read about in this book are the happy result of this life.
Always a list maker, I took out a legal pad and started jotting down—at first slowly and then in rapid succession—stories about the amazing individuals with whom I have been associated. Many have been famous, some haven’t, but all have left their mark on me. That list was the genesis of this book. Writing it has allowed me to vividly relive a lot of wonderful moments. Even better, it’s allowed me to share them. I have gone into some detail on my own life on the premise that it will put the “people stories” and other stories in some context and make it easier to understand how they were part of my ongoing life. But, this is by no means an autobiography. Rather, a “stage-setter,” a backdrop for the people and stories that have meant so much to me.
Inevitably, some readers will feel that I’m engaging in excessive name-dropping. A fair comment, but I plead “not guilty.” Name-dropping, at least to me, means dropping the names of famous people to make the “dropper” seem more important. My intent, however, is precisely the opposite. What I have tried to do is to show a side of the various people I speak of that underscores the kind of people they truly are and has nothing to do with me—except that I was there!
A brief word about the title of this book. There is an old, old joke about the guy named Joe who went to Rome and, quite by accident, had his picture taken with the Pope. When he got home he proudly showed the picture to friends who were suitably impressed. One of his friends, however, had a most unexpected response. He looked at the photo and said, “Who’s that with you, Joe?” I was reminded of this story as I reflected on the personalities that I profile in this book. With few, if any, exceptions they are far better known than I. Hence, the title Who’s That with Charlie? The final section of the book is titled “Lessons Learned” As the name suggests, in this book I want not only to share the stories about the wonderful people I met along the way, but also to share with the reader the lessons that I have learned from these associations.
I hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER II
Growing Up
AS I REFLECT on my life, I’ve come to realize that folks of my vintage have had the great good fortune to live during the most wonderful, exciting, and fulfilling years that I can imagine. I was born in 1930—September 12 to be exact—in the master bedroom of my parents’ home in the small town of Nelsonville, Ohio, a community of about five thousand people located in the extreme southeastern corner of the state. I joined the Mechem family a little late. My parents already had two children, my brother, Bill, and my sister, Alice. Bill was twelve years older than I and Alice ten. Whether or not I was a mistake or simply an afterthought is irrelevant. Whatever I was, no child could ever have been more loved. I always regarded myself as an “almost” only child. By that I mean that I had all the advantages of being an only child without any of the disadvantages.
My parents were wonderful—bright, hardworking, and with classic Midwestern, small-town values. Mother was the daughter of a coal miner and taught seven grades in a one-room schoolhouse before they married. Dad was the son of the owner of a dry-goods and shoe store, and a veteran of World War I. Mother was devoted to her church, loved music, and laughed easily. Everyone loved her. Dad could be stern and remote but was a great role model because of his work ethic and strong sense of right and wrong. When he was fifty, he was elected to the Ohio State Senate and rose to become President Pro Tem, the second-most powerful position in the state government after the governor. He had a great sense of humor, and his speeches were homespun classics. One of my favorite memories is when I asked Dad at his ninetieth birthday party what had been the most important invention of the ninety years of his life. I was expecting the automobile, electric light, or the telephone. Instead, with a twinkle in his eye he said, “That’s an easy one—indoor plumbing!” I could write another book about my brother and my sister—and perhaps someday I will—but I’ll simply say that they were two of the finest people I have ever known. My brother was a kind, gentle man, who spent much of his life helping others. In later years, he became a lay minister and had his own church in the tiny town of Carbon Hill, Ohio, not far from Nelsonville. When people would ask Bill what he did for a living, he would smile and say, “I marry and bury.” It is unbelievable the number of people I still run into who were either married, baptized, or sent to their eternal reward by my brother, Bill. (Okay, so I don’t actually run into the latter group!) When Bill died we celebrated a very uplifting funeral service, which he had written in its entirety, including scripture readings and songs. So, we did it “his way.” We all miss him very much. My sister, Alice, is still living and still a source of great pride and joy for me. She lost her beloved husband, George, a few years ago, but continues to be healthy and happy living in the same town (Athens, Ohio) and the same house that she and George built shortly after they were married. Alice has a level of intellect and perceptivity that has always amazed me. I really hope that someday I can write that book about Bill and Alice.
Speaking of Bill and Alice brings back a funny memory. Frequently people are asked what is the first thing in their life of which they have any memory. In my case, although the memory is not vivid, it is clearly the first. My parents took my brother, sister, and me to the 1933–1934 Chicago World’s Fair. While I have some general memories of the fairgrounds, my most vivid memory is the image of the “rooming house” in which we stayed. In those days people rented out rooms in their own homes to tourists, and we rented several rooms in such a house. Though I know it is strange, I can see the house in my mind’s eye and recall it as being a very pleasant place to stay.
My brother and sister, however, have much more vivid memories of the World’s Fair—two of which they teased me about for much of my young life. First, I apparently was a “wind bag” even at that early age. They said that, as we walked around the fairgrounds, I would jump up on a bench and, to their great embarrassment, begin making some sort of speech, which I’m sure made little, if any, sense.
The second thing they teased me about was a time when I apparently got very upset by something when we were out in a rowboat on one of the lakes. They took a picture of me standing up in the rowboat crying loudly but holding my fingers to my ears—presumably in the hope that I would not hear myself cry! Bill and Alice always said that, from that moment on, they were worried that I might not be the “brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
NOW DON’T GET me wrong: 1930 was anything but an idyllic year. Indeed, I am not sure that there was anything very idyllic about the decade of the 1930s. The depression lingered on, probably, as historians look in retrospect, until the outbreak of WWII when massive industrial mobilization gave the economy its needed jolt. But I didn’t know very much about this for at least ten years. My dad was a retail merchant and we always had food and clothing and a nice home. It wasn’t until later that I realized how hard Dad and Mother worked to provide these comforts (not, by any means, luxuries). Indeed, they sent my brother and sister to college in 1937 at nearby Ohio University, and everybody (except, of course, me) worked hard to make that happen. As I look back now, my first hint that there might be some gloom in my otherwise cheery environment was when my mother would say, “Charles, when you come home from school, if the big blind on the front living-room window is pulled down, that means your dad has a sick headache … and is resting. So, be especially quiet and let him rest.” I strongly suspect now that those “sick headaches” were migraines brought about by the pressures of running a shoe store when so many people couldn’t afford to buy shoes!
Like most kids, I suspect, I don’t remember a lot about my first five years, except that nothing unpleasant happened and there was a comfortable home and lots of love. That’s about all I need to remember!
MY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL was literally a four- or five-minute
