Book Of David- (life of David Gregal_
My Best friend, David, died in 2004-we had bad been friends since grade school. For you that didn't know him, Dave was blind yet was more active than most sighted folks.I decided to write a book about his life-get it published, and give it away to friends and relatives. It is my memorial and tribute to him.
I received the book around January 5th and we had a "Book Signing" on the weekend.
It took me about three years to compile data, pictures, and write the book.
Dave was one of those people you never forget. The Washington Post had him listed as one of the most important or interesting person that died in 2004. In his company, was Christopher Reeves, Ronald Reagan, plus many others.
David
by
William R. Thrush
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements.......................................................................... 7
Forward ....................................................................................... 8
Introduction...................................................................................... 9
“Fustratio down this road.” – Dave’s Letter.................................... 11
1. After Death................................................................... 19
2. Early Years................................................................... 23
3. College Days................................................................. 47
4. Dave Moves to Washington........................................... 63
5. The Wife....................................................................... 69
6. The Kids....................................................................... 77
7. The Beach..................................................................... 95
8. The Inventor, the Entrepreneur, the Engineer................ 101
9. Mr. Gregal Goes to Washington!................................. 111
10. Later Years................................................................ 117
11. Friends, Slovaks (Relatives), and Countrymen – Lend Me Your Ears................................................... 127
12. Dave’s Superior Senses.............................................. 141
13. Action Adventure Gregal............................................ 145
14. Wonders of Dave....................................................... 153
15. He Didn’t Always “Walk on Water”........................... 177
16. My All-Time Classic Favorites.................................... 181
17. Present Day............................................................... 185
18. Conclusion................................................................. 187
19. Letters from Friends and Relatives.............................. 191
20. Photo Gallery............................................................. 209
Appendix ................................................................................... 217
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my wonderful wife and friend, Peggy (St. Margaret), for the continued advice, work, and encouragement with this project. I’d also like to thank all of those who contributed their stories and reflections of the wonderful things Dave did.
A special thanks to a wonderfully talented college student, Megan Pray, without her exceptional computer skills and creative grasp of the spirit of the book, I would not have completed this in a timely manner.
Another person to whom I am very much indebted is LindaAnn Gonzalez from Auburn, Indiana. She was invaluable in scanning, formatting, and generally navigating through the technical aspects of the book.
Most of all, I’d like to thank you, David, for being my friend.
William R. Thrush
FORWARD
In 1998, I wrote a short booklet about my friend Dave Gregal. Dave passed away in September 2004. Since then, friends and relatives have given me new anecdotes and “feats” reinforcing that Dave was one of the most amazing men that they had ever met. In his memory, I am adding to my book. Memories of Dave will never be forgotten. This “book” is dedicated to the kindest, finest, smartest man I have ever known – Gregal. I will miss you forever.
INTRODUCTION
DAVE’S LAST RIDE -
THE LAST TIME WE WERE TOGETHER. LEWIS, DELAWARE 2004
When my best friend Dave died, I wanted to write a book depicting the “Wonders of Gregal”! This needs no explanation if you knew Dave. I thought this would be an easy project, as I had written a short paperback booklet about him approximately ten years ago.
This book project turned out to be a serious problem with me – depressing. The more research I did – reading letters from friends, interviewing co-workers, and watching videos of Dave’s 65th Birthday – the more the book became too sensitive for me.
They say that the loss of a loved one doesn’t “sink in” until later. It is true! When it “sunk in” it really hit me. The crowning blow was a letter Dave had typed on his computer shortly before he died. Alice shared it with me and I will share it with you, typos and all, just as it was written by Dave.
I decided to place this letter in the beginning of the book. By doing so the “worst” is at the beginning and everything from that point on is happy, funny, or awesome (as you are in awe of him).
I don’t like books, movies, or plays that have unhappy endings. I hope the book brings back or reveals many fond memories that will linger always.
AT WASHINGTON HOME AFTER SURGERY. (DAVEY, DAVE, BILL)
“FUSTRATIO DOWN THIS ROAD.”
(Dave’s own words, found on his computer. Written a few months before he died.)
Well I am about two and a half years down the cancer with no view of the end apparent. I compleat ten of twelve treatments, stopped two short of the regular number dew to a nuropithy in my hands ands and feet. This is my second time with chemo. A malignant tumer was removed from my liver. A laporscopic procedure, thermo oblazion was used. This happened in September with the secone series of treatments starting in Octtober as a preventitive.
I hoped that I would be free of any tumers as showen in a scam. The scanperformed the latter part of March indicated the the presents of granuloma on one oflungsabout eight mm in size.
What a downer! The scarry part is if this thing grew during treatment, what is there that will stop cancer groth.
