Herbert Graham Howard
Now, as always, enjoying the fellowship of His Lord
November 30, 1930 -- October 13, 2000
Making friends, using a little pot . . .
There is no
question that in Boston of the 1970’s there was plenty of “pot” around. It was
impossible to get on a subway or a bus without being offered a toke. But that is
not the pot I’m going to tell you about.
As Bandmaster of The famous Salvation
Army Cambridge Citadel Silver Band, I was influenced by one of my bandsmen, Mark
R. Keeler, to set up a Christmas Kettle stand at the North Station where tens of
thousands of commuters passed each morning and each evening. Being a stern
taskmaster, I mandated that each man had to find a way to support this effort
for the corps. This simply meant that every weekday from Thanksgiving to
Christmas – five days a week – an ensemble from the band would play at the
kettle from 7:00 am. to 9:00 a.m. and again from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. This, no
paltry task!
It must be mentioned that the
Cambridge Band in those days was made up largely of young men who were, shall we
say, on the edge of Army discipline or (as we say today) outside the box – I
included. I was by no means the most radical looking of the bunch, and I wore
shoulder-length hair and a full beard. Unlike some in the band, I cleaned and
pressed my uniform regularly!?
Now, we called the kettles “pots”,
and we always brought an extra with us because we frequently filled one to the
brim. There were no breaks in that two hour stint and if we could see people, we
were playing. It was cold and taxing work. In my six years as Bandmaster I can
say that I alone was there every single morning and every single evening, of
which I’m proud. There were others like Eric Stubbings that had almost perfect
attendance. All attended at the sacrifice of work-time and wages. It was an
effort of love and devotion to The Army, its mission and our valiant Officers.
For six years, every morning and
every evening there was an eccentric looking gentleman that always approached
the kettle and paused for a moment to enjoy the music with a grin and
characteristic nervous chortle. He always put
a dollar in the pot. On the occasions that he requested a specific carol, always
the more pious ones, he slipped in a fiver! Keep in mind that this was over
thirty years ago when a buck was still a buck! I called him eccentric looking,
let me explain. He always wore a very long black wool overcoat, had an expensive
looking black fur hat, and carried an old fashioned accordion brief-case, also
black. I never got the man’s name in spite of the literally hundreds of thank
you, Merry Christmas and God bless you greetings that were exchanged.
Now the story takes an interesting
twist. I left Boston to move to Detroit to become the Director of Development
for the Eastern Michigan Division of the Army. In this capacity I felt that a
conservative haircut and clean-shaven appearance went better with the Brooks
Brothers attire suited to mixing with wealthy donors.
After several years in this different
world, I went to Washington D.C. for a professional conference. As I boarded the
elevator for one of the events (in my Brooks suit and clean-shaven), I noticed a
man in the opposite corner of the elevator that was staring at me and he looked
vaguely familiar, but I could not place him. Finally, I said uncomfortably:
“Sir, do I know you?”
Just then the doors opened and we all
scrambled to get out. Then he spun around and blurted: “You’re that Salvation
Army guy from the North Station!!” We extricated ourselves from the rush and
shook hands for the first time. He did not have his hat, overcoat or even the
briefcase, but it all rushed back to me – all those dollars and smiles and
appreciation for what we were trying to do.
As it turned out, he was attending
the same conference I was! His name was Herbert Howard. Herb and I became fast
friends and remained so for the rest of his life. As it turns out that was cut
short by perhaps the most hideous of all diseases, commonly called Mad Cow
disease (look it up). Even in death Herb continued giving, in this case, leaving
his body to science to help others.
After Herb died his wife sent me a
letter from the head of a Salvation Army capital campaign in 1940 (a year before
my birth!) It seems that Herb, at tender age of 10, had saved all of his
allowance and other spending money and presented it to The Salvation Army for
its capital campaign. Not a part, but the whole of it! Herb’s generosity then
brought tears to the eyes of Boston’s captains of industry, as it does me today.
Herb was a noble friend in life and
remains a valued part of my life today even in his absence. I thank God
for Herb Howard!
God bless you! EXCELSIOR!
Bob Getz
Herbert Graham Howard
Now, as always, enjoying the fellowship of His Lord
November 30, 1930 -- October 13, 2000