The Early Years
	MS. COSTABILE: This is Beth Costabile, and we're having a 
discussion with Raymond Lynch on September 16th, 2001. Grand pop, let's 
start with the story of your birth as you were told.
	MR. LYNCH: I was told that I was born December 4th, 1909, and 
that in those days they had women doctors that came to the home. And I 
was the third child of Albert and Theresa Lynch. I was born in what I 
found out later was a little old shack on 16th Avenue, South Clinton, 
Iowa. It that had nothing but a kerosene heater in it. They didn't have 
any other kind of heat except the kerosene heater, which was a little 
round heater that you poured kerosene liquid in and lit it, and that 
threw off heat, and that was the only thing they had to heat the whole 
house.
	The house was still standing when I was about four years old. So 
after that, I think when I was five years old, it had been torn down. 
And when I saw it first, there was no one living there. It was empty.
 	And I can't tell you the exact year that we moved to 17th Avenue. 
My grandfather loaned my father $900 to buy a house on 17th Avenue, and 
the house number, as I recall, was 530 17th Avenue South. And my 
grandfather's house was two doors to the north of us. You had a house 
which was really a shell, and we had a kitchen that had a big iron 
cooking stove, and it also served for heat, because we had no other 
heat in the house except the big stove in the kitchen and you cooked on 
it. And you used coal and wood for heat.
	And then at the end of the stove there was a tank that was filled 
with water that would be warm all the time so there would be water, 
because we did not have water in the house.
	The only thing that we had in the house that was half ways, you 
know, what you might call modern, is one gas light in the kitchen, 
which was a pipe that came out of the wall and then had a little 
needlepoint thing that ended on the end of the gas pipe. And you'd 
strike a match and light, turn the gas on and light it, and that little 
thing would throw a little light, light enough in the kitchen that you 
could see to cook, to eat and so on.
	The only other lighting we had were kerosene lamps which you put 
kerosene in the bottom of a lamp and had a shade above it, glass shade 
about 12, 14 inches tall. And then there was another room we called the 
living room which you could only be there if you were sick. And there 
was no heat in that part of the house. The only heat was in the 
kitchen.
	The reason we congregated in the kitchen because it was warm. We 
did not get a stove for until after World War I. And it was a great big 
round, we call them potbelly, and they were tall, about five feet tall. 
And you used hard coal, which was small, little pieces of coal, and you 
put it in a bucket and poured it in the top. And then after you got the 
fire lit in the middle, what you call the firebox, because the coal 
would burn down and the little pieces of coal would filter on in to 
keep the fire going. And before you go to bed at night, you'd take 
ashes from beneath it and put them around the edges to keep the fire 
going so you're not burning up all your coal.
	 So when we got the potbelly stove, and it was a very fancy thing 
with little Isinglass so you could see the flame when it was burning
	MS. COSTABILE: Were you named for anybody in your family?
	MR. LYNCH: No. The only one I was named for - my middle name is 
Joseph because everybody at St. Mary's, when they were confirmed, were 
named Joseph. My father's middle name was Joseph, my brother's middle 
name was Joseph, and I was - I don't know where the Raymond came from.
	But Joseph you got from the Bishop with a slap on the puss. You 
knelt under the altar railing, and he came down and he'd crack you and 
name you Joseph. I think every kid in our line had Joseph.

Family Life
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, did your family get together often? You had 
some extended family that lived close by.
	MR. LYNCH: Two doors from us, my grandfather John Weinbeck and 
grandmother Hannah Weinbeck lived. They came over here from Germany. 
And you could get all the information on that, dates and places and 
everything in Mike's genealogy book.	You can do the same with 
respect to Michael Lynch, who came here from Ireland in 1843. And Iowa 
was not a state then, it was a territory. The federal government gave 
immigrants land. And he came over and got 40 acres of land at the land 
office in Dubuque, Iowa, which was about 40 or 50 miles north of 
Clinton, where I was born.
	Over the years he amassed about 380 acres of farmland, and he 
had, again, a large family. I'm very familiar with the first son, 
Michael, and he was in the Civil War and was in four or five battles. 
He was in the Battle of Vicksburg, which was one of the famous battles 
of the Civil War, and he got sick, and they had to send him to St. 
Louis, to the hospital. And he died in the hospital in St. Louis and 
was buried in St. Louis.

A Rifle for Bud
	And then for the benefit of the whole family. When I was 12 years 
old, I was out with my brother and we stopped at a place near where my 
grandfather Lynch's farm was to get a drink of what we called 
strawberry pop. The substitute today is Coca-Cola and diet cola.
	And I had to go to the bathroom. And I asked the man where the 
bathroom was. And he said, go right out that back door and go in the 
back yard. There was no bathroom.
	And on the way through the back room, I looked over in a corner 
and I saw a Civil War gun. And so when I came back after going to the 
toilet, I went over and I looked at it. And it had cobwebs all over it, 
and I brushed them off and picked it up. And I thought, oh, to have 
that gun would be heaven. So when I went back out and I had still part 
of my drink and I was sitting there, and I said to the bartender, do 
you own that gun that's in the back room? And he looked at me and said, 
yes, I do. I said, you know, I dusted all the cobwebs off of it. I 
picked it up and I can't think of anything I would rather have than 
something like that.
	And he leaned over and looked at me, and he said, you really mean 
that, don't you? And I said, I sure do. He said, well, you just go 
right back and you get it and take it home.
	I had to be - my brother was four years older than me, and he 
could drive a car at 16. He was driving Uncle Hans' car. So it had to 
be - well, I was 12 years old. 
	 MS. COSTABILE: What do you think made you want it so badly?
	MR. LYNCH: I have no idea. Because we never had a gun in the 
house. My mother would not let us have even a B-B gun, let alone 
something that would shoot a bullet. 
	MS. COSTABILE: What did your mother say when you came home with a 
rifle?
	MR. LYNCH: Well we had a barn on the back of our property. It had 
a pitched roof with exposed 2 x 4s. I filled the barrel of the rifle 
with axle grease and laid it up in the 2 x 4s in the barn. And my 
mother thought it was OK as long as it was out there and it wouldn't 
shoot anyway. About 1928 I took it into the house because my father got 
a car, he had to build a garage for it, so the barn had to come down. 
Lots of people have wanted that gun over the years.
	And my Uncle Charles Weinbeck who lived a block away from us was 
quite a hunter, hunted ducks and rabbits and squirrels, and he had a 
couple of three shotguns, and they all stood in the corner of the 
kitchen. And no problem was ever mentioned about it.
	But he's the only one in the family that ever had guns and 
hunted. Uncle Terry didn't hunt, Uncle Hans didn't hunt. My father 
never hunted. And I don't know anybody -Uncle Frank, my father's 
brother, he never hunted, nor anybody in his family that I know of.
	But it was forbidden Ñ a gun in our house was forbidden like my 
mother forbid us to swim in the Mississippi River, because every summer 
we would lose five or six kids who would be drowned in the river. And I 
can remember that when I was real young.
	And I never did swim in the Mississippi River. And the only time 
I went to the river, I could walk, it was about three blocks from where 
we lived to get to Beaver Slough, which I could walk to, which was an 
arm off the Mississippi River.

Early Fishing	And I could walk there and fish, and we would catch 
bullheads, which we never ate. There was the fun of cutting down a 
willow with your pocket knife and trimming it up and tying a string on 
the end of it with an old fashioned cork for a bobber, and then picking 
up a piece of bolt or something to sink her.
	So my father used to buy fish hooks, tiny ones for us. And sit on 
the banks of the river and throw it in. And then make little Ys and 
stick the pole at the bottom of the Y. It would stick into the ground 
and let your pole hang over that so we could sit there and watch that 
pole to see if we got a bite.
	And every once in a while one of the other kids in the area, 
South Clinton area, would come along. And there was never - my brother 
never fished, and I never did have a fishing buddy except my father. 
And he would go anytime he could go with me. He and I would go. I have 
pictures of my father taking me fishing downstairs. And I don't 
remember how old I was. You'll have to guess when you see the picture. 
I have a big string of fish.
	And we walked across the bridge from Iowa into the Illinois side 
of the Mississippi River. And he'd cut a pole down for me and wake me 
up. And I caught some fish. And the walk from our house to the bridge 
and over the high bridge, which was about 150 feet above the river, a 
wooden bridge, and then walk all the way back home again. And some of 
the fish on the bottom of the string must have been all de-scaled 
because I was dragging them. My mother said - I don't remember this, 
but my mother told me, I showed her the fish and laid them down and on 
the ground and I lay down on the sidewalk and went to sleep.
	You'll see the picture and you understand it. I had a little cap 
on, a string of fish. And then I don't ever recall fishing in the 
Mississippi as such. When my father took me, it was on the Illinois 
side, which was sort of a bayou. It was part of the river, but you were 
not in the main stream, the main channel of the river.

The River
	But the river was very important because as soon as it got cold, 
and as soon as the river started to freeze, you couldn't wait to get 
your ice skates on. And even so, Beaver Slough was only two blocks 
away, I could walk to it. And my aunt bought me a set of ice boots, and 
there were always kids who skate. Never had to worry about buddies.
	And you could skate from where I put my skates on at Beaver 
Slough it would be no more than four blocks, four and a half blocks, 
and you'd be on the main channel of the Mississippi River. And I skated 
on the Mississippi River – we'd skate down to Albany, Illinois, which 
was about ten miles down and ten miles back on Saturdays. And I can 
remember skating on the river when there was 17 inches of ice on the 
main body of the Mississippi River.
	We'd look down and see the thickness of the ice. Of course in 
Beaver Slough, because of the facility it turned out to be, became the 
method of getting ice. We had no air conditioning, so what the people 
in the ice business did is get a team of horses and a saw, and they 
would go down to the Beaver Slough and they'd saw a hole in the ice, 
and then with the team, saw the rest of the strip of ice maybe ten feet 
long, then would cut it and come back, and it would be about 30, 36 
inches, I'd say, wide, and the depth of it would be depending on the 
depth of the ice. Generally they wouldn't cut unless the ice was at 
least 12 inches thick.
	And they'd take the horses and hook onto that chunk of ice that 
they'd just cut, pull it out of the water and put it up on top of the 
ice, and then cut it in pieces, put it on a wagon, and then take it 
about three blocks, because the ice house was, oh, where the house is 
on the corner here, that was the ice house from where our house was.
	It was the icehouse, coal yard. And the icehouse was just an 
empty building. It was filled with sawdust. And they'd bring the ice in 
there in those big chunks that they cut, and they'd put it down on the 
bottom and then start building up. And in between each layer they'd put 
another layer of sawdust to keep it frozen.
	And then in summertime they had ice wagons and scales on the back 
of it, and they would come around with a bell, you'd say you wanted ten 
cents' worth of ice. And they had an ice pick, and they would pick off 
what they considered was ten cents' worth and weigh it, and then bring 
it in and put it in whatever kind of contraption you had to keep ice.
	We had a box for a long time nailed on the back porch, a wooden 
box, and we'd put the piece of ice in there and put milk and stuff, and 
it would last for three or four days to keep it cool enough to prevent 
spoiling.
	I don't know what year it was that we got the icebox. We called 
it an icebox. And then you would put the ice in the top, and that would 
keep it for at least a good week if you didn't use it too much, you 
know? The ice would be in there, and then down below there would be a 
door that would open to put the butter and the milk and so on.

Extended Family
	MS. COSTABILE: You had extended family that lived close by, and 
you would have the family get togethers and picnics in the summertime. 
And did people come to your house to get together or -
	MR. LYNCH: It would be one house or the other. You never had a 
birthday or Christmas, New Year's, Thanksgiving, the celebration would 
be in one house, and everybody would bring something. All the kids, all 
the adults, and even though some of them weren't talking to one 
another, they'd be there because Grandma Weinbeck said so. Grandma 
Weinbeck said. She'd put her finger to her lips and say you never talk 
bad about anybody in the family or anybody else.
	And it was carried out pretty good, too. If anybody wanted to say 
something disparaging, it was about somebody else. They wouldn't say it 
in front of the group. Uncle Terry used to say about Aunt Tillie, Uncle 
Charlie's wife, there was nothing wrong with her except she had no 
debating chamber. She didn't know what the heck she was saying. And 
she'd be sitting there and he'd tell her right to her face. "The 
trouble with you, Tillie, is you have no debating chamber."
	Grandpa Weinbeck and Grandma Weinbeck were so close that - and so 
dear to me, I don't know why they - it was almost like when I was at 
their house, it was almost like being at my own house with my father 
and mother. And all of the things that they could tell me about Germany 
and the strange world that I dreamed of and so on.
	And my grandfather, when he was in Kaiser Wilhelm's army and he 
was driving the crowned prince or somebody, a high officer in the 
German army. And finally, I don't remember the reason he told me why he 
quit and got out of the Army. And again, Mike's genealogy book would 
tell you when they came here and when they got married and the number 
of children in their family.

Education
	And I was the first one in the family to really go to college. I 
was the first because it took me two years to talk my brother into 
going with me. He was going to get married, but you've heard the story 
before. He took me out in a brand new car. He and Catherine were going 
to get married.
	And after I went and got my job lined up with the diet kitchen at 
Children's Hospital so we could eat, we came back by the engineering 
building and he said I think I'll stop in here for a minute. And don't 
forget, he was four years older than I was. So I said, fine. Oh, boy, I 
hope you stay.
	 He was in there for about two hours and as luck would have it Ñ 
it's all luck in a lot of cases - he met the dean of the engineering 
school when he went in there. And as I say, he was four years older. He 
was beyond the college entry stage, you know. And the dean said, come 
in, and they sat down for two hours and visited.
	And he finally came out, and I didn't know what had happened. I 
was hoping for the best. He got in the car, and he didn't say much. And 
he was doing the driving. And we got probably 40 miles. It was about 90 
miles from Iowa City to Clinton, 90 to 100 miles. And we got about 40 
miles out on the road, and he said, you know, Bud, I think I'll quit 
and go to school myself.
	Well, I almost jumped out of the car. I worked two years on him. 
Because when I quit high school myself for a year, and I was 16, and I 
was going to set the world on fire and make a lot of money. And I made 
my mother the most unhappy person in the world. I'll never forget her 
crying. And my father, he just put his arm around my shoulder and said, 
are you sure this is what you want? I said yes.
	So after about six months, every day I would see at least once or 
twice the officer would come and take in the mail to him, and as I got 
to know them and they got to know me, every so often one of them said, 
Bud, sit down, and Walter Johnson, the purchasing agent, I remember him 
particularly, and he sat there talking to me about life and everything. 
And he said, your idea is great, but you just can't do it this way. You 
have to go back and finish high school first.
	When you get high school, then you can start on something else. 
Think about college, then you can think about going on. But you can't 
do it if you don't finish. Well, I got that from almost every one of 
the officers in that company. And then in the course of my first six 
months I got to know them all well.
	Comptroller, Mr. Bailey, who was a dear friend. I said to him, 
Mr. Bailey, I have a brother who just graduated from Business College 
in business and he hasn't got a job. I think maybe, could you help him 
here?
	He said, does he know how to do bookkeeping and sort and hand 
typing? I said, yeah, he's good at it. He's four years older than I am. 
He said, tell him to come and see me.
	So I did. He hired him the same day for $135, and I was only 
getting $60 a month. And not only that, he had a white-collar job, and 
he had about 100 men that he was in charge of. It was the part of the 
company where big gasoline engines were assembled. They were built for 
generating power, you know, to run machinery or electricity or 
whatever. Some of them were eight foot long and five foot tall, and 
cylinders, six, eight inches around.
	And he was the one that had charge of seeing that the last things 
that had to be done. He had his own big desk and everything. And I 
thought, boy, I don't know. When I finally quit and I got Lucille a job 
as a file clerk, filing cabinet, filing paper, you know?
	Mr. Bailey hired her too. And then I got to thinking about it. I 
was the only one that was taking my money home and giving it to my 
mother. I'd take my $60 a month home and give it to my mother.
	MS. COSTABILE: Why do you think that education was so important 
to your mother?
	MR. LYNCH: I don't know because I don't think she went beyond the 
eighth grade, my father and mother both. I think she was afraid - see, 
where we lived was a pretty rough area. And that was a whole story in 
itself. Two doors away from us, the Jones brothers, both of them ended 
up in the penitentiary. A door beyond that, a kid by the name of Warner 
was killed in a gang war in St. Louis.
	That's the neighborhood I grew up in. And mother knew that, and 
she looked after me. She knew she didn't have to look after Ed because 
Ed had a bad leg from infantile paralysis, and even though he was four 
years older, he didn't get around much. I did.
	I was mixed up in everything. And I think she, more than anything 
else, she was determined I was not going to the penitentiary like the 
Jones kids. And if she kept a pretty close watch on me, she could get 
it done.
	And my mother worked for a hat company. She made hats. There's a 
picture of my mother in Mike's book, and she had a hat on, and that's 
the kind of hats she used to make for other people. People had hats 
made for themselves.
	But the education part, she didn't want me to go to the 
University of Iowa because it was such a sinful place. I went to St. 
Ambrose. She was not a Catholic. It was okay to go to St. Ambrose 
because it was a Catholic school.
	And she was the one that Saturdays I'd be out in the street all 
dirty, playing with the kids, and 3:00 in the afternoon she'd call me 
in. She'd say, come on in and take a bath and get cleaned up and go to 
confession.
	
Parents
	MS. COSTABILE: What was your parents' relationship like?
	MR. LYNCH: Well, it was always family. I don't - I don't recall 
it was Bert this and Bert that, you know. Being affectionate like us 
younger people were. I think in those days Ñ I don't ever remember my 
father putting his arm around my mother or vice versa or Aunt Ann doing 
it with Uncle Terry or Aunt Tillie or Grandma Weinbeck. I don't ever 
remember any of them showing any emotion like love and affection. You 
know what I'm saying? They all loved one another, I mean, dearly, but 
outwardly you didn't have any, what we know of today, as closeness, 
outspoken closeness.
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, did your grandparents teach you some German?
	MR. LYNCH: No, I took German at school. I could speak Low German, 
Platt Deutsch.
	MS. COSTABILE: Where did you learn that?
	MR. LYNCH: Platt Deutsch is Low German, and it's the poor people 
who are German. People who have money in Germany spoke High German. 
High German was a different language completely. 
	So when I went to the university, I said I know German, I'll take 
German. I had to take a language, so I signed up for German. And we had 
a class of probably 30, 35 maybe. Thirty, I guess, would be closer.
	And the professor's name was -Professor Lynch. Yeah. The 
professor reminded me of J.P.'s professor at St. Louis. 
	And on the first day he called out, Raymond. And I didn't catch 
the last part, and of course, I didn't say anything. He said it again, 
and all of a sudden it dawned on me, my name is Raymond. Hell, I was 
Bud from the time I was born. Raymond.
	Oh, oh, oh, oh. He started to talk to me. Meanwhile, it wasn't 
German at all that I know. And I had to stumble and fumble around. And 
I said I really was not familiar with High German. The only German I 
knew something about was Platt Deutsch. And I said to him I can 
understand it fairly well but I can't speak it, Platt Deutsch.
	And he laughed, and he said, well, now we'll learn High German. 
So we had to learn High German.
	MS. COSTABILE: Who spoke the Low German in your family?
	MR. LYNCH: My mother and grandmother. Oh, and Aunt Ann. Every 
Monday they did their laundry at our house. When they started that, I 
don't know. But I was - oh, I don't know, maybe fourth or fifth grade 
in school, about that time, that they'd do - my mother had a boiler and 
a washing machine that had a handle that you pumped like this.
	And Grandma Weinbeck and Aunt Ann and mother would do laundry, 
and they spoke German all the time. And I would hear them. And Low 
German is something that you can pick up the words. You don't get the 
phrases properly, but you get enough that you can understand what 
they're saying without much difficulty because you were young enough 
that - and you heard them say it often enough that you eventually 
picked it up and knew what they meant.
	 So I was a smart aleck so instead of asking somebody about 
language, I said, look, I know German, I'll take German. It's the story 
of my life-a smart aleck.

Distractions in Class
	And so anyway, there's a tale to tell there too. Marguerite 
Ulenhopp, who was a blonde girl from western Iowa. And she sat next to 
me in German class. She's a pretty girl, and I had never met her before 
the German class. And I don't know how long it was before we had an 
exam.
	And so we're sitting there in these armchairs, you know, and 
Marguerite was sitting next to me, and the professor is walking around 
the room, and all of a sudden I get a poke like that. And I looked 
over. She had pulled her dress up like this, and she had white garters 
on that were that wide. And she had crib notes on each one of the 
garters.
	And I said to her, I said, Marguerite, that's cheating. And of 
course she didn't dare say anything. And I took a look the way she had 
it written, I couldn't read it anyway except that I kept looking at the 
legs and I thought, Marguerite, don't do that.
	MS. COSTABILE: A little distracting there.
	MR. LYNCH: What the hell, mean German. Pretty legs you got. I'm 
not kidding. I can remember like it was yesterday.
	Anyway, I passed the course, and Marguerite stayed with me. 
Marguerite graduated from law school with me. And I've often wondered, 
her father was a lawyer and her father ended up as Chief Justice of the 
Iowa Supreme Court.
	I don't know whether she had a brother that became a lawyer, and 
they had a law firm out in western Iowa. But I never heard or saw 
Marguerite after we graduated. She was a wonderful girl. I liked her. 
And she was always happy. She always had a smile. She was a very pretty 
girl.
	I don't know that she had any boyfriends. If she did, they were 
not in the group I had. There were about six or eight of us that 
buddied together, and- but I don't recall Marguerite ever having a 
boyfriend. She probably did, and I didn't - maybe she was traveling 
with a group.
	We had quite a few from Sioux City and Webster City, which were 
all the western half of Iowa, where I was from the eastern half. But 
she was a sweetheart. I've often thought about her. I often hoped that 
she had a good life.

Siblings and Rivalries
	MS. COSTABILE: All right. I'm going to ask you to think back 
again to when you were younger. What comes to mind when you think about 
playing with your brother and sisters?
	MR. LYNCH: I always fought with my brother because he wouldn't 
pay attention to me. All he wanted to do was read a book. And he'd come 
home from the library, even though he had a hell of a time walking, he 
wore high shoes, laced up about six inches-because of his foot and his 
leg, his bad leg. And he'd come home, and he'd sit in a chair, and he'd 
read all the time.
	My father used to scold him and say, you have to get out. You 
have to get out. And you have to do this, you have to do that. And so 
if anything, we would fight.
	Number one, he didn't do any work. I was the only boy left, so my 
father had to have a gofer. So who was the gofer? Bud. Bud, hand me the 
screwdriver. Hand me the wrench. You know? And you want to know the 
worst job I ever had that my father insisted that I take care of once a 
week? Cleaning the chicken house.
	 We had a chicken house that was built with - I know the lumber 
had to be stolen from the Chicago Northwestern Railroad. It was not new 
lumber, it was excess, throw away lumber. And it had a window in it 
that probably was bought, and one door. The window was never opened. I 
don't know why, I guess it was just to let light in there.
	And that was set on one side. This is the back of our property 
I'm pointing. And behind that there was an alleyway that went Ñ some 
places around here they still have alleys, you know? We had an alley 
behind our house.
	On one side was the chicken house, and on the other side was a 
barn where we kept wood and coal. And that was hooked up to the chicken 
yard when the chickens would go in there and lay eggs and make nests.
	So of necessity, that meant you had rats. And so who took care of 
the rats? I had three rattraps. And one time I came down and I only had 
two. I thought where the hell has the other one gone?
	So I walked out into the alley, went down the alley about feet, 
and here the gull damn rat was dead, but there was the trap. He had 
pulled it away from the yard and all the way down the alley.
	So I went to the hardware store and got some, what do you call 
them, that you - they're round like this, and nailed the chain –they're 
like a U. And you nail them to hold something down. I thought, okay, 
put them on the rattrap. I never lost any more traps, and I caught a 
lot of rats. And then you just dig a whole and bury them.
	But cleaning the chicken house was God-awful. And it had to be 
cleaned because you didn't want the chickens to get sick. Because if 
the chickens got sick, you got no eggs. And we had to have eggs, and we 
had to have chickens. Because Sunday, you had to have two chickens 
killed on Saturday and have them ready for Sunday dinner.
	Well, my dad did that at first and then I drew the duty. And at 
first I had a little hatchet, and I chopped the heads off and throw 
them down on the ground and they'd flop around. The idea of that was to 
let them flop because it would take all the blood out of them. And then 
you put them in a bucket of hot water and pick them, and then you took 
a knife and you cleaned the insides out of them. And then they're ready 
to put in the cooler or whatever you had to keep them for Sunday.
	And so then when I got a little older like the bigger guys, I'd 
get a chicken, get its head in between my two fingers like this, spin 
it around and snap it like that, and snap the head off and throw it 
over there. Oh, boy, were you in the big time.
	You were asking awhile back about my sisters and my brother. 
There's one thing that I remember very well. There was only one place 
to eat in the kitchen where the stove was, where it was warm, and we 
had a round kitchen table where we could all fit at it. And dad sat on 
the right-hand side, and Ed sat next to him, and Lucille sat next to 
me. Evelyn was on the other side with mother over here. Lucille and I 
were buddies. All of a sudden, she'd say to me, make a monkey face. And 
I'd do it. All hell would break loose. And I did it enough times that 
my father said, enough.
	She and I were buddies. Like the time she was elected Miss 
Clinton. She was going to be presented on this grand theater stage with 
roses and so on and have a big to do. Aunt Ann and mother were getting 
a dress for her and getting her fixed for something to wear. And all of 
a sudden they got to the point, now it's 3:00 in the afternoon. She 
didn't have a brassiere to wear.
	I said, to Aunt Ann what does she need? What size does she need? 
Whatever she told me, I said, I'll get one. I know the woman that owns 
the store. Went out and got on my bicycle and the woman's name is 
Kennedy. I said Lucille needs a brassiere. She said, well, here are two 
pretty ones, Bud. Which one do you want? I said, the prettiest one. 
She's going to be Miss Clinton tonight. Well, take the prettiest one; 
that's the best one. Okay. Charge it. I'll be back and pay you later.
	So I got back on my bicycle and pedaled back home again, and she 
was put on the stage as Miss Clinton, a dozen American Beauty roses. I 
thought I had a picture of that someplace. I'm afraid I don't. But in 
Mike's genealogy book, mother used to curl her hair all the time with 
cloth. The picture is in the book; the long curls-she was a beautiful 
girl, beautiful. We won a dance contest. The best waltzers at the 
dance.

On Dancing and Such
	MS. COSTABILE: Where did you learn how to dance?
	MR. LYNCH: I learned dancing at St. Mary's School the junior year 
of high school. We had an auditorium, and we used to do everything to 
make money for the school. While working at Marcucci's I learned how to 
make candied apples, you know, caramel apples and apples that are made 
with white stuff on it, like -I forget what it was called.
	And so we'd go around and get people to chip in to buy the wooden 
sticks for them and to donate the apples, and then we had a kitchen, 
and I would make - get somebody to stick the wooden things in, and then 
I'd make the stuff and put them in, put them on a tray until they were 
ready enough to take around to the various classrooms and sell them for 
a nickel apiece and to raise money for the school. 
	We had an entry that you could enter, like an entryway to the 
theater from outside with the ticket office and everything. And it was 
idea l-- it was the gym and, you know, where we had shows, it had a 
stage. But it had room enough to have dances, and you could hire an 
orchestra, a three-piece orchestra to play for, say, $3 for an evening 
dance. You'd charge 50 cents to get in, and we used to do that, drum it 
up to make money for the school.
	And that was -- I had a lot of fun doing that. My brother played 
the saxophone, and he and Eddie Nichols and a group of other guys got 
together and had their own band. They had a regular band by the time he 
was a senior. So after he graduated, I was still working at Marcucci's, 
and he was still at the Climax before we went to school. And Uncle 
Terry used to get the Variety, you know, that magazine that has all the 
stars, they want bands, shows?
 	And he knew when Carl Sanders, who was playing in Chicago was 
coming through Clinton on the way to Des Moines or Cedar Rapids to play 
a dance.
	And so he got us started, and we rented a dance hall and 
converted a building that had been --the upstairs was a nice dance 
floor and offered a place for the orchestra. The building had been 
condemned. I can't think of who we rented it from for little or 
nothing. And the orchestra's coming through, would play for three hours 
a night on their way to Cedar Rapids. And we'd hire them.
	And some nights we would only get -- make what we got money from 
the checkroom for checking the hats and coats. And I think, oh, we must 
have had at least four dances that we ran, and I think my brother was 
partly responsible -- he was older, he played the saxophone knew music. 
All I was, was the gofer. Go around town and put up the big signs that 
we had made, there's a dance such and such hall and such and such a 
night, so much -- I forget what we charged now for a ticket. Cheap.
	But the orchestras were cheap. And they were tickled to death to 
pick up anything they could while they were on the road, see? And so we 
ran dances. Now whether that's how I got to do it at St. Mary's, I 
think it is. I think that's what brought that about. I went to mass 
every first Friday for so many years, I don't remember. I went to mass 
at 7:00 every day during May for so long I don't remember.
	And so I had the school, and running things at the school to make 
money. I was all wrapped up in that. 

Earning Some Money
And then when I got to be ten, I had my paper route, the advertisers 
that I peddled down in South Clinton. And that was $1.30 a week. So 
when you'd get your pay on Saturday, and I'd take 10 cents and cross 
the alley to the dime store and get 10 cents worth of butterscotch 
chips and take the $1.20 home to mother.
	But I only did that for a year. And then during that year I found 
out Marcucci's wanted somebody to wash dishes in the ice cream parlor. 
That paid 10 cents an hour. Well, from $1.30 a week to 10 cents an 
hour, I could go after school and make a pile of money.
	So I took that job and gave my advertisers' job to somebody else. 
And again, 10 cents an hour, three, four, five hours, whatever you 
worked, you'd get paid, I'd take that home and give it to mother.
	In other words, it wasn't -- money in those days didn't ring with 
me. You had to have money to do things, but to have money for pocket 
money and be a big shot because you had money, I never had that, like 
some kids did, great hunger for. It was take it home to mother.
	And so that's what I did all the time I worked at my work. When I 
worked at the Climax for $60 a month, $60 a month all went home for the 
whole year I worked there. And Ed's getting $135 a month, he doesn't 
put a nickel in the pot. Lucille was working doing-filing cabinets; she 
didn't put anything in the pot.
	So Evelyn came along, and when she got old enough, she went to 
work for Grant Store, which was a dry goods store. They sold things 
like that black suitcase that's downstairs, she bought that for Ed and 
me. She bought five of them. Why she thought we needed five, I don't 
know. We could have gone around the world with five suitcases with the 
clothes we had. 
	Anyway, that's the only one that's left. Dollar apiece. And 
Evelyn, she worked at Grants and took her money home, too. Of course, 
during that period of time my father, as I told you, had lost his job 
and finally took a job working at the Clinton Company, which was a 
manufacturing - they used corn and they made sort of a sweet - it was 
called glucose, and it was like Karo syrup, only white. But the 
thickness of Karo syrup, only white. And they'd ship it tank cars like 
they'd ship gasoline, you know, and so on. 