Is it mollignant? It may be a groth stotally unrealated to cancer, Until it is removed and analyyssed I will not know. What hell waiting. I emotionally am jparlized and feal very alone. I share with those around me , however it feals to me when I make a statement calmly it goes into deaf ears. I then get vdery reactive and get in a rage. I get out of control. When I calm down I feal terrible and just want to cry. I am in a catch twenty two, I am to not get stressed out and do and get stressed and get more so when it happens. I then feaal and out of control. This very exhausting. I want to shout out, will somewon please help me? Though I make it look easy I is stre ssful when I was cancer free, now it is impossible. I am exhausted and need to go to sleep nowit is bad when you are not sure that you want to wake up. That is what pressure does to yyou. I am a fighter amd will continue to do so come hell or high water, it is hard to go at top speed emotionly. Dr Ahlgren is going to prescribe an tomorrow. Hopefully that will make a difference.
Woke up this morning fealing much more at peace. I layed for a while before wakeing fully thinking fully thik how happy I was as a little Dave, before age six. In retrospect every day was like Christtmas. I did not know I had a vision problem, at least one that mattered. I recall vividally being in New York City about five years olda sa thing for my mother my aunt Anna and I were walking in the subway tunnel where we passed a blind man play an accordion for chand. You could hear the coins raddle for a in his collection cup for a half block. I hear the ecko still, the eco of coins ecoing in the subway tunnel in New York is like no other. My mother broke into a tears, a sobe. This was one I had not heard before. She and And Aunt Anna spoke of the man in Croation. My mom fearing that my life would be one of begging. I remember telling her to not not worry that I would be fine. I twas when I was to start school did I become aware that I was some how different in a big way. I has been a rolor coaster ride since then. It feals like an acrobatic act on the high wire. It is like driving without breaksusing the gears and enengercy break to stop or walking at edge of a hich cliff with no railing.
Superman (Christopher Reeves),
Ronald Regan,
Rodney Dangerfield,
Ray Charles,
Marlon Brando,
Yasser Arafat,
Julia Child,
Captain Kangaroo (Bob Keeshan),
and David Louis Gregal.
What do they all have in common? On January 2, 2005, the Washington Post published a list of the 60 most important, influential, or just plain interesting individuals that had died that year. Right there next to Superman was: David Louis Gregal.
David Louis Gregal, 65, who died Aug. 30 of colon cancer at his home in Washington, repaired plumbing in the middle of the night and had an uncanny mechanical wizardry. He owned at least 40 cars over the years, did carpentry, was a sailor and skier, taught relatives how to drive and guided people around Washington, pointing out landmarks, potholes, and upcoming turns--and did all these things even though he was blind.
By Matt Schudel
Washington Post Staff Writer
David Louis Gregal, 65, who died Aug. 30 of colon cancer at his home in Washington, was a Department of Labor policy analyst for 25 years, writing regulations and traveling the country to ensure that federal labor standards were observed. Before that, he spent 11 years as an administrator with the U.S. Job Corps, also in the Labor Department.
But his neighbors and friends remember Mt Gregal more as a man who was generous with his time and his help, whether it meant repairing broken plumbing in the middle of the night or talking people through hard times. Known for his uncanny mechanical wizardry, he kept many of the cars in his Tenleytown neighborhood in running order.
Mr. Gregal had at least 40 cars of his own over the years, did carpentry, was a sailor and skier, taught relatives how to drive and guided people around Washington, pointing out landmarks, potholes and upcoming turns—and did all these things even though he was blind.
He refused to let his disability limit his interests or the scope of his life. As a child in Pennsylvania, he attended regular schools and performed the same chores on his family’s farm that his brothers and sisters did. Early in life, he showed a remarkable aptitude for all things mechanical.
“He would fix my car on the street at night,” said Dan Meyer, who hired Mr. Gregal for his first job at the Labor Department in 1965. “1 would sometimes look in with a flashlight, and he would say, ‘Could you shine that a little farther to the left? You just plain forgot he was blind.”
Mr. Gregal’s garage was full of tools, including power saws, drills and ramps for hoisting cars. He relied on his extraordinary hearing, spatial awareness and a sense of touch so refined that he could tell the size of a bolt just by holding it in his hand.
Another friend and former colleague, Leon A. Schertler, once saw Mr. Gregal working on a Volkswagen, with every part lying on his driveway.
“Two days later,” Schertler recalled, it was running.”
A year ago, as Hurricane Isabel swept toward Washington, Schertler was preparing to take his sailboat, the Amy Baker, to safety. Mr. Gregal, already ill with cancer, insisted that his 80-year-old friend needed company, so he and Schertler’s daughter also made the trip.
They anchored the boat in an estuary to wait out the 80mph winds. After the first blast of the storm, the winds shifted about 1 a.m., making it necessary to realign the boat. The only problem was that the engine wouldn’t start.
