IN MEMORY OF POP

    

 Herb Sherman Haley (1898-1956) died today - March 8, 1956.  He was only 57 and I was 12 years old.  I called him Pop for as long as I can remember.  He was my "step" grandfather as my maternal grandfather died from injuries he suffered in the First World War.  I always considered him "My Pop."

    He was a "working man" who could only go to school to the 4th grade because he had to go to work to help support his large family.  He drove an ice cream wagon on the streets of Philadelphia.  His family moved to Millville when he was a teenager because there was work in th the growing glass industry there.  He would be called a "functional illiterate" today.  But he taught himself to fix things and as he grew up he became a master auto mechanic.  He opened his own repair shop until the second world war began and times were tough as the use of gasoline was rationed and cars sat idel.  He went to work for the Millville Manufacturing Company - the cotton mill in our namesake town.  He met my grandmother there.  She only went to the 8th grade and was working as a "bobbin girl". (Note:  Amazon offers a book of the same name if you want to know what a bobbin girl role was in the hot noisy factory.)

    Later he left the mill to work for the new Wheaton Glass company as their head of the fleet of vehicles.  This self-taught mechanic kept dozens of trucks in tip-top shape until the President of the company, Mr. Wheaton heard about his fine work and offered him the job of running his 100 foot yacht.  He taught himself and he taught himself to be a "sea captain".  He learned to fix 400 HP diesels and maintain the Wheaton "fleet" - (a speed boat, Chinese junk, cabin cruiser, racing sailboats and the yacht that had four staterooms to full bath, a library and a crews quarters that slept four.).  I got to stay on the boat with him many weeks in the summer riding the waves, learning to swim in the Ocean City bay and spent my days in the sun with the Wheaton children.

    After that first summer Mr. Wheaton made Herb a proposal to be "his man" an run his estate.  He said yes and we moved from our "cottage" in South Millville to his remodeled and furnished carriage house next his "manor" home- the biggest house in town.  Pop saud we were "In the Chips".  I was 10 and sincerely believed I was rich.  A limo took be to school with the Wheaton kids everyday. I had a swimming pool and a color TV. 

    Pop had through his hard work had earn a great properous life.  Our family life was a dream that soon turned to a nightmare. When he was in his twenties Pop was "treated" for a tumor that was discovered on his jaw bone. Part of his jawa was removed and he almost died from the effects of a new form of treatment called radiation therapy.  He was strong and recoverd.  But I think the disease was in his system and fate or the remnants of his past stepped in and Pop was diagnosed with lung cancer in November suffered through the holidays and died in March.  When I was a teenager I thought 57 was ancient - now I know how "young" he was and how much he missed.  Years later when I was grown my mother told me Pop's last words before his past - "Margaret I never knew it would be so hard to die."  And then he was gone.

    When Pop was "laid out" as they said then at Christy's Funeral Home, they extended the viewing to three days because so many came.  Three rooms were filled with flowers.  Hundreds of people filed by and paid there respects.  I had no idea how much this common working man was not only known but respected by Millville folks - from all walks of life.  I was heartbroken as I sat and watch this strange ritual.  And then he was gone.  My Pop, my mentor left me and soon we moved back to our humble home across the tracks and ours lives dynamically change (But that's another story)

    And so I salute this self-made and surprising man who has proven to me that hard work indeed pay off big dividends.  I think about him often and wish he could have seen me grow up and practice what he "preached".  Seven decades have passed and I miss him still.  

    Rest in peach my Pop, rest in peace.