Tough Times
	And so during the war we had no sugar. And so one line of the 
railroad, it was only about a block and a half from my house, and they 
would line the empty cars up, tank cars, along that one spur until they 
got ready to use them again and take them down and fill them, see? So 
I'd take a quart water bucket and go down underneath. In the middle of 
these there was an opener like this, eight or ten inches, and you could 
unscrew it. And they were always loose. You could unscrew it. So I'd 
put the bucket there and then unscrew that, and there was all this 
glucose would come out. And I'd do that to enough cars until I got as 
much as I could carry in the bucket, and then I'd carry it back home. 
	And mother had cheesecloth, and she'd pour it through the 
cheesecloth to take the dirty spots out of it, and that's what she used 
for sugar to bake with and sugar for other things. That's all the sugar 
we had. And during the war, we didn't have any coal. And during the war 
I'd go down at 8:00 to dusk and climb up on a box car - pole car, and 
we used to get coal from Kentucky, came in lumps, soft coal, we'd call 
it. 
	Well, I could climb up to the top and get it and throw it down 
about ten feet, and when it would hit the ground, it would break into 
small pieces like that. And I had a gunny sack, and I'd throw down 
enough broke up and then go down and put it in the gunny sack, and when 
I thought that's all I could carry, I'd carry it back home. That's all 
the coal we had to put in the stove. 
	And how many times I did it, I don't ever remember, but it got to 
be a regular occurrence. And I know damn well we had detectives 
watching the railroads. They never arrested me because I was a kid. I 
know damn well because I took a lot of coal. All you had to do was bump 
it off the side of the car and as soon as it would hit, it would break. 
The distance would be about from here to Wilson Lane for our house. So 
sugar, I used to get the glucose out of the cars. 
	And then, I don't know, every once in a while Grandpa Weinbeck I 
think would buy us coal or buy us wood. All we had to heat with was 
that stove I told you about in the kitchen. And water, we had no water 
in the house. You walked out the back door and down three steps and 
over to the right was a pump. And you pumped until you got a bucket of 
water, quart bucket of water, and you'd take it in the house and pour 
it in that tank that was at the end of the stool, and then that would 
warm up. So mother could use that, then to do the dishes in and so on. 
	MS. COSTABILE: What was your grandfather's profession? 
	MR. LYNCH: He was a cabinetmaker when he came over here from 
Germany. And of course went with the railroad because that was the 
thing in those days. That date, too, you will get from Mike's genealogy 
book. And he went to work for the Chicago Northwestern Railroad, which 
was not too far from our house. He could walk there and walk back. And 
he spent his whole life there and retired. And comfortable. Whatever 
his retirement was, it was enough to live on. 
	He was a frugal man. He knew the world and as I look back on it, 
how he had the courage to do the things he did, I'll never know. I 
think he got a lot of it from my grandmother. And in that sense, I'll 
tell you the story. They were going to have a baby after they got here. 
And across the street from where they lived was a lumberyard. And my 
grandmother said, all that lumber's over there, and we have no crib for 
the new baby that's coming. I want you to go and get some lumber when 
it gets dark and build a crib for the new baby. He said no, he couldn't 
do that, it'd be stealing. The next day when he came home from work, he 
found out that the lumber was in the house. During the night my 
grandmother had gone to the lumberyard even though she was pregnant. 
Does that tell you something about her? 

Heirlooms
	MS. COSTABILE: Yes, it does. Now, do you have anything that 
belonged to your parents or your grandparents? 
	MR. LYNCH: I have my grandfather's moustache coffee cup. I think 
I gave it to J.P. unless it's in on the table. It had a chain so your 
moustache would be in here and you could drink your coffee without 
getting it wet. 
	The coffee grinder on the top shelf they brought from Germany, my 
grandfather and grandmother. And they gave it to Lucille. And we were 
in Iowa one day, and I said to Lucille, Lucille, you are my buddy and 
you have nothing but sons, they should not have the coffee grinder. 
Mary Rae should have it. A girl should have it. And she let me have it 
for the girls. Your mother said when she saw the gun, she said, that's 
mine. You can do whatever you want with the rest of the stuff in the 
house. That's mine. I don't know how old she was when she said that. 
She wasn't too old. Anyway, so that was supposed to be hers. 
	My sister Lucille said, okay, Bud, you're right. So now how 
that's going to be decided, I do not - but Mary Rae is going to get the 
gun. Somebody else ought to get the coffee grinder. I'm trying to think 
of other things I have. I got for old time's sake, downstairs there's a 
- I don't know what they call them today - a monkey wrench, which is a 
Stilson wrench, that's the correct name. They were my father's when he 
worked in the roundhouse. And I've had them since my mother died. And 
those are tools my father started with. And they are unique and 
memorabilia. You would never see anything like that today. The handles 
are metal, and the whole base is probably metal, but two pieces of wood 
on each side where you put your hand. And they're hanging up next to my 
workbench down there. 
	So I have a motor, an electric motor, that big around. It was on 
my mother's first washing machine, electric washing machine. We brought 
the washing machine to Washington in 1942. And when we had to buy a new 
one, I took the motor off, and I was always going to put it on my 
workbench and put a thing on it, which would sharpen things with. And I 
took it off, and I hooked it up and that motor works--40 years ago; 50 
years ago that the motor was running, maybe longer than that. It was 
one of the first electric washing machine motors that came out, G.E. 

Summertime
	MS. COSTABILE: What was your favorite season at your house? 
	MR. LYNCH: I guess summer, especially growing up. We didn't have 
to wear a lot of clothes. We went barefoot most of the time. We didn't 
have any shoes. And the only part about that was sand burs. When you'd 
go near the river, you'd step on sand burs, and they'd hurt like the 
devil. 
	And then you'd get some dirt in your hand and spit in it and put 
it on that sand bur where it burned or hurt so, and the same way with 
getting stuck with bees, you'd challenge; one guy would challenge the 
other one to catch a bee in your hand like that. Every once in a while 
you get stung. And the only way, you take your hand, spit on it and put 
that on the sting to take the hurt out. That was high summer. That's 
what you did. 
	MS. COSTABILE: How did you keep cool? 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, we didn't have electricity. I don't know how old 
I was when my father and I put the electricity in the house. I wish I 
could remember the day we started to rebuild the house. The first 
thing, it had no basement. It had a hole that somebody had put sand in. 
	And in the fall of the year when we picked radishes, rutabagas 
and stuff, we'd pull them out of the garden. And the opening to the 
hole was in the kitchen, a door raised up, and you'd go down a step, no 
lights, and pick the radishes - I mean the carrots, rutabagas and stuff 
like that in the sand pile to preserve them for the winter. 
	And we also had a big white pot, about that big around, about 
that tall, and there was stuff that looked like milk of magnesia, only 
darker, that you would buy and fill that up. And then you would save 
enough eggs from the chickens, and you would put in as many as you 
could so that you'd have some to use to make something during 
wintertime when the chickens didn't lay. 
	And you'd have a big spoon with holes in it that you'd go down 
and scoop out two or three, not more than three, because you wouldn't 
want to use more than three at once, so you'd have to save. And in the 
one corner we had a bin, a wooden bin that we used to put potatoes in. 
We'd buy a sack of potatoes and put them in there. But there was no 
light down there. It was all dark. And that was the only hole there was 
underneath the house. 
	So we started there one summer, and as I say, Ed couldn't help. I 
was a gofer. And we knocked out the yellow foundation that they used to 
have in those days. You know, brick foundation with a little cement to 
hold the house up? We knocked out a piece about that big so you could 
see into this hole that I told you about. Then we went down there and 
start throwing dirt out that window. And we did that until we dug all 
the dirt out of the basement of the house. At least - well, except for 
the hole, there wasn't that much space between the ground and the floor 
of the house. So it all had to be dug out by shovel. 
	We shoveled it out in the yard and got a wheelbarrow, and I'm 
trying to think of where we did - we were able to get rid of a lot of 
the dirt in the rear of our yard, but I don't know what we did with all 
of it. Anyway, we completely dug out the basement. Then we had to put 
up forms, and then in those days you couldn't buy concrete, you bought 
a sack of cement and you bought a half a yard of concrete - I mean of 
dirt - not dirt, gravel with stones in it. We put that over here and 
the cement over here. We each had a shovel. You'd put in so much 
cement, depending on what you were going to do. And you'd start turning 
it over. Get the bucket, put the water in, turn it over, bucket, water 
in, turn it over, until it got the consistency of poured Ñ of cement 
that you could pour. 
	And then we would take it, put it in the wheelbarrow, take it 
over and decided where we had put the forms and drop it into the 
foundation. And we'd build a foundation like that all around the house, 
and then built a cement floor in the bottom, and did all that work by 
shovel and turning sand and cement. 
	In addition, my father built a set of stairs to lead from the 
basement outside where he had doors like the storm doors, you know, so 
you could enter from the outside. Then we could get in the basement 
from the outside, from the inside, and we could store stuff. Oh, it was 
like you added half a house to the house. And we had gas down there 
where you could make hooch, moonshine. 
	And my father used to make his wine. We'd make wine in the fall 
of the year. We had two grape arbors in our yard. One was concord 
grapes, the other one was not a big grape, but they had California type 
grapes. Oh, they were delicious. So my father never got very many of 
those. And my mother got the grapes, concord, first for jelly. And then 
he took the rest, and we'd go to Fulton with Uncle Terry in Uncle Hans' 
car with sacks and picked a lot of grapes. Maybe we'd get eight sacks 
of wild grapes and bring them back home, mix them with the concord 
grapes in the back yard, and that's the way my father would make wine. 
	And then we'd get a barrel and throw them in the barrel. He built 
a rack, a metal rack to put the barrel on and put them in there. And 
then there was some kind of a thing you put in and it went into a cup 
of water. And water from the glass tubing coming out quit bubbling from 
the water; you knew the wine was ready to drink. Port wine. 
	Beer, you made your own beer. You bought hops in the bag and 
you'd put that in a pot and left it there until it bubbled up, you know 
what I mean, like something's spoiled? And I forget what made the 
determination of when you take the hose and start siphoning it off to 
fill the bottles. And then you had a can thing you'd put the bottle in, 
put a cap on the top and push that down and cap it. And then he'd put 
the beer bottles around the basement like this around the walls, and 
every so often - I don't know the reason; nobody ever did know it - one 
of them would break and it would break, and when it would explode, two 
or three others would break. 
	So that's the way we had beer and wine. And they made their own 
booze, which was called hooch, like the moon shiners down in North 
Carolina. Same thing. Uncle Hans had a still made, a copper still. 
You'd put in a wooden candy bucket like this and put ice in there. You 
put the stew which you were making in a copper thing, washing thing, 
like, you know, that high and that big and had a top on it. You'd make 
a hole there and put something around it so nothing would seep out. 
They had a double gas burner. You'd light the gas from the both of 
them, and when steam would start coming out, it would come up through 
the top, come over, and go through the circular still that was going 
through the ice bucket, the candy thing, and the end of it came out of 
the bottom. 
	And when water would start coming out, you would take a teaspoon 
and light a match, and if it was orange, you knew it was no good and 
you'd have to wait and let it go on and on. And you'd put the spoon 
back and light it again, and when it came out blue, you knew you had 
hooch. So then you stuck a can underneath because you were in the real 
McCoy. Stink, it would stink like hell. 
	We had the basement windows all plastered with newspapers, but my 
house you could smell it a half a block away, and they thought they 
were kidding somebody. It was against the law to do that. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did they make it out of corn? 
	MR. LYNCH: I forget what the combination was that was put in the 
boiler. But that was all between my father and Uncle Hans and Uncle 
Charlie. Uncle Terry, all he did was drink it. He never was into 
making. He used to sit there like this in our yard when my father and I 
were painting the house, and - well, first my father was a 
perfectionist. 
	The house, when we painted it, first, all the paint that was on 
it had to come off with a putty knife and a blow torch, which you're 
standing on the ladder, you got the putty knife in this hand, the blow 
torch. And they were heavy. They weren't like the things you have 
today. And you'd kind of hang onto the ladder and Terry'd say, Bert, 
you missed a spot over there. Terry is sitting in a chair, smoking a 
cigar. Bert, a little bit to the left there, you're skipping. I used to 
think Uncle Terry, I could kill you dead. That was hard work. 
	That was one summer. The next summer we took the entire roof off 
and put on a whole new roof. And I don't remember - I remember doing 
it, but the summer that we put plumbing in, put a bathroom in the 
house, toilet, bath and water, so we didn't have to use the pump 
anymore. And toilet. Where we used to have to go to the outdoor john. 
Boy, in the wintertime, kid, that was no piece of cake. It was as far; 
at least it's from here to the fence from our back door to get to the 
john. And when you were young, of course, you know, that was it. You 
couldn't do it. You couldn't complain because everybody else was doing 
the same thing. See? So things that people would complain about, we 
didn't complain because that was all it was. What are you going to 
complain? 
	And we were a different breed because of our parents and 
grandparents. And I say grandparents primarily on my mother's side 
because they lived two doors from us. My grandfather and grandmother 
Lynch lived on First Avenue North. And the only time I saw my 
grandfather Lynch was in his casket. And I was just tall enough to see 
- I couldn't see his face. I could just see what looked like, I found 
out later, was he had a red moustache. And that's all I remember of 
him. 
	My grandmother, her picture's in Mike's book. Beautiful lady. 
Beautiful, fluffy hair and how she took care of it. And she made 
dresses for Lucille and Evelyn, and very beautiful seamstress. But she 
was not a kindly person. She - I really don't know, you know, as being 
a little older - I really don't know. She was never mean to me or 
anything like that. The girls used to complain because every once in 
while she'd stick them when she was making a dress for them and they'd 
move, she'd stick them. Stand still. Stand still. Lucille especially, 
she didn't like any part of it. Evelyn was younger, she probably, you 
know, this is what part of it is. But she was a wonderful seamstress 
and a beautiful person. 
	And my Uncle Frank, he was the hellion in the family. He finally 
got married to some waitress at the hotel. I don't know whether she was 
from Mexico or someplace. Anyway, because mother had four children so 
close together, they wanted to adopt me. 
	There's a picture of me standing on a horse downstairs in a suit 
with little knickers on and, boy, I was dressed up to the T's. And I 
imagine maybe Aunt Jo or Uncle Frank bought that outfit for me. I think 
I even have a little hat on. And Uncle Frank had put me on the hips of 
this big black horse, which I was scared to death. 
	And they wanted to adopt me. And I don't know who it was that put 
their foot down and said no it won't go, for which I have been ever 
grateful, although I loved Uncle Frank. He worked hard, didn't give a 
tinker's damn about money as long as he could get a drink. And he 
didn't become a lady's man until after Aunt Jo died, and then he used 
to pick up somebody in Clinton. He used to drive a truck all the time, 
chewed tobacco to beat holy hell. In those days the trucks only had one 
door. It was on the right-hand side. The driver's side, you couldn't 
open the door, so he'd drive the truck along the street, he'd spit over 
on the corner. Damm it, sometimes you'd have to take a chisel almost to 
get him out of there. 
	He'd take some babe to Florida for two or three months during the 
winter and down at Lake Okeechobee where we used to be close to, you 
know, and he was - your mother met him. He's the one that took us 
across the river to Beaver Island, where your mother first got to 
Beaver Island. And Jimmy Wassam lived there. He used to run a bar in 
Clinton.

Christmas
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you remember having a Christmas tree in your 
house growing up? 
	MR. LYNCH: We used to have a Christmas tree - this is before 
electricity and everything else and before the things repaired on the 
house - and we had what was the parlor, living room, you know. You 
could only be on that sofa that was in there if you were sick. 
Otherwise you couldn't go in there. 
	But that's where the Christmas tree would be. We'd all be in the 
kitchen going crazy. And my father and mother would be in there with 
the Christmas tree, putting the balls on it. And then in those days you 
didn't have electricity, so you had a snapper like this that you'd put 
a candle in about three inches tall, red, you know, green, yellow and 
so on, and you'd clip it onto the tree. 
	And so we'd be in the kitchen banging on the door to get in to 
see what they had, raising hell, and all of a sudden they'd say, you 
can come in now. And we'd come in, and here the tree would be, and 
maybe candles all burning, and then we'd stand there for maybe, oh, 
five minutes, maybe less, and the candles would all have to be blown 
out because of the danger of fire. So the candles would stay there for 
the duration of the holiday, but you only lit them Christmas Eve. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you ever spend Christmas away from home? 
	MR. LYNCH: When you say away from home, no. For example, what I 
just told you, that's Christmas to me. Now, we might go someplace after 
getting our presents, like Grandma Weinbeck's or Aunt Tilly's or Uncle 
Terry's. We might do that. But that's sort of vague. The thing I 
remember mostly is raising so much hell and my father saying to be 
quiet, be quiet, and so on. But I don't ever recall going to another 
house to see, you know, what anybody else got.

Baseball and Broken Noses 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you play any sports as a child? 
	MR. LYNCH: Number one, my father, having just me as an active son 
because my brother couldn't play ball, my father was a pitcher in a 
Clinton company that had supplied uniforms with the names and caps and 
so it was a whole, complete uniform. And he was a pitcher for them. The 
picture of that is downstairs of him, which must have been taken about 
1905 - just a pure guess. But all you have to do is look at the 
picture, he was a cocky individual. He's got a grin on his face, and 
his cap was put on, you know, cocky like this, and he's got his legs 
crossed, and you can just see, I'm the best pitcher there is in the 
whole town. 
	And so as I got bigger, Uncle Hans bought me a catcher mitt, you 
know, a big mitt catcher's use? And my dad was going to teach me how to 
play. So side of our yard, and you already know about the chicken 
house. So I get out in front of the chicken house, and I squat down 
like a professional catcher. When I got that mitt. Dad was back toward 
the front of the yard, almost six foot tall. So he'd bring his left leg 
up and get the arm back and threw me one, a soft one. And I finally got 
to the point where I could catch it. And then he'd throw one a little 
faster, and it would make a noise. And boy, was that a thrill for me. 
And I'd put the big mitt out there in front and we'd do that. 
	And then one day, I don't know how many times we did it, we were 
getting used to falling into it. One day we got out, and we were - by 
now, I'm pretty cocky. So we must have had quite a few goes at it. And 
I get back there, and I get the mitt on, and I squat down, and I say, 
all right, come on, put her to me. And he stands there, and he starts 
lobbying them again and lobbying them again, and I'm grabbing, and the 
noise gets louder, and that makes me feel better because I'm getting to 
be, I know it now. And so on. And he does that maybe a dozen times, and 
they kept getting a little faster, quicker to me. And I was catching 
them, and they were making a noise, but boy, when they were coming, 
they were coming on me, and I had to, you know, go like that to get it 
because it was there before it left his hand. 
	Anyway, all of a sudden he winds up with that left leg of his, 
and he let one go. And when he let it go out of his hand, I could see 
smoke coming. I ducked to hit the dirt, the ball hit the chicken house 
and bounced all the way back to where he was. I'm still lying on the 
ground. I looked up like this, and he was standing there looking down 
at the ground like with his head like this, saying, boy, there's no 
point in 
	MS. COSTABILE: Shaking his head. 
	MR. LYNCH: He's no baseball player. And I remember that like it 
was yesterday because I can see him shaking his head, saying, I only 
got one out of the two, and he's afraid to catch the ball. And then we 
had a place we called Fiddler's Green where a bunch of us rag tag kids, 
it was about a block and a half across the railroad track to get to 
Fiddler's Green, and we used to get a get up game, you know? Whoever 
was there could play. I don't remember who had the ball and the bat. 
	And one day I was playing third base, and a guy hit the ball, and 
whether it was the pitcher or who it was, threw it to me because the 
guy was coming from second base to third. And I'm standing on third 
base like this. And I put my hand up to catch the ball, and instead of 
putting the glove up this way to catch the ball, I got my hands like 
this, and the sun was shining, and the ball went right through and hit 
me on the nose and broke it. See that spot there? I got blood all over 
the front of me, and I run on home. 
	And my father was there, and he said, lay down on the couch 
there. And I laid down, and he reached down, got hold of my nose and 
snapped it like that. And then by that time mother had gotten a cold 
cloth and put it on my nose. He said, you'll be all right. No doctors, 
no nothing. That's why I got a crooked nose. I got a Barbara Streisand 
nose. And then I got it cheap, I didn't have to pay for it. All I had 
to do was get hit in the nose with a baseball. 
	And every once in a while somebody would hit the ball, and they'd 
drive it in a woman's house, I can't remember her name, and break the 
window. And she'd raise hell, and somebody would have to get the money 
together to go buy a new ball because she'd never give it back to us. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So was baseball the most popular sport at that 
time in the country? 
	 MR. LYNCH: Oh, yes. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you all follow it? 
	MR. LYNCH: It was the beginning of it. They were having local 
leagues, like my father's. Bell Telephone or whatever it says on his 
uniform. They were having those makeup leagues. But baseball as you 
know it in later years was not organized baseball, nor did we have 
organized football. Football, the big stars of today are getting 
millions. We had them in Clinton. We had one guy, Duke Slater, who 
lived in Clinton. Played guard for the Iowa football team, and then 
graduated. He played guard for the Clinton makeup team. And he played 
guard. And when he played guard, when they snapped the ball, and he'd 
move his arms out like this and take out that whole side of the line.
	And we had teams here in Davenport, Moline, Rock Island that 
would come to Clinton and play, and our teams would go down there. And 
it was in Clinton Front Park along the river, no stadium. They would 
put ropes on each side of the field, and they'd play a half. And then 
guys would come around with a hat, and we'd just throw money in the 
hat. That's the only money there was. You didn't pay; they just passed 
the hat and see how much money they could front to help pay the 
players. And baseball then, football club professionally never did 
develop, but baseball, the people got together and built a baseball 
stadium. 
	And my Uncle Terry, he was involved in everything like sports, 
football, baseball. And the first baseball team we had was a makeup 
team, and Uncle Terry was the manager because he was the only one that 
had a car that could carry the bats and the balls and the chest 
protectors around in. So Uncle Terry ended up manager of the Clinton 
baseball team. I'll never forget. He had a Dodge sedan, and that was in 
the days when - you know that was something. But Uncle Terry, if he 
didn't have tobacco, he'd have a cigar. Everybody in the city of 
Clinton knew Uncle Terry. He could tell Irish jokes. And he could sing. 
He had a beautiful tenor voice. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Were there any athletes that you admired? 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, Babe Ruth, of course, as I got older, in the 
Babe Ruth era. I never got to see a professional team in Chicago, which 
was the closest place, and they had, you know, the two teams. 

Chicago
I got to Chicago, and my father could get passes on the railroad 
because he worked for the Chicago Northwestern. But we could only use 
them on certain trains and at certain times. And we'd get up at 4:00 in 
the morning and walk from our house, which was a distance of about, oh, 
12 blocks, to the railroad station, and then we'd catch the 5:00 train. 
And in those days they didn't go very fast. 
	Of course, it had to be in the summer and it's hot and no air 
conditioning, so you'd open the windows, and then the train going 
along, there were cinders from the road bed of the track and from the 
wheels going around, the cinders would start coming in. You'd be half 
black when you got to Chicago. You'd have to go and wash your face in 
the station. 
	And then the women would go to the Boston store, which was like 
Penney's, the cheaper store, and the Carson Perry and Scott was a step 
higher, and you were getting pretty close you have money, dollars. And 
then Marshall Fields, which they never went to because it was all too 
expensive. 
	And we'd spend the whole day, and about 6:00 or 7:00 at night 
catch the train and get home about 12:00 or quarter to 1:00 and then 
walk home. And that was my first adventure in the big cities. 
	And my father took us up on top of one of the buildings, it had a 
stand up there, with spyglasses on that you can look through down to 
see the city streets. And I went over, and I put that thing in it and 
looked through it and looked down. The policeman looked like he was 
about two feet tall. And I turned around and walked away from the 
spyglass, got sick to my stomach and upchucked all over the place. I 
remember that like yesterday. I don't know what store it was in. It was 
way up on the top of the building. 
	And in those days, I don't know what would be, stories, maybe. 
The biggest building was probably stories high. I don't think any 
taller than that. But that was the Loop in Chicago, those stores, 
Marshall Fields, the other two I told you about, and the Boston store. 
They were right in Park and Randolph area in what is called the Loop. 
It's always been the Loop. And that was not too far to walk to the Loop 
from the Northwestern railroad station. All you had to do was walk 
across the bridge on the Chicago River and another three blocks and you 
were there. 
	So we'd walk. And it was a great big thrill. And I don't know 
whether I was seven years old, maybe, eight years old. Not any older 
than that. That's about the age that I made my first trip. 
	And the first big city. Davenport, of course. We got to 
Davenport. That was a big city compared to Clinton. Generally speaking 
here in the days of growing up and getting older, 16, 17 years old, 
Clinton at most had 29-30,000 population. And then while I was in 
school, a couple of small companies came in, and maybe they got up to 
32,000. The sawmills, that's the way it was started. The trees were cut 
down in Minnesota and Wisconsin and wrapped, put on the river, and then 
they'd put them together in a - like you stuff a loaf of bread. Then 
they had great big chains, great, heavy chains they'd wrap around them 
to hold them all together, then they'd float them down the Mississippi 
River. 
	And it would cost nothing to do that except the hands to put the 
things together. And they'd float them from Minnesota and Wisconsin 
down to Clinton. Clinton had the Curtis Company and the Ñ I forget what 
the name of the other lumber company was, built right on the banks of 
the Mississippi River. And the logs were taken off and put right into 
through saws. And they made windowsills and doors and flooring. And 
fishing was important in those days. These are early days. 
	And then the railroads came and the Chicago Northwestern Railroad 
built a bridge across the river at Clinton. And they built a round 
house on the Illinois side of the river where the engines, steam 
engines, could only run from Chicago to Clinton, and they'd pull them 
off and leave them at the round house and put a new engine on to go on 
to Cedar Rapids or sometimes Omaha. And then their next stop is Boone. 
Boone first and then Omaha. 
	And depending on the engine, they'd have to pull it off and put a 
new one on, take the engine had been used to the round house and what 
they call blowing the fuses. They were fired with coal, and they had 
pipes in that made steam out of the water that was in them. And they 
were called flues. And every so often because of the rapid movement of 
the train and so on, they would break loose and the train wouldn't 
function properly because you wouldn't get enough steam to make the 
train go. So they'd bring them into the round house, dump the fire out 
of them and then my father would fix them. 
	Anyway, while the engines were hot, it was an awful job. But my 
father was a boilermaker. It took him four years to get his ticket to 
be a boilermaker. Like a law school, you know, you got to go so long. 
Four years to get his ticket as a boilermaker. He finally ended up as 
assistant superintendent of the round house. 
	And I forget what year it was. I was probably 12. And the 
Northwestern Railroad wanted him to move to Oshkosh, Wisconsin and then 
take over as superintendent of the round house. And my mother said no, 
she wouldn't go, because her mother live close and she couldn't leave 
her. And I don't know this to be true, but I always had in my mind the 
superintendent of the one in Clinton would be gone a lot, and my father 
would take over and run the round house. I think, although he never 
said it, that he always had the hopes that the superintendent would 
quit and he'd get the Clinton round house, because he had charge of all 
the men most of the time. 
	And your mother has a picture of some of the men, a beautiful big 
picture which will tell you more than words about my father and what he 
did and the type work. And it's hard to believe that that was our mode 
of transportation. And you think of today when you can go over miles an 
hour in an airplane. 

Suits and Ties
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you remember your first suit and tie? 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I told you yesterday. You've 
forgotten. In the suitcase is a picture of me with knee pants, double-
breasted jacket and a little hat, black socks, knee socks, black shoes. 
And I'm standing up on the back of Uncle Frank's horses. He had a team 
of black horses. Beautiful, big black horses. And he had to put me up 
there. I couldn't have gotten - I was scared of them anyway. And I'm 
standing on that, and I'm all dressed up. 
	And a good question you asked. Because I have another picture in 
the suitcase of me in my bigger short pants, double-breasted suit, and 
in the pocket I got a pen and a pencil. Silver. You can see them. And a 
cap. And I'm standing on our front porch like this. I'm Mr. God. Two 
good - I mean you look at the one and you look at the other and you 
say, uh-uh. Can't be the same kid. But it is. That's what's known as my 
transformation, Beth. From the first suit Ñ probably the one standing 
on the horse was probably the first suit. Mother used to make us shorts 
and stuff like that. And the long pants, I don't remember. 
	We wore mostly overalls, except to school. Overalls, I never 
liked them, but they were the thing to wear. And they had a lot of 
pockets, and you could carry a pocketknife in this, and something else 
in this pocket, and it had pockets up here. And straps like this going 
over your shoulder. 
	But then when I found out that wasn't the way you dressed up, it 
didn't take me long to put the overalls away. Mother always took care 
of that. She'd take me to Martin Morris clothing company and buy me a 
suit. Before I went to college, there was a tailor. And I don't know 
how much money I'd saved or had gotten as a gift. And I had a tailor 
made suit with a vest and everything. Oh, and did I think I was...you 
talk about, I mean, putting on the jack and being Mr. Broadway. 

We'll call you Bud
	MS. COSTABILE: Did they give you the nickname Bud, your parents? 
	MR. LYNCH: Somebody asked me that, I guess it was your mother. I 
think my mother Ñ I told your mother yesterday, I wracked my brain, and 
I'm positive it was a word of love more than a name because when she'd 
use it, it was like this, very, you know, like giving you a hug. 
	MS. COSTABILE: She wasn't mad at you when she called you Bud. 
	MR. LYNCH: No, no, no. It was - it was sort of a love term for a 
kid, you know. When I first, in the gang days before, you know, when I 
had two or three kids to run around with and my head was snow white, I 
was a blond kid, they called me Swede. Swede was the first name I had. 
And that's why I dwell so much about the Bud part. Mother - I'm 
positive, you could make money on that, because mother, it was like 
giving you a hug when she asked you to do something. She'd say, Bud, 
can you do this or Bud, will you do that. Not a command. Hard to 
explain. 
	But I was Bud in Clinton. Even when I ran for county attorney, I 
had billboards up, elect Raymond J. Bud Lynch county attorney. And so 
as I told you the other day, the German professor called Raymond Lynch, 
and I didn't know who the hell he was talking to. Then he yelled again. 
Oh, oh, oh. It had been Bud up until I went to college. To everybody in 
Clinton that I knew, I was Bud. The lawyers, the doctors and so on that 
would come into Marcucci's, it was, Bud, how are you today? Bud this. 