Dave went down in the engine room,” Schertler said. “It was dark, but of course that didn’t bother Dave.” He got the engine running, and after Schertier moved the boat, they rode out the rest of the storm.
Mr. Gregal piloted sailboats and power- boats in open water, and he could parallel park a car. He sometimes drove motorcycles and cars in fields or parking lots. He taught his sister, sister-in-law and both sons how to drive. “One thing I hate being is uncontrollably dependent,” he said in a 1979 interview with the Washington Post. “A car is a small thing to get in my way.”
He repaired his neighbors’ burst water pipes, clogged toilets and burned-out toasters. He once replaced the oil furnace in his house, putting in all the electrical and gas lines himself. He somehow managed to get the old oil heater out of the basement—his wife still isn’t sure how—and cut it into pieces with an acetylene torch to sell for scrap.
“I think if he was sighted,” said his wife, Alice Gregal, “he would have been an engineer.”
Mr. Gregal was born Nov. 25, 1938, in Houtzdale, Pa., and grew upon a farm without electricity or running water. His father, a Yugoslav immigrant, was a coal miner.
A midwife accidentally spilled a chemical solution in Mr. Gregal’s eyes at birth, leaving him with minimal vision in one eye. He could tell the difference between light and dark, but after an accident to his other eye in 1976, he lost all sight.
Nevertheless, he rode bicycles as a boy, milked cows and leaped into water-filled quarries. He could read Braille, but he usually relied on tape recorders and a remarkable memory.
Mr. Gregal received bachelor’s and master’s degrees in counseling from Pennsylvania State University. He came to Washington in 1965 with $30 to his name and found work with the fledgling Job Corps, administering counseling programs.
In 1969, the Labor Department began hiring a series of part-time readers to help him with his work. In 1976, he became a policy analyst with Labor’s Office of Federal Contract Compliance, where he worked until retiring in 2001.
Mr. Gregal, who rode the Metro to work, once fell into the Metro rail bed, breaking his wrist. Another time, he stepped into an open construction pit, landing on a 2-by-S-inch plank, which saved him from a 40-foot fall onto a concrete foundation with upright iron rods exposed. But throughout his life, he neither requested nor accepted special consideration for his disability, preferring to go his own independent way.
“I hate complacency,” he said in the 1979 Post article. “The fun is in the going, not the getting. I may not always be happy, but I’ll neverbe bored.”
Mr. Gregal was a member of St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in Washington. Survivors include his wife of 34 years, Alice Gregal, and two sons, David L. Gregal Jr. and John Gregal, all of Washington; one sister; and two brothers.
AFTER DEATH
It’s been about 15 months since Dave died and yet some habits don’t stop. About an hour before lunch it hits me almost every day – I’d better give Dave a call! That was usually the “talk time,” and I still feel the urge to “touch base”. I really miss Dave, especially “talk time”. No more: “did you hear that General Motors is…” “Remember the time that…” “Whatever happened to…” “Why don’t they make a………..”
It went something like this:
“Rrrringgg, Rrrrringgg – Hello there M-i-s-t-e-r T-h-r-u-s-h – How ya doing, Fella – Just touching base” And this is how it was for 30 years. Dave & I would talk almost daily. It was more like weekly when we were both working, but daily for the last five years between my retiring and Dave’s death. Men are not supposed to be talkers- that’s what women do. We were talkers! What about? What could you possibly discuss every day for 20-60 minutes? Those of you who knew Dave can answer that question easily – anything and everything. Particularly, cars or anything with an engine. I’d read something in Motor Trend, USA Today, Hot Rod, etc., and Dave loved the “input”. Have you ever struggled with conversation- like with relatives? You do the “weather report”, the “sick list”, and then… Not with Dave. We would talk over each other “busting in”, and the thoughts and observations gushed.
Here are a few of our favorite topics:
Inventions – It would start like this:
Me: Dave, I was changing the oil in my SUV and attached under the motor they have a protective steel skid plate with 4 bolts – It’s a pain to take that heavy plate off just to drain the oil.”
Dave: It seems to me they could cut a little hole in the plate – enough to get a socket in and remove the plug – without comprising the shrouding!
And that is what I did – and it worked beautifully. Gregal was a fixer – mechanically and emotionally. The latter I’ll save for later.
Inventions and ideas were our “forte”, mostly in our minds. Very few ever materialized but the planning and discussion – the exuberance, made it all so worthwhile! There was a “down side” of “fixing it” with Dave. Sometimes he was so persistent at fixing things even his wife would get upset. Here’s an example with me. I had transmission problems with a late model car under warranty.
Gregal: What’s it doing? What’s it sound like?
Me: It has a squeal and is slipping…
Dave: Here are a few tests: place…. Do…
Me: Whoa Dave? The damn thing is under warranty.
Dave: Yes. But you could pinpoint…
Me: I don’t care!
However, most often he was “right on” with his advice and saved much aggravation.
