Pasadena Tab

TWO

Strictly From Memories

The War Years and the Forties

The forties dawned with considerable anxiety with reports of action in Europe involving British and French troops waging war against the onslaught of Hitler’s Third Reich – bombs falling on Britain – troops pushed into the sea at Dunkirk by the blazing blitzkrieg of the German Army – eastern Europe falling like dominoes – Mussolini’s Italy joining Hitler’s onslaught. The United States, on the sidelines, began some evidence of mobilization – conscription – the draft – lend-lease – messages by radio from London by Edward R. Murrow – intensive ship-building – and the U.S.O., the United Service Organization. The Army, along with four other major national agencies, provided “a touch of home” with clubs for service men to visit while on leave in major cities and near army camps and air bases through the nation. I suspect this organization was a direct outgrowth of the Army’s “clubs” and donut machines immediately behind the front lines during World War I.

The economic depression was over, but the psychological depression escalated as the threat of war hung hard over our heads. It ended in anger and rage on December 7, 1941 with the attack by the nation of Japan on Pearl Harbor and other bases on the Hawaiian and Philippine Islands. President Roosevelt immediately asked Congress to declare that a state of war against Japan and her allies – including Germany and Italy “has existed” since that day of infamy.

The Territorial Commander, Commissioner Donald McMillan, pledged Army personnel and facilities to civic and military authorities, and The Salvation Army mobilized for war along with the nation. In 1942 alone nine new USO clubs and a dozen or so mobile canteens moved into action. While neither Pasadena nor the Citadel were affected, some corps were consolidated due to personnel shortages.

Soldiers went to war – and a good number of them were Salvation Army soldiers. “A” – “B” and “C” stickers appeared on automobile windshields as gasoline ration went into effect. Over 50 officers were assigned to USO duty administering clubs throughout the Territory.

***
The role of women changed significantly during the war years as men went into the military and women were needed to support families and assume responsibilities relaive to the war effort. At the Citadel, a delightful dozen women joined teen-aged boys and older men in the Citadel Band. The roster included:

Anita Anthony
Xelia Carl
Frances Dart
Pearl Lorenzen
Ruth Morton
Victoria Nottle
Ruby (Palm) Adams
Benetta Rody
Herberta Sanderson
Betty (Boysen) Vandenberg
Mildred (Boyd) Williams
Lily Wood

Some great people served the corps well during these war years. Retired officers like Major Charlie Morton, Major Tom Parkhouse, and Brigadier Sam Bradley were joined by stalwarts like Charlie and Nellie Wanstall, Mrs. Moore, the corps secretary who always sat on the platform with the officers, Bill Tillinghaus, a reclaimed saint of the streets who always led the “soldiers” open-air service, Maud James, and many others.

The 1943 annual “Thanksgiving Sacred Concert” program listed the names of bandsmen “now in U.S. Service.

Morton August
Charles August
Reuben Borkgren
James Cunningham
Bob Field
Joe Faulkner
Bill Gooding
Adolph Kranz
Pete Miranda
Clarence Page
Fred Robinson
George Robinson
Ole Tegner
B. L. Todd
T. Todd

Just a short time after that concert, Bill Gooding, son of Sgt. Maj. Harold Gooding, was Promoted to Glory following an automobile accident while returning to Camp Roberts.

Pictures of corps events often involved parades and service at one of the USO clubs with at least one of the women in the uniform of a World War I donut girl. These pictures invariably showed Frances (James) Dart and Herberta (Carroll) Sanderson.

In 1944 the corps participated in serving coffee and donuts back stage at the Shrine Auditorium in a “Cavalcade of Overseas Stars.” One picture shows Frances with Jerry Colonna trying to bite into a donut and Ann Sheridan, holding a cup of coffee while peering with a very questioning expression at a tray of donuts.

I will say this for the Army – we have worked the donut well.

Guy Case farewelled in 1944 and was succeeded by Adjutants Dan and Benetta Rody.

Rody worked diligently to increase attendance and build a strong Army program. On one occasion, he had the band marching up and down Main Street between 3rd and 5th while other soldiers passed out flyers with the blazing question – “Have you heard Dan Rody?” – and then announcing the times for our meetings.

On one of the those Palm Springs band trips, after the parade and a lunch, he had the band scheduled into the Rodeo grounds as the people assembled for the event. It was a very rough, field made up of soft dirt mixed with large clods. The band marched around the field with Rody in the front as a drum major. On one occasion he tried a counter march where the band was required to reverse direction. Without any previous practice or warning, it was an eventful display for a growing audience.