Radio, Music, etc...
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you remember, was there music in your house? 
Did you have a radio? 
	MR. LYNCH: We had a radio, a very tiny radio that dad used to 
listen to baseball games on Saturday. He loved baseball, and he used to 
lie on the floor and smoke a cigar and play the game. You could tell by 
the way he was doing it that he was playing the game. Telling them when 
to, you know, when to run, when to hit. I used to watch him. And I was 
not that much of a baseball fan, but I got a bigger kick out of the way 
he was enjoying it, I think, than the game itself. 
	And as far as music, the radio, I think, was the first thing. 
First we got the telephone when I was about nine. I don't think we had 
it before World War I. But otherwise, I think Aunt Tillie had a 
telephone. If you wanted to telephone somebody - we didn't have many 
people to telephone because we didn't know anybody that had telephones. 
Aunt Ann didn't have one, Grandma Weinbeck didn't have one. 
	About music, yes. The place I'm telling you where the Christmas 
tree was like this in the front of the house between two windows, 
that's where my dad had the radio. And then he'd lay down on the floor, 
which there was a couch over there, but no, he laid on the floor. And 
on the side of that, the smallest room was - I don't know where he got 
the money - he bought a piano for Lucille. And she started taking 
lessons. 
	And knowing Ed couldn't do any hard manual labor, I think it was 
Uncle Hans bought him a saxophone. And then he also hired a guy to 
teach him how to play the saxophone. Uncle Hans. But mother and dad 
didn't have any money. And Lucille played at the piano. But by and 
large the piano, it was more of a fixture because she never wanted to 
practice, and - but she wasn't a mean, ornery kid at all. 
	She was a lovely girl to be around. Always happy, always smiling. 
But she didn't want to sit and play that piano. Anyway, Ed took up 
music real good. And he and another kid, when they were seniors in high 
school, had their own band. My brother and Eddie Nichols. I don't know 
what instrument Eddie Nichols played. Carrie Nichols was the name I was 
trying to think of that was a lovely girl at the Climax Engineering 
Company that I told you was so sweet to me. Carrie Nichols. That was 
her brother, younger brother, that started an orchestra with my 
brother. 
	And my brother played saxophone. So I was supposed to never touch 
it. And in those days you could buy sheet music, you'd call it, which 
was ten cents at the ten-cent store, Woolworths. And there was music on 
this side, and you'd open it and there was music here, here, and that's 
it, that was the end of it, for ten cents. There was a song with very 
simple notes called Ramona. And when Ed wasn't around, I would take the 
saxophone out and start. I don't know how - Lucille must have told me 
what the notes were on the music, because I couldn't read music. So she 
must have told me. She might have even picked it out on the piano to 
give me the idea. Anyway, when nobody was there but Lucille and myself, 
I'd take the saxophone, and I don't know how I learned how to finger, 
you know, but I did. And I learned how to blow on the reed. And so I 
started practicing a little of that. Finally, one day Lucille and I 
were there, and I said, let's get that Ramona out. So she gets it out 
and we started in, and I made a lot of clunkers. And I guess once in a 
while I'd get a right note. Maybe we did that off and on, you know, six 
or eight times, till I was getting more good notes, see, than bad ones. 
And finally it got so I could play "Ramona, when day is done, I hear 
you call. Ramona, da da da da da da da da. Ramona, da da da da da da da 
da da da. Ramona, Ramona, my all." That's the only thing I ever learned 
how to play, and I never played it when Ed was around because I wasn't 
supposed to use the saxophone. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you remember the first movie you ever saw? 
	MR. LYNCH: I don't remember necessarily the first one. We had 
what was known as the Clinton Theater, which was right in the middle of 
town, and we could only go on Saturday afternoons. And I don't remember 
whether it cost a nickel or a dime. And the shows that I can remember 
seeing, all of them ended up with cowboys and Indians and guys with 
guns riding horses and, you know, all decked out with fancy outfits. 
	And there wasn't any killing, but there was a shooting up in the 
air or something. When they'd go into a town, they'd make up noise and 
so on and so forth. And then there would always be the lovers, the boy 
and the girl. And then there'd be the jealous boy. And he'd capture the 
girl. And for some reason or other, he'd take her to the sawmill, and 
he'd tie her to the thing, and it would go along like this, see? And 
here's the saw up at this end. And it would go along, and her head was 
getting closer and closer. It was going to saw her in two. Her head 
would get closer and closer. Just about the time the saw was supposed 
to hit the head, stop, to be continued next week. 
	Every damn show I saw was to be continued. You only saw half of 
it and it had - ten cents it cost - to be continued next week. But you 
asked me the first one. I remember that like yesterday. Wondering, 
you're sitting on the edge of your seat, is it going to cut, is it 
going to cut the girl in half? Going to cut her in half? Then to be 
continued next week. Can you imagine them being that mean to a kid? It 
was only a kid's show. 

Coming Back to School
	And then you heard the story about Sister Mary St. Henry, who was 
a junior teacher, and I went to her, even though I had missed my 
sophomore group. I went to her because somebody told me she was a 
lovely person. I told her what my plan was. I wanted to come back to 
school, and I wanted to graduate with my own class, and if she would 
teach me what I missed as a sophomore, I would love it and appreciate 
it forever.
	But first, if she would only go to the principal, Sister 
Ludmilla, a German like the Kaiser Wilhelm. Mean, ornery. Oh, yeah, 
just look at her and we'd get scared. I said, Sister if you'd go with 
me and try to explain what my idea was and where I wanted to be. I want 
to go to college and get a degree in law school? And I want to do it 
but I want to graduate with my own class.
	And she said, well, Raymond, I don't know, but I sure will try. 
It took a half hour before she could even break the ice with the 
principal. And then the principal asked her a few questions, and 
finally she said to Sister Mary St. Henry, if you think you can do it, 
all right, I'll give you permission.
	So the happiest man in the world walked out into the hall. 
Because now I'm back, I've had my experience and I'm back, and I'm 
going to graduate with the class. I had it all planned. Then I'll work 
for a year, and I'll have enough money to go to college.
	So when I finished, graduated, I went back to Mr. Bailey. Mr. 
Bailey gave me a job as timekeeper in the Climax foundry for $135 a 
month-7:00 in the morning till 4:00 in the afternoon. And I no sooner 
got the job, and the first paycheck went to my father because they 
closed down the roundhouse. The railroad no longer ran steam trains, 
they ran diesel.
	He lost his job, his lifetime job. So the first 11 checks I got 
the year I was out of high school went home. And the balance -- I don't 
know that I had $135-- I had to pay my first semester's tuition when I 
went to Iowa City, and I had a job in a diet kitchen. And somebody had 
told me, from having worked at Marcucci's for as long as I did, I could 
get a job at Reich's Cafe.

Away in College
	So as soon as I got there, I went to Reich's Cafe and met Mr. 
Reich. He said okay, you're hired. So I worked there for 25 cents an 
hour. I got food at the hospital. My room in a private home cost $10 a 
month. And you didn't have to worry about anything because you didn't 
have any money, and you had to walk everyplace you went because there 
were no bicycles or anything like that. And there were no streetcars to 
go from one point of the campus to another and no busses.
	If you had a car, you were lucky. There were very few cars. Some 
of the kids had cars. One kid, I remember, was a freshman, and he had a 
Packard Roadster. Blue. And I can remember him today. He was driving 
down the main stem of Iowa City thinking how could it be so unfair?
	Here I am, I got two jobs, and I got no money. That guy's going 
to college and he's got a brand new Packard car. He didn't come back to 
school the next year because his father's bank foreclosed. And I 
thought later, how lucky can you get. When the banks foreclosed, I 
didn't have any money anyway, and when I got my job at Reich's, the 
barbershop was right next-door, and I got to know all the barbers, and 
one in particular, Rosie. And I'd go in and say, Rosie, here's 50 cents 
for the last one. Put this one in the cup. And he'd say, get in the 
chair.
	So you'd get in the chair and he'd put the towel on, and he'd 
give you a haircut. And you'd pay him -- next time you went, you'd pay 
him for that one and get the next one in the cup.
	MS. COSTABILE: Were you ever homesick when
 you were away at school?
	MR. LYNCH: I don't think so. The telephone was not a way of doing 
business. Number one, it cost money. We had cardboard containers, about 
30 inches long and about six inches high, and we could put the laundry 
in there and strap it with a strap, take it to the post office and mail 
it to Clinton. My mother would do the laundry, the shirts, not the 
underwear and socks and stuff like that, but the shirts primarily, and 
Evelyn would take them to the post office and mail them back to us.
	And I was so thrilled to death to think I was able to get into 
college. And now all I prayed for was that I would never get sick, 
because I had a feeling that once I broke sophomore and if I ever had 
to stay out, I never would go back. I had that God-awful feeling.
	And I think that's one of the -- until I met my ever loving wife, 
I think that was the most horrible thought I ever had. And then when I 
met her, she didn't know it, but she was mine. But it took a long time 
to get her. Almost expulsion from college, but you already heard that 
story.

Professors I Have Known
	MS. COSTABILE: Were there any professors that you had that made 
any special impression on you?
	MR. LYNCH: Yeah. We had a guy that taught property. I'm trying to 
think of his name. He had a dog that used to come, big collie dog, 
because he lived close to the law school. It would come and lay down on 
the floor alongside of his desk. Percy Boardwell. Gee, do you think I -
- when you asked me that question, I thought I would never, ever -- I 
could see the dog this very day. Wonderful, kindly, almost like my 
grandfather Weinbeck.
	Patton was a mean guy who taught contracts. Fellow by the name of 
Lad who was so full of himself that taught evidence. And the guy that 
taught trusts and so on, wills, Meecham. Nice enough guy but all 
business, no smiles ever. And then we had a guy who taught personal 
relations. Come on, Beth, help me.
	MS. COSTABILE: Grand pop, I can't remember my professors from 
college, and you're doing law school, and you're getting every one, so 
you don't need my help.
	MR. LYNCH: He and his wife came out to the Kappa Alpha Theta 
house for dinner one night, Mary Catherine's sorority. He got up from 
the dinner table and visited for a while, and finally he started to go 
out the front door. The housemother had to say, Professor, you forgot; 
you left your wife here.
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, you went to a reunion, a law school reunion?
	MR. LYNCH: Yes, the 50th.
	MR. LYNCH: That's what I had my cane for.
	MS. COSTABILE: Had you been back before that?
	MR. LYNCH: No. Well, put it this way. I got back the day I got 
married. The day we got married, we left Cedar Rapids and we drove to 
Iowa City, and we had coffee in the same booth that Mary Catherine sat 
first.
	MS. COSTABILE: Where you met her?
	MR. LYNCH: Same booth that I met her. 

On Meeting Mary Catherine McCormick, aka "Pete"
	And I told this guy, introduce me or you're going to lose your 
job. Louie Millichek. He knew her from Cedar Rapids. What do you want 
to know her for, he said? I said did I ask you that. I want you to 
introduce me to her. If you want to keep your job, you better do it. So 
he did. This is Pete McCormick.
	When she came in and sat down, she was facing the rear, and I 
looked right at her. I thought, oh, I can't believe it. I can't believe 
it.
	MS. COSTABILE: When did your family first meet Grand mom?
	MR. LYNCH: Catherine used to come -- Ed was seeing Catherine-- Ed 
graduated in 1933 in engineering. I got a Bachelor of Arts degree in 
engineering. And so Catherine used to come out, and she got acquainted 
then with Mary Catherine, who was going to school, a sorority sister at 
Kappa Alpha Theta.
	And we would meet, not often, because then I had work to do. I 
mean a job. But Ed was -- he was an A student, and they initiated him 
into -- what was the name of the fraternity, engineering fraternity? 
Triangle. He was the number one guy in triangle, and so he had to pay 
no dues.
	And so I didn't see much of him. And he had his own group he ran 
with, and I did too. I had Bob and Maury from Dubuque and, Huggie, we 
called him, because he used to date some of the Theta girls, and they 
nicknamed him Huggie because he wanted to hug all of them. He was from 
Atlanta, Georgia. And Fritz Beck from Sioux City, Iowa. And they were 
all the guys that donated money to get me initiated into Phi Delta Phi 
fraternity because I didn't have any money. So they all chipped in and 
paid for my initiation into a legal fraternity.
	They were all there and their fathers sent them checks every 
month. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you think that you were the same person when 
you got out of college as when you entered as a freshman?
	MR. LYNCH: What context do you want to put that down? I was still 
as dumb on some things. Number one, I thought I had it made. When I 
graduated from high school, I thought I had it made because I was on my 
way.

Life in Sales
	This is probably a better answer. My senior year -- between my 
junior and senior year of law school, Mary Catherine's father got me a 
job in Cedar Rapids selling gas stoves and refrigerators and so on. I 
had a wonderful success. I sold anything that needed to be sold.
	And the boss said to me, when you go back to Iowa City, I'll call 
the sales manager of Iowa City Light and Power Company and you could 
work for them the same way you work for me. Wonderful. He calls the guy 
up. So before school started I go down and have a visit with Mr. 
Porter.
	And I said, my boss, Mr. McKentry whom you know told me that he 
thought it would be nice if I came down and had a visit with you and 
see if I could help you out selling some of your merchandise. Well, he 
damn near threw me out of his office.
	He was a young guy, about 37 years old. And he didn't want any 
part -- I said, Mr. Porter, I said, all I'm asking is you give me a 
chance. If I work for a month and I don't sell anything, you won't have 
to fire me; I'll quit. I said it's as simple as that. Just give me an 
opportunity.
	I got my little car and went back to Cedar Rapids and went back 
to my boss. He said What's the trouble? I said, he wouldn't have 
anything to do with me. He did everything but tell me to get the hell 
out of his office. He said he didn't want any part of me.
	Well, McKentry said to his secretary, Dorothy call up Burt Nash, 
who was the vice president of the parent organization. Mac got Nash on 
the phone. He said, you tell Ray to go back to Iowa City tomorrow 
morning, and if Mr. Porter won't let him in, tell him to walk in and 
say he wants to be on the payroll.
	I said to Mac, I'm not going back to that bastard. I said I gave 
him my best. I told him to give me an opportunity. If I don't succeed, 
I'll quit. Mac told me, he said, Irish, go back and tell him who you 
are.
	I go back to Iowa City and I walked in, and he greeted me like I 
was the crown prince of Norway. And I said, I'm my deal is just the 
same. If I can't produce, I don't want to work here. You don't have to 
fire me, I'll quit.
	He said, don't be worried about anything. Go out and talk to Burt 
Kemp, who is the sales manager. Nice guy. And I said, Burt -- Burt knew 
McKinstry in Cedar Rapids too. Burt, the man talked to me. The man said 
from now on, you're my boss. Is that okay with you? He got a silly grin 
on and he said, that's okay, I'll call Mac and tell him.
	So I went to law school full time, and I had a territory in Iowa 
City that I covered and so on. And you'd knock on the door and tell 
them we'd like to check their electrical appliances and so on, see if 
everything was okay. And we'd take them in, be no problem, and see what 
they might need. And sometimes you'd say, well, you need a new hot 
water heater, electric hot water heater, you need a new this or that or 
something else.
	And so, honestly, I'd have a class, say, in the afternoon. I'd go 
to class for an hour and then go spend the rest of the time working my 
territory.
	And I had a little Ford Coup car. Twice a week I had to work at 
the store half a day when I wasn't in school because you were supposed 
to work a day a week on the floor to sell, you know, while other guys 
were out working.
	Well, I had on the floor; honestly, I had the best goddamn luck. 
And it seemed like people knew I was there. Big guiding light. And 
finally, I don't know whether it was about the spring of the year, 
before graduation, Burt called me over and said, listen; you got to cut 
it out. I said, I have to cut out? Burt. I've been doing my job. I've 
been trying to sell everything you got here.
	That's the trouble. He said, you're selling more than the two 
guys that are married and have a family. 

Can You Work and Electric Iron?
	One day he wanted me to demonstrate an electric iron they sold. 
He said it's already at the lady's house. All you have to do is go out 
there. And I said, Burt, I've never touched one. I know what one looks 
like, but I never touched one.
	He said it has an electric cord on it and you plug it in. He said 
from there you're on your own. And I said to him, Burt, you shouldn't 
do that to a dog. But I'll go out and see if I can talk her out of it. 
You know, just look at it and say it's a beautiful piece of machinery 
and it works just fabulously. When you once get to use it, you'll think 
it's wonderful.
	He said, you'll have to do more than that. You'll have to 
demonstrate it. I said, how the hell can I demonstrate it? I never, 
ever touched it. He said, you'll find a way. You'll find a way.
	Now, I go out there. The thing is already there, set up in her 
living room. And I start talking. And talk and talk and talk, and as 
fast as I could to keep her from saying anything, would you show me how 
to run it?
	The time came, well, how does it actually work? Well, what do you 
do? I turned it on. And it was a long thing, about six inches in 
diameter and about this long, with sort of a canvas cover on it. It was 
solid and had a canvas cover.
	And then on the left-hand side was a handle, and that handle was 
connected to a plate about three inches, made in a semi-circle to fit 
with the round tubular thing underneath, and it was about the same -- 
it was the same distance as the roller that was the basic part.
	And it had a handle on the left-hand side that when you put -- 
let's say you start with easy, a handkerchief, you put it down. You 
spread it all out, you know, so you get the wrinkles out of it and it's 
nice and smooth. Then you pull the handle down, and that brings down 
the heating unit. It goes on top of the other thing and presses on the 
handkerchief.
	And you leave it there you hope the right amount of time, and 
then you raise it. And if it isn't smooth enough, you put it back down 
a little longer till it comes out nice and smooth.
	Well, she didn't give me a handkerchief. She brought me one of 
the doctor's white shirts. I thought, Mrs. Peterson, you don't do that 
to me. I don't know what -- I've worn shirts since I got old enough, 
but I don't know where to start. I thought, God, I got a cuff. Cuff, I 
can do that like a handkerchief.
	So by now the thing had heated up enough. I could feel that by 
feeling the cylinder. And of course I was worried to death about 
scorching something if she made me do it, you know?
	So she brought me the shirt, and I finally got up my courage, and 
I took the cuff and put it on, and I just held the shirt in my lap and 
smoothed it all out real smooth and pulled the thing down, and I prayed 
that I wouldn't scorch it.
	I finally put it down, took the gull damn thing off. If you do it 
any longer, you're going to scorch it. It was smooth, wrinkle-free, 
like a brand new shirt. And she said, oh, that's fabulous, that's 
wonderful. And did I heave a sigh of relief, I'm telling you. 	She 
said, let's see, now, what else could we try? And I said, don't do this 
to me. I'm dying inside. Don't do this to me. And finally she gave me 
this shirt and she said, why don't we try the collar?
	I thought oh no. This all was happening -- it's only taking 
seconds, you know what I'm saying? My mind is going crazy. I get the 
collar, and I think, I can't do what I did with the cuff. I get the 
collar on, I smoothed it out, and oh, I'm in fear and trepidation. And 
I finally bring it down and kept bringing it back and forth and back 
and forth. I was scared to death I was going to scorch it.
	And finally I got it so it looked relatively -- it didn't look as 
good as the cuffs but at least you knew it had been taken care of. And 
she said, that's wonderful, Mr. Lynch. And I said, thank God. Pulled 
the plug, and I said, thank you so much. I really appreciate -- I don't 
know how I could say it -- showing you how to run this machine.
	So she thanked me for coming, and I walked out like a limp 
banana. I got in the car and I went to the office, and I walked in and 
I walked over to Burt. I said, Burt, if you ever, ever do anything like 
that to me again, even though I'm the best salesman you've got, I'll 
quit.
	He looked at me, he said, what are you complaining about? I said, 
Burt, you knew better than to send me out there when I had never in my 
life ever -- I just knew what the thing was. I never used it. He sat 
back in his chair and said, she called up and bought it.
	I said, now you're putting the needle back to me. Don't do that. 
I can't handle that. That's too much. He said, I'm not. And he said, 
she told me she loved it and you did a good job demonstrating it, and 
she bought it.

Joys
	I think my greatest joy -- there are many thousands of them -- 
meeting Grandma was the biggest. The fact that I could go for six years 
without any money and get by and get two degrees without being sick and 
having to miss any time from school because of illness. If I ever got 
done, I don't think I would have had the courage to go back. 
	I think -- you knew you were poor, you knew you were the dirty 
shanty Irish that never had anything. You knew all these things, and 
you did everything you could do to try to not change anything, but make 
life more livable and more comfortable and not feel like you were the 
most put upon person in the world. Because every time you did that, you 
start complaining, look, you don't know how lucky you are that you're 
here.
	And that, of course, would be enough to get you out of the 
doldrums, and you wouldn't feel sad for yourself. And all the different 
things you had to do. We thought we were the most put upon people in 
the world. Not just me, but others.
	This friend of mine, Mr. Hanson's father, who graduated with me, 
he was saying he went through school the same way I did, with no money.
	And so I graduated, I had a car; I had money in my pocket. I went 
back to Cedar Rapids the first few months after I graduated from law 
school and worked for Matinsky, was making and a month because we were 
selling converters to convert -- in those days we had what was known as 
a Holland furnace, which used big lumps of coal in it, threw them in 
the fire box. 
	An outfit in Cedar Rapids come up with the thing that you could 
use natural gas, which was coming in Iowa when I graduated from law 
school. And an outfit in Cedar Rapids came up with a thing you could 
sell to put inside the Holland furnace. And what you used to put the 
coal in, and you hook that up to your gas line, and you use gas instead 
of coal.
	And we were selling those, oh, like hotcakes. And actually, I 
went to Chicago and had an interview for an evening job with United 
Power Company, and one of the fellows in my class had already taken a 
job there, Bob Johnson. Went back to see him, he was in the library 
with green eye shades on and sitting there looking at a book and a 
piece of paper. And I thought, boy, he only made $100 month. I thought, 
this is -- I could not deal with this. 
	I couldn't do what he's doing. And so he stayed there, and then I 
eventually don't know -- the next thing I knew about him, he was 
president of the Kansas City Light and Power Company. So, you know, 
which way does the wind blow? Hell of a nice guy, very smart guy. I 
think, as a matter of fact, he probably graduated with one of the top 
grades in our class. But a very nice man.

Legal Jobs
	MS. COSTABILE: So what was your first legal job?
	MR. LYNCH: You won't believe it. I lived in a private home my 
first year, the Van Horns. There were six of us-it was a big house. Mr. 
Van Horn ran a bank. The bank went broke. They had no income, so they 
took in students. And it cost me $10 a month for a bed and a desk.
	And there were two daughters and a son. And the one daughter was 
probably about 30, I would say, maybe it's too much, maybe even less 
than that. But it seemed to me, that was old in those days. And then 
they had a younger daughter who was a junior -- I think a junior in 
high school. And a son who was younger than she, Jack.
	Anyway, during the course of the years I worked -- I'm trying to 
think of when this happened. Anyway, I told the older sister, I said to 
her all the time, listen, you're going to have to look out for your 
younger sister because she's going to get in trouble.
	But the guy that worked for me at Reich's Cafe as a waiter, Bob 
Downy, I finally found out that he was running around with her. And I 
told Dorothy again, I said, Dorothy, there's a guy that works for me at 
Reich's; he shouldn't be dating your sister. She's too young for him, 
and I know him. So it goes without saying, it didn't do any good. She 
became pregnant by him. And they sent her to Chicago to an aunt, where 
she had the baby. And after the baby she came back and lived with 
parents. They were able to maintain their home.
	In the meantime, I had moved out and moved into other places. And 
so Lois was her name, Lois Van Horn. I said to her, Lois, I'll tell you 
-- she was a nice kid. I felt sorry for her. She was living with her 
parents with the child. I said, if you ever find a man who you love 
enough to marry and is willing to marry you with a child and he wants 
to adopt the child, let me know and I'll do it for nothing.
	So that's the first case. I went to Iowa City and drew up the 
papers. Jim Jackson, my dear friend, was sitting at the time and I told 
him about the situation. An all I did is copy the information from the 
records over in Clinton and typed them on the little typewriter that 
all the kids typed on downstairs.
	And the new husband agreed to adopt the child, and I did it pro 
bono and I was happy to do it. But I told her I would do it. And that 
was the first case I had.
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you have a great moment in court that stands 
out in your mind?
	MR. LYNCH: There was a time that we -- when I was in the county 
attorney's office, there were two kids that were indicted for breaking 
and entering, and one pled guilty and went to the penitentiary for five 
years.
	The other one, the son of the owner of the place that was broken 
into, had my brother-in-law Paul Holleran represent him. And it was 
jury trial, and it went to the jury. And it was my first jury trial. 
Number one. Prosecution has two arguments. You open and close the case.
	So the boss said to me, do you want to open? All you do to open 
it really is recite what you had introduced as evidence against the 
defendant. The facts show the defendant was involved, and he did it, 
participated and should be convicted for breaking and entering.
	And so I got up, and he was sitting over in the defendant's 
corner. PB, the defendant, and I don't know who else, somebody else was 
there. And I didn't know how the hell to start the case to the jury, 
and so I had some papers with notes on and no railing to put them on.
	And the jury box was all open, a brass rail to put your feet up 
on and spittoons for each juror. And I'm sure the papers were rattling. 
And I'm pacing back and forth. And telling them who I was. Before I 
start reviewing the testimony, I think you should know that gentleman, 
Mr. Holleran, who is representing the defendant in this case, has been 
sitting on that same chair when I was still going to St. Mary's High 
School, before I ever graduated high school. And that was like Perry 
Mason. And then I went on to recite the rest of the testimony. 
	We had a full courthouse the whole week we tried that case. 
Because the newspapers were talking about the case being thrown because 
I was in the county attorney's office and PB was representing the 
defendant. Fortunately for me, the jury was out -- I don't remember how 
long, not too long. And they come in and they found him guilty. And the 
judge sentenced him to either five or eight years in the penitentiary, 
where the other guy had already gone for pleading guilty.
	What does PB do? He appeals to the Supreme Court of Iowa, And 
about six months later the Supreme Court of Iowa come down with the 
decision Judge Jackson, who was the presiding judge, instructed the 
jury improperly and illegally when he gave them this instruction, this 
instruction and this instruction. It was true.
 We had nothing to do with that, it wasn't our fault because he goofed 
it up. He was a judge from Muscatine. They had one in Dubuque, one in 
Clinton, and one in Muscatine They used to rotate. And anyway, the case 
was never tried again. I don't remember why it wasn't tried again.

The Horse Lover
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you remember anything funny that ever happened 
in your courtroom?
  	MR. LYNCH: A man came in one morning, a farmer, and he was madder 
than hell. You'd think he, you know, somebody burned down his farm. And 
so we finally got him just calmed down and you think, what's the 
matter? 
	He wanted this man arrested a man that worked for him that whole 
summer. This is in, let's say November, colder than hell. He wanted the 
man arrested. What do you want to have him arrested for? Did he steal 
something from you? No. But I heard a noise about 12:00 last night, and 
I got my shotgun and I went out to the barn, and he was in the barn, 
and he had the mare turned around in the stable. He was up on the 
manger having intercourse with her. He didn't use that word. You know 
what he used. And he insisted that he be prosecuted.
	So the boss walked out of the room and said, I'll see you later. 
And I said to myself, you'll see me later? How the hell am I going to 
get through? Anyway, finally the boss came back, and he said, why don't 
you take a little walk and talk to Judge Scott, an old World War I Army 
man from Davenport.
	And I went in, and I said, Judge Scott, Raymond Lynch has a very 
difficult problem and he's going to ask you to solve it for him. He 
said, Raymond, what is your problem? So I said, you're a World War I 
man; you know how this thing goes.
	I said I have a man in my office who is screaming bloody murder. 
His hired man had intercourse with one of his horses last night and he 
wants him put in jail. Well he laughed and laughed. Six foot six, 
happy, jolly guy. He said, what the hell do you want me to do with him?
	We read stories like this in law school. You didn't have to open 
-- the book, you opened it, and the page was there about the horse. He 
said, well, I tell you what you do, Ray. He said, call the sheriff and 
tell the sheriff to bring him over, and I'll give him six months in the 
county jail. So that was satisfactory to the farmer. So I called the 
sheriff and told him, bring the man over, what the deal was.
	Brought the man over, and the judge got very stern, told this man 
this, that and the other thing and sentenced him to six months in the 
county jail.
	Now it's spring, and he's almost through with his term. And so 
the jail was built about a half a block from where the courthouse was. 
And in between was beautiful grassland, you know, like parkland, and 
the sheriff had charge of that, and, of course, the grass had to be cut 
all the time. So what did he do with the guy who loved horses but put 
him out mowing lawns. 
	Well, he got out there mowing the lawn. Finally after about a 
week of that, Guy Peterson came over to me and he said, Bud, you gotta 
do something for me. I said what's your problem? He said, we gotta get 
rid of that horse lover. We gotta get rid of him? He serves his term, 
you get rid of him. I can't wait that long. I said why not? He said I 
got guys in the bull pen over there, and every time he gets out to mow 
the grass, they all in a loud voice they're whinnying like a horse, 
wheee. He said I've heard it so goddamn much it's driving me crazy.
	I said, well, what do you want me to do, take the lawnmower or 
take the guy that played with the horse? He said I want you to talk to 
the judge.
	So I go back in, I see Judge Scott, and I said, Judge, I got a 
problem. He looked at me --hell of a nice guy. He said, Ray, what's 
your problem now? I said, same. He said, the horse? I said, no. The guy 
that liked the horse. He laughed and I told him the story. Tell the 
sheriff to bring him over. I'll revoke the balance of his sentence. The 
guy brought him over, reduced the sentence, and let him go.
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you feel like you were in the right business 
for you?
	MR. LYNCH: Yes. Yes. Although I never intended to practice law. I 
intended when I went to college to become a lawyer. That was number 
one. Had to do that. And then I immediately wanted to go work for a big 
corporation and be the CEO of some big corporation.
	After working at the Climax and seeing all these wonderful men 
who were so kind, I thought to myself, if I can graduate -- and these 
men are men that did not go to college. They grew up the hard way. They 
knew, you know, how kind they were. And I thought to myself, that's for 
me. Get your degree, now they've talked you into going back to high 
school, and get your degree from law school and you'll have something 
to offer, and you can work your way into whatever it is.

