Personal Musings

January 30, 2009:

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Harris (Harry) O. Ewald—our friend.

November 12, 1916—January 26, 2009

The first date brought tears of joy in Fond du Lac, especially to Harry’s parents Harry and Olive Ewald. The second date brought many tears of sadness, especially to Harry’s friends in Sturgeon Bay.

I once read a moving poem titled “The Dash” which I find inspiring whenever losing a friend. It’s not these dates that matter the most, it’s “The Dash” , the years in between these dates, and how these days were spent. That little dash symbolizes all of Harry’s life: the joys, the sorrows, the triumphs, the failures—and all the people he touched so lovingly.

Now, only those who loved Harry know how valuable, how priceless, that fragile little dash was.

Harry’s father was a train engineer for the Wisconsin Central division of the Soo Line Railroad. His dad worked up to running the fastest and most powerful steam engines on the railroad. Harry always talked proudly of his dad, and his influence on him. Through his dad, Harry developed a fascination for everything mechanical—tinkering and seeking a better, more efficient, more improved way of building things. In 1938, Harry graduated from Marquette University with an engineering degree.

On January 30, 1941, Harry married Myrtle Weinert, the love of his life. In his wallet, Harry proudly carried a picture of Myrtle that was taken while she was a young woman. Through the years, the image of this photograph was how he always saw her. Even as the ravages of age caught up and she lay dying, this photo is the way he still pictured her.

After World War II, Harry was hired by Evinrude Boat Manufacturing. As the Division Manager for Evinrude, he moved to Waukegan, IL. He became most famous for developing the first twin engine Evinrude outboard motor boat, named the Myrt II after his beloved wife. His creation was featured on the cover of Popular Mechanics magazine along with a full story about the boat. Eventually Harry retired as the Chief Engineer at Evinrude, moving to Door County full time in 1979.

Harry loved collecting automobiles and rebuilding them. At one time he had as many as 17 cars in his collection. He also liked to collect radios, clocks, and anything that had to do with railroads (particularly steam locomotives and his beloved Soo Line). He also enjoyed photography and sharing his latest masterpieces with his friends.

During the 1970’s, Harry decided to take up model railroading. He built a small layout which he enjoyed running. Later it was stored in the garage of the new house when he moved into Sturgeon Bay. When the garage roof caved in, some damage was done to the layout, so he stored it in the basement. When he learned about Matthew’s fascination with trains, he gave the whole layout and all its engines, cars, and buildings to him. The layout was reconstructed in the basement of our office, where Harry and Matthew would sometimes spend time together running trains and talking about “the good old days” of railroading.

It was not automobile collection, nor the collections of clocks, radios, or trains, nor even the portfolio of stocks and bonds that defined Harry. It was his many friends and acquaintances. Everyone he met was touched by his humility, his love for people, his good-natured humor, and sense of humanity.

I first had the privilege of meeting Harry in 1985. Some of the creaks and cricks of aging had begun to interfere with his active lifestyle. Always the engineer, he reasoned that it was time to see a body mechanic for a few adjustments and a general tune-up. When he turned 84, he told me, “I’ve been seeing you for over 15 years now. I was in very rough shape originally, but you have kept me in peak form ever since. Now at 84, I’m feeling better than I did 20 years ago!”

In 1991, our son Matthew was born. By the time he was 2, he was building things with his Lego blocks. Soon, Harry would be on the floor with him, helping him design and build their next creation.

When Harry was 89, he fell in love with a candy-apple red Corvette. Myrtle told him, “Go ahead and get yourself a Corvette, but don’t you get one of those convertibles. Otherwise I won’t ride with you because it messes up my hair.” So Harry bought a Corvette with a detachable hard-top that he could take off or put on whenever he wanted. I don’t think Myrtle ever realized that he had the convertible he had wanted.

Quite often when we would talk, Harry would fondly reminisce about his father working as an engineer, running the fast freights on the Soo Line between Chicago and Minneapolis. He would recall how his dad would wave as his 5000 series Northern type steam locomotive would blast through town at 80 mph, followed by over 100 cars of freight. For several years, we had talked about going to the National Railroad Museum in Green Bay.  But our busy schedules just never seemed to connect.

Then finally we had a date that would work for both of us. But things were not to be:  we had to cancel because of health issues with Myrtle. Harry had to stay nearby as his entire focus was on his beloved wife. When he could no longer take care of her at home, he placed her in the Dorchester Nursing Home, where he would spend the day at her side. In spite of seeing the love of his life deteriorating daily, he always remained upbeat. When Myrtle died, a big piece of Harry died with her—he was never the same. After this, there was a big hole in him, he had a certain sad air about him, and his health began to deteriorate. Harry finally had to admit that he needed someone to look after him, so he asked his dear friends Mike and Lisa Wiltz if he could move in with them.

At long last, Matthew, Sharon, and I arranged a date in May 2008 with Mike and Lisa to take Harry to the train museum in Green Bay. Harry was aglow with excitement and anticipation when we arrived to pick him up, looking debonair wearing his little yellow auto racer’s cap. Viewing all the old steam locomotives and riding in the old passenger car, brought back all kinds of fond memories of boyhood for Harry. When we toured the train club layout, he was like a little kid, eyes flashing as he was trying to see everything without missing a thing. The high point of Harry’s day seemed to be when he came to one of his favorite locomotives: the Union Pacific Big Boy. (He had given Matthew a model of the Big Boy from his personal collection several years earlier—it’s still cherished and only shown to special people.) We asked Harry if he would like to go into the cab of the engine, but he was reluctant, feeling he was too weak to get up into it. So Sharon and I took him under the arms and helped guide him up the steps, and placed him in the engineer’s seat. He sat there for the longest time as his eyes misted over with tears, and all the old memories of he and his dad and the railroad flooded back. We then took one of our favorite pictures of Harry: sitting in the engineer’s seat, his left hand on the throttle, looking intently ahead as if he were the engineer in charge of a 10,000 ton train at 80 mph.

After our day at the museum, Mike and Harry regaled us with stories of Mike’s growing up next door to Harry. Some of these tales sounded like Dennis the Menace and Mr. Wilson, but you could see the love in Harry’s eyes as he talked about Mike’s childhood. He had taken Mike under his wing, patiently answering a young boy’s endless questions, and having a major influence on his development. It was like Mike had become the son Harry never had.

Lisa told us that Harry talked for days about his trip to the railroad museum. I hope it brought as much pleasure to him as the fond memories it made for our family. We miss you Harry.

Thank-you Mike and Lisa, for all you did in caring for our friend in his last days. You were always there for him, as the indignities of his failing body were accumulating. You were the children he never had been blessed with.

For now—good-bye our dear friend.