The corps began to gather a sense of momentum and energy. The 16 year old Docter twins arrived on the scene along with their parents in ’45 – and gradually, men returned home from the service to take their place in the corps.

Charlie Wanstall’s daughter and son-in-law, Jack and Girlie Wood, had moved out from Cleveland with their daughter, Ruth, earlier. A couple of years later, they were joined by their son, Jack, (called J.K.) whose term of service as a submariner in the Pacific finally concluded. Adolph Kranz returned from Army duty. Herb Hay was back and joined the trombone section.

In 1946 or 47 the division scheduled a bandsmen and songster conference in which both the Citadel and Congress Hall were to perform. When the Citadel and Congress Hall bands were on the same platform a very competitive spirit was evident. The Territorial Commander, Lt. Commissioner William Barrett was the guest so everyone was on their best behavior. I can’t remember anything about the evening except one event.

The Congress Hall Band always displayed a large banner behind the band on which was placed 25 stars signifying men from the band serving in the armed forces. I don’t think the Citadel ever had one, and if they did, it had been lost or abandoned somewhere. The war had been over for a couple of years, and all service men had returned.

Barrett, in seeing the Congress Hall banner praised the corps and the band with lengthy and appropriate flowery language and then turned to the Citadel band and asked: “And how many men did the Citadel band have in the armed forces?”

Bandsman Richard Docter, deep in the band’s bass section called out immediately: “26.”

The audience howled and Barrett went right on – never guessing that what he was hearing was really “one-ups-manship.”

Besides major musical events, the mid forties were also great years for drama amid the permanent risers on the Citadel stage. Frances Dart staged about two plays a year in the corps for several years during this period. She had a group of regulars in her “company” called “The Samaritan Players.” This allowed her to take some of the shows on the road. The regulars invariably included Frances, Virgil Cline, and Ernie and Elga Witmond. Corps productions always featured Betty (Boyd) August, LeMoine (Gooding) Wood, and often “a cast of thousands” drummed up from the theatrically challenged soldiery.

During one Easter production by Home League Secretary Elsie Morton, Wes Morton, her husband who worked in the motion picture studios and knew how to do things, had gone to a great deal of expense, time and effort to construct a magnificent series of sets. These included the Palm Sunday road to Jerusalem, Pilates court, and Calvary for use in the first act. The second act focused completely on the tomb – a hollow paper mache chamber (that looked somewhat like an igloo) and the garden area around it.

In the play itself, Christ’s entry into Jerusalem was to be celebrated by a series of bath- robe clad palm branch wavers and spreaders with some Roman soldiers officiously throwing their weight around as Jesus passed by. (I don’t think we had a mule). Ted Parkhouse was an appropriately costumed Roman soldier, his underwear only slightly visible beneath his leather britches. When it came time to throw his weight around, he pushed the palm branch wavers with such energy that he sent them flying almost half way across the stage. It was beginning to look like a difficult evening.

The disciple who was to rush in and discover the tomb empty, Fred Borkgren – still an excellent soldier – had been out in the lobby talking with someone. This continued briefly into what they both thought was the beginning of the second act. Both Fred and that “someone” casually glanced through the door, and the “someone” asked Fred when he was supposed to make his entrance.

Fred must have misunderstood. He looked at the stage, his eyes widened with disbelief, thinking that the quiet, empty scene before him was representative of the dawn of the third day and that he had missed his cue. Actually, the second act hadn’t started yet, and his cue was not supposed to come for at least another half-hour or so.

Well – Fred made an historic entrance – running down the aisle toward the stage – and, at the top of his voice, proclaiming: “He is risen – He is risen – He is risen.

Elsie, was confused, startled, and furious. The angel, who had just gotten in the tomb while the curtains were closed – was still there waiting to come out and begin the second act with a very dramatic speech. Fred’s lines were to be the prelude to the climax.

The Angel, Elsie’s daughter, Dorothy, crawled out of the tomb with as much grace as possible. Elsie hurried the remaining players onto the stage for the climactic finale song in which the confused audience participated, and the play ended a little early that night — and raised a few deep theological questions.
Here and now — I confess – I was that “someone.”

On May 8, 1945 Germany surrendered.