Tic Tack Toe
	Remember Marguerite Ulenhopp? We were taking jurisprudence, the 
same class 12 of us. It was in the spring of the year.
	Beautiful afternoon, beautiful sun outside, and we were sitting 
in this classroom. Jacob Anderson, one of the -- nice young guy, dry, 
every word of jurisprudence in the old English jurisprudence and so on 
and so forth, and everybody was half asleep, including me.
	So all of a sudden I got a poke like this in the elbow. 
Marguerite was sitting next to me, and she poked me like this. And she 
had a sweater on, and she had pulled the sweater up, showing her bare 
belly, and she had taken her pen and put down tic, tack, toe. She had 
an O in the middle, and she handed me the pen.
	How come I didn't bust out laughing, I swear to God I will never 
know how. You know me. That's Marguerite. And that's what jurisprudence 
was. She wasn't paying any more attention to it than I was. But that's 
all I saw of Marguerite. I don't want to mislead you, Beth.
	MS. COSTABILE: Okay.
	MR. LYNCH: There was never a beginning and never an ending. We 
were just friends throughout the whole law school, and not close, 
personal friends like going to lunch or going to dinner or anything 
like that, having a date. Very close in the halls, you know, of the 
school. Going and coming from class and so on and so forth. Just a real 
buddy.
	And I loved her dearly in the sense of you like that person or 
not. And she was just a charming person.
Military Career	 
	MS. COSTABILE: All right. You want to switch gears here and talk 
a little bit about your military career? Is there a song that most says 
war years to you, World War II? Is there a song that comes to mind? 
	MR. LYNCH: There was a song from World War I, K-K-K-Katie, 
beautiful lady; you're the only one that I adore. When the moon shines 
over the cowshed, I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door. That's 
World War I. I hope you got all of it. 
	MS. COSTABILE: That's a World War I song? 
	MR. LYNCH: World War I. Over there, over there. Can't get the 
rest of the words about over there. That was World War I, too. World 
War II, I'm trying to think. 
	MS. COSTABILE: How did Grand mom react when you were drafted? 
	MR. LYNCH: I said to Holly this morning, you'll never know - and 
I often wonder how your mother was able to handle what she had to 
handle when I went off to war. She never complained. She was with her 
mother in Iowa. She taught school out there. Tommy Redman, Dr. Redman's 
son was there with them, so Mary Rae had somebody to be with. 
	And then - see, we were on Chase Avenue in Bethesda, and then I 
went in, in 1944, in January. So we were not long on Chase Avenue. Our 
neighbors, ones on the left-hand side, Edward Swift of the Swift meat 
packing company, he and his wife lived there. And the next house, Ward 
Powell, who was a hero in the Navy that sunk the Japanese battleship, 
was a torpedo bomber; he and his wife lived in the next house. Across 
the street, Dr. Pettingil and his wife, he was a doctor in the Veterans 
Administration. They had three sons in the Service. 
	And on the other side of us, the Braces. Kemp Brace was an 
engineer with the Navy Department and developed the heating system for 
the fighter planes for the Navy. We'd be sitting in the house at night 
at 9:00, all of a sudden you'd hear something, and you'd open the door 
and go out. There'd be Kemp out there; he's making paper airplanes, 
experimenting to see what they do. 
	And then I was a marshal during the war before we left and I got 
in. I had a big steel hat. I think you may have seen that. I don't 
remember who I gave it to. I wish I had it. I had five blocks that I 
had to patrol at 9:00 at night to see that all the lights were out, all 
the lights were out in all the houses, and if they weren't, I'd go up 
and knock on the door and say, put your lights out or the police will 
come down. 
	Because we on the eastern seaboard had a complete blackout. We 
were afraid the Germans were going to invade us from the East Coast. 
That's why, you know, all those towers along the East Coast from 
Bethany to Ocean City? Those were lookout towers for German warships we 
were afraid were going to land on the coast. 
	We had eight spies dumped by a German submarine up near Bethany, 
and the FBI that day caught them. Those were the only ones we had to 
worry about. And then the West Coast, you know the story there of the 
Japanese, and we just threw a dragnet out and put them all in interment 
camps. Because we were afraid the Japs after Pearl Harbor were going to 
invade the West Coast. So we had two coasts that we were worried about 
all at the same time. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you and Grand mom write letters to each other 
when you were apart? 
	MR. LYNCH: The most would be postcards. I don't know that we ever 
wrote letters. I think maybe - maybe I'd get a letter from Grandma. She 
was busy. I'm trying to think of - she taught school, I think, in Cedar 
Rapids when she was there when I went in the service. And your mother 
went to school out there, maybe the Johnson School? I don't even 
remember. 
	And, no, I think the biggest part of my going in the service was 
how could it be. After the two of us mooning and swooning at one 
another for all the years we did, and then trying our luck, and then 
the war comes on, we're broke- we don't know which way we're going to 
turn. And just about the time we're able to buy a can of soup, I get my 
notice, my postal card says greetings. 
	To me, I don't know why you asked that question. It came up the 
other day. It happened in New York when they knocked the towers down. I 
don't know what she must have felt like. She never complained. She was 
always encouraging me, and she sure as hell couldn't be happy about 
what her future was, you know? Because when you went in, you knew you 
were going to die, and that's the first thing they told you when you 
got commissioned. On the first morning, you're going to be in a group 
that's going to land on the beaches. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, is this basic training that you went to in 
Michigan? 
	MR. LYNCH: Basic training, yes. In Battle Creek, Michigan. 
Seventeen weeks. They take you out at 5:00 in the morning and a guy's 
standing on a big wooden platform. I don't know how many, maybe, 800-
1000, men, and your first exercise would be this. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Raising your fingers up and down? 
	MR. LYNCH: Yeah. Just to get control of you, to see that you do 
what you're ordered to do. And then, of course, later on they start 
showing us pictures, and they were made in Hollywood, showing the tanks 
on the beaches, the people getting killed by the thousands. You're 
going to be in the first wave. We heard that the first damn day we were 
there, to land at the beaches. 
	And so the training was excellent. If you could survive the 
training - and I was 34 years old - you did one of two things. You 
survived or you went to the meat wagon; the Red Cross truck you went to 
the infirmary or you were out. And I insisted I was not going out that 
way. 
	On my 30-mile march, overnight march, I can remember going up 
this hill. I remember the sergeant behind me saying, Lynch, get your 
ass up closer. And I wanted to say, you know what, you can go take a Ñ 
I'm not going to get the goddamn meat wagon take me. I'm going to 
finish this march if it's the last thing. It's all going through my 
head. I wouldn't dare say a word, see? I remember like it was 
yesterday. And I made it. And when I finally got through, I weighed 160 
pounds, 32 inches around the waist, and I was like steel. 
	The last exercise we had was taking over a town with ammunition, 
rounds of ammunition in a carbine gun. We'd go in and out of buildings 
to see if the enemy was there. And you'd go in this building, and you'd 
see a Jap over there, a dummy, you know? And you'd fire a shell at him 
and duck out of there and go into something else. 
	And it ended up you were on the second floor of a building, and 
there was a Jap in the tree right out that window. You looked over, and 
you shot your rounds of ammunition, and then there was no place to go 
but out the window, and that meant jump from the second story. And I 
took a look, and I didn't hesitate a minute. I just jumped. I thought, 
if this is it, this is it. And I run back to get and jump in the 
foxhole, and I no sooner get in the foxhole, I hear this laughter. 
	And I yelled over, what the hell are you laughing about? And 
there were a set of twins in my outfit from Montana, 19 years old. And 
one kid was laughing at me to beat hell. He said, I was right behind 
Pops all the way. He said, we get in that goddamn building, he said, I 
look at Pops stand there, and next thing you know, he's gone. He said, 
he was gone. And he said, I can do what Pops is doing. So he just 
jumped too. So it was crazy. 
	We had one guy when we were doing basic training; I think he 
didn't want to be in the military at all. I think he was a German. And 
he'd go along, and there'd be a hole in the ground with a dummy 
Japanese in it. We had bayonets. We were supposed to stick this bayonet 
in the dummy Japanese, pull it out, then go run with the rest of the 
group. This guy stuck the left foot in first, stuck the goddamn bayonet 
right through his foot. Gus something, I forget what his name was. 
Everybody in the outfit said the son of a bitch didn't want to be in, 
in the first place. 
	Then we got another guy...you had a stream and you had a ladder 
that went across the stream, and you had to go across that stream with 
your pack on you too. And if you got out and you got both hands on one 
rung, you couldn't cut it because your weight was so heavy you couldn't 
let go and hold with one hand, you'd fall. This one guy, every gull 
damn time - we'd do it at least once a week - every time we'd do it, 
he'd get to the middle of that goddamn thing, both hands would be up 
like this, next thing, boom. Did he keep from doing it next? Not by a 
damn sight. The next week, same damn thing. If you go one rung at a 
time like this, your weight keeps going, it's easy see? But if you get 
both hands on one rung of the ladder, you're so heavy you can't hold 
yourself. 
	And of course, those things were funny. And a lot of things were 
funny, some were very serious. An instructor was showing us how to 
dismantle mines. There were about 30 of us in the group, and he was 
lying on the ground like this. A mine was in the ground, and he 
apparently was trying to pull a pin out to disengage it. The damn thing 
went off and knocked his head right off. And we were a pretty scared 
bunch of guys, I can tell you. 
	But hand grenades were funny. You went into a concrete bunker, 
and when you pulled the pin, the hand grenade was alive. If you dropped 
it, it would blow up and kill you. So they put you in a bunker to 
practice. And they'd break up and shatter in total pieces like bullets. 
And I was happy when that experience was over. 
	And then TNT, dynamite, and they had, it was like a quarter of a 
pound of butter, little bit bigger, same color. And maybe 30 of us each 
had one. We'd wrap what they call prima cord around, tie a knot in it, 
and walk yards up and tie it on a piece of prima cord that was going 
across from post to post. And then you'd go back and get behind the 
ditch you were in, and then they'd use a hook like this and blow them 
all at the same time. 

Broadway Bud
	MS. COSTABILE: What was it like to see David on Broadway? 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, it's hard to explain. Number one, coming from a 
small town, you heard about Broadway and you heard about famous people 
as you got older, by the time I was in high school, say, freshman. And 
there was a really famous movie actress, Corinne Griffith, from Clinton 
that ended up on Broadway. She didn't live below the tracks, but I 
don't remember too much about her family except - we only had five 
millionaires in Clinton, and they all lived on Fifth Avenue. And 
Corinne Griffith was a very famous star, movie star. 
	And it doesn't fit the sequence with that same story - it doesn't 
fit, but stick it in or I'll forget it. Grandma and I were sitting one 
evening after dinner; we were sitting in the lobby of the Waldorf 
Astoria about 8:00. We had dinner across the street at I think they 
called it Oscar's. And I was sitting there smoking a cigar on the sofa 
and visiting and basically relaxing and enjoying myself sitting up at 
the Waldorf. 
	And all of a sudden I saw this tall man come over to the counter 
and stood there and talked to the girl who was behind the counter. And 
I said to Mary Catherine, there's Jim Farley, the head of the 
Democratic Party. And she said, Bud, Jim Farley is dead. Well, anyway, 
he got what he wanted and he left and went back, disappeared from the 
lobby. So we were staying at Arthur Godfrey's hotel down Lexington 
Avenue about a block. 
	We walked up to Oscar's, we had breakfast, walked across to the 
Waldorf, and I lit my first cigar. And now we're waiting to catch a 
train back to Washington. Now it's about 10:00. Sitting in the same 
seat, same sofa, looking at the place with the cigar stand, newsstand, 
you know. Who walks in? The same man I saw the night before. I said, 
Mary, did you bring Jim Farley back from the dead? She said, Bud, don't 
talk crazy. I said, that's Jim Farley over there, I'm telling you. 
	I got up and I walked over and I said, good morning, Mr. Farley. 
He reached out and he shook hands with me, and I said, I'm Bud Lynch 
from Clinton, Iowa. He said, Clinton, Iowa? Did you know I made Judge 
Keith a judge in New York City? That used to live in Clinton? And I 
said, I sure did. I said that's why I know you so well. He said, did 
you know Corinne, Corinne Griffith, the movie star? I said, I didn't 
know her but I knew about her and I knew you had something to do with 
it. She was a lovely, wonderful girl. Bud, it's so good to see you. And 
I said, it was wonderful to see you. 
	I go back to Kate, I look at her, I said, you know, I just came 
back from the dead and I was talking to the Lord. He had an apartment 
in the Towers of the Waldorf Astoria and was the vice president of 
international Coca Cola at the time. So I don't know how we can inject 
that. I stuck it in for some reason because I would have forgotten. 
	MS. COSTABILE: That's all right. We were talking about seeing 
David on Broadway. 
	MR. LYNCH: That's the first thing I came to Broadway or had any 
connection with movies and so on. Well, seeing David on Broadway. It 
was very difficult for me to, you know - from David, when I first 
started him out playing golf, I adopted him in mind only, you know? And 
when he decided to go to Tufts, I felt good. Now I got David on the 
right track. Soon as he gets a year or two in Tufts, I'll get him in 
law school. 
	Well, I worked on it before he went to Tufts, I worked on it 
while he was at Tufts, I worked on it before he went to New York 
University. And by that time, New York University, I'd just about given 
up. And then I said to him point blank, Dave, I prayed for you, I tried 
to get you into law school. You'd make a good lawyer. And he looked at 
me and he said, Grandpa, I'm an actor. I said, yeah, I know it now. And 
I hope you're a good one. I know you will be. But you busted out on me. 
You should have been a lawyer. You would have been a good one. I was 
very unhappy. 
	And then when he started going through the tortures of holding 
the tree up in some case - some show, and Katie kidding him about all 
you did was hold a tree. And then his stints at Albany that I heard 
about. I thought, I can remember, shows come into Clinton. They come 
and they stay for four days down in Dixon. And they have six or eight 
people and they put on acts, you know, different kinds of acts for 
about three or four days. Then they'd go to Cedar Rapids and they'd do 
the same thing. 
	And I thought, David, you don't want to do that. And then when he 
finally told me, he said, Grandpa, I always wanted to be an actor from 
the time I was four. And I said, you kept it a secret from me because I 
wouldn't work so hard if I'd known. And anyway, when he finally came 
along and he opened his show on off Broadway and I got some of the good 
writings, then I began to have a feeling of Jack Lemmon started off 
Broadway at the same theater that David started in. And I thought, 
well, the write-ups David got on that show; he's sure got a good head 
start to the ordinary kid. So then I kept hoping and praying. 
	And your grandmother, she did more praying than I did. She loved 
David. So when we finally found out that he got this spot in Titanic 
and we got to the point of making some plans on celebrating our 60th 
wedding anniversary by going to the Rainbow Room and going to David's 
show and going to Sardi's afterward, and spending the night in that 
palace that cost $350 a night. 
	And then having a wonderful luncheon the next day. And then on 
the train and coming back with your mother. And she had the car parked 
on the top of the Union Station. I'm carrying the suitcase, and all of 
a sudden, everybody starts to laugh. I said, what the hell you all 
laughing about? Grandpa, your shirts and some of your pants are hanging 
out of the bottom of your suitcase. I said, well, that won't hurt 
anything. The day is over, we saw the show, we had the weekend, 
fabulous. Couldn't believe it. Loved it, every minute of it. 
	So I know your father and George and I spent a lot of money for 
that weekend. It was worth every minute, though. We had more laughs and 
more fun and did more things. I didn't think it was possible. I was 
sleeping in such a big bed I almost fell out of it. And to me it was 
bigger than a king size bed. And I don't know where the hell grandma 
was, whether she had gotten up and gone to the bathroom or what. But I 
was in the bed by myself. And when I came to, I was almost going over 
the edge. 
	And then the bathroom, of course, was old fashioned. And it had a 
telephone, so all you had to do was pick it up and use it while you 
were in the bathroom. Whether you were on the toilet or in the tub, it 
didn't make any difference. And then a mirror that you could pull out 
from the wall and you could use while shaving, so you could see up 
close. 
	The only near catastrophe is we were getting into a cab, and I 
was getting in last on the left-hand side, and I think - I don't know 
whether it was George or somebody was walking around the back of the 
cab. And the cab started to go before I got in. I still had one leg 
out. The right leg was still out. And all of a sudden, somebody saw it 
and banged on the back of the cab to get the guy to stop or he'd have 
run over my one leg. That was the closest thing we came to an accident. 
	
	But the trip up on the train was a delight. And coming back it 
was a delight until we got to Union Station, it was late, we had to 
have something to eat. And your mother picked a place, it was like a 
hog pen. After eating on Fifth Avenue in New York, you can imagine at 
the Union Station. It wasn't good. And we were exhausted. We ran a fast 
race up in New York. But every bit of it was something Ñ a dream, 
something you would never think would ever happen. 
	Who could be married 60 years, have their own family, and one of 
them being on the stage that you'll see? I mean there's no way to 
explain that. You can't explain the joy and happiness. You couldn't use 
the words. Even if you could, you couldn't find them. 
	David came out in the lobby after the show, and he put his arms 
around me. He's crying and I'm crying. I'm trying to tell him something 
and I can't say a damn thing. And then we get over to Sardi's, and 
everybody knows David, and we got four or five waiters taking care of 
us. 
	And Anne had brought up something for David with Titanic on it, 
and he was unwrapping it with the paper and so on, and one sheet of the 
paper got over so far to the candle and lit it, and we had a bonfire 
going on at the table. Everybody's trying to put it out at once. It's a 
wonder the damn place didn't burn down. But fun. He had to get back to 
go for a second show, so we broke up and then went to dinner at the Ñ 
some restaurant that's noted for steaks and, you know, man size jack of 
the woods meals. I couldn't eat half of what all I got. 
	Anyway, then by the time that was over, we were ready to hit the 
sack when we got back. And then we had breakfast in our rooms with Ann 
and George the next day. And we had had breakfast in our room, and then 
somebody came and wrapped on the door. It was them, and they still had 
some food left over. I don't remember what it was. 
	So we went in and sat down and visited with them for a half an 
hour. It was worth every minute of it because it's something you never 
dream of. You know you couldn't do anything - you won't live long 
enough, all the parts will never come together. I mean, you know, you 
go through your head and you say, it would be great, but. And you know 
it could never happen. But it did. 
	And then you say, coming back on the train, you sit there and 
you're in a dream. Thinking, this is me. Bud Lynch from South Clinton. 
I'm coming back from seeing my grandson, you know, in a Broadway play. 
A dream. Just couldn't be. But it was. So I wish I could say I had 
something to do with it, but I didn't. I know that music teacher that 
tried to teach me "Oh, Lord, I am not Worthy," on Easter Sunday. Didn't 
pass that on from me to me to David. 

That Little Girl with that Beautiful Voice
	MS. COSTABILE: What do you think of when you hear Katie sing? 
	MR. LYNCH: The first time I heard her sing, I cried. You want to 
know impressions. My heart was beating, the tears were streaming down 
my face, and I couldn't do anything. How could you be so lucky? How 
could you be so lucky to have that little girl with that beautiful 
voice? And oh, grandma loved it because her mother loved to sing and 
loved to play the piano. 
	That's the only place that I can think of in the family that 
Katie got it, the music, singing and so on and showmanship. Granny was 
game for anything. Eighty-five years old, we'd call her on the phone 
and say we're going to Seattle, would you like to go along? She'd say, 
my bags are packed. We went out. She was years old. My bags are packed. 
So Katie got a lot of that zip and get up and go, I think, from Grandma 
McCormick. 

It's Genetic
	MS. COSTABILE: Grand mom's mother would sing and - 
	MR. LYNCH: She taught music in Chicago before they were married 
at - in Rose, what, College in Chicago. It's still there. And they sent 
Jane there, and Jane came home after a year. She flunked everything she 
took. She went downtown every afternoon to watch a movie. And her 
father said, your college education is over. 
	But she learned how to do shorthand and typing. She was a very 
good secretary. She always had, you know, good jobs because secretaries 
that are good are hard to come by. You can get some that, you know, can 
do some, that can do a little of this, little of that, slow. They don't 
know where to file stuff; they don't know where to find stuff. She had 
a good job with the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and with the 
higher ups, you know, not just the flunkies- the twerps. 

Lessons Learned
	MS. COSTABILE: In your years of marriage, what did you learn 
about Grand mom that you didn't know about her on your wedding day? 
	MR. LYNCH: Gee, that's tough. I could think of a lot of things, 
but I don't think they'll answer your question. We had gone together so 
long and couldn't get married, and I would visit at her house and I'd 
take her - or have her come or take her to Clinton with Lucille and Hap 
and Evelyn and Vince. 
	And those years between when she first decided that I could be 
her boyfriend and we start doing things like that, we were all one 
cheerful, happy family. I don't know that I could pinpoint any one 
special thing. Her temperament was always the same. She was blessed 
with a jolly attitude on life, an attitude that there wasn't anything 
you couldn't do. And she got that from her mother and father. 
	Because he started his newspaper when he was seven years old, 
five cents a week for the newspaper. And I think a lot of that came on 
down. Mary Catherine, of the family, was the only one that got it. Her 
sister and her brother, neither one of them got it. She grew up as a 

very well mannered young lady. Everything was - in other words, what 
you would wish for a daughter. I don't know after we really got 
acquainted that that attitude ever changed while we were trying to get 
acquainted, still in school, hoping someday maybe, but never expecting 
that good fortune, but always hoping. On my part, I know I was that way 
from the first day I saw her. And I know she was not because she had a 
boyfriend. 

The Onyx Ring
	And I had had a girlfriend in Clinton before I went to college. 
We had known one another for a year - junior and senior year in high 
school, and she went to the public school. She was not a Catholic. And 
we met at the library. Genevieve Morrison. And I liked her, got 
assigned to her, and she finally agreed to have a date to go to the 
movies. So let's see. That went on for the better part of eight or ten 
months before I left to go to college in 1929. 
	And so I told her I'd see her again at Christmas. So when I came 
home at Christmas, I had decided, I did not know any other girls except 
girls you might see when you go into your class and you say hello. But 
there was no other girl. She was my pick in Clinton. 
	There were other girls that I dated, you know, early sophomore, 
junior year in high school or when I was working at the Climax. But 
there was nothing very serious. The girl, Genevieve Morrison, was 
serious. She was a very lovely girl. She had an older sister. And 
again, liked me. I don't know what it is but her mother was a 
sweetheart, and she treated me - oh, she was great. 
	Her father was a conductor on the railroad, and Uncle Terry knew 
him, and said you want to be careful of him. He was a mason, and of 
course the Irish hated the masons, the masons hated the Irish. So I 
said to Terry one time, I said, how could he be so mean if his wife was 
so lovely? I said, she treats me just as nice as anybody I ever met. 
And he said just don't be having your arm around her and have him come 
down the stairs. Uncle Terry. 
	So anyway, I went to college, and I was very much stricken with 
her. And I think she was - I know she was with me too. And I came home 
for Christmas, and I got a job working at the post office for $50 a 
month, or $50 for whatever days I delivered mail. They hired us if you 
had the right connections. I don't know. I think Hap must have got the 
job for me through the Democrat administration, because we had a 
Democrat in the post office. 
	And so I bought Genevieve a little gold bracelet. Maybe it cost 
$15 or, I don't know, $10. So I had a date for her, but this was 
Christmas Eve or Christmas night. And I went to her house, and I don't 
know whether we went somewhere Ñ I guess we went to the movies and came 
home, and we were sitting in the living room. And I finally got courage 
enough to reach in my pocket and tell her that I bought a little 
present for her. 
	And she said, well, I bought a little present for you. So I gave 
her the bracelet, and she was thrilled to death. And she gave me a box, 
and I opened it. And you know that black onyx ring I wore all my life? 
She gave that to me. I got the ring and she got the bracelet, and I'm 
sitting there, and I'm going through hell. 
	I'm saying to myself, how are you going to tell her what you 
intended to tell her? And I finally concluded there was only one way I 
could tell her. And I told her. I said, as much as I love you, what is 
love when you're that age? And I do dearly, and I think so much of you, 
I can't ask you to wait for six years to marry me. And that makes me 
very unhappy, and I'm sure it makes you unhappy, too. And I hate to say 
this to you at Christmas time, but there's no other girl. I know of no 
one. It's just you and me. But you can't sit here for six years. It's 
going to take me that long. 
	And there's no way we could get married otherwise. And I'm going 
away with a heavy heart. And I gave her another hug and a kiss, and I 
left. And I went back to college a very unhappy man. 

Lightening Strikes

	And that was - now, let's see, we've gone - I started in 
September of 1929. Now we're into 1930. It was in the spring of 1931 
that I was at Reich's Cafe, maitre d' standing at the back of the 
restaurant, and they had booths on both sides and in the middle. 
	These two girls came down this side of the restaurant, and they 
sat down in the booth. And this girl facing me was looking this way, 
and I looked at her. I don't know it was like getting hit in the head 
with a ball. And this waiter of mine walked up the aisle, little short 
guy, and he said, hi, Pete, how are you? She spoke to him. He's 
standing there for a minute or two, and he came back. And I said, would 
you introduce me? 
	And he said Pete McCormick, Cedar Rapids. And I said, I want to 
meet her. And he said, what do you want to know her for? I said, do you 
want to keep your job or do you want me to fire you right now? 
Introduce me to her or you're done. So he walks me up and introduced me 
to her and her boyfriend's cousin, is the other girl in the booth. 
	But I saw Kate's eyes look at me like two arrows stuck. I can 
remember that. Like you talk about how can you remember - I can 
remember that like yesterday. Standing there minding my business, and 
these two girls came in, we were not busy, and this kid goes up and 
says hello Pete. And I happened to be there when I saw her come in, 
see? 
	I walked back after I met her into the back of the room, and I 
was in a complete daze. I, ya, ya, ya, ya, you know? Well, from there 
on out it was a long, long, long tale, which you've heard before, I'm 
sure, many times. I did not get acquainted with her really that year. I 
met her a few times. I don't recall that we actually had a date until 
the beginning of the 1932 year. 

The Dean Wants to See You
	I forgot to tell you, Beth, when you were talking about law 
school and the friends that I had while I was there, and the Shrupps 
and the Kenlines and Fitzbeck from Sioux City, Iowa and Huggy Ware from 
Atlanta, Georgia who was related to the Coca Cola Company, and he had 
his own car, own money, and he hugged the girls. And that's why he got 
the nickname Huggy. 
	Anyway, it got to be my junior year, and at the end of the first 
semester I was broke. I had no money to pay my tuition for the second 
semester. And one day I happened to see my name on the bulletin board, 
and it said the Dean of Men would like to see you. And so I was very 
apprehensive. And we went in, and the secretary said yes, the Dean 
would like to see you. And I went in and said, Dean, I hope it's 
nothing serious. And he said, nothing we can't handle. 
	He said, sit down. He said some of your friends tell me that 
you're going to have to fall out of college because you don't have 
tuition money for the second semester of your junior year. And I said, 
Dean, I have been everyplace. I said, there's no place I can go that I 
can raise the money. He said, well, listen, your friends were concerned 
about it, and I told them I'd look into it. So he said, you quit 
worrying about it and let me take care of it, and I'll get in touch 
with you in a day or two. Well, I thanked him and I left there happy as 
a lark. 
	A few days later my name is on again. I go in and see him. He 
said, well, I think we have things pretty well lined up. He said since 
I talked to you last, he said go over to the treasurer's office and 
sign a note for $100, and then in addition to that, I made arrangements 
for you to go to work in the law library upstairs on a federal program 
where you'll make $75 a month cash, so you'll be able to stay in school 
and graduate with your class. Which I thanked him profusely and 
couldn't get over it till I got home. 
	My cronies, who I knew full well, were the instigators of getting 
the loan for me, talking to the Dean and also getting me elected to Phi 
Delta Phi, because they donated the tuition money because I didn't have 
it. Those were what were known as buddies in those days. 

Basic Training
	MS. COSTABILE: Tell me something about Ñ we're going to switch 
gears again Ñ but your buddies in Michigan with you during World War II 
when you were in basic training. We need to get in the story of Frankie 
Lowe. 
	MR. LYNCH: Frankie Lowe, little Chinaman. His arms were so short 
he couldn't hold a rifle in his arm and reach around and get his finger 
on the trigger of the rifle. And we were all out on the rifle range, 
and one of the guys in my outfit from Peoria, Illinois was a 
sharpshooter. I don't know how he got to be one, but he was. 
	And I don't know how I got to be in charge. When we got to the 
rifle range, there was a line that you'd lay down on in the prone 
position to shoot at a target that was, yards away, great big target 
with a bulls eye on it. And you were given three shells to shoot and 
see if you could get the bulls eye. And if you got a good enough score, 
you got the rifleman's badge, which of course you were very proud to 
get it. 
	Well, Frankie Lowe came to me and he told me about he didn't have 
it. Well, as it turned out, when we got to the range, for some reason 
or another the sergeant picked me to have the shells in my pocket to 
distribute to the group in our outfit before we got ready to shoot. So 
a kid from Peoria, Illinois, I don't remember his name, was a 
sharpshooter. Don't know that either, or how he got to be a 
sharpshooter, but he was. He knew about Frankie Lowe. And I went to 
him, and I said, look, when we get the orders to shoot, I said, I got 
the bullets in my pocket. I'll give you three extra shells. And when 
they get ready and Frank's on the line, you see he's on the line, he's 
going to shoot, you shoot to his target and don't shoot at anything 
else. 
	And they gave the order to shoot; he shot Frankie's target and 
hit three bulls eyes. Frankie, I'm telling you, a little guy who wore 
glasses, and he got that smile on him that he was in heaven. And so we 
get back to the barracks and he shook his head and he shook his head, 
and you do so good, you do so good for me. I said, no, I didn't do any 
good. I said you couldn't reach the trigger. How the hell could you 
pull it? I never had to buy cigars after that. I opened my footlocker 
at the end of the bed and there would always be two or three cigars in 
there. 
	And then I felt sorry for him, he was such a wonderful kid, and I 
never knew a foreigner, you know. He was from San Francisco. But I had 
never had any acquaintance with people like that. And we had two, 
Frankie, and I forget who the other guy was. He didn't have the 
personality that Frankie had. So I liked Frankie and he liked me, and 
we were buddies. 
	And so I said to him one day, Frankie, you don't have any 
girlfriends around here. I said I was up at the place where we met, you 
know, like the meeting hall for familiarity and so on. I said, there's 
a pretty little girl up there. I'll ask her if she'd like to have a 
date with you. So I did. And I came back, and I said, Frankie, she said 
she'll have a date with you. I said go up and see her Saturday night 
when you're free. 
	So I don't know why I was in the barracks Saturday night. Around: 
Frankie came back and I said, Frankie, what are you doing here, pretty 
little girl up there? I said, she's a lovely little girl. I talked to 
her. I said, how come you're home; you didn't take her to the movies or 
something? He looked at me and he said, she's Japanese. She's Japanese. 
I said, Frankie, I didn't know she was a Japanese. Yes, she's Japanese, 
American Japanese. I said, Frankie, I'm sorry, I didn't want to put you 
with the enemy. But anyway, laugh, I never - I don't remember when I 
laughed so much, she's Japanese. She's Japanese. 
	But the funniest part about Frankie was that we became very good 
friends, even though he was a tiny little Chinaman. Your mother and 
Grandma were in Chicago to meet me one weekend, and why we were at the 
Stevens Hotel, I do not know. Although when you were in uniform, at one 
hotel we stayed one weekend they didn't charge me anything for the 
room. 
	Your mother and Grandma and I had the room, and they didn't 
charge me a thing. Anyway, we're in the Stevens Hotel, and I think it 
was Easter Sunday. And I met Ñ we met Frankie in the lobby and your 
mother and your Grandma and me and Frankie. And I said, Frankie, who do 
you have to eat with? He said nobody. I said, come on, eat with us. So 
we went in the dining room and sat down and had a lovely lunch. 
	And to keep your mother happy all the time we were sitting there, 
he was getting napkins and folding them up and making airplanes out of 
them and shooting them in the air. And your mother used to cackle and 
giggle, and she thought that was funny. And then we had strawberry 
shortcake for dessert. And of course, you know, after eating in an Army 
camp, it was like eating gold. And I don't think it cost much money, 
either, because we didn't have much money. 
	But your mother got a big kick out of Frankie, and he made her 
laugh. So I tried to, after I got out of the Army and went to work for 
CAB, I was in San Francisco on business. I went to a banker, I don't 
remember his name. I told him the experience I just told you about 
Frankie and what a wonderful man he was, and that I thought his family 
was in some kind of a laundry business. 
	We went to three banks in Chinatown trying to find out somebody 
who might know Frankie Lowe. And we - the places this man took me 
really covered the waterfront. So what happened to Frankie Lowe, I 
never did find out whether he got back to San Francisco, whether he 
ended up in the infantry and went to Europe. I lost him. I lost him 
after the luncheon I told you about at the Stevens Hotel in Chicago. 
	Back to camp...we were mustered out shortly thereafter because 
now it's spring, Easter time, April. So June 6 was our last day in the 
field up in Michigan. So where he - he did not go with me. I went to 
military government school with about 12 other guys who were insurance 
adjusters, lawyers, and how he came out of that machine, our cards just 
picked up. All the rest of the outfit went in the infantry. So I 
imagine that's where Frankie Lowe went. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So where did you end up in school, in Washington? 
You came to Washington then. 
	MR. LYNCH: No, I went to a different part of Battle Creek where 
they had a military government school set up. And I was one of about 
30, maybe 35 that were enrolled in military government because we 
landed on the 6th of June, and right after that; we were just finishing 
up our basic training, 17 weeks, that morning, June 6th. 
	And so I was transferred maybe the following week to a military 
government school because we had landed on the beaches, and they needed 
men to go in and take over as mayor and lawyers for the towns as we 
took them, relieved them. 
	And it got so after we broke away on the beaches and started to 
move, we started to move so fast, they took men right out of the ranks 
and gave them those jobs, which left no - there was no need for us. 
Because we couldn't do any good, couldn't get there. So I was 
transferred from that to the counterintelligence corps in Chicago. And 
I went down there, and our school was in the Jewish, I want to say 
Community Center. 
	It was a place where they had auditoriums where you could have 
lectures, you know, and rooms. And I don't remember the eating part. 
But we must have had facilities for eating. We used to get up at: and 
go over to Soldiers Field to exercise. And then we wore our clothing, 
it was green uniforms. Green hat, green blouse and green trousers. And 
there was a place next door to the place I used to go to buy cigars, 
and Mike Kazunas and I were in there one day before we went off to go 
to Soldiers Field. 
	The saloon stayed open all night. I got my cigars and the guy 
behind the counter said, what the hell you guys doing there? Mike 
looked at him and said, we're going to cooks and bakers school. And so 
then that was late June, maybe the first part of July. And we - I 
forget how many we had there. And I went to school there, and we 
learned how to tap telephones, how to climb up a telephone pole and tap 
the wires and make a tap on your telephone and find out what was going 
on. Oh, we learned a lot of tricks of the trade. 
	And finally one morning the colonel called me in and he said, 
Ray, he said, I've been looking over the charts here, and we're going 
to disband. And he said, I got your chart in front of me. And he said, 
I've been reading it. And he said, how would you like to go back to 
Washington? And I started to laugh. I was like a crazy man. I couldn't 
contain it. I started to laugh, and you don't do that in front of the 
colonel. And I apologized. And I said, Colonel, I'm sorry like that. I 
said it hit me so hard, I couldn't help it. 
	I said, I can't think of anyplace in the world I'd rather be than 
Washington. He said, I'm glad to hear that, because that's where you're 
going. I said, boy, I sure can thank you, and my lucky stars, but I 
never expected to get back there. I said, I know the city. I've been 
there for long enough that I know where to go and I know the whole 
town. He said, I know, I got it all here in front of me. I said, you 
do, huh? Yeah. 
	So apparently I had been investigated before he got my file. And 
so I came down and lo and behold, I don't remember when Mike Kazunas 
came. 