Example: “Long Distance Diagnosis”
My wife, Peggy and I were vacationing in Florida with our motor home. Suddenly, in Panama City, the left front brake locked and we were immobilized. I unhitched our tow car and went to several garages; one wanted to re-do all our brakes – 2 days and $500.00, the second said the rotor and pads needed to be replaced – 3 hours and $198.00. We chose the latter and headed north. The first time I “hit” the brakes the wheel locked again. I called Dave.
Dave: What’s wrong?
Me: Right front wheel locked, can’t move.
Dave: Mmmm – If I remember correctly, General Motors used a metal clamp on the front rubber brake hose. In time the rubber got spongy and expanded, restricting the flow of brake fluid. When you press the brake pedal, you have tremendous pressure pushing the fluid through the restricted area, but it can’t flow backwards, hence the locked wheel. Just take a screwdriver and pry open the metal clip allowing the fluid to return.
Five minutes later we were on the road. Gregal was “walking on water” in our eyes! Gregal- you’re a genius!
THE EARLY YEARS
People always ask me “How long has he been blind?” I usually reply, “What, he’s blind?” The truth is that Dave’s retina did not develop properly which gave him about three percent vision. It was almost like “looking through a paper towel tube”. He had light perception until 1978 when a “broom handle accident” terminated all remaining sight. Enough of “How Great Thou Art”. Enough of this serious stuff…The real purpose of this book is to share some wonderful moments and anecdotes abut Dave Gregal. All are true (to the best of my knowledge), and names are not changed to protect the innocent! To know Dave is to be in awe of a truly wonderful individual. On top of it all, he was one hell of a good friend!
Who is Dave Gregal
Dave was born on a working farm in Houtzdale, a small central Pennsylvania town of 1,000 people. He was the youngest of five children. They treated him as a sighted sibling, giving Dave the same farm chores as everyone else. When Dave became nine years of age, farm life became a little easier with the addition of indoor plumbing with toilet and the installation of electricity.
SPIKE ISLAND HOUSE – Osceola Mills, PA
Dave’s Birthplace
INSIDE THE HOUSE WITH UNCLE JOE (POP’S BROTHER), DAVEY, AND DAVE -- 1978
POP AND DAVE
Dave must be about 6 or 7 years old, which makes this photo from around 1945. Note the toy gun Dave is holding and the out house in the background. Reminds me that Pop built the farm house without a bathroom originally and soon converted one of the bedrooms into a bathroom.
DAVE & DEER – SPIKE ISLAND HOUSE
Gregal Gets Educated
Dave attended public school without special attention other than having tests read aloud. He took all subjects including industrial arts and physical education! P.E. was “weak” and consisted of playing touch football on a dirt field. Dave was everyone’s favorite blocker, as he would extend his elbows and charge down the field cleaning everyone in his path. It is interesting to know, though, that Dave almost never went to a traditional school. Here’s the story:
Most kids enter school at the age of six (there were no kindergartens or pre-schools in small, poor mining towns in the 50’s). Dave was facing his first of many obstacles in his life. The Board of Education in Houtzdale wanted to send him to a special school for the blind in Pittsburgh! Dave’s mother would have no part of that. She brooded over the problem for two years and when Dave was eight she decided to take action. She made an appointment with the supervising principal of the school system, my father, George Herman Thrush. He listened to the problem and came up with the following proposition: She was to make an appointment with Mrs. Margaret Cornell and see if she would admit Dave to her class. It would be okay with Professor Thrush if it was okay with the first grade teacher.
Now the classes were already overcrowded, and for a teacher to take on a “handicapped” blind student along with 30-35 other “live wires,” that was asking a lot of Mrs. Cornell. Dave’s mother convinced her to give Dave a two-week trial, and those who knew Dave can fill in the “Paul Harvey” – the rest of the story. To meet Dave was to instantly realize his desire to learn plus a super high I.Q.
I probably would never have met Dave had he not been held back for two years and entered school at age eight. I don’t know if it was luck or fate – who cares? We started a life-long friendship.
“Evil Knieval Gregal”
When we were kids, the favorite spot to hang out was the old swimming hole, the Brisbin Dam. Dave rode his bicycle about a mile to the dam and met a group of us for “R & R”. It stared to get late and Dave told us his mother warned him not to be late. Since Dave rode his bike slowly, he thought he should start home. Bill Dillon and Fred Boulton asked him to stay longer and they would guide him by riding on either side, which would ensure a faster trip home. Everything was going fine, until they crested the top of Brisbin Hill. Dave coasted so fast he passed his “seeing eyes” and crashed at the curve at the bottom of the hill. He was cut and bruised, but nothing was broken. When Bill and Fred asked him why he went so fast, he replied he had no brakes…he didn’t need them as his limited sight dictated a slow speed…that was the fastest he had ever gone.