On August 6, 1945, the 20 kiloton bomb, Little Boy, fell on Hiroshima resulting in 80,000 deaths, and three days later the 22 kiloton bomb, Fat Man fell on Nagasaki resulting in 70,000 deaths. On August 15, the Emperor of Japan surrendered.

World War II was over, and southern California had been a destination for hundred of thousands of service men on their way somewhere. They made note of its climate, its industry, its housing availability and began making tentative plans. After the war, they acted on those plans. Many of them were Salvationists. Many were musicians. They looked for a corps with band and always checked out the one they had heard about from some one.

In June of 1946 the Citadel Band boarded an ancient Flying Tiger C-47 (DC3) and became the first band to fly as a unit to an engagement. The destination was Phoenix. It was quite a trip. The plane had only recently been obtained by Flying Tigers from the Air Corps and was used to haul freight. It only had bench seating down each side of the plane, and the wires for parachute troops to “hook-up” still ran down the roof of the plane. There were no toilet facilities – only a “relief tube” at the rear of the plane. The band instruments were simply stacked toward the rear of the plane and up the middle aisle between the benches. After take-off bandsmen were allowed to visit the cockpit and stand behind the pilots. We made the flight in around three hours – much faster than our stalwart and courageous bandmaster, Horace Watson, who chose to drive. The flight was uneventful.

In Phoenix, the band participated in special meetings and presented a 30-minute live radio broadcast advertising the evening concert.

The Rodys farewelled in 1946 and Captains Victor and Ardis Newbould took their places. Vic was quite a preacher – a real spell-binder, and Ardis was simply wonderful. He married a bunch of couples and dedicated a raft of babies.

For the Citadel, the major event of the forties concerned the decision to leave 4th and Main. Incidence of community unrest and violence were always close at hand. Bill Tillinghaus, now quite elderly, had been attacked one evening. Many young adults were contemplating marriage and children would not be far behind. It did not seem to be a good location for a family oriented church.

Rail transportation had declined after the war and disappeared almost entirely with the demise of the “big red cars” as Los Angeles fell in love with automotive transportation and freeways. They saw the future patterned after the Arroyo Seco Freeway between Los Angeles and Pasadena Finished in 1941, just as World War II was beginning, it consisted of a six-lane, divided highway with 90 degree on and off ramps and a 45 miles per hour speed limit. It became the pattern of the future. Los Angeles’ car culture had emerged. People drove to church, and if they came to 125 E. Fourth Street, there was no safe parking available. Even the areas around the corps’ traditional open-air stands were showing serious decline.

And besides – the Army wanted to use the facility for a Harbor Light Corps – an absolute natural for the area. Harbor Light programs were designed for this population. An excellent officer with significant experience in this field transferred into the Territory to begin it, and no differences of opinion concerning the wisdom of the move were offered. Everyone was in a “go” posture. We moved in 1948.

Very few had checked out where we were going. It was an outstanding building – perfectly designed – if one wished to stable horses or store hay. It was a barn – a big one, located at 4800 South Hoover – between Slausen and Vernon on Hoover Street – about half-a-mile south of the Coliseum. It had been quickly thrown together to provide an evangelical church setting for spectators and athletes at the 1932 Olympics and was described in the deed as a large post and beam structure with a lean-to on each side of the building. It had a dirt floor – covered with several layers of old rugs.

It had a very high ceiling with four raised window vents spaced at the peak of the roof as the only source of ventilation besides to double-wide doors on each side of the building just in front of the platform. There was no insulation, no air-conditioning, no heat, no platform, and no seats. The kitchen was housed in a small 8 x 10 room – no stove, one small sink, a couple of cupboards and about six square feet of drain board. The nicest thing that could be said about the lavatory facilities was that they were primitive.

The lot spanned an entire block from 48th to 49th streets with the building directly in the center. A large parking lot was located on one side, and grassed and fenced area on the other. A four foot sign ran the entire length of the building and advertised its former function. When Lt. Colonel Russell Clark, Southern California divisional commander, first saw it, he said: “We’ll have to rename the corps ‘The Tabernacle’.” The name stuck and became simply “the Tab” to its soldiers.

They tried to fix up the building for us and did a pretty good job. They got rid of the rugs, cleaned the place up, poured a slab floor, constructed a band room, a wide platform (without permanent risers), built a songster room, installed a pulpit, added a fairly small nursery at the rear of the hall, remodeled the lavatories, and built a youth hall opposite a narrow lobby from which one gained access to the building.