Mike Kazunas
Mike was with us in Chicago, and Mike and I were someplace, I don't 
remember where, maybe coming from Soldiers Field, which cross Michigan 
- you cross Michigan Avenue to get to the business side where the 
buildings were. And where our Jewish Community Center was, on the 
corner there, there was a restaurant. Mike and I walked in there to get 
a cup of coffee, and there was a man sitting there in the booth. 
	His name is in a newspaper clipping that I have downstairs on my 
desk. I clipped it out of the paper to save because I always forget his 
last name. Tony Acardo, let's say for the time being, question mark. 
But it's in there. He died maybe six months ago. He was 87 years old. 
He was Mr. Gangster of the City of Chicago. And he was at the time I 
met him. He couldn't have been more than 35 years old, 36 years old. 
	He was sitting there drinking a cup of coffee, and Mike Kazunas 
introduced me to him. He said, Tony, I want you to meet Bud. And we 
shook hands and sat down and had cup of coffee. And little did I know 
that I'm having a cup of coffee with the Mafia. And he was written up 
in the paper. And as I say, I cut it out, and it's downstairs. And I 
know that it was only not too long ago that he died. He was. And at the 
time we were in the Army, Mike's wife - he was married and had a child 
- his wife worked at a winery, a place where they made wine. 
	And it didn't make sense to me. And he told me a story about 
coming home one weekend, and he had a daughter, and he was in bed and 
his daughter woke up and she said, momma, who's that strange man in bed 
with you? Daughter didn't even know him. Anyway, Mike ended up with me 
in Washington. How he got there, I don't recall. 
	I remember him in Chicago and I remember him in Michigan, but the 
only time I used to see him in Chicago is when Grandma would put me on 
the train to go back to Michigan, Mike would be on the platform with 
two, what they call Gladstone bags filled, and we found out later, 
filled with booze that he was taking back to give presents to the 
officers up at the camp. 
	Little did I know that Mike was part of the whole Mafia business 
until much, much later, until they found him drowned in the lagoon in 
South Chicago. We'll get to that later. It was all written up in the 
Chicago Tribune and our newspapers here about Mike Kazunas, who was 
supposed to have met Vice President Nixon. He was going to meet him in 
Chicago when they were having a rally, and Michael Kazunas was going to 
greet him. And instead of greeting him, before that Saturday or Sunday 
came they found Mike floating in a lagoon. He was living on a 
houseboat. He had separated from his wife. And he was living on a 
houseboat, and they found him floating in the lagoon. 
	MR. LYNCH: As life went on, I was working, and I used to meet him 
when I'd go to Chicago, and we'd have lunch or go to a bar and have a 
beer. So I kept contact with him that way. And Ike was finally elected 
and inaugurated in 1953, and Mike called and wanted Mary Catherine to 
make a reservation for his wife to have her hair done because they were 
going to the inauguration. And so they came down, and I don't know, the 
Hoffmans were with us, and we went with the Kazunases someplace, and 
Mike was there and his wife for all the big hullabaloo for Ike's 
inauguration and went back to Chicago. 
	Now, it's spring of 1953, summer of 1953, and I get a call from 
Mike, and he said, I have a meeting at the Statler Hotel I want you to 
attend. I said, okay, I'll be there. What time? 9:00. So I go down to 
the Statler Hotel and I say, well, what's going on? He said, we're 
having a meeting. He said the president of the Chicago Sanitary 
District - see, when Ike was elected, everything went Republican. 
Chicago formerly had always been Democratic, but it went Republican, so 
they had a Republican president of the Chicago Sanitary District, Tony 
Olis. His wife's name - his wife, I don't know what her first name was; 
she was Republican national committeewoman from Illinois. 
	The Sanitary District men were elected like aldermen in the city. 
So the Sanitary District had their own political group of men who were 
elected as members of the Sanitary District. And Tony Olis was 
president. 
	They had a meeting down here, and the purpose of the meeting 
supposedly was - this included approximately men, including maybe three 
or four congressmen. At the time the congressman that was the head of 
the stock yards in Chicago, big white haired man. If anybody read that, 
they'd know who it was. And I think there was a Hoffman, Congressman 
Hoffman. 
	But there were approximately four congressmen at the meeting and 
all these members of the Sanitary District, plus the chairman. And so 
before we went to the meeting, we went up on the Hill from the Statler 
Hotel and met Senator Dirksen, who was Majority Leader of the Senate, 
and Paul Douglas, who was Minority Leader. Douglas was Democrat, 
Dirksen was Republican. 
	And they sat at a table like where you're sitting, the two of 
them over there. Tony Olis is over here, Mike is here, his public 
relations man is here, and I'm sitting here. And they get into a 
discussion about what they were there for is trying to divert water, 
get legislation passed to divert water from Lake Michigan to help out 
on the Chicago water supply. Naturally, Republican, Ike was Republican, 
Dirksen said, look, Tony, he said, you know I'm busy. See, Republican 
Tony Olis, Republican Dirksen, Republican. I'm busy. Paul is here, and 
every time I get into a problem, he said with all the political 
meetings I have, I turn it all over to Paul, Paul takes care of it, and 
he gets it done, he brings it to me, and I okay it, and it's done. 
	But otherwise, I can't handle these things down at your level. 
But Paul will take care of it. He'll see that it gets done. And Tony 
said, that's fine. As long as he can do it. All I want to do is get 
legislation passed to divert water for our water supply. So we were 
there, and I don't know, one or two little things came up, and Everett 
Dirksen said, I've got to go, I've got a committee meeting to attend. 
We all shook hands all the way around. We left. 
	Then we came back to the Statler, had drinks, hors d'oeuvres, and 
had a big meeting room and sat in it like Al Capone, circle, with Tony 
Olis sitting in the middle. And he said, now we've got the business 
done. See the water bit down on the Hill because Ike was in the White 
House. 
	And so all of a sudden, Tony says, now that we're all gathered 
here together and we've got our water bit straightened out, he said we 
have another problem I want to discuss with you and get your opinion. 
He said, Mayor Kennelley, who was the mayor now, was elected to clean 
up Chicago. He's been a mean bastard. We haven't been able to do 
anything with him since he was elected. He's going to come up for re-
election, and the question is, who are we going to get to run and beat 
him? 
	Well, one guy started in over there and he had this, and the 
other guy said, yeah, he went around, everybody in the room. Finally, 
one guy over in the corner - and a lot of names were given. And 
finally, young guy over in the corner said, well, I don't really know 
this guy. He works in a small job. I really don't know what - it's not 
a big job, but he works for the county, and his name is Daley, Richard 
Daley. 
	And he said, other than that, I don't know - I don't know that 
he's ever done anything except hold this little job, which was 
appointed. But I don't think he was ever elected. So somebody else in 
the room happened to know Daley. So he said, yeah, we know him. He's a 
pretty nice guy. So they went around the room, and nobody else's name 
was brought up. And finally Tony Olis, sitting there with a little 
glass of wine in his hand, said, well, let me ask you the question, 
then. Is it the consensus now that the next mayor of Chicago is going 
to be Richard Daley as far as you're concerned? 
	They all said aye. He said, meeting adjourned. So the meeting was 
adjourned, and you went out in the other room, everybody had another 
little drink or a beer, and the meeting broke up. Two of the alderman Ñ 
I had that big black Buick. Do you remember that or were you too young? 
And I took Mike and two of the aldermen out to National Airport, which 
was new then in, parked right in front of the front door of the place. 
	The four of us get out, go in, we have lunch, have a beer. We go 
to the ticket counter. Mike reaches in his pocket and gets out a roll 
of bills that would choke a hog. I said, Mike, what the hell are you 
doing with all that cash? He said, that's the way we travel. That's 
petty cash. He was buying two tickets for the guys to go back to 
Chicago. He said, it's petty cash, and he stuck it in his pocket. 
	We finally get them on the airplane and walk out, and my car is 
still sitting there, no tickets, no nothing. We get in the black Buick 
and I had a hat that Vince had bought me, the one like Lyndon Johnson 
used to wear, Texas hat. I put that sucker on and when I drive out Rock 
Creek Park thinking, all right, I'd have people wave at me just like 
this. 
	And so the legislation was passed. It got to the White House, and 
the White House took it to the State Department, and the State 
Department looked at it and read it and sent it back to the White House 
and said this cannot be signed by the President because we had a treaty 
with Canada, we will not divert water from Lake Michigan. So that whole 
operation had been - I found out later had been gone through at least 
three times before the one I just told you, and it was always turned 
down because of the treaty. 
	So that's how Mike got into the Republican circle, which he was, 
I think, even when I met him in Michigan. I think he was involved. He 
was. He was a - he lived in Berwyn, Illinois, which was a little suburb 
like Bethesda outside of Chicago. And he was a captain. Instead of an 
alderman, he was a captain. That's what they called them in those days. 
	So he got started, and he was a captain when he was in the Army 
in Berwyn, Illinois. So he finally continued, and Mayor Daley was 
elected. So that gave them all of Chicago to work with, see? And Ike 
was in for eight years, so the Democrats had the run of Chicago for 
eight solid years. And even though half of the guys in the group were 
Republicans, even the chairman, Tony, was a Republican. 
	Mike was administrative assistant to Tony Olis, who was the 
president of the Sanitary District, and that's why he had the money and 
did the political aspect of it, and why he had been picked to greet 
Richard Nixon when he came out there to make a speech. He was going to 
meet him when Nixon arrived, I think it was on a Sunday or a Monday. 
Monday, I think. And in between the idea and the time, they found Mike 
floating. 
	He had separated from his wife, and they found him floating in a 
lagoon in South Chicago. He had been living on a houseboat down there. 
But still, politically, he was to meet the Vice President for a fund-
raiser, I guess, and they found the body; he wasn't there. And it was 
written up in the Chicago Tribune and on our papers here in Washington. 
I don't think I kept the papers. Oh, it was written up, Michael Kazunas 
was to meet Vice President Nixon and so on and so forth for a meeting 
in Chicago. And that went on to tell about him being found in the lake, 
in the lagoon in Chicago and so on and so forth. 

Back to Washington 
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, when you came back to Washington, then you 
were living on Chase Avenue or Bradley Boulevard? 
	MR. LYNCH: No. When I came to Washington in with your mother and 
my wife and not, as Eddie Cogan said, a dime in my pocket, we rented a 
house on Chase Avenue, and you know where that is. $75 a month. When 
the guy told me that, I said that's crazy. I had a house, bedrooms, 
double garage; I spent $25 a month. He said, but you're living in 
Washington. Billy Prescott, who became president of the Bethesda Bank, 
tried to sell me the house for $8,750. 
	And we were sitting on the front porch of the house, which was a 
concrete slab, because we didn't have any chairs to sit on. And it was 
hotter than wholly hell and it was 7:00 at night. And I had just gotten 
home from work. And I fixed him a Tom Collins, and I had one. And I 
said to him, Billy, I could build three houses like this in Iowa. And 
he looked at me and he said, take a sip of your drink. He said, you're 
not in Iowa, you're in Bethesda. And I looked at him and I thought, 
boy, am I in Bethesda. 
	The last time I saw that house sold, nothing - before I lost my 
driver's license, I used to ride. Nothing had been done to it. Nothing. 
$ 219,000. And not a thing had been done to that house. 
	So - and when we lived there, you could walk out our front door, 
and there was forest. And you know where Pearl Street is now, there's a 
church and a school? That came through the forest eventually, and 
houses were built on both sides like they are now. But we used to walk 
through, that was woods when we lived there in. We'd walk through the 
woods to go to mass on Sunday. And mass was in the auditorium of the 
school. And a little white house where the church was, and Father 
Peters - I think his name was Peters, little short man, was the pastor. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So when did you move to Bradley Lane? 
	MR. LYNCH: We left there - I can't tell you the exact date. It 
had to be in December of 1943 because I had to appear in Des Moines I 
think January 4th of 1944. It was late in 1943 because I went in the 
Army on January 4th of 1944. Yeah, January 4th of 1944. And I got out 
in March of 1946. In the meantime, Grandma and your mother were at the 
McCormicks, along with Tommy Redmond, Dr. Redmond's son, who had never 
seen his father. His father was in Europe and in London. He was in the 
medical corps. And I was in the service from January of 1944 until 
March of 1946. And I was discharged at Ft. Mead. And I was enlisted in 
Fort Des Moines, Iowa. Because your Uncle Vince and I were going to be 
together, see? We were together for three days, and he went to 
California, and I went to Michigan. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Where did you live when you were still in the Army 
in counterintelligence in Washington and making your forays to the 
Willard Hotel?
	MR. LYNCH: Grandma and your mom were at the McCormicks in Cedar 
Rapids and Tommy Redmond. And Grandma was teaching school, and your 
mother was going to a church school of some kind. She was going to 
school. 
	And I forget who Grandma was working for as a teacher, 
kindergarten teacher, I guess. And when I got back to Washington, I Ñ 
for Mike Kazunas and a lawyer from Oklahoma and Harold Brown from 
Illinois, and a guy from Texas. Let's see, that's four. I guess I was 
the fifth one. No - yeah, Mac Townsend was from Oklahoma. 
	Five of us lived in a fraternity house on Mass Avenue. You know 
where the pub is on the corner? Mass? Near Dupont Circle. It's the 
Selgrave House, gray building, still there. Down Mass Avenue about two 
doors was a men's fraternity house, empty, and they rented it to people 
like us. We had one whole floor with some wire cots, you know, to sleep 
on? And we used Army blankets and stuff like that.
	We lived there, and our office was in a little red schoolhouse on 
Cleveland Avenue where now is a little triangular park, and the State 
Department is just to the right of it. You know when you turn left off 
Rock Creek Park on Virginia Avenue? There's an apartment building - no, 
first there's a Howard Johnson, then there's an apartment building, two 
apartment buildings and a drugstore. Right across the street from there 
is where the little red schoolhouse was, which was our office. 
	And so we could walk from Mass Avenue to the office. And so we 
lived there, I'd say that was October of 1944, maybe November. But I 
think in there, October or November. 
	And Jane, in the meantime, had come here when we were living on 
Chase Avenue and went to work for the Federal Deposit Insurance 
Corporation. So when we left to go back, I went in the Service and Mary 
went home. Jane was living here with some girl on Wisconsin Avenue. 
	So when I came here - oh, she and Virginia Donegan were living 
together. And now it's November '. And there were telephone calls and 
letters. There's a possibility that Grandma and your mom might be able 
to get here for Christmas and to work out something at Aunt Jane's 
apartment on Wisconsin Avenue. 
	I was all right because I had the men's dorm over there at the 
fraternity house. That happened. While that happened, your grandmother 
had already made an application for a job with Red Cross when she was 
in Iowa. And then, I don't know, she did not go to work for them. She 
wanted to teach in Cedar Rapids. 
	And this was going to be just a Christmas vacation. And I was on 
and off, and I'm trying to think of dates. We've got to be, say, ten 
days we had all together. Let's say ten days, anyway, in December. 
	And Grandma went down and applied for a job at Red Cross, and 
they hired her immediately. And I forget, she did get what in those 
days was a good salary because the money I was getting from the Army 
was going to go, if our plan worked, if we could get her into boarding 
school on Wisconsin Avenue, St. Angela Hall, that cost $80 a month for 
board and room. If we could get her in there, my $80 would pay for her, 
and Grandma's would pay for us to live. 
	So within that span of time we got Mary Rae in school. Don't ask 
me how we did it. We found out across from Ft. Myer in Virginia there 
was a place called Lee Gardens. Somebody gave us a tip that there was a 
guy in the State Department had a one-room apartment with a bath and a 
little kitchenette, and he wanted to get rid of it. But we'd have to 
buy the furniture that was in there and do it at night and pay the rent 
in his name because you couldn't get Ñ you had to get on a list to get, 
you know, anyplace to live. 
	In the nighttime, I don't know where we got the money, I think it 
was $400 TO buy the furniture, move in. And we had a living room with a 
studio couch there. Over here at an angle was a bed. In here was Ñ you 
know how small this bathroom is. Smaller than that. And at the other 
end of that same room opposite the studio couch was the kitchenette and 
the stove. That was it. 
	And your grandmother worked for the Red Cross, and sometimes I 
wouldn't see her for two or three days because I'd be out all night, 
and when I came home, she was gone. And we were the happiest people in 
the world. I mean we were there. 
	And your mother - we were so thrilled to death with your mother 
and how that worked out. Your mother never complained. She loved it. 
She should have. It was heaven. It was, I mean, a millionaire's school. 
The way they dressed, the boys and the girls, and they had their own 
chapel in there and everything. And the nuns were strict. And boy, when 
they had things that we went to, oh, those kids, the way they acted was 
fabulous. 
	So we got that place to stay, and we stayed there until the war 
was over. And then - and all during that time we paid the rent in the 
other guy's name, and I don't know, I don't remember much about whether 
we almost gave the stuff away to get out, you know. But we left there, 
and went from there to Bradley and Exfair Road. In the apartment 
buildings? 
	MS. COSTABILE: That's where you met Aunt Ellie and Uncle Ed? 
	MR. LYNCH: Yeah. That's why I'm trying to think of the date. But 
we can find out later. Anyway, they were brand new. They had just been 
open. The reason we were able to get it, Jane worked with a girl whose 
sister worked for the real estate company that built them. We had our 
own choice of apartments before they were ever open through Jane's 
friend. And the Downey sisters. 
	And so we moved in, and we were fine. Some of the first ones, 
they still had wooden things to walk on to get in the buildings. And we 
had two bedrooms, a bath, a lovely kitchen, nice dining room, very nice 
living room with an air conditioning unit in it. First air conditioning 
ever happened in Bethesda. $90 a month. And Grandma was still with Red 
Cross, and I went back to work. Your mother was still going to St. 
Angela Hall, which may have turned into Holy Cross then, you know what 
I mean? Because she ended up going to school part time in a cow barn 
which was on the property.
	And I went to work for Agriculture. And now it's - moved into the 
apartment sometime in the summer because I got out in March of 1946 and 
here October, and I'm back at Agriculture working so I can pay the 
rent, see? 
	And we're trying to get some furniture, and charging this and 
charging that, and I mean it seems like second heaven we're back 
together, family. 
	And Mary Rae was living with us then. And all of a sudden, I was 
only out of the Army three months, and Congress clipped $500,000 from 
Agriculture and I was let go. I didn't have a job. 
	And I thought to myself, why is the Lord coming down on me? I was 
the most unhappy man. When I'd get the paper in the morning and read 
it, read the want ads, trying to get a job, and I didn't know anybody. 
Finally saw an ad for a title examiner for a real estate company. And I 
walked from the apartment to Wisconsin Avenue, got a bus, went to 
Silver Spring, got another bus that took me to Hyattsville went in and 
I had to go twice before I was accepted for the job, which paid $56 a 
week. And it took me - I would leave at 7:00 in the morning, get home 
at 7:00 at night. And I worked that job for, oh, God, I don't remember 
now. Oh, at least, almost six, eight, ten months. Almost a year. I came 
home one night, and I got a call from Charlie Busey, who was the guy 
that hired me at Agriculture. And he said, Ray, how would you like to 
come back to work? And I said, Charlie, don't do this to me. I'm broke, 
beaten and dead. He said, seriously. He said I want you to come back to 
work tomorrow. And I said, I've never heard anything sweeter in my 
life. And I did. That was probably one of the greatest periods of 
disaster in my life because I always had a job, a good job after that 
until I retired. 
	We were on the second floor. We had a two bedroom. Next to us was 
the Keplers in the middle. And on the other side were the Hoffmans. And 
they immediately became Uncle Ed and Aunt Ellie and Uncle Ray and Aunt 
Ruth. From the first time we started with them with your mother. 

Bud and Ed Go East
	MS. COSTABILE: Well, I want you to tell me a couple more stories. 
Timing-wise, this isn't the same time, but tell me the story of the man 
that you gave a ride to. He was a vagrant. 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, you mean I brought Ed down to get a job in the 
East? 
	MS. COSTABILE: Yes. Yes. 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, I think you may have it in already, but I'll 
make it brief. We both graduated in 1933. Ed received a degree in 
engineering, and I received a Bachelor of Arts degree in political 
science. I still had two years to go to graduate from law school. 
	Because in those days your third year in college you were a 
freshman in law school. You just went six years to get two degrees, 
Bachelor of Arts and Juris Doctor. Anyway, in 1933, by that time I was 
deeply in love, all the time, from the first time I saw my wife's eyes, 
and I was out building a fish garden or fishpond for her at her home in 
Cedar Rapids in July. And I got a penny postal card, and it said if you 
want to go East with me, you'd better come home because I'm going down 
East to try to get a job. 
	There was never any question if he was going to go down East, I 
was going to go. I had to go too. So I went in and got a shower, put my 
good clothes on, and Mary Catherine drives me out to Highway No., the 
Lincoln Highway, and it goes from Cedar Rapids to Clinton, and I put my 
thumb up and I got a ride to Clinton, miles. 
	And the guy left me off downtown, and I had to walk home, which 
was maybe two miles. And I get home, and my brother's sitting there on 
the porch swing, on our front porch. We had a porch there which 
everybody had to have one in those days. And I said, well, when I 
walked up, I said, you don't look to me like you're going anyplace 
sitting there doing nothing in the swing. Well, he said, I'm having 
some problems. 
	And I said, well, why did you tell me you were going to go and if 
I wanted to go, I'd better come on home? I expected we'd go. Well, he 
said, I got a couple of problems. And I sat down, and I said, well, 
what's the first one? He said, I don't have any money. Oh, I said, that 
wouldn't pay the cents bridge fare to get us across the bridge, would 
it? No. I said, what do you want me to do about it? 
	He said, well, I thought as long as you know the Marcucci's as 
well as you do and you worked there as long as you have, and they all 
liked you so much, that maybe you could borrow some money from the 
Marcucci's to pay for our trip down East. I said, well, I sure - I will 
sure try. I said I have no hesitation, and I think without any trouble 
I can at least get $ to get us started. And he said, well, that's fine. 
I said, okay, I'll do that, and then we can go. He said, well, wait a 
minute. I said, I'm back here from Cedar Rapids, I didn't want to leave 
Cedar Rapids, and now you've got this problem. I've got the money and 
I'll go up there as soon as we get through talking and ask them for the 
money. 
	Well, he said, I thought we could use Uncle Hans' car. Uncle Hans 
had two cars; a two seater and a nice sedan. But they used the two 
seater to drive back and forth to work, and he had the other car for - 
he was the only rich one in the family. He had the other car for 
weekends, Sundays. Well, he said, you get along better with Hans than I 
do, and I thought if you asked him that it would be more considerate 
than if I asked him. I said, you're crazy. I said he thinks as much 
about you as he does about me. But I'll ask him. 
	So noon came the next day, and I went down and Uncle Hans was 
there, and I had lunch with him. And I said, Uncle Hans, that brother 
of mine has got ideas, but he doesn't know what to do with them. And he 
said, what's his problem? And Uncle Hans was the kind of a guy that 
paid Ed's tuition to go to Business College to learn typing and 
shorthand because he knew with the bum leg he could never work. 
	He said what's the matter with him? And I said he wants to go 
east and he asked me if I wanted to go with him, you'll have to come 
home from Cedar Rapids. And now I'm home, and I said, how are we going 
to get there? And he said, well, if you ask Uncle Hans to borrow his 
car. 
	And he said, why didn't he ask me? And I said, Uncle Hans, I 
can't explain. My brother is different from me. I would like to ask you 
if we could borrow your car. He said sure as hell you can borrow it. He 
said the tires aren't too good on it, but I think you can make it work. 
And he said I'll go back and forth to work with a neighbor that lived 
with them that had a car. And he said, take it and take him down East 
and see if you can get him a job.
	So I go then after Uncle Hans, I go to Marcucci's, and there were 
two, the older and the younger. And I said to them I got a problem. And 
the old man said, Boboli, he called me. So I told him my brother had an 
idea that he could get a job if he went down East, and that I had 
borrowed my uncle's car, but we needed some money. 
	And I thought if we could $50, if he'd loan me $50 to help us on 
the trip, it was only going to be two weeks, and I'll be back, and I'll 
go to work and pay the $50 back as soon as I get back from the East. 
And I could tell the younger brother, they were talking in Italian, 
didn't want any part of it, but the older man, Gilbert, who I used to 
make wine for in the fall, it made Gilbert so gull damn mad he just 
shook his head and walked over to the register. In those days you had 
buttons you pushed. The drawer slid out, and he reached in and got a 
handful of money, and he threw it on the front, counted out $50. Handed 
it to me.
	Now where am I? I was going to New York. So I went home, made 
plans, got the money, got the car. We had a spare tire that - four 
tires on the wheels and then a spare on the back that fit up like this. 
And so we had that. And then I don't know where I got another tire. 
Anyway, I got another tire, and with belts put that on the back so we'd 
have two spares in case we had trouble. 
	MS. COSTABILE: What kind of a car was it? 
	MR. LYNCH: Ford. Ford coupe. So we put all of our suitcases and 
we didn't go, leave Clinton until 8:00 at night because it was in 
August, and it was hotter than hell. And we figured we'd be better off 
driving after the sun went down because of the tires. And mother had 
fixed us a shoebox full of fried chicken and hard boiled eggs and stuff 
like that, sandwiches. 
	So at 8:00 we waved goodbye, and we started east. And we got to Ñ 
by noon the next day we were in Lima, Ohio, sitting in the park. We 
took the seat out and put that down on the ground. And we picked up 
some milk someplace. Milk containers, about a pint. And we were sitting 
there eating our lunch. And we'd had a good night, we hadn't had any 
tire trouble or anything, any kind of trouble. 
	And Lima, Ohio was a pretty good distance from Clinton. I don't 
remember the mileage. And we're talking. And I said, we're doing pretty 
well. And all of a sudden, my brother said, well, I just happened to 
think. And I said, well, it's about time you start thinking. You had 
all summer. He said, well, if we go the way we're going on Lincoln 
Highway, we'll be in Philadelphia on Saturday, and there won't be 
anybody there. I said, this is a hell of a time to decide that. 12:00 
in Lima, Ohio, and the people you were going to see, why in the hell 
didn't you think about that before you left Clinton? 
	Well, I said, there's no gull damn sense in going. Where are we 
going to go? You can't go blow a lot of money. We don't have it. He 
looked at it, and he saw where Norfolk, Virginia was. And now Lima, 
Ohio is down in the central southern part of Ohio. And we could see the 
map down to Charleston, West Virginia, and then if you turned east, it 
would take us into Norfolk. 
	Well, the idea of going there was Dr. Moore, who graduated from 
dentistry was there in the Public Health Service, and he was a Clinton 
boy, and I knew him very well. He lived a couple blocks from where I 
lived. And he was married to Angela Murphy, lovely girl, also from 
South Clinton. 
	And Dr. Mallary, Catherine's brother, oldest brother, who was a 
doctor in the Public Health Service, he was there and it was to go see 
him, we went to Norfolk, figuring we'd get to Philadelphia Monday, you 
know, and we'd have a place to stay and maybe get a couple of free 
meals down there. 
	Well, we get to Norfolk and park the car along the curb, and 
there's a sign said hotel. And Ed said, go in and call Dr. Mallary and 
tell him where we're at. So I went in, opened the door, and it wasn't a 
room. You went upstairs. I went up the stairs, and there was a lobby 
there. And this man behind, I said, where is the telephone? Can I use 
the phone? He said, it's in the corner. It was one of those put in a 
box, you know? 
	So I went over and looked up the Public Health base there, and I 
called for Dr. Mallary, and nobody answered for Dr. Mallary. So I 
called Dr. Moore. Bud, where in the hell are you? I said, I don't know. 
He said, that's a hell of a place to be. You're someplace and you don't 
know. How the hell did you get me? I said, how the hell do you think I 
got you? I called you on the telephone. And he said, well, where are 
you? And I said, I'm in a hotel in Norfolk, and I'm on the second 
floor. He said, for Christ sake, get out of there. It's a whorehouse. I 
said, I didn't know. It said hotel. I walked upstairs. He said, Angela 
and I will come down. Just go back down and get in the car with Ed. 
We'll be back down. 
	So we sat there and waited, and he finally drove up. And of 
course, happy go lucky, both of them, to see somebody from home. We had 
just graduated. So they took us to dinner someplace, and then they 
showed us the tourist home where, for $1.50, we could sleep. Little 
cabins like. Well, we could handle that. So that was fine. 
	So Saturday night and Sunday night Ñ yes, we stayed Saturday 
night and Sunday night because Dr. Mallary was supposed to be back 
Monday morning from his honeymoon. So we wanted to see him before we 
left to go north. So we saw him Monday morning for maybe an hour, and 
his new bride was a nurse, and she was on duty at the institution 
there. So we met Ray and had a visit with him. And then we left. 
	And by the time we got ready, I went to the office of the tourist 
home, and there was nobody there. So I walked back and I got the car, 
and across the road there was a rubber hose that when you drove over 
it, it rang a bell. So I drove over it with the front wheels and rang a 
bell. I backed up over it and rang a bell. I did that three or four 
times, and nobody showed up. And I said to Ed, the hell with them, and 
I kept right on going out the place, and I started up. 
	And I thought after I got outside and got on the highway sure as 
hell we'd be arrested for stiffing the bill. So I worried about it. We 
get out and we don't get arrested, and we're going up the road. And I 
don't know where in Virginia, what little town in Virginia. We had 
converted the $50 cash into $10 traveler's checks. By now we needed 
money. 
	So we pulled into a gas station, one tank, great big tank, that's 
where the gas was, and grocery store combined. And I had the guy maybe, 
I don't know, do five gallons or seven gallons. They only had, I think, 
10 or 12 gallons of gas in the gas tank, and a quart of oil. So Ed goes 
in, he's carrying the money. He gets the check out, and the guy looked 
at him and said, I don't take that. You don't what? I don't take that 
paper. 
	And by now I hear and I said, listen, you either take the goddamn 
paper or take the gas and oil out of the car. He walked back, and there 
was a curtain in between the front and the back of the place, and he 
came back out with a 12-gauge shotgun and laid it down on the counter. 
He said, I only take cash. I don't take anything else. 
	Now I'm so goddamn mad I'm fit to be tied. Finally, Ed calmed me 
down, and he said, when were coming up, he said, about four miles down 
the road there was a sign for American Express. So he explained to the 
guy that if he'd stay there, would the guy let me take the car and go 
back, and the guy knew what Ed was talking about, and get the check 
cashed there. So I had to leave Ed there as a hostage, and I go back 
and get the $10 check cashed. I came back. 
	And I'd have killed the guy if I - I was so goddamn mad. Anyway, 
we paid for it. And when we came to Washington, it was about: and - no, 
we got to George Washington's home, and we were going to go and look at 
it, but the gates were closed. So we came right on through Washington 
and kept on going, didn't stop. It was a little sleepy country town, no 
traffic to speak of. 
	Once we were in Philadelphia and we got outside of Ñ well, as a 
matter of fact, we went as far as Passaic, New Jersey. And just outside 
of Passaic, New Jersey there was a nice home, white house with a sign 
on it, tourists. We went to the door, do you have a room? Yeah. $1.50 a 
night. So we stayed there. They didn't give us breakfast or anything. 
You had $1.50 a night in Charleston, West Virginia. You got up the next 
morning, fried eggs, bacon, and a couple fried potatoes. I mean for 
$1.50. 
	Anyway, we didn't get anything at Passaic, and now it's Monday. 
And I take Ed; I had him in front of this building at 8:00 in the 
morning. And how things transferred that he had the money, I'm driving 
the car because he's going to go in for an interview with Sylvania 
Electric Products. So he goes in. Now it's 12:00. I'd never seen a 
sandwich wagon before but now I'm in the East, and they drive up and 
they've got ice cream, they've got milk, they've got coffee, they've 
got sandwiches, and guys are coming out of the plant and buying them. 
	And I'm sitting there in the car starving to death, see? I 
haven't got a nickel in my pocket. I couldn't buy an ice cream cone. 
I'm thinking to myself, now it gets to be 1:00, the wagon is gone, and 
still I'm starving to death. No Ed. 
	Finally, at 2:00 he comes out, and I said, you better have a job. 
If you don't have a job, I'll kill you dead for having the money and 
I'm sitting here watching those bastards eat and eat and eat, and I 
have nothing, and you got the money. He said, I go to work tomorrow 
morning. I said, no kidding? He said, even better. The guy called the 
YMCA and guaranteed a room for us for two weeks. I said, how much money 
do we got left? He said, $15. I said, get in. 
	We drove to Passaic, to the first restaurant, and we sat down 
when we went in, and we had a big meal for probably $1.00, full size 
meal. Then we went to the Y, and with all the suitcases, you heard 
that, five suitcases, and we didn't have the stuff to fill one 
suitcase. But I had one that had books in it, books that showed the 
fraternity, sorority houses and so on. 
	So we got a bath and went down, and I finally got my brother to 
take a swim in the swimming pool. So when we packed up the room and I 
got the book out of sororities, I start thumbing through it, and all of 
a sudden I find Elizabeth Taylor. And where does Elizabeth Taylor live? 
East Orange, New Jersey, and her telephone number is there. 
	I get on the telephone and I called, and I said, is this the 
Taylor residence? She said - the woman said, yes. And I said, I'm 
calling to see if I can get in touch with Elizabeth Taylor, who went - 
is this you, Bud Lynch? I said, I got the right number. Where are you, 
she said? I told her where we were. She said, you'll have to come for 
dinner. I thought, I'll come right now. East Orange was about six 
miles, seven miles from where we were in Passaic. 
	Well, Ed goes to work the next day, and the next day I go over at 
noon and have a delightful lunch. And the Taylors' neighbors had a 
beautiful swimming pool, and we swam half the afternoon in the swimming 
pool. And I think she had invited Ed and me to dinner that night, Mrs. 
Taylor. Anyway, off and on for the week that I stayed there, I know I 
was at the Taylors for at least four meals, maybe five. Plus the 
swimming pool in the afternoon. And finally it was time to leave, and 
my money was gone. So I sent a wire to my father and asked him if he 
could possibly do it, to send me $15, which he did by telegram. 
	So I got up Monday morning and said to Ed, the best to you. He 
went to work for 40 cents an hour. I think the only reason the guy 
hired him was to - he said himself, I think the only reason he hired me 
was to get me out of the place. Here's a guy that graduated an A 
student, honorary student, Tau Beta Pi, engineering, honorary 
engineering fraternity, and 40 cents an hour. 