Good DNA – Like Begets Like
I believe Dave inherited many of his Dad’s traits – both were strong willed (sometimes stubborn), had a fierce work ethic, and would tackle almost any job and successfully complete it.
Dave’s dad, Alex (Pop), was born in Yugoslavia. His parents left him with his grandparents, when he was young, as they left for America – the land of opportunity. I asked Alice about this and here is her reply:
I thought that he was left with family when he was five because they couldn’t afford to feed him. But it was probably because they couldn’t afford to feed themselves either and decided that there was a better life in America. I know he stayed with another family and watched the cows or the sheep. I think he was like a sheepdog, keeping the animals in a specific area. I know he only went to school for two days. He married Luby when she was 18, but I don’t know how much older he was than she. I remember that it was so cold on their wedding night, and the house they were staying in was so drafty that they had snow on the covers when they woke up.
After finding employment and getting somewhat established, they came back to Yugoslavia for Pop and took him to America. Pop started working in the coal mines around age thirteen. For you not familiar with mines, allow me to edify. They are wet, dusty, totally dark, and extremely dangerous. Mining soft coal (bituminous) is difficult, as the ceiling of the mine has to be continually reinforced the deeper you go. Without the posts and beams as support, the fragile sedimentary rock caves in, trapping the miners. Other dangers include methane gas, underground water, ever-present dust causing “black lung,” and constant stress.
He went back to Yugoslavia around 1928 and married Luby, a girl he had known as a youth. The newlyweds came to America and found work in the resorts around Monticello, NY. Luby became pregnant with Dave’s oldest brother, Frank, and they moved to a little town near Houtzdale called Spike Island. Here they purchased a modest house lacking electricity, plumbing, and central heating. It was in this house that all six children were born.
I guess Pop’s “farming roots” were working, as he bought an old farm in Houtzdale in 1938. It had 26 acres, a barn, and a foundation where a house once stood but was destroyed by fire. The amazing part is that Pop would work in the mines all week and walk about four to five miles on evenings and weekends to rebuild the farm house. Frank and Alex, being the older boys at ages eleven and thirteen, went along as helpers.
Pop, like Dave, was always “fixing” things or making them better. Alice recently told me a great story of Pop smuggling an apple shoot into the United States – pinned and hidden under his lapel on his suit. The small shoot had to be moistened constantly to keep from drying out.
Alice remembers “Pop the Smuggler” and the special variety of apple he brought to America.
Pop brought an apple shoot back from Yugoslavia in 1970, when Dave and I took him there a few months before we got married. I believe it was March, 1970. He would have been 65 years old. He grafted it onto another apple tree. I believe the tree is still there. I think Pop mentioned this in the video we watched when you and Peggy were down here.
DAVEY & POP
POP & DAVE
Early School Days
I have difficulty remembering Dave in grade school. The earliest recollection I have is about fifth grade in Miss Gracie May’s class. I recall that Dave was establishing himself as an orator and “thinker” – asking “heavy” questions about the solar system and “debating” with the smartest girl in class on technical subjects, an area where I was clueless.
Few people knew Dave better than his boyhood friend, Rich Zimmerman. Rich lived approximately one mile from Dave while I was perhaps two miles away on the other side of town. That distance was huge, considering that we’re talking about us being around seven years of age with no bicycles or parents with cars to drive us around. I didn’t get a bicycle until I was fourteen, so my “world” consisted of activities within walking distance of my house.
DAVE AT 7 YEARS OLD
Rich and Dave saw each other almost daily and became great friends. I asked Rich to relate a few of the many “Gregal Situations” that he participated in or witnessed. Rich has a great style of writing, and here are some of his interesting “travels with Dave”:
Dave in the Early Years
Unlike most of you, who probably knew Dave in his adult years, I grew up with him, went through school with him, and spent most of my time with him, until he began to go to Penn State University, and I joined the Air Force. After I got out, we only saw each other when Dave came back home to visit, or at class reunions, but I’ll be the first to admit, growing up with him was quite an experience, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Don’t get me wrong, Dave and I didn’t always see eye to eye on lots of things, and believe it or not, Dave could actually be a big pain in the ass at times, (I know this will come as quite a shock to many of you, well, one or two of you, anyway), but to be around this guy, and do some of the things we did, just blew my mind, and he had a great influence on the rest of my life.
