New Year’s Eve
There I can recall the holidays; Christmas and Easter are settled for a longer date. My best New Year’s Eve came when I was discharged at Fort Dix; I had spent six-years-and-11-months in uniform, and afterwards I was constrained not to use “Pershing’s Own” Hugh J. Curry in White House affairs.
He was a typical Irish bandsman given to extreme courtesy, part of which he witnessed; altogether a performer he wanted see how the “act” went over. Samuel J. Loboda was the exact opposite; he was fussy about details. Of a Slavic ancestry. When Hugh was ebullient, his second-in-command Loboda above all remained great on details. I was glad I served in The United States Army Band before Sam “inherited” it – those from “outside” had come to that peculiar view.
Washington’s CBS radio and television-WTOP-9 also operated on the same principle; there was a vast change when The Washington Post owned the channels. I have not been in the administrative structure since Gannet operated the stations. Anyway, John S. Hayes had been the commander of the American Forces Network, my outfit overseas; naturally he had the inheritor, Larry J. Richardson, who came up in the ranks. John was not comfortable in any other way. Larry lasted not over two years.
“Good holidays” were heard from each – the former colonel and his lady, fashionista Eve Hayes. This was not in order: by the time he left Broadcast House, he had divorced Eve and taken another wife. You don’t think my good friends are in the divorce business. Hugh and Sam were not up to that. I’ve been married four times. Now I’m 86.
The first wife was Hoosier scared; my second wanted to dig anything; my third was a lady from New Jersey and my fourth, the sister of Davey Marlin-Jones.