The absence of seats presented a problem unless the corps chose to move toward a more orthodox orientation – very unlikely. So, the corps obtained some 15 foot long 2×8s somewhere along with a number of 2×4s and built benches that took the place of pews. There must have been 25 rows – two benches each down the middle between two aisles, with an equal number of rows of one bench each down each side. No bandsman or songster seemed to want to leave their chairs on the platform in order to move into the audience. A series of tall 6×6 wooden posts down each aisle served as pillars to hold the roof up. Eventually, we even got a heater/air conditioner and some large ceiling fans erected above the rafters. It sounded like a B-29 taking off, but it worked.

It could definitely hold a large crowd. For one special meeting held by the Division, we had almost 700 people in there.

During one season of the year, always in the middle of the Sunday morning sermon, the sun would burst through one of the windows in a particular ceiling vent and focus a beam of light directly on the pulpit. It seemed almost miraculous. Vic Newbould had his God given spotlight, and he was able to maximize its effect.

The corps commitment to open-air evangelism was sorely tested during this period. We had a habit, and it needed to be fed someway. We tried standing on the corner of the parking lot and playing to an empty Hoover Street but soon realized this effort was counter productive. Next, we tried a parade of witness through the neighborhood sometime between 10:00 and 11:00 a.m. The morning service – the main service of the day, started at 11:00. Sunday School, formerly at 3:00 p.m. downtown, now started at 9:30. Our image was the church bell – we were inviting people to church. Once in awhile we would stop in the middle of a block and sing a song and Sergeant Major Harold Gooding would announce the service and have a word of prayer. Then we would move on.

On one occasion, a lady was watering her front lawn with a hose and Harold decided this was a good place to stop. She didn’t think so and turned the water on the band. Harold marched up to her, ignoring the hose to “instruct” her on neighborly behavior. I can still see them standing face to face shouting at each other, Harold waving his finger at the woman who held the hose, still going full blast, with the water bouncing off Harold’s chest and saturating both of them.

One of the more intelligent members of the band – I think it was John Morton – simply walked up to the house and turned the water off at the hose bib. There is nothing like a public attack to build a corps. Word of this incident spread through the neighborhood, and most of them felt sorry for us. They got a petition signed by several of them telling us the valued our presence in the neighborhood. Our marches through the neighborhood continued awhile and then gradually stopped.

We picked up some wonderful soldiers during these years. Ralph and Venice Powell and their two daughters, Carol and Gloria, started coming and stayed for decades. Ralph could make a significant contribution everywhere he went. He was a paper-hanger by trade, but his love was the Tab, God, and family. He became an excellent photographer and was used extensively by Army publications in the West for many years. Both of his daughters were genuine leaders, married Army boys, and built their families – always maintaining close association with the corps.

Charles and Bernadine Brown and their daughters also started coming shortly after the hose incident. Charles was a Captain in the Los Angeles Fire Department, was a stalwart in the corps and, toward the end of his career became the Department Chaplain. Both of them marched to many open airs with the band.

Shortly after our arrival there was some tension in the band. The bandmaster, Horace Watson, had instructed the band that bandsmen had to be on duty on Sunday mornings, but that Sunday evenings were voluntary. The deputy bandmaster was identified as the leader in the evening. Then, retired territorial music director, Brigadier William Broughten, came to the corps to assist in the corps office. The deputy bandmaster was very much aware of the talent and experience in this man and asked him to lead the players on Sunday evening. It wasn’t long before the Sunday evening band had more players than the Sunday morning band. This must have generated some strong feelings in Horace who discussed the matter with the corps officer.

Newbould, sometimes slightly brisk in matters like this, simply chose to maintain the status quo. Horace decided to leave, and a few quality players left with him.

We needed a bandmaster. Newbould learned that Ray Ogg, a former bandmaster of the Chicago Staff Band, was now living in southern California, and he recruited him. He was exactly what the band needed. He had fine musical training, had been an excellent musician himself, was a dedicated Salvationist, and knew how to lead men. He served for 17 years and built the band that his successor, Ron Smart, would take to Europe.

In 1949, the Los Angeles Christian Businessmen decided to have an evangelical revival in Los Angeles. The plan included a large tent in an empty lot at Washington and Hill and needed a principal evangelist. They decided on a young evangelist named Billy Graham, who had led a number of campaigns in small cities and who had a team with him. The whole package was within the budget. Lloyd Docter, a solder of the Tab, was asked to be the Public Relations Director for the campaign and try to get large crowds in the tent every evening.