My earliest recollection of Dave, was riding on the school bus, and since their farm was about a mile farther down along the state highway, it would stop for Dave, and Anna Mae, then come back up and stop near our house, and those two were the first ones I would see everyday, when I got on. I can remember Anna Mae used to help Dave, but this only lasted a year or two, then she graduated, and I sort of inherited Dave, so I used to help him get to school, etc. At first I think I really felt sorry for him, you know, the fact he couldn’t see, and everything, and how much he was going to miss in life. Well, it didn’t take me long to grow out of that stage, and I soon learned Dave didn’t want, or need, a lot of help. Just walking along side him was good enough, and maybe telling him there was a curb, or step, and that was about it. He certainly didn’t want you grabbing him by the arm, or something like that, and he didn’t want any sympathy from you either, and you know what, after I got to know him a little better, and saw what he could do, I didn’t feel sorry for him anymore, and slowly, I began to forget that he even had a problem with his vision. I never thought of it as a handicap, I guess, because the fact that Dave couldn’t see didn’t stop him from doing anything the rest of us guys did back then. Maybe hunting is the only thing I can think of, but that’s about it. Sometimes I think the rest of us were more handicapped than he was, and there wasn’t anything wrong with us.
As a kid, Dave was pretty good at covering up the fact he had a slight vision problem. I was raised by my grandparents, and they didn’t have a car, so naturally, on Sundays, we got a lot of company. Remember when people used to do that? Visit, I think they called it. The women would all sit around the kitchen table, and the men would all be in the living room, swapping lies. Dave was often a visitor, so if we were bored, sometimes we would go in and join the men. Now, if Dave had been at your house before, he memorized where all the furniture was, and he could walk around like he could see, so when he and I went in the living room, I’d look for any empty chair, and just tell Dave where to sit, and he’d walk right over, plop down, then he would start telling his own stories, and he could keep up pretty well with these seasoned veterans. When he was done visiting, he would jump up, say his goodbyes, and out the door he’d go. After he left, my grandfather would often tell the visitors, “you know, that kid is blind”, and, of course, they never believed him. I’ve often thought, those guys went to their graves thinking that was the best lie told that day.
A little side note about the furniture: one day when we were about 12 or 13, Dave got off the school bus, went racing through the house to go upstairs, and change clothes, all before his mother could warn him that she had rearranged the furniture that day, and needless to say, Dave went “ass over tincups” over some stupid piece of furniture that didn’t used to be there. Dave was pissed, big time. That little phrase is for the benefit of Bill Thrush, who thinks, if you’re from Houtzdale, you just have to use it. Ass over tincups?? What the hell does that mean? Oh well, it’s his book, just humor the author.
Rich’s account of bicycling with Dave:
One thing Dave was pretty good at, was riding his bicycle when we were kids. He used to ride from his house, along Route 53, on the shoulder, which was about 11 or 12 inches wide in those days, go one mile, turn right on a secondary state road, go 200 yards, turn left, go 300 yards on a dirt township road, and then he was at my place. He knew this route well, and would judge his distance by the sound of the cars on the highway. Once he teamed up with me, we would go anywhere we wanted to, and he rode alongside, listening to the sounds from my bike. No problem, any blindfolded person should be able to do that.
This particular, hot day, we decided to go swimming at Brisbin Dam. On the way home, we got to the township road, where I usually peeled off, and hollered to Dave that I’d see him tomorrow. I pulled up in the yard, threw my bike down, and went inside for something cold to drink. About 2 or 3 minutes later I heard this cursing, and swearing, like I’d never heard before, and it sounded like Gregal. I went to the back door, and there was Dave, all cut up , dirty, and blood everywhere, not to mention he was the maddest I’d ever seen him, and I believe he wanted to track down a couple guys, and kill them, or something to that effect. When I finally got him to calm down and explain what happened, it appears Dave was cruising down the shoulder of Route 53, as usual, but while we were swimming, our tax dollars had been at work, and a signing crew had erected a destination board, (You know, one of those signs on 2 channel bars that says Osceola Mills 5 miles, Philipsburg 10 miles), or something like that, because Dave sustained a broken nose, and collar bone, and I believe the sign sustained even greater damage, since I don’t remember ever seeing it again. Hey, we weren’t even driving yet, so we didn’t even care what the distance was to those two towns, and, besides, that shoulder is where Dave rode his bicycle. Stupid place for a sign, anyway. Heck, most people from Houtzdale, with half a brain, knew how far it was to both places, and if they didn’t, I think Dave and I both agreed they could stop at his place, and he’d be glad to tell them.