Bud Heads Back Home
	So I had my little old map and my little old car, and I started 
up through the Delaware Water Gap, and I drove from there and picked up 
a guy. It was typical to pick up hitchhikers. Many people picked me up 
out in Iowa, you know? So I saw this guy along the side of the road, 
young looking guy, maybe or. And he got in, and I forget where he was 
going. Up around where the Delaware Water Gap is, where I found him. 
And somewhere along the line - he had a little, like a briefcase, about 
that long and about that wide. 
	And we - now it had been about an hour and a half, two hours, and 
we were going down the road, and for some reason or another he was 
sitting there in the seat, and he opened the briefcase, let's call it 
that. And I happened to look. And on top of whatever he had in there 
was a long, straight edge razor, like barbers use to shave. He closed 
it up; he didn't touch it or do anything. I didn't know what he was 
doing looking - why he opened it. He closed it up, and I thought, I 
better do something damn quick. 
	I can't tell you the name of the town now. Say it's ten, 15 miles 
down the road. And when I got there, I pulled up to the curb and I 
said, this is as far as I'm going. You better get a ride with somebody 
else because I'm not going any farther than this. And I got out of the 
car, and you didn't lock the door because hell, they could get in 
through the back end, you know? I got out of the car and walked down 
the street. Don't know where the hell I was walking except I wanted to 
get away from him, see? 
	And I finally got back to the car and got in, and he didn't show 
up again. And I got out of there, and I started again down the main 
highway. I don't know what the razor was for but it scared the living 
hell out of me. Anyway, I drove by myself from there to Warren, Ohio. 
And I got there, oh, I don't know, about 7:00. It was still daylight; 
it was August. I don't remember eating that day and I have no 
recollection - I know we did not have anything, staying at the Y, to 
fix us something, you know. And you didn't have hamburger Joe at every 
corner like you do now. 
	Anyway, I found a tourist home in Warren, and was a lovely house, 
$1.50. And I said to the woman, I want to get an early start tomorrow 
morning, so if you wake me up, I want to get away by at least 5:30. So 
I went to bed, and she got me up at 5:30. And when I got to Cleveland, 
I had - which was not too far, maybe miles from Warren, Ohio, you know 
the general area. I got to Cleveland, and I had for breakfast like a 
muffin and filling, you know something is filling, and in those days it 
didn't cost that much, and a glass of milk. And so I'm driving along, 
and I'm having no problems. 
	And I wasn't worried about the oil because we had bought a five-
gallon can of oil at Sears before we left Clinton to use in the engine 
if we needed oil. So I'm going along, and now I'm in Ohio, and it's – 
let's say I'm halfway through Ohio. And I see this man walking down the 
road, slouch hat on and a jacket, a coat, and it was hot. And he had a 
sort of a satchel, like what we called tramps in those days, where he 
carried his gear. And it was hooked up and tied so he could hold the 
knots like this and carry it, like you would a suitcase. And he was 
trudging along the road there. 
	And I thought, this poor old man with gray hair. And I looked at 
him, and he had a beard down to here and tobacco juice running down 
both sides of his face. I stopped the car and waited. He came along, 
and I said, partner, where are you going? He said, well, I'm trying to 
get to the harvest. So I said to him, what do you mean, South, North 
Dakota? Well, I said, why don't you do this? Get in the back seat, put 
your bags in and I'll see how things go. 
	So we get to Chicago. But anyway, my coming back was coordinated 
the entire time. I got to Chicago, and Mary Catherine was getting a 
ride into Chicago with friends from Cedar Rapids. When I got there to 
Chicago, I had no money, no place to stay, and I just called collect 
and her father never forgot it. If you want to come east with the 
Keevers, come to Clinton, and you can stay at Lucille's because I'm on 
my way home, and I can't stay in Chicago. 
	So we kept going. We stopped and had a donut and a glass of milk 
and then we kept on going. That's 140 miles left to go. We get to 
Clinton, and we had to pay 10 cents for a bridge fare. So I paid the 10 
cents for the bridge fare. 
	And I drove to the railroad station. Now it's 1:00 in the 
morning. And I parked the car, and I knew Uncle Terry would be there 
because that's what he did. He had charge of changing when the big 
shots would go from the East Coast to the West Coast. And as many times 
as they would rechange the trains, so they would take some cars out and 
leave them in Clinton, and put other cars in and so on. 
	Terry was in charge of it-he was big, 6'2", 250 pounds. And I 
walked down to the platform, and he said, where the hell did you come 
from? And I said, a long, long way. And he said, is that your car over 
there? And I said, yeah. He said, who's in it? I said, I don't know. 
How the hell did you get him if you don't know? I don't know. I said, 
come on, I want you to meet him. He wants to go someplace. He wants to 
go to a harvest field and get a job and make some money. 
	So Terry walked down, maybe no closer than from me to you, and he 
looked at him and he said, how in the hell could you pick up anybody 
that looked like that? I said, I felt sorry for him. I told him to get 
in, I bring him here, and you put him on a train to get to the Dakotas. 
	He said, I don't want to get near him, but tell him to come down 
to the beanery and I'll have the chef fix him up a T-bone steak and 
some potatoes. But let him sit at the other end of the counter. I 
thought, you mean Irish bastard. After I suffered this poor guy all the 
way from the middle of Indiana, you want to know where I picked him up. 
And I told him and he just shook his head. I had a bowl of Wheaties, or 
something like that, and I said, Uncle Terry, take care of him. He 
said, yeah, I'll take care of him. 
	I got home around 1:30. I had 17 cents left. I never, ever heard 
from the guy. Don't know whether he ever - I know he got out of 
Clinton. Terry put him on a train to go out West. And at 4:00 in the 
morning he told me he got him on a train, and after having a full belly 
with a T-bone steak and fried potatoes and so on. I often wondered. 
That's one of those things I never got an answer for. What ever 
happened to him? Every once in a while things would happen to me and 
I'd sit back and say, why did that happen? And sometimes I'd say, 
because you picked up that guy in Indiana. Don't know. Could be. 
The Fish That Did Not Get Away
	MS. COSTABILE: Tell the story of the time that you caught the big 
black bass that you so generously gave to my children to hang up in 
their room, that is now looking out over their young lives. 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, well, we were up in Minocqua where Lucille and Hap 
had a lovely home. And Mary Catherine was with me. And the girls were. 
	I had business up in - oh, what's the name of the town? Duluth, 
Minnesota. Bob Holleran was up visiting. I don't know where he was in 
school at the time. 
	Anyway, he rode up to Duluth with me, which was maybe from 
Minocqua, Wisconsin, was probably 90 miles. And of course when you're 
in Wisconsin or Minnesota, either one, there are lakes wherever you 
want, and beautiful pine trees and just gorgeous scenery. Coming back 
from Duluth, we drove by this beautiful - I saw the lake going up, and 
I thought, on the left-hand side oh, that's a beauty. That's got to be 
Ñ and we stopped maybe ten miles, miles north of where Lucille and Hap 
lived. So I said to Bob when we came back from Duluth, I said, I'm 
going to fish that lake, and I'm going to catch me a fish. The next 
day, I got my tackle and I drove up there. 
	And along the highway there was kind of a little park where you 
could drive off the main road, park your car, nice green grass, and 
there's this gorgeous lake. So I put my tackle box down, and I take out 
a wooden, redheaded plug. Red in the front about an inch, and the rest 
was white, and it had three treble hooks on it. And I hooked it on into 
my line. And as I say, it was in the summertime, so I waded into the 
lake, and I started casting. And I cast, and I cast, slowly. The banks 
up there when you walk in, it's all sand and soft on your feet, you 
know. And I walked half down this side of the lake. And I thought, 
well, I never got a strike, not even a nibble. 
	So I came back, and I'm back now where I started. Now I've been 
fishing an hour. I thought, well, I didn't have any luck on that side, 
but there's a fish in here for me. I don't know what it's going to do. 
So I started down the other side, and I did the same thing. Little by 
little, cast, reel in, take a couple more steps, cast again. I went 
about the same distance I had gone on the opposite side. 
	And by now I'm getting tired, and I'm getting very discouraged 
because the lake was heaven. You knew that there was a big one. So I 
start slowly back doing the same thing, with the intention I'll go back 
to where I started, and if I don't, I won't. That's the name of the 
fishing game. I got around to all the - I'd say give or take ten feet 
from where I started in the beginning. I cast out there, and the water 
went up in the air and down, and I had a fish. And I stood there, I 
almost fainted. 
	And the fish didn't rise again. I could feel it. I didn't know 
how the line was. Behind me was a nice grassy spot where I could back 
up, see? So I'd play him easy. So I started reeling in real slow. I 
didn't want him to break the water again. Real slow. And as I reeled 
in, I kept back up. And I had at least feet to back up on this flat, 
smooth surface. And now I could see him in the water. And I think now 
maybe - don't ask me. This is a guess. I'm so excited by now I could 
have split. Now I see I got a fish. And I'm in maybe eight, ten inches 
of water. I didn't turn the spindle once more. 
	I backed up and backed him right up onto the shore. I put the rod 
down and, oh, and I finally got to look at him and see him. It was over 
six pounds. Biggest bass I ever caught in my life or ever expected to. 
And when I finally got enough strength, I went down and I unhooked him. 
I thought, what do I do now? It was a beautiful specimen. So I said, 
well, I'll take him just the way he is. So I walked back to the car, 
and there was a newspaper there. And I laid him down on the floor in 
the back seat and put the rest of the newspaper, sort of covered him, 
which smothered him a little bit and let the poor infant die. 
	And I had enough strength to go back and get my tackle box and my 
rod and get back in the car and drive him to Minocqua. Well, they had a 
fishing store in Minocqua where, when people caught fish, they had a 
big case with ice in it, and you brought your fish in, and they took 
your name and address and where it was caught and how much it weighed. 
So I showed it to the guy, and the main reason was I wanted him to tell 
me, and I wanted it mounted because I wanted to keep it. 
	He said, Mr. Lynch, couldn't we put your - it's the biggest bass 
that's been caught so far this summer. Couldn't we put it in the case? 
I said, well, I'd be delighted if you do it, but I said, I want to have 
it mounted. He said, that's fine. So he gets the name and address and 
so on of Raymond J. Lynch, Bradley Lane, Chevy Chase, Maryland and puts 
the fish in the case with ice. And underneath on the wooden place he 
sticks the card that he made out. 
	So now I'm the only one that knows I caught a fish. So I go back 
to my sister's and I said, you know, I didn't have any luck, but let's 
go into the place and see if anybody had any luck today catching fish. 
So my sister and Holly and Anne, we went in. And so it was a great big 
case. And so we're all separated, and everybody's looking at the fish 
that were caught, including a great big muskie, about that long. And 
all of a sudden there was a scream. Oh, here's somebody from Chevy 
Chase caught a fish. 
	Then there was another, oh, it's daddy's, it's daddy's, it's 
daddy's fish. Well, of course, then we go over and Raymond J. Lynch, 
Chevy Chase, Maryland, six and a quarter pound bass, biggest bass 
caught that year. And that had to be in the middle of August, say. 
	Because anyway, the contest was over Labor Day. Whoever caught 
the biggest fish, you were to get a fish rod and a set of, you know, 
lures and stuff like that. I had the biggest fish until Labor Day, and 
a guy caught six and a half pounds, and he won it. 
	So the man said he'd take care of having it mounted, which he 
did. And then we came home, and I thought - I don't know how long it 
was, but I thought I would never, ever see the fish again. It seemed 
like it was years before it was finally delivered by express. And then 
I ripped the box apart, and when I looked at it I thought, oh, boy, 
isn't that Ñ they did a beautiful job.
	But to make a long story short, the guy that did it for you did a 
better job than the original artist that mounted the fish, really. So 
that's the Ñ and then as long as I did that I thought, well, I'll keep 
track of it. I'll get two maps, one to show the lake where the fish was 
and put a red dot on the lake, and the other one to show where Lucille 
and Hap lived so you'd have some idea of the territory in which the 
fish was caught. So that's where the maps came from. So I was very 
proud to be a fisherman that almost lost the big one. 
	And I'm thrilled to death, Joe, that you and Anthony have that 
fish to look at, and I hope it gives you a lot of encouragement. 
Because when you go fishing, don't ever give up fishing until you have 
to quit and go home, because there's always one there waiting for you. 
You know he is. You just know. It may be a little one, it may be a big 
one, it may be the prize. You never know. But every time you look at 
him, wave at him and say how do you like it in Wisconsin? You're down 
here in Washington now. 
	Mary Catherine's father caught one, not that big, but he had it 
mounted. And it was a sort of a, in those days they didn't make it 
artistic like this. They just put it out flat on the side of the fish, 
you know? And what was the poem he wrote. Oh, he called it Old Fighter. 
And he wrote a poem for it. He was good at writing little poems. He 
wrote a poem, and he said, if Old Fighter, while roaming the Minnesota 
lakes had kept his mouth shut, he would not be in this place. That was 
Grandma's father that made that little poem for his fish. But he was Ñ 
he was no prize fish like the one that you and Anthony have. He was a 
good size bass, but he wasn't a specimen. 

Bud Becomes a Daddy
	MS. COSTABILE: You are a father, a grandfather, and a great 
grandfather. So you want to tell me something about when Mom was first 
born or when you first found out you were going to be a father? 
	MR. LYNCH: When your mother was first born, I was at - well, 
number one, man to man, couple months we were very - the two of us were 
very upset. We were afraid we couldn't have a child. It came to the 
point where I wanted Mary Catherine to go and have an examination and 
see why we aren't having a child. Well, by the time that came to, you 
know, almost yes, I'll do this; she finds out that she's pregnant. 
Well, of course, we were in seventh heaven. And so we were living in 
this house. It was a nice enough house but it had too many people in 
it. 

Of Mice and Geese
	You know what the people were besides Grandma and Grandpa? Mice. 
And Grandma said, I can't have a baby in this house full of mice. So 
Uncle Vince and I, to get her mind off the mice, went to a legion fund-
raiser one night, and he took a quarter ticket for a prize on a goose. 
Must have been around Thanksgiving time. And I won a goose. A big white 
goose. About this big, Joe. Big white goose. So I go home, and we're 
living in this house, and it has a basement. Grandma's upstairs in the 
bedroom, and I'll come in, and fortunately, the goose was quiet. And I 
take him downstairs and put him in the coal bin. It had a door on it 
that you could shut. And I didn't tell anybody we had a goose in the 
basement. 
	MS. COSTABILE: It was a live goose? 
	MR. LYNCH: A live goose.
	MR. LYNCH: A live goose. I didn't tell anybody I had a goose in 
the coal bin. I got up the next morning and took a shower and shave and 
got dressed and got in my car and went to Clinton to the courthouse. 
Now Grandma's up and is getting cold, and some coal has to be put in 
the furnace to warm up the house. So Grandma goes down and opens the 
coal bin door, and the white goose is there. She got on the telephone 
and she called Uncle Vince and she said, where did the white goose come 
from? He laughed to beat the band. He said, I'll come down and get him, 
Mary. So he came down and got the goose. And I don't know what he did 
with it. He took it out to his mother's farm, and it stayed there until 
we butchered it and ate it. It wasn't funny to Grandma. I can imagine. 
It's a wonder she didn't faint dead away. She opened the door. Why did 
I buy a goose? 
	You know, generally a goose will quack, squawk, make a hell of a 
lot of noise. It was a big one too. Plus it was dark in there. And he 
was quiet the rest of the night, and I didn't make any noise in the 
morning when I left. Grandma went down and opened the door, and she 
didn't know it, but she had a boarder who was a goose. 
	So we did - luckily, we were able to get another house, two 
bedroom, double garage. I told you about it, where the man who lived 
next door to us was a gardener, and the second house we got before your 
mother was born was the nice little cottage with a little porch on the 
side, which was about half the size of this room, but it was enclosed 
in glass, and you could put a couple rockers out there. And it had a 
nice little dining room and a little kitchen. 
	Double garage, and we only had one car, which wasn't paid for, 
plus the dog, which you had a doghouse for. But Andrew Moore was the 
gardener, and he - whoever lived in our house, had planted a strawberry 
garden, and he took care of that, and he took care of the garden, oh, I 
don't know for how many years. Two years at least. He'd come in the 
spring and get it all ready and take care of it. That's where your 
mother - that's where we lived when your mother was born. 

Mary Rae is Born
	And so the day before your mother was born, Vince and I had 
played 36 holes of golf, and it was hot, August. And my mother was with 
Mary Catherine. And when we came from the golf course, my mother said, 
you'd better take a shower because we're going over to Lucille's for 
dinner. And I said, no, I'm too tired. 
	My mother didn't hesitate- she had a very soft voice, and she 
said, Ray, we're going to Lucille's for dinner. Take a shower and get 
dressed. And I knew even with that soft voice. It-s like hauling me in 
on Saturday to take a bath, get me ready to go to confession. And it 
meant Bud do what your mother says. We didn't have anything in the 
house to drink, so we drove over to Fulton, Illinois where you could 
buy liquor on Sunday. And we bought a bottle of gin. 
	We came back over the bridge and went to his house, and I fixed 
Tom Collins. I drank half of mine, got sick to my stomach. I wasn't 
nervous. Now it's getting around 9:00 at night, 9:30, and things are 
moving, and it's time to go to the hospital. There was no air 
conditioning in those days. And Grandma went into whatever, and I sat 
on the porch where I could smoke my cigar. 
	And I ran out of cigars. The doctor offered me a cigarette. I 
said, I can't smoke cigarettes and I don't have any cigars, and I don't 
want to leave. So now I'm getting to be the nervous father. He comes 
out on the porch later, and I thought he was going to say you have a 
lovely baby. And he said, come on. I got up and I say, where are we 
going? He said, never mind, just come on. So we go around the corner 
and he said, you started this, you might as well find out what it-s all 
about. So I was there. Why I didn't faint, Beth, I'll never know. I was 
sweating. I bet I stunk like a hog. My clothes were soaking wet. 
Everything's fine, everything's coming out fine. The baby was in good 
health; your mother was in good health. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Was Grand mom awake for it or did they put her to 
sleep? 
	MR. LYNCH: I don't think they gave her anything except - what was 
it they gave you then? She was still conscious, yes. But I don't think 
they gave her anything but - I think they had something in those days. 
They were afraid to give you anything. But something - if they're going 
to give you a shot for your tooth, you know, you put something on to 
numb it? I think they gave her something like that. I don't know. 
Something that would have no effect on the child. So actually, for all 
intents and purposes, she had it without anything. 
	And then, I don't know how long after it was, we found out that 
your mother had one of these rare things that babies have where the 
tear duct in her eyes, she had to have it operated on. Well, newlyweds, 
new child, new daughter, and how can this happen to us? But it had to 
be done. So we got an eye surgeon and went back to Mercy Hospital and 
of course, in those days, somebody had to be with her. So I watched 
them operate on her. And the first child, and you're a kid yourself. 
Even when you're older than hell, you're 90, it tears you up. And you 
think of 1,000 things that can happen. I'll never forget that. That was 
a very hard thing for me to take. 
	The birth, by comparison, was such a shock because I never 
expected to see that. I don't remember - I think in those days Dr. 
Scanlan had his office right next to mine. So we were very good 
friends. And I think he did it, and he was a Minnesota boy. This is the 
way life is; you might as well understand it. He didn't ask me do you 
want to or anything. He said come on. I never did it again. I know, 
once was enough. And as a matter of fact, when Holly and Anne were 
born, they wouldn't let you in the delivery room in those days. 
	MS. COSTABILE: How times have changed. 
	MR. LYNCH: Times have changed. Now you gotta be in there and have 
the baby with the mother. Oh, God. And when I went, I don't know of 
anybody ever, they were telling me that they were there when their baby 
was born. It was - I think it was Scanlan's idea alone and - 
	MS. COSTABILE: Maybe he wanted to see if you could take it. 
	MR. LYNCH: Could be. He was a big, tall Norwegian. Even though 
his name was Scanlan, he was Irish, but he looked like a Norwegian, 
born in Minnesota, Minneapolis. Went to Creighton, graduated from 
Creighton Medical School. And that was, oh, gosh, what was the longest 
day of your life? It started with the first round of golf, and it ended 
- why they didn't put me in the bed at the hospital, I'll never know. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Had you decided what you were going to name her 
before she was born? 
	MR. LYNCH: No. In those days you stayed in the hospital ten days 
after having a baby, right on your back. You never got up. The nurses 
brought in the urinal, and everything else was done while you were in 
bed because they didn't want to cause any problem. So the biggest 
problem we had is it was 20 miles from Clinton to DeWitt, and you had 
to be careful about the mother and the baby. So I had borrowed Hap's 
big Buick instead of the old Ford we had to take Grandma and the baby 
to DeWitt, because we couldn't stand the rattling of a lightweight car. 
	So I borrowed Hap's car and took them to DeWitt. I'll never 
forget. Now we're getting ready to take her home and do this, ten days 
later. We haven't named her yet. I'm sitting there in the room. The 
nurse finally came in and said, you can't take this child out of here 
without giving her a name. By now she was mad because we hadn't 
decided. Well, we'll decide, we'll decide. 
	And as I say, I knew most of the personnel and all the sisters in 
the hospital because I was there in the County Attorney's office back 
and forth for different things. 
	And we're sitting there, and we hadn't decided on anything. And I 
don't know whether it was Mary Catherine or me or the both of us said, 
why don't we name her after both of us and call her Mary Rae, R-A-E. 
Well, the sister said, you've just named your baby. With that, she 
left. That was the end of decision-making. It was done. 
	So then afterwards we thought it was kind of cute. Mary, Rae, 
father and mother, and I don't think she was unhappy about that as a 
name. She wasn't considered. We didn't ask her what she wanted for a 
name, but that's what she drew. 

Holly 
	Holly, we were going to name her Noel. But we named her Kathleen 
and nicknamed her Holly because she was born on Christmas. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So what was the story of when she was born? 
	MR. LYNCH: When she was born, it was a new world. Georgetown had 
just opened. I had a job. We were living in the condominiums, we had an 
air conditioned apartment, were eating with regularity. By now we had 
met the Hoffmans and the Blakes and the Kepplers and Castles. I mean we 
were in seventh heaven. 
	And so Dr. Donovan was the doctor and all his babies were 
delivered at Georgetown. And she was in a beautiful big private room. 
And I think by that time they had cut the stay to a week. Well, for 
some reason or other, there were nurses around for Mary Catherine. 
Every time I went there, there were two or three nurses. 
	They liked her and she liked them, and whenever I'd be there, 
there'd be two or three. Well, it finally got to be a day that we were 
going to take her home. And I said to a couple of the nurses, I said, 
look, before we take her home, why don't we have a little cocktail 
party here? I said. I got Christmas cookies, a bushel of them. I'll 
bring them down, and I'll bring some Manhattans. How about some 
Manhattans? 
	That would be wonderful. But don't have it till 4: 00 because 
we'll all be off duty at 4:00. I said, fine. I made a great big batch 
of Manhattans, couple of sacks of cookies Grandma had already made for 
Christmas, see. 
	I go down, I'm there at the hospital at 4:00, and there were at 
least five of them, okay? Fortunately, I had enough Manhattans, and 
they all had little paper cups to go around, and they had Manhattans 
and cookies and Christmas songs. And it was like a new world. You'd 
gone from here to here and you never knew how you got there. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Who took care of my mother? 
	MR. LYNCH: H'mm. I'm trying to think of - well, for the moment 
you got me stuck. I can see the apartment, I can see the cookies, and I 
think there was pumpkin pie - mincemeat pie on the dining room table. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So Grand mom was cooking right up to the last 
minute. 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, yeah. She was going to have the Hoffmans and the 
Kepplers over, and - 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did Holly come early?
	MR. LYNCH: No, but that was the way you did it. In those days you 
didn't let it interfere with your normal operating. And you know how 
Grandma was around the house. It had to be dusted five times and 
everything had a place, and everything went into its place. So, no, 
having a baby didn't interrupt what she was doing. 
	But I can't remember who took care of Mary Rae. Maybe Ellie, 
because Ellie and Grandma were so close, and Ellie was home at the 
time. 

Anne
	MS. COSTABILE: So tell me the story about when Ann was born. That 
was two years later. 
	MR. LYNCH: When the firecracker came? I told them we almost 
called you cracker because you were almost born on the 4th of July. We 
were living on Bradley Lane, and we moved there in 1950. We had to move 
because Mary Catherine was pregnant, and we had your mom and Holly, so 
we had to get more room. As luck would have it, in January of 1950 we 
were able to rent the house on [4409] Bradley Lane. And so we moved 
there in January, and Ann was born in July. 
	Well, we lived in the house six months by that time. We moved in, 
and it was filthy. Everything needed to be fixed. For all intents and 
purposes, the war was still on. Edgy Smith and his wife Fran and the 
Kepplers and the Hoffmans and the Blakes, and they were all apartment 
people. We got the house and it had to be painted and so on. They all 
showed up. I don't know how many nights. Anyway, we worked at night 
sometimes till 12:00, depending on how much beer there was. When we ran 
out of beer, we had to quit till the next night. 
	But I had Edgy Smith up on the stepladder holding a plank, and he 
got about half a snoot full, and I said, Edgy, if you don't get the 
hell off that, you're going to fall and break your neck. He said, no, I 
do better with beer. 
	Edgy at the time didn't have a job. He was trying to find one. He 
didn't know whether they were going to be able to pay their rent, and 
his wife used to tell Mary Catherine, sometimes we don't have a can of 
beans in the house. He ended up being a millionaire, bought a beautiful 
home out in Potomac. Came home one day and said to his wife, get your 
clothes ready because tomorrow we're going to London for lunch. 
	When the Concorde first started to fly, they got a couple of 
tickets to go over and spend a couple of days at one of the best 
hotels. That's the story of Edgy Smith. From a bum to a millionaire. 
Both of them, I think, are gone now. Now, where were we before I 
interjected that? Oh, we were fixing the house. A long story short, 
that can be done easily. We had all that help, and they were all 
willing and kind and wonderful. They were our neighbors, family. And we 
finally got the house in order by the time Ann came around. 
	And so when Ann came, we were prepared for her. And your mother 
had a little bedroom, which was little or nothing, but at least there 
was a bed there. And the other bedroom Holly and Ann had, and then 
Grandma and I had the one on the street. It was just a three-bedroom 
house and one bath, and then a toilet down in the basement. But we had 
a little kitchen. We had a refrigerator and we had a gas stove and a 
fireplace, which was fabulous, because we had a fire whenever we could 
afford to buy wood. 
	And then pretty soon a television came. I remember Ann and Holly 
were not too old. I bought one, had to charge it from the Hecht 
Company, and I had to go out, they had a warehouse way out in Northeast 
and brought it home. 
	Kepplers had had one, a small one, one of the first that came 
out. And so of course then the girls started putting on shows for the 
kids. So Holly and Ann had, oh, I don't know, some guy used to do funny 
things for the kids. He used to put on shows strictly for kids like 
Holly. And I think both of them were in his show and had to have a 
uniform and something down there at Sears and Roebuck where the 
television was. And then they went to school. What's the name of the 
street behind Bradley? Rosemary. Was it Rosemary School? Yeah. And then 
they went from there to Lourdes, and from Lourdes to Holy Cross. And 
went to college. Your mother quit and married and had you. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Thank goodness. 

