October 1970

It was a massive desk with a thick glass over the entire surface. This was fitting since Dad was a big man in my life, in his work with the government and in physical appearance. Under the glass were three items of interest to a young lad who loved to visit "the office" on a Saturday morning when school was out and federal employees only worked a half day.

After some paperclips, a wide rubber band, and a pencil you could screw the point in and out of had been secured in the deep recesses of corduroy knickers and the ladies of the office had their "making over the boss's kid," I could study that desk top. Prominent was the quotation, "The wheel that does the squeaking is the one that gets the grease." A baby held a bottle over the caption "Milk Makes Men."

There was the young mother in blue and white gingham at the clothes line hanging the beautifully fluffed and I am sure already dry clothes. Those words still drift back: "The clothes line is a rosary of household love and care. Each little saint the mother loves is represented there." That must have included me!

Then, there was the picture of Mr. Lewis. I remember that one the best. In typical executive style, I stretched out in the swivel chair, placed my spindle legs on the glass desk top and leaned back. I was a wheel for a few moments but hadn't counted on some other wheels having to do with the stability of the chair.

As my foot left the desk in somewhat of a hurry, the heel dragged across the glass and much of the black rubber remained to distort the picture of Mr. Lewis. I don't recall that Dad was upset at his son, but I do recollect he was six-six and weighed two-sixty. Somehow the little fellow on the floor always remembered the words of that moment, "Mr. Lewis made his mark, and I reckon the boy wanted to make his."

So much is said, partly in jest and to make conversation, but in the routine and unexciting maze of government service. Perhaps this makes a little story very much in order. My Mother made the long journey just a few weeks ago. She left so much with us, as every mother should. She understood the strength of love and how you gave direction to life with it. So, quite obviously, she would say tell the story about the big man and the little Welsh coal miner from Cumberland.

Dad was bright and finished college in three years. I didn't know until many years after I finished that when you had a high school diploma in his day it meant you started in the sophomore year at college. Anyway, he started farming and became active in the Farm Grange. This farm organization gave support to Dad's contention that shipping costs for farm folks were out of all reason. There was no competition for private rail shipment by one very large company.

With a directing resolution from the Grange the young farmer approached the members of the Congress from Maryland. The only response came from David J. Lewis, a mite of a man stunted by labors in the coal mines of Allegany County. This self-made lawyer with less than a fourth grade education, began nearly a year of research, writing, and developing the case for parcel post legislation. At his side and request there worked a young farmer who was later to become the nation's Assistant Director of the Agricultural Extension Service.

In the midst of the legislative preparation the farmer had his first child. He took time out to give him a name. It was David Lewis, in honor of the little man with whom he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue each Wednesday for some thirty years. After a weekly luncheon the tall man and the almost dwarf relaxed by letting the public gawk as they walked.

The first parcel post bill was enacted into law by the Congress. Mr. Lewis, who later was honored as the Father of Social Security, was first recognized as the Daddy of Parcel Post. There is now among my prized inheritance a copy of that bill with the inscription, "To Reuben Brigham - to whom this legislation owes its life - David J. Lewis."

I went to see Mr. Lewis in Cumberland some years ago. He was in his mid-eighties working in the basement of a law building, and his clothes were wrinkled and spotty. The lawyers upstairs did not want me to go down into the basement retreat. He had failed so. I told them I was his namesake and knew him well. This was my pass key.

He was involved with blocks of wood and a jigsaw. After the warm greeting that was to be our last, he said, "David, they think I'm a little off." Then he explained, "I always wanted to know something about higher math and the books all assume you have had the basics. The only way I can work out the mathematical equations and physics is to cut blocks the way I think and then fit them together to prove the formula."

This was not too important until he added, "David, when you stop appreciating other people and when you stop desiring to improve you own knowledge, the world no longer needs you."

I am glad there is work ahead for all of us, that there is yet knowledge for us to acquire, and that there are people to relate to. Oddly enough the quot next to the Mr. Lewis picture read, "Life is a series of little packages from which the strings are always coming untied." If you can't handle it you might send it Parcel Post.