Dave was always buying junk motorcycles and cars. Here’s Rich’s recollection of Dave’s first motorcycle:
This should have been called the first motorcycles, because Dave was not content to purchase just one bike, it had to be two. I’m not sure how this began, but I do remember Dave owned a Vespa Motor Scooter, which he would ride in the fields, on the farm. I just looked this up on Google, and they were introduced in 1946, and I think Dave’s was one of the early prototypes. One Sunday afternoon, the 3 girls from Phillipsburg that Dave, Skip, and I were dating, (come on guys, you remember, you could never get one out alone back then, you dated in something that was probably called group dating), anyway these 3 came to the farm to see what we were doing, and, as usual, we were working on Dave’s cars. The women soon became bored, and the bleached blond that I was dating, asked me to take her for a ride on the scooter. I told her “no”. Heck, I wasn’t going to admit I didn’t know the first thing about riding one of those things, but that wasn’t good enough for Dave, and he kept insisting I take her for a ride. He probably “double dared” me, or something, but reluctantly, I got it up to the dirt road behind the farm, and Shirley got on behind me. Now, the one thing I do remember was that Shirley was a very good looking girl, and this was probably early June, 1959, and she was wearing a little blouse, and white, short shorts, (oh, yeah, you guys remember them, don’t you). Now, you know, there are a lot of people out there, who should never even own a pair of shorts, much less wear them, including myself, but Shirley possessed a pair of slender, long, shapely legs, the kind that God probably had in mind when he invented short shorts. Me, I was dressed in the uniform of the day, the usual James Dean attire, blue jeans and white t-shirt. I mention this because the dress code is important for what happened a minute later.
The whole gang bid us farewell, and down the road we go. I drove rather slowly the first couple hundred feet, but you know how it goes, the farther you go, the cockier you get, and pretty soon I was feeling like Evel Knievel, (although we hadn’t heard of him yet). Things were going fine, and we were up to about 20mph, when suddenly, at the next farm, the nice, smooth, dirt road, turned to all ruts, and guess what happened next. I was thrown to the right side of the road, and landed in the grass. Jumped up and checked myself out, and didn’t have a scratch. When the dust cleared, I analyzed the rest of the situation. It wasn’t good. Shirley, and the scooter, never left the road. Can you imagine what it’s like to slide down a dirt road? Don’t remember anything about the scooter, but the blouse, and short shorts were completely ruined, and you talk about brush burns on that nice pair of legs. I don’t think she wore shorts the rest of the summer. Come to think of it, I don’t think she talked to me the rest of the summer, either, but, I do believe that was her I saw in a bike shop one day, buying a complete set of riding leathers.
I know this story is supposed to be about Dave, not me, and I’m getting there, but looking back on it, well, it was all his fault. If he wouldn’t have “double dared” me……………..and, besides, I told her I didn’t want to take her for a ride in the first place, so that lets me off the hook. Anyway, this little incident is just a warm-up, sort of a preview of coming attractions. Now, we’ll talk about Dave.
Somehow, Dave found out that a guy in Woodland had a motorcycle for sale, so I took him down to see it. Turns out he had 2 bikes, so Dave decided to buy both of them. One was an NSU with a 250cc engine; the other was a Moto Guzzi, with a horizontal single cylinder 500cc engine. The plan was, to fix one up and sell it, so he could buy parts for the other one, and keep it. Naturally, the wimpy NSU was sold rather quickly, because you can never have too much horsepower, so we began working on the Moto Guzzi. Both these bikes were from the early 50’s, and the keeper really wasn’t in too bad condition. It had been a road bike, with crash bars, windshield, and all, and when it was cleaned up, didn’t look like something we normally worked on.
It was pretty much a basket case when he bought it, but I knew Dave would get it all back together, and after much work, and running around, a few weeks later, it was the big day. Dave kick started it, and after a little fine tuning on the engine, it sounded pretty good. Just then, Dave’s mom called to tell him lunch was ready, so, I told him I’d go home, get something to eat, and I’d be right back down. Excitement was in the air.
A half hour later, I was on my way back to the farm. Just as I crested the little knob, by the old coal tipple, I could see the barn about one half mile ahead of me, and I noticed a trail of dust coming from the barn towards me. Must be Dave’s dad, I thought, bringing the old Farmall out to do a little plowing, or one of those things that farmers do with tractors. Then I noticed the dust was fast approaching. Hell, I thought, ol’ man Gregal never drove that fast in his life, but he’s got a kid that would do it, (actually he had four that would do it, but Dave was the only one home at the time).
I tramped on the gas, my mind thinking, “That damned Gregal, he couldn’t wait until a guy goes home and gets a baloney sandwich, noooo, he’s got to take the maiden voyage”. I mean, I’ve already explained, I had previous experience on the motor scooter. Ok, so I wrecked it, isn’t a guy entitled to one mistake? I thought just the fact that I could see gave me a slight edge, but like I’ve already said, that minor disadvantage didn’t stop Dave from doing anything.