Of Weddings and Honeymoons and Such
	MR. LYNCH: Well, I was Ñ you know the story books you read when 
you were a girl growing up about the mean guy like the bearded sea 
captain that, you know, was a spy and shake down other ships. Remember 
those tales, or did they have them when you were young? 
	MS. COSTABILE: Sure. 
	MR. LYNCH: Blackbeard and all that. Well, I was a Blackbeard as 
far as your mother was concerned. I don't know how long they were going 
together, but your mother was at Dunbarton, and she was like David. She 
wanted to be in everything, was in everything, had a lot of talent, 
singing, acting. And I saw a career for her on Broadway. I really did. 
No ifs, ands or buts. 
	Until one Thanksgiving, and you'll know the date. Anyway, your 
father and mother were there, but I don't remember how old she was, 18 
or 19. And we had a big, beautiful turkey dinner, wonderful 
Thanksgiving. 
	And I was sitting on a chair, the one good chair we had in the 
house, and I had a glass of beer sitting next to me. And now dinner was 
over. And we were sitting there with the fire in the fireplace. All of 
a sudden your father and mother spring on me that they want to get 
married. And I don't how many years. I said there was no getting 
married by any of my children till after they graduated from college. 
That was a given. And thinking about it, forget it, it ain't going to 
be. Not under my roof. You're going to graduate first. Well, when that 
came up Thanksgiving, I damn near knocked the glass of beer off the 
table. I was so surprised, shocked. I knew it was a given, that edict I 
issued. It was never up for discussion. I sat there for I don't know 
how long and didn't even open my mouth. 
	Now, as I said, it was Thanksgiving. Well, things went on, not a 
normal life, but things went on, comings and goings. Finally, now it 
was getting to be time for my birthday, December. In between 
Thanksgiving and December it finally got to the point where your 
grandmother and I weren't hardly talking to one another. We were so 
upset by the thought that your mother wanted to be married. 
	Well, if she didn't bring it up, I'd bring it up. If I didn't 
bring it up, she'd bring it. And you know, back and forth, and this and 
that and can't do this and can't do that. She's too young; she'll never 
go back to college. I mean it's a given. You can read out throughout 
history, they get married young and they never go back. They have a 
family, which is nice, but that's not the point. You got to be educated 
first. 
	And that's what they told me when I quit high school at St. 
Mary's. Bud, you got to go back and go to college. Get your degree 
first from high school, and then if you want to go to college, go to 
college. Well, it was the same way with getting married. This is a 
rule, there's no change about it. 
	Finally got to be, as I say, around my birthday. I said, Kate, 
came home one night, I was very unhappy about worrying about that since 
Thanksgiving. I said, look, I got an idea today. She said, what was 
that? I said, well, it's been since Thanksgiving, and it's got to the 
point now where you and I are hardly talking to one another because the 
subject comes up and somebody gets angry about what somebody else said 
and what somebody else's idea is, and I'm getting sick and tired of it, 
and I know you are. 
	I said, I came to the conclusion today that give or take or 
whatever will come or be, why don't we tell the kids if they want to 
get married, it's perfectly all right with us, and for them to go ahead 
and set the date and make up their mind when they want to get married, 
and we'll be happy for them. 
	Well, probably took a couple of days for that, see, because she 
hadn't been in on my original. And she finally said to me, well, you 
know, I think that's a good idea. I said it's got to be that way. It's 
like the stories you've read, the novels. I said, if that's the way it 
is, let's be happy about it. Let's make them happy. 
	So we told them, go ahead and decide when you want to get 
married, and we'll be happy for you and see that you have a nice 
wedding. They were thrilled. So as time went on, Christmas came and 
went, and when were they finally married, in August? 
	Anyway, after we did that, it was Christmastime. Of course, it 
was a happy Christmas, and they were making their plans. And one day in 
January it dawned on me, how are we going to pay for this? I went home 
from work that night, and we didn't have any money in the bank except 
to pay the rent and living and eating and, you know. 
	I wasn't making enough money to start with. I had a good job, and 
I was supposed to be a very smart lawyer, and, you know, like other 
people. And I was living in Chevy Chase, you know, I mean I was a big 
dog. I had a car. How were we going to pay for the wedding? I never 
thought of going to the bank because I didn't know who the hell would 
loan me money. In those days you didn't do that, see? If you didn't 
have something, the banker would look at you and say, I'm sorry, but 
unless you have some collateral, I can't give you $100. 
	Well, fortunately, when I finished high school, I told you I took 
a year off and worked. And in my day, when a young man graduated high 
school and he was on his own, and the first thing he did is take the 
burden off your parents and see to it that if something happened to 
you, if you were in an accident, they would have money enough to bury 
you. 
	So the first thing you did as an adult, which I was after 
graduating, is to take out, when I went to work at the Climax that 
year, I took out $1000, insurance policy. And then I kept that. And 
then when we got married, I took out a $2500 insurance policy. So we 
had those two insurance policies. 
	And Grandma checked the two companies and wanted to know what the 
cash surrender value was of the two insurance policies. And I don't 
remember the amount. Anyway, we cashed the two insurance policies, and 
that was the bulk of the money that we had. And of course, I had to 
have set aside $15 for Eddie to rent and be the chauffeur to drive your 
father and mother to the church in the Cadillac that Eddie drove, 
because she had to go in a Cadillac. 
	Oh, Eddie drove your mother and me in the Cadillac up to Lourdes. 
And then the bride and the groom over to the Ladies Chevy Chase Club, 
in Chevy Chase by the firehouse. And that's where we had the reception. 
	And we didn't have an orchestra. There was a guy who went to our 
church who played the accordion. Remember the big accordions you used 
to love? Mr. Ñ Mr. Ñ Mr. Ñ his family's still around. I want to say 
Dempsey, and that's not right, but it's close. 
	He played the music, and everybody danced. And the food Ñ I'm 
trying to think of what we did for the food, where we got it. Let's put 
it this way. It was not elaborate. It was sufficient, it served the 
purpose. And I don't think there was any liquor served. Soft drinks, 
coffee and so on. We had a wonderful time. The woman's clubs in those 
days, it was a very delightful place. And a lot of people had wedding 
receptions there. 
	So we shuffled them off to Maine Avenue, where they caught the 
boat to go to Norfolk on their honeymoon. Where the hell they got that 
idea, I'll never know. 
	But it was crazy as ours because we left Cedar Rapids after being 
married, and we drove to Iowa City and went to Reich's Cafe and had a 
cup of coffee in the same booth that I had first seen Mary Catherine. 
	And then we left Iowa City to drive to Rock Island where we were 
going to catch the train to go to Chicago. The train had already left, 
and there was only one a day. So we drove up and into Illinois to 
Sterling to the Lincoln Hotel. $1.50 a night bought a room. And didn't 
have one with a bathroom. There was nothing wrong with the room. It was 
a lovely, big room. And it was getting late, so we ordered dinner in 
the room. Served dinner, and I forget what the hell we had for dinner. 
Anyway, later Mary Catherine had to go to the bathroom, so she had to 
go down to the end of the hall to go to the bathroom. And when she left 
the bathroom, she'd forgotten what room we were in. So I was sitting 
there waiting for her to come back, and all of a sudden I heard this 
voice. Buddy, Buddy. 
	It finally dawned on me. I went over and opened the door. I said, 
here I am. $ 1.50 a night, and so then the next day we had lunch there 
and then drove back to Clinton and stayed at Lucille's and Hap's that 
night. And then I think I had to go to the Grand Jury the next day. The 
Grand Jury had reconvened. 
	In the meantime, I had made arrangements in DeWitt that Mary 
Catherine could stay with me in my room until we got someplace. Great, 
big double bed. So that's what we did. And I forget, I don't think we 
were there a week. And this was strictly big board, you know, old-
fashioned bed. And we were in bed, and seriously, we were not making 
love, we were in bed. And I don't know, I went to get up and Mary 
Catherine went to get up to go to the bathroom, whichever one. There 
were boards that go across underneath to hold the mattress. The goddamn 
board broke and mattress went on the floor. Well, you can imagine in 
the middle of the night what the hell that sounded like. And of course, 
Mrs. McConnell, I know what she was thinking, but I was so embarrassed, 
walking around in my pajamas. Oh, dear God almighty. 
	Anyway, we finally got the house with the mice, and then before 
your mother was born, we got the house without the mice, which was a 
cute - for newlyweds it was a cute little place. 

Life on Bradley Lane
	MS. COSTABILE: You have to repeat for me or for the tape the 
story of the chickens coming to Bradley Lane. The chickens coming home 
to roost. 
	MR. LYNCH: No, no. You're the one that started. You said you 
don't remember very much, if anything, about the house on Bradley Lane. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Right. 
	MR. LYNCH: You remember that? You said that. I didn't. And I was 
telling you about the picnic table I had made. I went down to Rock 
Creek Park, and I measured those tables, the size of them. You know, 
they had them all over Haynes Point. 
	And took the measurements. And Ike had been elected, and they had 
the inauguration for him. And Hechinger bought all the lumber when it 
was torn down, the stands in front of the White House. I went out to 
Hechingers and bought a lot of that old lumber and brought them back 
and put them in the basement. And after - eventually I got to the point 
where I put all the lumber together and made a picnic table. 
	And I did it downstairs. Matter of fact, I think it was one of my 
Lenten projects where I wasn't drinking beer. And I didn't have many 
things for tools, but I would draw on the walls to try to figure out 
how I was going to join the legs together. Anyway, to make a long story 
short and get into what we're talking about, I finally got it all 
together, and I put it together. There were no nails. It was all bolts. 
And I put it together, had it all varnished and everything else. And 
Tom Keefe about midnight walked by, and on the driveway side he could 
see in the window. 
	And he looked in and he said, Ray, how are you going to - and you 
can leave this out - get that goddamn thing out of the basement. You'll 
have to tear down half the house. I said, Tom - he was walking around 
with a pith helmet on with a snoot full - I said, Tom, I'll get it out. 
Because there was a window in our basement that went right to the back 
yard. So plank by plank I took it out and put it together. 
	Anyway, we had a lot of picnics there, and I built a grill to 
grill steaks and stuff on. So that was our back yard. 
	MS. COSTABILE: How'd you figure out how to build a grill? 
	MR. LYNCH: My father taught me how to do a thousand things. All I 
had to do was buy cement blocks. And behind our garage, you know the 
yellow stones that are around; you see them around for decorative 
things? There was a pile of them behind the garage. So after I got the 
cement blocks squared away the way I wanted and solid, and in concrete 
at the bottom, I bought two iron grilles to put in the middle. And I 
measured it, and I put the concrete blocks up so I could put the metal 
tops on and they'd hold up. And then I took concrete and put these 
stones and stuck them in concrete around to decorate the grill. That 
went with the picnic table. 

Live Chickens in the Backyard
	And that was there when Vince and Evelyn went down at Easton. And 
Vince was working for Pillsbury selling chicken feed to all the people 
like Ñ who's the big chicken man down there now? Perdue? There were 
hundreds of them in those days. And Vince was selling chicken feed for 
Pillsbury Corporation in that whole Delaware, Delmarva area. 
	So one Saturday he came over in the pickup truck, which he used 
where, he'd drive around in his job. In the back of the pickup truck he 
had eight red-feathered chickens. Whether they were Rhode Island reds, 
I don't know. There was a chicken called a Rhode Island red. 
	And he had them all tied together with string. Each chicken, one 
of the legs was tied to the leg of another chicken so the chickens 
couldn't get away. And so he drove from Easton to Bradley Lane with the 
eight chickens in the back of the truck. And when he drove in the 
driveway and he started taking them out of the truck, and having been 
born on a farm, that was no big deal for him. 
	He ended up with the chickens all tied up like that, running 
around, picking up grass and eating grass, and they were thrilled to be 
on the ground. And Mary Catherine looked out the kitchen window and she 
was saying, look at what Vince brought. She didn't say it, but I know 
what she was saying - he never should have done it. 
	So I go out and I said, Vince, how are you? The farming is good. 
He said, yeah, go downstairs and turn on the hot water because we've 
got to clean them. 
	So we set tubs of hot water. So you take the chicken and dunk it 
in, first chop the head off, and then you drop them in, pick them and 
gut them, and then you take all the stuff out behind the garage and 
bury it. The insides. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So right across the street from the country club. 
	MR. LYNCH: Right across the street Ñ right across the street. I 
was sitting in the bay window one day and looked over and I said to 
Grandma, why would anybody be so stupid as to play golf when it's 
sprinkling out? There were about six men there, umbrellas up, and then 
all of a sudden we found out. Who was it? Jack Kennedy on the tee 
teeing off. 
	So anyway, Mrs. Keith was our neighbor, and we shared half a 
driveway. They've got a damn chicken farm. 

Civil Aeronautics Board (CAB) 
	MS. COSTABILE: Now, at the time you moved in, you told me that 
Grand mom was pregnant with Ann. Where were you working at the time? 
Were you still at Agriculture? 
	MR. LYNCH: No. 1950 I was at the Civil Aeronautics Board. 
	MS. COSTABILE: And what were you doing for them? 
	MR. LYNCH: I was an administrative law judge. I was appointed an 
administrative law judge in 1948. They appointed about 240 of us. Tom 
Clark, attorney general, and he's the one came from Texas, and John 
Poindexter introduced him to him many years. He was attorney general. 
Anyway, he was the one that got Congress to pass the Administrative 
Procedure Act, setting up administrative law judges and tenure, life 
tenure and so on. And so the Civil Service Commission, which controlled 
personnel at the time, set up a board of five or seven, I've forgotten 
which, to interview people like myself who were at the present time 
working. Like I was working at the CAB, but I was called a hearing 
judge. 
	And you went before the board, and if you met their 
qualifications, then they selected you to be an administrative law 
judge. And there were 240. And I imagine today. I think somebody told 
me, I forget how many thousands they have in the State of Maryland, 
administrative law judges. 
	So it was 1948 that Ñ in October, about, of 1948 that I was 
appointed. And I stayed with Civil Aeronautics Board doing safety work 
and rates and routes. And I had six central states I had charge of. 
	And I worked Ñ sometimes I would for reasons I don't remember Ñ I 
remember they were mechanical. Some guy couldn't go, and I would go up 
to Boston or someplace. I was appointed special master one time to go 
to Puerto Rico to try a case. And so I stayed with Civil Aeronautics 
Board until 1960.
	MS. COSTABILE: Give me an example of the kinds of cases. What 
were some of the things that were at issue? 
	MR. LYNCH: You know the guy that built the old houses after World 
War II over near Levittown. I knew I'd get his name, Mr. Levitt? He 
liked to fly an airplane, and he violated the law by flying, like for 
example, near the Empire State Building. And the Civil Aeronautics Ñ 
Federal Aviation administrator filed a complaint against him. The 
complaint had to be heard with a decision to revoke, suspend his 
license. Arthur Godfrey had the same problem. I don't know who tried 
that case. 
	I had a case of an airline pilot. Back in those days you just had 
DC-3s, twin engine, power driven airplanes. And Frederick Duremus was 
the man's name. And I'm trying to remember what airline. Anyway, he was 
cited by the Federal Aviation Administration for violating the flight 
rules. 
	But when the case was held, I held it here at Washington and New 
York, and I had a psychologist, doctor, couple from Chicago and a 
couple from New York testify about the man's, not how he flew the 
airplane, which he was accused of flying it, getting airborne, turning 
the airplane on automatic pilot and then picking up Playboy and 
starting to read Playboy and paying no attention to where he was going. 
	And the copilots, of course, testified that was how he liked to 
fly. Now one thing led to another, and I had these psychologists 
testify. And it was obvious the man, no matter what you thought of him, 
he was crazy, you know? After you listened to these guys testify. 
	And I issued an order and revoked his certificate for life. And 
he never did appeal it. And I had letters from the doctors in Chicago 
complementing me on the decision I made because of the fact that it was 
a hard and tough decision to make, to take the man's livelihood away 
from him. 
	January 1960, I went to Federal Trade. And I was sitting in my 
office, whether it was 1960 or 1961, and all of a sudden - I had the 
open door policy - and I looked up and I saw this man in front of me, 
and it was Fred Duremus, the pilot, and I was scared to death. I 
figured he was going to kill me. And I didn't know what to do, and I 
thought, stand up, shake hands, Fred; it's good to see you. Sit down 
and we'll have a little visit. 
	That happened twice, and I was very concerned, seeing that he 
just wanted to visit. He didn't want to complain about what I did. I 
mean there was never any, you mean bastard, you. Knowing his mental 
background, I said, man, he could snap like that. That's what the 
doctor said. And so I gave him my jolly good jump up and shook hands 
with him. 
	At the time of these visits, he was driving a truck that hauled 
cars to different places, you know, the big, long trucks that had two 
or three cars on it? That's what he was doing for a living. That's the 
end of Fred Duremus. A little tale of woe. That's the way it goes. 

Federal Trade Commission
	MS. COSTABILE: So you went from the Civil Aeronautics Board to 
the Federal Trade Commission. And what kind of cases did you hear then? 
	MR. LYNCH: They were false advertising - 
	MS. COSTABILE: Is that the Wonder Bread case? 
	MR. LYNCH: The Wonder Bread case - oh, dear, I have a copy of 
that, of the newspaperman, Jim Kilpatrick that wrote and gave me his 
whole column. I have a copy of it downstairs, where he gives me, like 
David in his stopping the show? Kilpatrick wrote - well, you can read 
the article. But anyway, about my decision. And he quoted from this, 
this and this. 
	And then as he wound down to the end, he said something. He said, 
and then the judge, after due consideration of all of the arguments 
that had been made, said if he were to follow the proposition presented 
by the defendant, he would have to stand on the springboard of 
imagination and spring into a realm of conjecture. And it's quoted, and 
that's me saying that. And he gave me the whole column in his 

newspaper. 
	MS. COSTABILE: They were advertising that their bread built 
strong bones. Is that what it was or Ñ 
	MR. LYNCH: What they were doing was spending millions of dollars 
to try to get you as a mother to feed your little children Wonder Bread 
because it did ten things for your little child if he wanted to grow up 
and be a good soccer player. 
	Oh, the Wonder Bread spent millions and millions of dollars on 
the case. They had a group of New York lawyers in it and Washington 
lawyers. And so I thought I'd give them a little of my artistic touch. 
You want to fly with me. I was thrilled to death when I saw that he had 
given me his whole article and then quoted my final conclusions. I 
thought that was pretty great. 
	There was a case in Ohio, and I went out to try it. And we were 
in the middle of trial, and one of the investigators for Federal 
Aviation Administration was on the witness stand, and he said, somebody 
asked, him did you take a statement from this man when he was still in 
the air? 
	He said, no, not while he was in the air. Whoever it was asking 
that crazy question. He said, I took a statement from him when he got 
down on the ground. The guy got stuck up in the air over the airport in 
Cleveland, and there was cloud cover and he couldn't see the airport. 
Fortunately, there was an aviation tower at the time the guy said, this 
is where I am but I can't see. I don't know where I am. 
	So they said, hold on and we'll talk you down. So whoever it was 
told him what to do with the airplane, where to go and what altitude to 
go to and what direction he was going to, and he would break out of the 
clouds and he'd see the runway, which he did, and he landed the runway 
safely. 
	And that's when they asked him; did you have any reaction when 
you were coming through the clouds? He said, I had a bowel movement. 
And I looked at the report, and by God, that's what he said. He said, I 
had a bowel movement. I can visualize the guy. Above the clouds, he 
can't see anything. He's gotta go through the clouds, and he's 
listening to somebody telling him. And all of a sudden he comes out, I 
can imagine. Heard that before, I wasn't scared. I was scared to death. 
	But aviation, most of the arguments were where airplanes would 
go, how much they would be allowed to get. Because they were mostly, in 
those days, I would say 90 percent was political. The administrative 
law judge would write Ñ hold hearings, have to write an opinion. They 
would review it. They could either go along or they could deny, reverse 
the administration law judge. 
	That was appealable to the Circuit Court of Appeals. Well, 
naturally, the boards didn't want to go to the Circuit Court of 
Appeals. When they wrote a decision, they would either indirectly or 
directly affirm the judge, be it me, or no, they're going to agree but 
not agree. In other words, they'd agree in their own language rather 
than what I said. 
	MS. COSTABILE: When you were working for the Federal Trade 
Commission, you were working downtown? 
	MR. LYNCH: I originally went in the Federal Trade Commission 
building. Then, I forget, we had about 22 or 23 men. And then for 
reasons of political expediency or something, that's as good as any, 
the people that Ñ these politicians decided that the administrative law 
judges should not be in the same building with the administrative 
people. 
	So they moved us all to the Evening Star building at 11th and 
Pennsylvania. So that's where I spent most of Ñ I guess I was only in 
the main building at most a year and a half to two years. And then the 
rest of the time I spent at the Evening Star Building. 

Retirement
	MS. COSTABILE: And you retired in? 
	MR. LYNCH: 1975. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you look forward to retirement? 
	MR. LYNCH: I know I gave it a thousand thoughts, you know, year 
after year, when will I do this? When will I do this? When will I think 
that maybe after I retire, I'll have enough money coming in on pension 
in order to get along without any trouble? 
	And I'm sure I went through that many times. And so there were 
other guys, like Poindexter, my friend, and two other guys, Bud 
Jackson, who was an office mate of mine, we all retired. Andy Goodhope, 
who was a World War II veteran, who saw action at Anzio and the Poe 
River Valley in Italy and it's lucky he didn't get killed. 
	And we all retired. I think there were five of us at the same 
time. And I guess I figured I had been working for the government for 
32 years, and maybe that was time to go. As a specific thing, whether 
you will or you won't, I don't know of any Ñ I think it was Mary and I 
just decided that, well, you know, maybe it would be a good idea. So we 
retired, and they had a big luncheon for us. And who do you think the 
speaker of the luncheon was? Elizabeth Dole. 
	MS. COSTABILE: What did she have to say? 
	MR. LYNCH: What wonderful men we were and what a wonderful job we 
did for the Commission. She was a member of the Commission at the time. 
She was not chairman. She was the Republican member. And she gave a 
nice talk. She, you know, has that smile on her face when she looked 
around at us. I don't know, we had probably 60, 70 people there for the 
retirement luncheon. 

Remembering Kennedy
	When Jack Kennedy was in, the Democrats had a party for him 
before he went to Russia. Remember that? When he was going over to 
Russia to see Khrushchev right after he was elected? He had a party 
down at the Armory and full dress, tuxedo. Your father has the tuxedo I 
bought to go to that party. Well, we had a great time. It was a 
wonderful party. 
	And for half of the dinner, Johnson sat on one side and Kennedy 
on the other. And then at the middle of the dinner they just changed. 
Kennedy went to Ñ he was on my side at the beginning, and then went 
over to the other side. 
	When he was on my side of the hall, he sat there and he had a 
Panatela, which is a thin cigar. He sat there like this, like there's 
nothing in the world to worry about. It's just a good cigar. And he was 
going to leave in another hour or two to fly to Russia, see? I thought, 
how could you do that? 
	Silky Williams, the governor of Michigan, was there. He used to 
be my boss when I first came here in OPA, Office of Price 
Administration. 
	And later on we had another party, I think it was for Kennedy 
too, and we took our wives. But first time we had it, it was all men. 
Then the second time the women were invited too. 
	But then Kennedy was gone. I'm sitting at the airport, our Dulles 
Airport at 12:00 eating lunch, radio comes on, Kennedy has just been 
shot in Texas. Couldn't believe it. 
	At the time, the airport, Dulles Airport hadn't been there too 
long and hadn't been really used. Weeds growing up in between the 
cracks on the runway because of lack of use. And everybody predicted 
nobody will ever come out this far from the city to go and land at that 
airport. No airline. They'd be crazy. Who's going to go all the way 
from Dulles into the city? Well, when it started to go Ñ I hadn't been 
out there in so long. Last time I heard about it on television, they 
doubled the size of it. 
For the Love of Golf
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you play golf before retirement? You had a 
regular group you played with after you retired.
	MR. LYNCH: I can make this brief, my career in golf. When I was 
in Clinton, as I said, most of the time I worked. I didn't have much 
time. But some way or other, in maybe a year and a half or two summers 
I caddied at the public golf course. We got 25 cents for carrying the 
bags around. But in addition, we got one day a week, if you get the 
time, you got a chance to play 18 holes free. That's when I started 
playing golf. I must have been, oh, it was before I quit high school. I 
was probably a freshman in high school. And then after I went back to 
high school, I had reasons Ñ I don't remember how I was able to get to 
the golf course time-wise, but I did, and I got pretty good. 
	By the time I left to go to college in 1929, Ed, my brother, and 
Lucille, my older sister, decided to buy me a golf outfit, which I have 
a picture of it downstairs. It shows me all decked out with these knee 
pants, you know, checkered socks and beautiful camel's hair jacket and 
so forth. And oh, I was Mr. Ñ Prince of Wales. 
	And you see a picture of me with a newspaper bag hanging over my 
shoulder, and it says on it Advertiser, and I got a slouchy cap on and 
a dirty shirt, and I'm carrying the Advertiser, and I'm peddling 
papers, my first job, which I told you didn't pay too well. But you 
asked me how I remember things. The first man on my route, his name was 
Hire, Gary Hire. And he was a former boat captain. And his house was 
about three blocks from the main Mississippi River. 

On Gardening and Roses
	I used to have people that loved roses I think I told you. In the 
summer, late summer, I'd ask, do you mind if I come by and bring my 
little hatchet and take a snip of one of your rosebushes to put in our 
yard? When fall came, I would take a snip off about 12 inches and take 
it home and plant it in that good black soil. You didn't need 
fertilizer or anything. 
	I had roses all over the place. Because everybody I asked, they'd 
say help yourself any time you want. So that's when I first go to be a 
flower lover. 
	And I'll never forget, I had two sisters and neither one of them 
got very happy about it. My brother couldn't care less. My father 
probably couldn't care less either. He'd rather have me doing something 
else worthwhile. My mother loved flowers.
	Those are some of my tricks of my trade. Don't ask for too much. 
Ask for a kindness. 
	MS. COSTABILE: What other kinds of things did you grow in your 
gardens over the years? 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, we put in a regular garden. At home, you mean? I 
told you we had two grape arbors. One Concorde and then the California 
was smaller, about 12 feet, and the other one was about 20 feet long. 
Mother wanted to make grape jelly. And then what was left, my father 
used to mix with wild grapes to make wine, like your father did in 
Pennsylvania. 
	And then on the right side of the yard in the front there's a 
chicken house and a garden. And we spaded it up in between. Here's the 
row of grape vine, grape arbor, and then here's our fence line.. This 
would be the garden space width, and say half again as long. Maybe a 
quarter again as long. 
	So you'd start by the chicken house and dig up and dig up with a, 
you know, a pronged fork, and then they could rake it and so it would 
be nice and smooth. And then you'd take either a board strip or a piece 
of string and stick it in the ground on this end over here so you'd 
have a neat row. And then you'd take the handle of a rake and draw a 
line in the dirt and sprinkle the seeds with your hand and put them all 
up. 
	And you'd put the radishes, carrots, lettuce, onions, rutabagas. 
I'm trying to think what else. Once in a while, not often - once in a 
while we'd put sweet corn. Sweet corn you could buy easier than raising 
it. And then, of course, tomatoes. The bulk was tomatoes at the front 
end of the garden. So that took up the whole space. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did your mother can the tomatoes? 
	MR. LYNCH: Tomatoes were canned-we always had enough. She always 
had canned tomatoes because of wintertime. And oh, yes, canning was the 
thing, canned peaches in the fall of the year. Uncle Hans used to order 
six or eight boxes. They came in boxes. And my Aunt Ann, Uncle Hans' - 
Aunt Mary, Uncle Hans' first wife who died of cancer, 35 years old, she 
lived right behind grandma and grandpa, and - lovely woman. 
	And Aunt Ann and Grandma Weinbeck and my mother and Aunt Mary in 
the last part of August, just before school started, would can peaches. 
They'd spend two days doing nothing but canning peaches for the various 
families so you'd have something for dessert. 

Diphtheria
	I remember them canning peaches. And then the next day was Labor 
Day. And the next day I had to go to school. I told you that story. And 
I got sick. My mother came to wake me up and I said, mother, I'm sick. 
	So by that time we had a telephone. So they called the doctor 
who, in those days, they came to your house. By 5:00 he came to the 
house. You know, the wooden thing, you open your mouth and say ah. And 
he did that a couple times, and then he said to my father, he said, 
he's got a bad case of the diphtheria. He should stay in bed. 
	And of course, then they put a big green sign up in front of the 
house, diphtheria, do not enter. And they stuck that out and nailed it. 
Big, green, with black letters. My brother, my two sisters, they head 
up to Aunt Ann's, and I'm there alone. 
	Six - five weeks I was by myself with my mother, my father. It 
was my own fault. Prior to my getting diphtheria, Lucille got scarlet 
fever. They nailed up a sign in pink. Do not enter. And when they 
nailed it up on the front of the house, mother was standing on our 
steps. I'm three doors down at Grandma Weinbeck's house, mother is 
going like this. Bud, come on home, come on home, Bud. And I'm waving 
to her, hi, mother, hi, mother, goodbye. I never did come home. 
	So when I got the diphtheria, I know that they weren't mean about 
it. Oh, was that a lonesome, lonesome. That took six weeks to get a 
clear culture. It was a long six weeks. 
	Then I had the mumps and the measles and all the rest of those. I 
had the mumps and my mother used a babushka, you know, the women put on 
the heads and tied them in a knot underneath? She just turned it around 
the other way so the big part was under my chin and the knot was on top 
of my head. I had to wear that for a week, two weeks at a time. 
Supposed to keep the mumps warm. I don't know whether that did it or 
whether the mumps just went away by themselves. I used to go around 
with the babushka. We don't have pictures of that. True. Homeopathic 
medicine. 
	
Happy Moments
	MR. LYNCH: The happiest moment in my life was when I married my 
ever-loving wife. Without her I never could have made it. There were 
times that I could have given up. But a comment here, there, we can 
make it, you know? She'd think of a way to pick you up. Not to make a 
big deal out of it. A word. A comment. 
	But before that, I guess getting my juris doctor. I can remember 
how cocky I was as a junior in law school. I bought a hat, double 
breasted overcoat, velvet collar, dark suit, black shoes, and a cane 
with a pearl handle. That's what junior lawyers did on our campus. I 
bought it for $200 and charged the whole thing. I walked across that 
campus. That was a happy, happy moment. 
	I think they used to say it in the movies I went to, all I want 
out of life is a little house, little white house up on the hill and a 
fence around it. And that was Ñ storybook kids growing up. And when I 
finally got my lovely wife to marry me, and we didn't have a white 
house. And it took 50 years to get it. When we got the little house on 
the hill with a little fence around it but no Shetland pony to go in 
the backyard. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Well, we haven't talked about you moving from 
Bradley Lane over here to where we sit now in Bethesda. 
	MR. LYNCH: Dorothy Ann told me the house was open and I bought it 
the same night, and I think it was 30 days before we could move in. I 
sold our house, and I don't remember who I sold it to. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Why did you want to move? 
	MR. LYNCH: I had wanted to move for 20 years. I bet Holly and 
Ann, if they saw one house, and your mother in the early days before 
she married your father, if they saw one, they saw 500 houses. See, 
because they were building after the war. Everything you see from here, 
take Wisconsin Avenue and go to the Navy Medical Center, okay? Where 
the Ramada Inn is now used to be the Jewish Golf Club. The Library of 
Medicine is part of that. 
	And there on up you had nothing till you got to Rockville and the 
red courthouse. There was nothing in between. And I took the kids, when 
they were little, to Rockville and buy an ice cream cone for five 
cents, and that was Sunday afternoon. Your mother had already married. 
And we actually did have a little movie house, drug store, hardware 
store, and a place where you could get an ice cream cone.
	Anyway, I rented the Bradley Lane house first. I finally bought 
it. I bought it on the same conditions, that I wouldn't pay any more 
than what I paid a month in rent. In other words, it was strictly a 
paper deal. I got title and the property, and I forget what I paid for 
it. We had a house, we had a yard, had a job, kids were growing up. So 
Ñ 
	MS. COSTABILE: Why did you want to move from there? Was it too 
small? 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, we had a driveway that was just too Ñ one 
driveway that you had to share with your neighbor. The house was almost 
on the street. Our bedroom, cars would go by and shake my bed. We were 
in the front bedroom above the porch. And your mother showed me 
yesterday the bushes in front of that concrete porch. Mike Kearney and 
I put those in 40 years ago. And after awhile, after I bought it, the 
girls never wanted to move because they wouldn't have any friends where 
we wanted to move. The builders were building all over. And for $25,000 
you could buy a beautiful house. 
	And so I had a beautiful back yard, a nice garage for the car. 
Was deep enough that I could put a whole cord of wood in there in the 
wintertime, you know, to use in the fireplace. And a sandbox and a 
swing for the kids, and a place to put their green tent and my drill 
and chairs and bench that I built, picnic table. I said, well, the way 
things are, if I get somebody to add 16 feet to the back, because I 
couldn't go to the front and I couldn't go to the side, but I could go 
back 16 feet and do the basement, you know, put either a rec room down 
there or put a rec room on the first floor and redo the basement. 
	And I notice, your mother showed me yesterday, somebody has done 
that. They added 12 to 15 feet onto that. 
	And I didn't want to get involved in that because to me, it was 
too much of a gamble, and I was dealing with an old house, a stucco 
house that needed a new roof. And I didn't like - you couldn't park the 
car. You had to drive it in the back and put it on the lawn or in the 
garage. It was a wholly fright.
	Anyway, I guess when I saw this, I couldn't help it. I did not 
have to take five minutes to know that's what I'd been looking for all 
over the place for years. And Grandma, she didn't think so. See, I was 
moving from Chevy Chase to Bethesda. Living in Chevy Chase, having a 
Chevy Chase address, I mean who'd want to move to Bethesda.
	Maybe the biggest mistake I made, but as far as I'm concerned, 
it's the best deal I ever did in my life. Whether you like it or not, 
doesn't make a damn bit of difference. 
	MS. COSTABILE: But when did Grandma come around? 
	MR. LYNCH: She came around after I finally said I think it's the 
best thing for us to do. See, and by that time we had college to worry 
about and everything else, which we were buying bonds for to pay for 
tuition. 
	And so, you know, when I finally convinced her that I could buy 
the house and make the monthly payments, I had it made. The only big 
question in my mind was whether I should keep that house and buy this 
one. If it hadn't been for the girls going to college, I would have 
kept that house and bought this one. But I didn't want to take the 
gamble because I wasn't a gambler. It needed a new roof and all the 
rest of that, and I thought, I can't afford to take that gamble, and 
I've got the girls going to college. I didn't have guts enough to do 
it, to tell you the truth. 
	But I have never regretted this house. This house has known 
happiness that a thousand houses have not known.
	