The Tabernacle Band provided special music for the campaign on a number of occasions during the month of its duration.

In those days, Los Angeles had five major metropolitan newspapers, and Docter filled them all with stories of conversions, of lives changed, and of celebrities impacted. It wasn’t long before some of the stories reached the desk of William Randolph Hearst at San Simeon. He owned and published two of the five Los Angeles papers, The Examiner, published in the morning, and the Herald-Express, and evening paper.

Editors of these two papers received a terse, succinct telegram from Hearst. It simply said: “Puff Graham.”

Graham became front page news in the Hearst papers, and soon, the others followed suit. When mafia gangster Mickey Cohen began visiting the meetings and having special counseling from Graham, the front page stories were introduced by 8 column, bold type screaming banners under the masthead.

Crowds flocked to the tent, and Graham was more than adequate for the task. His “team” consisting of soloist, George Beverley Shea, and song leader, were exceptional. Grady Wilson, himself an evangelist of note, worked as Graham’s assistant.

Docter hired his son, Robert, to put together a daily 30 minute radio program that capsulized the prior evening’s service.

Great local officers served the corps well in those years of the forties.

Sergeant Major Harold Gooding
Y.P.S.M Jack Wood Sr.
Corps Secretary Myrtle Douglas
Corps Treasure Ted Parkhouse
Bandmaster Ray Ogg

***

In Pasadena, the decade of the 40s was the “Frank Mann decade.” Major Frank Mann was appointed corps officer in 1941 and served for the next 11 years – to May 30, 1952. During that entire time he was there, he had no assistants except his wife. This was undoubtedly attributable to the war years when officer personnel was in short supply.

Mann added to the fine program that the Golthwaites had developed and the corps continued to flourish.

Jerry Holan led the junior band and Fred Ackerman was the senior bandmaster, the bus driver, probably the custodian, youth director and most everything else. He had a fine band going and always marched to open-air service at Fair Oaks and Colorado behind the energetic, slight frame of Brigadier Jens Jenson, affectionately known as “Briggie”, the sergeant major of the corps. Ackerman maintained leadership of the band until around 1947 when Marian Sparks assumed the responsibility.

It was Mann’s work in communicating the Army to the community that enriched the corps with the acquisition of legacies. He had a long-range plan for fund raising based on investment strategies. He generated more income from wills than any other officer in his time. These funds later became very important as the Army built its current corps community center.

On one occasion, Mann was walking down Colorado Blvd. when a nicely dressed gentleman stopped him and gave him $100 to buy baby carriages for new mothers unable to provide them.

Everyone felt very sad for both the Oxnard and the Redondo Beach Corps who bracketed the alphabetical listing for calling corps to report their Self Denial gifts. When Pasadena was called at these Divisional Self Denial In-Gathering services because Frank Mann always handed in more world service giving than any other corps could even come close to.

The Divisional Commander, Lt. Col. Clark, began to press other corps to expand giving, and soon the entire division became one of the top giving divisions in the country.

Many Pasadena corps officers decided to return to Pasadena upon retirement. One was Major Donald Jackson, corps officer between 1935 and 1937. His wife, Jessie, was very active in the WCTU (Women’s Christian Temperance Union) and on one occasion, in 1947, she brought the organization to the Army to plan a great demonstration. It was to be a number of sit-ins to occupy the bar stools in various saloons in the city. Plans were hatched at a WCTU meeting held in the chapel of the corps. The planning session and the sit-ins themselves just happened to be covered by LIFE magazine – America’s primary publication prior to television. Well, the ladies went forth, and Cadet Harry Sparks, a Pasadena soldier prior to training, accompanied Jessie.

LIFE did a full spread on the activity with the primary picture showing Jessie perched on a bar stool in full uniform “spreading the word” to a grizzled gentleman next to her. In the background, Cadet Sparks – also in uniform, is clearly visible.

Later, when the magazine was published, Sparks was threatened with some friendly “blackmail” from those pictures suggesting that his presence on a bar stool in a bar might be misinterpreted at the training college. A few years after the event he taught the Citadel/Tabernacle band the WCTU theme chorus he learned at that time. The band invariably sang it in very rowdy fashion on every band trip – on buses and airplanes, and when touring to distant corps at lunches and gatherings. I remember the words clearly:

We’re coming, we’re coming, our brave little band;
On the right side of temperance
we’ve taken our stand.
Down with king alcohol – A – A – A Men.

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