphysema were the cause of death.

His burial in Arlington National Cemetery, near the tomb of the Unknown, was with full military honors, as ordered by the USMC Commandant who was in attendance.

* * *

Part C: RODOLFO PEREZ "RUDY" HERNANDEZ

Corporal Rodolfo Perez "Rudy" Hernandez, who was combat disabled but always jovial, frequently poured me a cup of coffee at the novelty and food kiosk he operated in the lobby of the same Fresno post office where Marshal David Hayden had his office.

Rudy was born in object poverty in Colton, California and grew up in Fowler, some six miles south of Fresno.

As soon as he turned 17, and with his mother's permission, he joined the United States Army and volunteered for Special Forces. After his training at Fort Bragg, he was sent to Germany and quickly became one of the most skilled paratroopers in the Company G, 187th Airborne Regiment Combat Team.

His unit was one of the original combat teams sent to Korea when hostilities erupted there. His infantry platoon was ordered to defend Hill 420 which was located near Wonton-ni.

On May 31, 1951, his platoon was violently hit by a numerically superior Red Chinese and North Korean enemy counter-attack.

A close-quarters firefight broke out when the enemy troops surged up the hill and inflicted numerous casualties on the platoon.

Rudy was wounded during the attack, but was able to fire upon the rushing enemy troops.

After his rifle ruptured, he continued attacking with fixed bayonet and killed ten of the enemy. His attack enabled his comrades to regroup and take back the hill.

A grenade explosion that blew away part of his skull and brain knocked him unconscious.

He had received grenade, bayonet and bullet wounds.

Rudy appeared dead to Keith Oates, who was the first Army field medic who reached him. The medic was about to move on to the next victim when he saw Rudy's fingers move.

Rudy regained consciousness one month later in a hospital but could not move or speak.

He spent the next five years as a patient in various hospitals, rehabilitation and therapy facilities.

Only a few of us knew that Rudy was born and raised in poverty. While he was hospitalized, those of us who knew of his background contributed sufficient funds and found a nice home for Rudy near Gettysburg Avenue in northeast Fresno. We then hired a contractor who fixed it up so it would accommodate Rudy's multiple handicaps.

It was the first home he could call his own.

On November 10, 2007, Rudy's old unit at Fort Bragg, North Carolina along with the local VFW arranged a reunion for Rudy with Keith Oates, the Army medic who saved Rudy's life on Hill 420.

* * *

Part D: GEORGE "BUD" DAY

As of this writing, Bud Day is my neighbor in Okaloosa County, Florida. He still practices law, is seen frequently taking his morning coffee breaks at Hardy's on Beal Street, and loves to hunt birds in South Dakota where he went to law school.

He was born and raised in Sioux City, Iowa and was 17 and a high school senior when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He immediately enlisted in the U. S. Marine Corps and saw combat duty in the Pacific Theater of operations. When the war was over, he continued his enlisted military service by joining the Army Reserve and, subsequently, the Army National Guard. He earned his commission and wings in the USAF.

Bud has the remarkable record of being the most highly decorated veteran still alive. And he is the only MOH recipient who was presented the award by two different US Presidents; Gerald Ford and Richard Nixon.

Bud shared a POW cell in Viet Nam for more than five years with John McCain, who later became a US Senator from Arizona. During those long years, prison guards repeatedly tortured Bud by hanging him upside down and whipping him with automobile fan belts. The guards cut scores of fan belts so they always had a pile of four foot long belts of heavy material that left broken bones and deep scars during the beatings.

The beatings, along with other forms of torture, were daily occurrences during his five-plus years as a POW in the Hanoi Hilton.

Bad luck was the cause of Bud Day's capture.

While on a mission, an enemy rocket slammed into his F-100 fighter aircraft. Day ejected from the aircraft but his body hit against the fuselage breaking his arm in three places and badly spraining his left foot.

The only stroke of luck for him that day was that his parachute opened.

Upon landing, Day was immediately captured and beaten. The torture with fan belts continued for three straight days while Day was hung upside down with ropes.

Day escaped twice during his imprisonment, but was caught each time. The price he paid was more upside down hangings and beatings.

Dave, Pappy, Rudy and Bud. What more can be said of them than to report that they were four God fearing Americans who had the same grit as our founding fathers who gave us our independence and freedom.

They will always be my friends.

Comment:

The Medal of Honor was created during the Civil War and is the highest military decoration presented by the United States Government to a member of its armed forces.

Medal of Honor recipients must have distinguished themselves at the risk of their own life above and beyond the call of duty in action against an enemy of the United States. Due to the nature of this medal, it is commonly presented posthumously.

Since the Civil War, 3,471 MOHs have been presented and as of this writing, 82 recipients are still alive.

The US Government provides a monthly stipend of $1,000.00 to each living recipient. The last increase in the stipend was made during the administration of President George W. Bush.

Chapter Two

The Pilgrimage West to California

Event Makers:

Albert L. Bell, my father Lucille S. Bell, my mother L. K. McClintack, M. D. Charles Weppler Elvin Warren Allan W. Pearson, M. D., the doctor who delivered "an event maker." (Mom never forgot those words).

My occupation in my solitary pilgrimages was to recall every yard of the old road as I went along it, and to haunt the old spots, of which I never tired. —Charles Dickens

Monday, March 1, 1937

There's only one way to get to their one bedroom shack that sits on the edge of a pistachio orchard off Childs Road south of Planada.

And it's not an easy route. You turn off US 99 as you enter the Central California city of Merced and head east on Road 140 for nine miles. The narrow winding road gradually changes from a meandering corridor through orchards and field crops to one-lane blacktop and, finally, to dull looking grayish alkali dirt before you cross over the Santa Fe tracks that bisect Childs Road.

After crossing, turn south on the deep two-rutted hardpan lane and it leads you to a well-worn, unpainted migrant farm laborer's shack in front of the orchard.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from THE EVENT MAKERS I'VE KNOWNby ELVIN C. BELL Copyright © 2012 by Elvin C. Bell. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2012
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1475947933
• ISBN 13: 9781475947939
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 598