Beaver Island
	Number one, I was trying to think of the first time I went, I 
think I had to be between five and six. And before I get into it any 
further, I'll stick this in so we don't forget it. I had maps of Beaver 
Island to scale to show you what Beaver Island actually is. 
	And I have a story about Clinton, and I know there's a diagram in 
there that will show South Clinton where it was, and what we called the 
rich and the poor. I was in South Clinton. That's where the poor were. 
And it'll show you the railroad tracks coming through this way, South 
Clinton over here and then the river. Beaver Slough and the river over 
here. Everything this way, which would be north of the tracks, is the 
upper echelon of the society. That's the way the town was divided, 
North Clinton and South Clinton. 
	South Clinton were the shanty Irish, and that's a word that was 
used all the time, and many of others. And in Clinton we only had about 
maybe 100 people who were African American. They all lived on the same 
block. Maple Avenue. And I think we had four Jewish families. So to 
give you some idea of how it was divided. 
	But anyway, getting back to Beaver Island. I stuck that in there 
so we'd remember to get those things put in to divide the city up and 
show. Like the woman that was going to write the book about South 
Clinton was tough. Well, South Clinton was tough. And I want to get the 
division in and show where the tough part of the town was and where the 
tennis players were whose fathers were millionaires. And I have the 
information downstairs. My sister sent it to me. 
	Anyway, I have two uncles, they each had a boat. The boats were 
called scuttle boats where you would sit, and you have an oar go out 
the back end, and you would move it from side to side so the boat would 
sort of creep like this up toward ducks or geese. And when you got 
close enough, and you'd rise up out of the bottom of the boat and you 
would shoot. 
	They were from where I'm sitting to the wall, and they were 
probably inches wide. The guy that - you could also put two oars on to 
row them, you know, like a rowboat? My recollection is they could take 
at least two of us kids. Whether they could take two adults, I don't 
remember. 
	But we would go Beaver Slough, which was like going from here to 
Cullen's house, where the garage is. Now we're on Beaver Island. And 
then we would walk. We'd take what we needed to cook. Copper boiler, 
you know, with the big hook you use for laundry? We'd take that to make 
stew. 
	And then we'd build a big fire, get all that wood going, set it 
up on rocks, and that's where my famous dish, lima beans, navy beans. 
Like a soup. And that's where it would end up. We'd have that whole - 
and carrots and everything like that in there. 
	And the men and women would take care of that. And I don't 
remember now whether we had - I don't think we had dishes. I think we 
had cups that we drank it out of. But in the meantime, we were in the 
river; the Mississippi River had a great big white sand beach. And we 
of course, you know, put shorts on, no swimming suits. And the women, 
they of course never went in the water. They were always there. And 
they had dresses that came to their ankles, buttoned so that, you know, 
their ankles would be covered. Sleeves to their wrists, buttoned. The 
front of the dress, buttoned. 
	I mean July, August, September, June, I that's the way they 
dressed, regardless of whether it was 95 or 100 degrees. That's the way 
they dressed. I got pictures to show you. You'd never believe it. 
	And they would get over there. I don't remember what the hell 
they did with those dresses while they were in the boat across the 
Beaver Slough. I have pictures of them standing at the place I just 
described where the beach is and where they had - did the cooking. I 
have pictures in the black suitcase of that. 
	And we'd spend - maybe we'd get there by 10:30, and we'd probably 
stay until 4:00 or maybe 4:30, and then we'd pick up all the junk that 
had to be lugged back to where we started and then go across Beaver 
Slough. And when we were on the other side of Beaver Slough, it was 
three blocks to our house. 
	So that was a field day. That was an outing. And at the time, I 
didn't realize until later on in life that Beaver Island at one time 
had been populated. They had a country store, they raised corn, they 
raised other vegetables, and people lived there. I do have that map, 
and it shows where the houses were and so on. And I never knew that 
Beaver Island was big enough that there would be little lakes, you 
know, single like there are from Minnesota in what is known as Beaver 
Island. 
	MS. COSTABILE: When you went, did you always go to the same spot? 
	MR. LYNCH: I remember always going to the same place because 
there was a big white sand beach there. I think that was the reason. 
The water was shallow, and your parents apparently didn't worry about 
us kids. As I recall, the way the river was, see, the current, because 
of the slough cutting off in the island there, the current wasn't as 
swift where the white sand beach was as it would be in the center of 
the river, which would be maybe, oh, three-quarters of a block out to 
get to the main channel of the river. 
	And where we would be would be what would be washed up from the 
side, you know, like the beaches down where the ocean is. Sometimes, 
you know, it washes the sand way up, and you have this nice big white 
piece of sand. That's the way it was then. Oh, we loved it. We would 
beg. When are we going to go to the beach? When are we going over to 
Beaver Island? And you can imagine what a chore that was for the 
mothers and fathers. It wasn't any big picnic. It was a lot of work. 
But oh, yeah, that was one of our big summer engagements. 
	MS. COSTABILE: So was that mostly a family affair? 
	MR. LYNCH: All family. All family. Even though some of the 
family, like the Lehmanns and the Duhrs were indirectly related to my 
grandfather/grandmother Weinbeck, and I never, ever - wasn't important 
to know, you know? Shirttail cousin or what. 
	But they were all related. Everybody in the outfit was related. 
And I can remember going to the Lehmanns' 25th wedding anniversary, I 
must have been seven, and they lived oh, maybe three miles, four miles 
from where we lived, and you could walk to it. 
	And it was in the summertime. And those days they had barrel 
beer, they didn't have bottle or can beer. And the men, they had a 
barrel of beer and they had a pump that they put in it to pump it out 
into mugs. And the celebration, I remember only this part of it, that 
big keg and the pump, and all the hilarity of the men and the women and 
the little kids. All the cousins were there. 
	All I remember is I went to sleep, and I woke up, and the sun was 
shining, and the party was just breaking up. And then we walked home. I 
couldn't have been more than six, five. Big time. Thought it was 
wonderful. Did you worry about us kids? No. You laid down in the grass 
and went to sleep. Everybody was having fun. It's an anniversary. 
Twenty-fifth, isn't that the silver? Twenty-fifth anniversary, the 
Lehmanns. 
	Now, how they were related to Grandma and Grandpa Weinbeck, I 
don't know. They didn't live in South Clinton. They lived in the upper 
echelon. 
Of Faces and Philosophy
	MS. COSTABILE: Who do you look like in your family? 
	MR. LYNCH: No. I - you can decide that by looking at Mike's book 
or looking at - maybe if you see the picture I have downstairs of him I 
told you about in the baseball uniform, with his head cocked like this 
and the cap and the smile on his face, that might be me, you know? 
	MS. COSTABILE: Do you think anybody who's come after looks like 
you? 
	MR. LYNCH: I think our friends say...I don't know of anybody that 
looks like me, but I think I have more German in me than I have Irish, 
for a lot of reasons. Physical looks and my philosophy. 
	I think a lot of things I've told you were part of the way I grew 
up. And I grew up with the Germans through my mother, who was an angel. 
And I told you about my grandmother, and living so close together. And 
I think it was - oh, you can see pictures of me that I have downstairs, 
like I told you, when I had the golf uniform on and when I was a paper 
boy and when I was a little kid fishing - I don't know. I would think 
with my round chops, you know, used to be round, and my - what's the 
word, cherub face? Puffy red cheeks, Beth, you know. You asked me a 
question.
	MS. COSTABILE: I know. Now when did your hair turn this beautiful 
white? 
	MR. LYNCH: When I went to the doctor, I said - when I was a over 
there I said, what color is my hair? I haven't been able to see it for 
five years. And she said it's pretty gray. I said, well, that's nice. 
	I started to get gray when I was in college, on these sideburns. 
First thing, right here. And my father - I must have got it from my 
mother, because my mother started to get gray early. My father's hair 
was black. And I say, he passed away when he was 48, and I don't ever 
recall him having a gray hair, you know? And Grandpa Weinbeck, he 
didn't have gray hair. He had sort of mottled. His hair thinned out and 
he used to comb it over sideways, you know, to cover the top of his 
head. But not gray like white like mine. 
	Grandmother Lynch was snow white. There's a picture in Mike's 
book. Beautiful hair. Grandma Lynch, she was a powerful person. I don't 
know where she thought she was - well, she didn't live in South 
Clinton, and I did. But anyway, I guess probably the hair is from the 
Lynches. Although my father did not have it. But my grandmother Lynch 
did. Grandmother Weinbeck had gray hair, too, early, I thought. Snow 
white. 

The Perfect Dinner
	MS. COSTABILE: What would be your perfect dinner? 
	MR. LYNCH: Well, I guess when I was growing up, the best dinner I 
knew was roast chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, mince pie or pumpkin 
pie for dessert. That to me was second heaven. And they were our own 
chickens. I had killed them the day before. 
	And I was - that to me - oh, mother used to make a lot of things, 
different things. But for an ordinary - she used to use pork, a pork 
roast, you know, and do that, and that was delicious. We didn't have 
that very often because you had to buy it, pay money. 
	Mashed potatoes and gravy, oh. My mother used to make creamed 
potatoes, you know? I like those, but there was something about mashed 
potatoes and the way she'd make the gravy out of the chicken grease, 
you know? I can almost taste it now.  
	But then Grandma Weinbeck, she used to make a thing called 
matebe, and I don't know how you spell that. Matebe. It was German 
pudding of some kind. I don't know what she used, but it must have been 
flour. But she would make a Ñ just Ñ she'd make a thing about this big 
around with dough, and she'd have raisins in it. Then she would put it 
in like a cheesecloth or tea towel, white tea towel, and she'd tie it 
at the top. Then she'd put it in an iron skillet like you would for a 
roast, and she'd put water in the bottom of it and the steam from that 
water come up and cooked it. Now it was solid consistency. 
	How she did that, I don't remember. She'd do it just on top of 
the stove. And there was a time when it was time to take it out. And 
she would take it out, put it on like a board, you know? She'd take a 
knife and slice it like this. And you'd put that on your plate and you 
were in the big time. You were not in South Clinton. Oh, it was the 
most delicious thing. Matebe. 
	
Poindexter and Guenavere
The summer 1968, that the girls worked at the bank. Anyway, we were 
here for a couple of weeks, and all of a sudden, Railway Express 
delivery, a big six-foot crate about 30 inches wide and six inches 
deep. And they put it in the basement. And it was made of wood, and we 
had to use a crowbar to take it apart. 
	And I remember Grandma and the girls were down there, and I'd 
take a board off, and we were wondering, a long story short, we finally 
did get all the boards off. And what do we find inside the box after we 
took the paper off, but Guenavere. Well, there was great oohing and 
ahhing, and I don't know about that, and so on. And the card from 
Poindexter and the girlfriend he was going with in California who 
helped pick out the picture. 
	Well, where was the picture going to go? I said it's going to go 
on that wall. And I couldn't wait to get over to Chevy Chase electrical 
shop to buy a lamp to put at the top of it, you know, so we could plug 
it in and show up like you do in an art gallery. 
	Well, it created more conversation over the years. A Navy boy 
Anne was going with sat down and looked at it. I think he sat there and 
looked at it and said, Ann, do you suppose your father would let me 
take that to Annapolis for a weekend? And crazy stuff like that. It's 
caused more discussion. And so - and more laughs and more comments than 
anything downstairs except the bar. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did you name it Guinevere? 
	MR. LYNCH: I did. I didn't know what to name her, and I said, 
let's call her Guinevere. That's kind of sexy. I thought it was. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Now tell me, who is Poindexter? 	
	MR. LYNCH: Poindexter was a lawyer from Dallas, Texas whom I met 
when I originally was at Agriculture. He was married, and he lived in 
Virginia. He had a son and a daughter by his first wife. He came to 
Washington because he was a lawyer down there, and he was out of 
business, and the war was on. He wanted a job, and he came up here. 
	He knew Tom Clark, the mayor became attorney general, knew him in 
Texas. That's how I got to know Tom Clark, attorney general, and 
finally Supreme Court judge, through Poindexter. 
	When your mother got married, we had the party at our house after 
the wedding reception. Poindexter was there, and there was a girl from 
your father's hometown, Rosalie Dilaberto. And Poindexter immediately 
took a shine to her, and the next thing you know - of course, there was 
a lot of booze floating around. And first thing you know, somebody 
looked out the bay windows on the front porch, and here's the girl from 
Hazelton and Poindexter were necking. 
	Later on, Poindexter took off one weekend and spent the weekend 
in Hazelton with this gal. I don't remember her name. But it was hot 
and heavy for a while. There might have been a divorce. But Stella 
Dallas, she ran loose and wild with her art group, so I guess it didn't 
make any difference. 
	But Poindexter was a true friend. He sent me a birthday card 
every birthday I had after I met him till he died, and he was 85 when 
he died. He had retired and was living in Texas. And they only made one 
Poindexter. Only one. He's the guy I told you about that was making 
love to a woman in Alexandria at 4:00 in the morning. The telephone 
rang and she answered it woman on the other end, wanted to know if John 
Poindexter was there. He was lying in bed next to her. 
	So he gets up and he goes home, and his wife was sitting on the 
couch with a shotgun. She said I'll kill you. If you were with so and 
so I'll - I can't think of her name. If you were with so and so and so 
and so I'll kill you dead, I'll kill you dead. And she's sitting there 
with a 12-gauge shotgun. 
	He used to tell the story about himself because he thought it was 
so funny. Sitting there holding a shotgun and saying, I'll kill you, 
I'll kill you. I'll kill you dead. Sense of humor, Texas style. Well, 
out on the range, you know, you had to have a 12-gauge shotgun to 
protect yourself from the coyotes. 
	Oh, lord almighty, I could tell them by the thousands. Some are 
funny, some are sad. We'll leave the sad ones out. I thought that was 
funny. Wasn't supposed to be, but that's the way life is. 
	And the fellow said, the idea of writing this book was telling a 
tale about how life was, and how I saw it and how I knew it. And how it 
presented itself to me in the various different, I don't know, hundreds 
of ways. 
	And there was no, in my upbringing, there was no sliding 
backwards. If you got to a certain category, you had to keep going up 
that hill. You never went backwards. You always went forward. And you 
did the best you could. You might fall down, but get up again and keep 
on going. Don't look back it won't do you any good. 
	And that's the way life is, I think. It's been my experience. 
I've been sad, I've been happy. Take it either way. I've had both sides 
to the hill. And let's say reasonable success for a kid from south 
Clinton. First one to graduate from college in south Clinton. Took my 
brother with me. 

Ambition and the Run for County Attorney
	When I ran for county attorney, I didn't even carry my own 
precinct. They were so jealous of me, the fact that I was a smart rich 
kid now who went to college; I didn't carry my own precinct. That's how 
jealous they were. In other words, by doing something that you thought 
was great and marvelous, if you were lucky enough to do it, they looked 
down their noses at you and said you were no longer part of the group. 
Now you're a big shot, you're a high hat, the hell with you. Get out, 
you don't belong. And that's as true as I'm sitting here in this chair. 
	And I thought to myself, I can't believe that. And don't forget, 
we had a lot of Irish people lived in south Clinton that should have 
voted for me even though they didn't know me. But no, that kid. Well, 
I'd been written up that I graduated from university in the local 
paper, you know. R.J. Bud Lynch for county attorney, big billboard. 
	So you learn to accept it, and that's the way it was. I was 
brought up that way, and I knew success was frowned upon because this 
guy couldn't do what you were doing. Why? Nobody knows the answer to 
that. Whether he was lazy, didn't have the good graces the Lord gave 
him of ambition, wanting to achieve, get ahead. I don't think - to me, 
I think you have to be born with that. You can't buy it. You know that. 
	You wouldn't put yourself through what you do to go to college 
like we did in those days where you had to work your butt off to just 
get by day after day after day if you hadn't been given the drive 
somewhat to do it. Can't buy it. 
	I think it's a gift. And it was for me. I told you how lucky I 
could go with nothing for six years, never be sick a day and have to 
miss school one day in six years in college. That is a gift. How many 
people are that lucky?
	So I - what you accomplish, I think, in life, you have to have 
God-given talents. You don't know what they are; you don't know how 
they're going to come out. And I think it's inborn. And then we have to 
have a family background like I did. If you didn't, fork in the road 
would be there and you'd take the wrong prong. 
	With my family, there wasn't any doubt which prong you would 
take. You'd take this one because you knew from your father and mother, 
your grandfather, your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, this was the 
only road. You don't go down that road. It was taught in a word, don't 
do that. Don't do this. 
	And all of a sudden you get older and older and older and you see 
things happening, and it sinks in. Eventually you say, they weren't 
kidding. They were serious. The Jones boys that ended up Ñ my same age, 
ended up in the penitentiary. They were never born with what I was born 
with. They were never given what I was given in a family. The poor kids 
had nothing. And how they turned out to be criminals, that I don't 
know. That's the part I never learned. I prosecuted criminals, sent 
them to jail, one guy for life for raping two little girls.
	So I believe what I said to you a while ago. Some of the things 
that steer you and guide you and encourage you and aid you all through 
life, many of the things were given to you at birth. And then the 
frosting was put on the cake by what you accepted from what your family 
tried to teach you. 
	A lot of families try to teach their kids certain things, and the 
kids pay no attention, you know? Run their own way; end up, you know, 
down the wrong alley. But if you have those two things and you are 
willing to work. That is one thing I'll take credit for.
	You have to be willing to take instructions and listen to people, 
take their advice if it's good. And if you don't think it's good, 
accept it gracefully and then go down the road and have that in mind 
that this is what he thinks, but I don't think that's the right way, so 
I'll do what I was taught at home. They don't teach that out of books. 
	So I, as I said, getting away from that, my brother was the same 
way. He was born a cripple. He could have given up, you know, easy. He 
didn't do that. He spent his time reading books and educating himself. 
He was a very smart kid. What he lost physically, the good Lord gave 
him mentally. So then he met Aunt Catherine. And when he met Aunt 
Catherine, he learned how to dance. 
	She taught me how to dance. You asked me that one time. And Aunt 
Catherine is the one that taught me how to dance at St. Mary's School. 
Aunt Catherine and then Lucille and Margaret Conroy, they were three 
buddies. And I danced with all of them. Oh, I used to love it. I 
thought it was the greatest thing in the world. And that's how I got to 
win the prize with Lucille for a waltz at the country club. They had 
all taught me how to dance. I think we won the prize because Lucille 
was such a pretty girl, to tell you the truth.

Winters in Florida	
	MS. COSTABILE: Is that why you started going down to Florida once 
you had retired because Uncle Ed and Aunt Catherine were down there 
already? 
	MR. LYNCH: Oh, yes. Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, I was the one 
that got them to get the hell out of Syracuse. I shouldn't say I was 
the one. My voice was heard along with their sons. And he had not been 
well, and the best thing to do was to sell his house and move to 
Florida, which he did. Catherine's sister and her husband were already 
living there.
	MS. COSTABILE: What kinds of things did you catch in Florida? 
	MR. LYNCH: In the Intercoastal Waterway you could catch various 
types. Not big fish, but small fish. I'm trying to think of the number. 
Pompano was a round, sort of Florida fish, pretty head, nice colors. 
And then there was another fish that used to come in from the ocean. 
And so when we were living in these apartments across the Intercoastal 
away from the ocean, you could fish right outside. And it was so 
convenient, you could get in the car and a block and a half, two miles 
Ñ two blocks, you were at the Miracle Mile. 
	And then I think the last time we were there; last two years we 
were there we had an apartment on the ground floor. Ed had died, and it 
was in Catherine's building, and she knew the owner, and they rented it 
to us. And your grandma had the heart attack. We couldn't get there, I 
forget, a month later, I guess. But she gave us credit for an extra 
month. We had sent so much money down. 
	And then I took the auto train, and we went through - oh, I can't 
think of where we got off the auto train, name of the little town - and 
then drove from there on to Vero Beach. 
	Oh, I'll never forget. We're on the train, and we had a bedroom, 
and I'm in the upper bunk and she's in the lower bunk. And of course, 
this is her first time out after the heart attack and the hospital and 
everything. And all of a sudden we stop at a town someplace, say 2:00 
in the morning. And we stay at the station. And all of a sudden they 
make an announcement on the train that we will be moving shortly, that 
so and so had had a heart attack, and they were waiting for an 
ambulance to come. 
	I'm in the upper berth, now I can't get back to sleep. I climb 
down the gull damn steps in my bare feet, and I just cut my feet 
walking in that thing. I got down and went to the bathroom, and when I 
got up I said to Kate, slide over as far as you can, I'm getting in 
here. I can't climb that ladder again. Then I laid awake the rest of 
the night worrying about the heart attack. We're riding the train 
because Kate had a heart attack, and we had to get rid of a passenger 
because the passenger had a heart attack. 
	Anyway, she went to the doctor as soon as we got there, and he 
was a delightful guy. And we had a very successful winter. 
	And then the one year we went, Ann and George had given us three 
nights at Disney. I drove from Vero Beach to Disneyland. And they took 
the car, and I never saw the car for three days. And they had rented 
the most sumptuous suite for us. And they had been there before. Kelly 
knew everything. She knew, you know, everything there is in Disneyland. 
And we saw everything there was in three days in Disneyland. And it was 
fabulous. And then I guess we went there right after we got to Vero 
Beach, and then we went back to Vero Beach and spent the rest of the 
winter there. 
	So I don't know how many years actually - I don't remember when 
we went last but we started in 1975. And I remember 1975 because that's 
when I retired. 1976 in June 15th I quit drinking. And in 1975 - or 
1976 I went to Florida. 
	And 1977 your mother called us and said the Johnsons were going 
to go to Europe on an American Express trip and why didn't we go with 
them? That was the farthest thing. And your mother knew the travel 
agent. If we wanted to go, so we call the Johnsons and talked, and Mary 
already had the information. I guess she got it from Lucille. So lo and 
behold that year we went to Europe with them. 

Ireland
	And then the next year we went to Ireland with your father and 
mother. I got cheated because I got as far as Dublin, and I found out 
that Ed had died. And Steve called me, and we were at the restaurant in 
the evening, but you could see the lights of Dublin. We were out at 
Huth, sort of an island like from Dublin. Your father and mother went 
into Dublin, so we were there lone wolves. 
	And I got the phone call, and it was from Steve telling me my 
brother died. And I said to Steve, Steve, you know there isn't anything 
in the world I wouldn't do to be there, but the days aren't right. So I 
said, I'm sorry, I appreciate the call, and I'll be in touch with you. 
So I went back up and I told Grandma, and while that's going on, your 
father and mother walked in, and I explained it to them. And your 
father said, well, you're mixed up. I said, what do you mean?  
	He said, no, on the days. So you'll have to go back and talk to 
the girl. So we go back to the room clerk and find out I was a day 
ahead. We told the girl what had happened. She said, Mr. Lynch, or 
Judge Lynch, if you can be here at 10:00 in the morning, I'll have you 
on a plane to New York. I said, if I can get to New York, I can take it 
from there. So at 10:00 in the morning I was there, drove me to the - 
your mother and father drove me to the airport, and I got on a plane in 
Dublin. We stopped in Shannon. You could get off for the free port and 
buy whatever you want. I was so scared the plane would take off and 
leave me; I just ran through the building and got back on my seat. And 
we were up. 
	And now I get to New York. And I clear customs, and I immediately 
go to the phone and I get Holly. I say, Holly, I'm in New York. Call 
Steve Lynch and tell him I'm in New York, and I got a ticket to get to 
Orlando. And no matter what happens, I'll get to his house some way or 
other from Orlando. I had the ticket already bought before I called 
Holly to take me to Orlando. 
	And so I get there. It's now still daylight, and Steve, big 
smiling face walks over to meet me at the checkout counter, and he 
grabs my grip, and we walk out of the airport, and we walk onto, as 
they say in British, on the tarmac, and I think where are we going. So 
we get out there, make a long story short. I knew Steve was a pilot. 
With another group he bought a plane. I said, Steve, I don't know 
whether I like this or not. We get out there. 
	It wasn't Steve, but he had hired a contract pilot in Vero Beach 
that had an airplane, for the pilot to sit here and two people to sit 
here. And we take off, the sun is shining, it's beautiful. And all of a 
sudden, what was daylight and sunshine is now pitch black dark and 
lightning strikes are coming out like this. 
	And this airplane, we were sitting almost on one another's lap. 
And noisy? Oh, God, it was noisy. One engine, and we're flopping all 
over the sky. I told Steve - I had to lean over to yell at him. What's 
down there? He got a big grin on his face, and he yelled at me, 
alligators and water. 
	By the time we got to Vero Beach, here the Vero Beach runway was 
all lit up. We pulled out of the clouds and zipped right on in and 
landed; 9:00 at night I was in Catherine's apartment. Yeah, I'll never 
forget Steve saying water and alligators. Lightning, black, oh. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Why don't you go ahead and describe Aunt 
Catherine? She was one of my favorite people. 
	MR. LYNCH: Aunt Catherine, I'm trying to think - the way - number 
one, the way I got to know Aunt Catherine was that she was Lucille's, 
my oldest sister's, age, and they were in the same class at St. Mary's 
School. Ed graduated four years ahead of me, so Lucille would have been 
at least three years ahead of me, you know? 
	Catherine - Catherine, Lucille and Margaret Conroy and Catherine 
Keith, a foursome. And they all graduated together, and they all were 
pals. We danced, all four of them. 
	And Catherine was a girl that was happy go lucky, could do 
anything with little or nothing, would help anybody, if it was an old 
dog. Kind, a heart as big as gold. Came from a wonderful family. Never 
had a lot of money, but they had a lot of kids. And she loved to dance 
and have fun. And her whole spirit-she was that way from the first I 
knew her. 
	And so Catherine, as I said, I got to the dancing bit good with 
the girls, my sister and her friends, and where in those days some of 
the boys didn't have nerve enough to ask girls to dance, you know. 
Well, being old shy me, you know, said, oh, no, no, no. Shy me, hell, 
I'd be running around to see who I could catch next. And I loved it. 
	It's like I told you at school there. I loved it. I was so 
thrilled to be back in school, I knew my plan was going to work. I told 
you about making the apples and having the apple sale to raise money 
and get the merchants to donate the apples and the wooden sticks you'd 
stick in. And I learned how to make caramel apples, and the others 
would have just plain, like glucose on it, plain white, hard, and we'd 
get it all donated and sell it for raising money for the school. 
	And I used to do all that in the kitchen they had down off the 
gym. And then put them on trays, and the kids would carry them around 
the different classrooms and sell them. Two or three times a year we'd 
have a sale. 
	So my years, last years, two years in high school were a dream 
for everything. And I can't remember whether I learned anything 
academically, I must confess. They graduated me, I passed. I never 
asked whether I had A's, B's or C's. 

Catholic School
	MS. COSTABILE: Why did you send all your children to Catholic 
school?
	MR. LYNCH: Well, that's the way I was born. You go to church. You 
go to Catholic school. It was - I don't think. That question threw me 
because that was never up for grabs. That was what our children were 
supposed to do. It wasn't an order, it was a given. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did Grand mom go to Catholic school? 
	MR. LYNCH: She went to IC, Immaculate Conception, where we were 
married. And her brother and her sister went to IC. 
	MS. COSTABILE: Did she go to Catholic high school? 
	MR. LYNCH: And she went to Catholic high school, same one, IC. 
Same as I went to St. Mary's, grade school and high school. And oh, I 
mean her father knew all the pastors of all the churches, and her 
mother used to play piano for them and sing. And, you know, do all the 
church choir. Granny was a member of the Ladies Society and the bridge 
clubs and so on. IC in Cedar Rapids, Immaculate Conception. 

The Wedding
	And that's where we were married by Monsignor Malloy, who was 
such a big Irishman, he knew it all, and hit my father-in-law on the 
shoulder after a couple scotches and said, Joe, I can guarantee you. 
This one's going to stick. I said to Mary Catherine, I got her out and 
I said, I don't know him. How's he know it's going to stick? She said 
he's kidding my father. 
	He knew Mary Catherine's father used to be secretary of the 
Knights of Columbus. He did a lot of church work, did a lot of work for 
the Knights of Columbus, did a lot of charitable things. He was known 
in the various parishes, knew the pastors. And this is before - oh, 
even after he got in the newspaper business himself. 
	He was a very devout man. But oh, he read off, he knew Variety 
Magazine, which told you all about New York, you know, all about the 
shows. He eventually took his family to New York, took his family to 
California, Chicago. I mean he was very - from a little town in 
Manchester, he was a very outgoing, educated, educated himself, man. He 
educated himself by reading. 
	Mary Catherine was her mother's daughter. And you know the rest, 
after you were born. You at least know from then on what your 
grandmother was like. She was just exactly like that from the first 
time I met her. I told you how long I had to beg before I could feel 
sure I could attempt to give her a kiss. 
	Pictures up there for that reason. I told you. Her mother was a 
charming, lovely woman, but she had rules, and you lived by those 
rules. And the rules not to be harmful, they were to be beneficial. She 
loved her church, she loved what it did. She lived that way, so did her 
daughter. So how can you sum up any better than that with that family? 
I don't know. 
	Her father was a wonderful guy, loved his family, worked hard. 
Made his way in life. Self-made man. Mary Catherine was lucky. She paid 
attention to her parents like I thought I did to mine. 
	I think we better quit.