To the editor:
The older we get, it seems, the faster that time seems to fly by. To a child, one hundred years is hard to comprehend; but age, at least, better equips us to take a century's measure. With the end of 2024, it's a fitting time to look back at 1924.
In the age of AI, smart phones, and almost 10,000 active man-made satellites orbiting the earth, radio was in its infancy when Calvin Coolidge became the first U.S. president to deliver a radio broadcast from the White House on Feb. 22. Mercedes-Benz, IBM, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios, Kleenex tissues, and Wheaties cereal can each trace its beginning to 1924.
Immigration was a decisive issue in the recent presidential election, and it was a hot ticket exactly 100 years ago. The Immigration Act of 1924 — one of the most restrictive in our history — was signed into law by President Coolidge in May. It would reduce immigration to the U.S. by almost 80%, including a total ban on immigrants from Asia. It took four two-man teams and airplanes over 175 days, but the first aerial circumnavigation of our planet happened in 1924.
It's not an unreasonable guess that American males born in the 1924-25 period made up the bulk of troops who joined the U.S. fighting force in World War II.
Two very recent deaths have spurred me to think of people who were born 100 years ago: one of them I knew as a recent friend, the other was familiar to us all. Robert "Bob" Devinney lived to celebrate his centennial birthday on Sept. 17. Billy and I struck up friendships with Bob and his son, Bob Jr., in 2018 during travels to my brother's 82nd Airborne Division national conventions. Bob Devinney was a paratrooper during World War II, sustaining a wound at the Battle of the Bulge, and earning a Silver Star.
As their numbers dwindled, those vets were treated as royalty more and more, but Bob was happy just hanging out with the younger vets — trading stories and a few jokes. One evening, about a dozen of us were gathered with Bob — dressed in his decorated 1944-era uniform "Ike" jacket. As the division's chorus serenaded him with a round of "Blood Upon The Risers," the almost 94-year old joined in with gusto. At the war's end, Bob marched in the 82nd Airborne's parade down New York City's "Canyon of Heroes." After a full life, Bob died at his Lansing, Michigan home on Dec. 23.
President Jimmy Carter was born two weeks after Bob Devinney, and their life spans paralleled almost identically as he died six days later. So much has been said and written about the 39th president, but there is near-universal agreement about his personal decency, integrity, and religious faith. I would argue that his 1976 election was worth it just for the 1978 Camp David Accords that brokered peace between Israel and Egypt. Thanks to Carter's tireless efforts over 13 days of negotiations between a couple of bitter enemies, we may never know how much extra bloodshed has been avoided in that region.
President George H.W. Bush was four months older than Carter and followed him to the White House eight years later. His single term was significant as well. How different our world may have been without his restraint and steady hand as communism's Iron Curtain fell in eastern Europe in 1989; or, without his confident leadership during Desert Shield/Desert Storm the next year. He died at 94.
An icon within local and state Masonic circles, B. T. Phillips Jr., was a friend to many more. Well-known for his WWII service, B.T. could always be relied upon for good counsel and sincere consolation. So many of us mourned his passing in 2020 at age 96.
Robin and I still miss a couple of relatives who were born in 1924. Each of them passed in 2003. Aunt Marjorie Morris was my dad's older sister, and exemplified southern grace. After her husband's sudden passing in 1970, she managed his insurance agency, then, became a dietitian for the local school system. Loved by all who knew her, you would have never guessed that Aunt Marjorie battled rheumatoid arthritis for most of her adult life. Robin was happy to "adopt" her as an aunt of her own almost before we were married! Her daughters are not only my cousins, but three of my favorite people.
Robin's dad, Clarence Pate, is still missed by about everyone who knew him. Employed by the railroad for some 44 years, his gift of humor and conversational "gab" made Clarence a mainstay at nearly every reunion or gathering — especially among Hamlet folks. He developed a love of motorcycling in his youth that never strayed far, even after he left the bikes behind for several decades. The Harley that he later acquired may have been a challenge for a 70-something, but you couldn't have convinced Clarence. Robin will agree — when he found an open road, her dad's heart and soul were still 22.
Douglas Smith
Rockingham