David Lewis Brigham
Executive Director

September 1970

Vacations are mighty important. A good case can be built for the short ones and the long ones. The in-between are also much to be desired. It is a matter for debate when one says the anticipation is often worth more than the actual leave time. Another will stress the real pleasure is in reliving the away moments through pictures and the telling to the poor stay-at-homes.

Well let me say a word for right in the middle of a vacation. Someone must want to know how much I enjoyed catching that big fish. The game warden landed on the lake by our boat and taxied over in his plane to be sure we had a license and that the boat was properly registered. Then, he asked the question I was waiting for... "Mind showing me your catch?" That stringer came out of the water mighty easy and the warden seemed impressed. I was sure he would have more to say about my big fish because it was the largest caught off Owl Island this summer.

Next, he paddled over to the boat where the younger generation was having a go at the bass and perch. The kids were within the length limit on their string, but just barely. It was good to bask in the light of success when the professional eye was on the scene. The old man had put it on 'em once again. Surely the warden wanted to see my fish again but he took off without further notice of that big guy who took my bait.

Many others have taken vacations and are now safely back. Not many came back with a badly sprained ankle from slipping on a rock and falling into the lake. Not many limped around in an off-white tennis shoe and had a boss full of sympathy and understanding who drew a parallel to the hippie in the same one shoe situation. The businessman who saw the one bare foot and the sneaker on the other admonished, "Hey fellar, you lost one of your shoes!" Came the snappy reply from the long haired youth, "Naw, I just found one!"

So we had a great time and we did relax, got a new grip on our problems and began to plan for another year. It's funny how easy it is to be your real congenial, wholesome self when you are a little distance from the problems of the office and the trials of keeping the home fires burning.

As we looked ahead to another day before this one was over, we did the logical thing. As League members the obvious move is to inquire about the LFRA Travel Program.

You can write for suggestions or ask for prices on trips you think you would like to try. If the League does not have what you want there is no problem about looking to other travel avenues. Our thinking is that we want to start where the discount is available. That means LFRA and the travel numbers.

So why do we spend time on vacation plans when we are just back from this ten day spree? That's easy! We had so much fun planning for this year that we want to get the kick to be realized from anticipating once again. Then we want the joy of another relaxing time and the best of all lift of telling friends like you about it.

We are thinking about a cruise or a flight to Europe. Maybe we'll settle for a See America tour by bus. Several short jaunts to Williamsburg, Hershey, and New England wouldn't be bad. I'd sure like to see Yellowstone again. then there's Hawaii and the far east. How about Tokyo?

There was lunch last week with a friend who had just returned from Tokyo. One of those combined business and fun trips. The highlight was a visit to a department store where he was greeted by a lovely English speaking, kimono clad Japanese hostess. In perfect English she welcomed, advised and hoped the visit would be flawless.

The elevator door by which the American stood quietly opened and the operator who appeared to be a duplicate of the greeter gave her welcome. The visitor was not to be outdone and after thanking the two girls he posed a question: "Do you take turns?" From the elevator operator, "No. So sorry. Just up and down."

Travel can be fun even when you are misunderstood. You can always tell someone about something, and they will laugh with you. Maybe that is the reason I had such a great time this year. You must go to Maine and hear the spice of a real "down easterner" before your travels are over.

Yes, I did almost forget about that fish. He was a big one and the game warden had noted my luck. So we went down the lake to Meddybemps with the six houses, church and general store. Had my picture taken with my fish and then went into store to see the old cracker barrel sitters who had told me the fishing was best "on the rain line." You watch for spots where the rain stops on the lake and the big ones are there.

The word was ahead of me. They knew about the big fish and told me so. I felt good and showed it. Then one of them, the deaf guy in the corner by the chewin' tobacco said, "Son, that was a mighty fine male fish you got." I agreed.

Then I began turning wheels...how does he know it is a male? I made the wrong move and asked... He couldn't hear the question but another old native did. Came the answer...

"Of course it's a male, son. It's a small mouth bass ain't it?"

David L. Brigham
Executive Director

Mythbusters