Now this is a pretty long field, and Dave and I met right in the middle, which means he was going about as fast as I was, the only difference being, that I was on a paved highway, and he was in a plowed cornfield, if that has anything to do with it. Actually, he was doing pretty well, as he was driving in one of the furrows that ran parallel with the highway, and, unless that sign crew relocated that sign up in their field, he shouldn’t have any problem. Wronnggg. I mean, like what the hell, it was a big, long, wide field, just made for any blind fool to go riding his motorcycle in, right? What could go wrong? I have to stop here, because as you can tell I’m not much of a farmer, so could someone explain to me why farmers alternate their methods of plowing, like, why do the rows run parallel with the road, then suddenly, for no reason, they run perpendicular to the road. They probably do have some silly reason for it, like rotating their crops, or improved drainage, or maybe they just like the looks of it, I don’t know, (personally, I like those big circles the aliens are doing right now), but they all do it, so there’s gotta be a reason, but I think it’s stupid, and if Dave were here this minute, I think he’d say it’s just plain dumber than hell, because just where we met, that’s where the rows changed. As you can imagine, Dave’s ride became a lot rougher, about then, and, if there is anyone out there that doesn’t know how the kickstand on a 1950 Moto Guzzi operates, allow me to explain. It is mounted on the bottom of the frame, directly below the seat, and is held in place by two small springs, with two steel legs, extending forward. Well, on about the third bump, those legs might as well have been steel spears, because when that thing came down, dug into the next furrow, well, it was like all forward motion stopped, right now, that is, except for the three or four summersalts that Dave and the motorcycle took. Boy, I screwed up, this would have been a good place to use that “ass over tincups” phrase, but I don’t want to get repetitive.
Anyway, there was no place to pull over, and I figured that was undoubtedly the end of Dave, so I drove to the barn, parked my car, and raced around the side of the barn, to see what I could at least salvage from the motorcycle, only to hear that familiar cursing and swearing that Dave was so good at. He was already pushing the bike back to the barn, and he looked pretty much like the day he tangled with the sign, only a lot dirtier, you know, some things just never change. I recall the motorcycle had a lot of damage, but the only thing I really remember is a hole in the middle of the windshield, just about the size,and shape of Dave. You know, just like in those Road Runner cartoons.
DAVE’S 1ST MOTORCYCLE
Rich the Deckhand for “Jacque Costeau Gregal” –
First of all, if you knew Dave, you already know that he was always thinking. Thinking of things that still needed to be invented, or thinking of ways to improve upon things that someone else had beaten him to, but, you get the idea. Anyway, this little caper happened in the late 50’s, when we were about 17, or 18. Dave had just bought one of his first, (of many), cars, a 1953 Chevy that needed a lot of TLC. After much body work, gallons of Bondo, and grey primer, Dave figured it was ready for a paint job, so he picked out the paint, (yes, HE picked it out), and he wanted a Robin’s Egg Blue bottom, with a White top, and guess who was going to do the spraying? Me. A guy who hadn’t quite mastered a can of Rustoleum, and had never even seen an air compressor, but Dave had an air compressor, or, at least his Dad did, and was it some compressor. I’m not saying it was the first air compressor, but I think it was coming on the scene, about the same time the bellows was starting to phase out. It had a little brass tag that said either 1904, or 1940, but those were the numbers, use them where you want them.
I painted the car right in the front yard, and to tell the truth, it didn’t turn out half bad. Dave was very good at body work, and could always get all the sanding marks feathered out, just by feeling them. Although I had 20/20 vision, my body work never met his standards, and Dave would always inspect my work, and tell me this was wrong, and that was wrong, and somehow it always looked better after I went home, and came back the next day. More than likely, it was probably just due to overnight shrinkage of the Bondo. As for my first spray job, well, I’ve seen worse, and I’ve always had this thing for a little orange peel in the final coat. Anyway, Dave thought it looked good, and that’s all that mattered.
By now you are probably asking yourself, what the hell does this have to do with diving? Well, to me, and Skip Gustkey, we were satisfied with having completed this paint job, and were planning to take the rest of the summer off, but no, not Gregal, now this air compressor was a new challenge, and he started coming up with ideas as to how we could put it to good use, and one of those ideas turned out to be an underwater diving apparatus. Now, where Dave came up with some of his information is beyond me, but he knew if you had a diving bell for a helmet, and a supply of fresh air through an air tube, to force the water out of the helmet, you could use this contraption to explore, and work underwater. I tried to point out that we weren’t very good at doing either of those things on dry land, but it fell on deaf ears, (I know, I know, that wasn’t his handicap).
Needless to say, the next day, Dave, Skip, and I were out behind Donleys, at one of the stripping holes. Now, to those of you who may not know what that is, our hometown of Houtzdale was a coal mining area, and strip mining was a method used to strip the surface of the earth down to the coal. Once the coal was removed, these holes often filled with water, sometimes to a depth of over 100 feet. But, today, this was our test site, and, it was a huge waterhole.
Our equipment consisted of the air compressor, lots of air hose, and rope. I can’t remember if Dave had anything for his head, and I think he was just going to stick the end of the hose in his mouth. His diving suit was the one he had the day he was born. Since Dave was in charge, he delegated the rest of the duties. Skip was given the air hose, and was to supply it as Dave needed it on the way down. I was given the rope, which Dave said he would hold in his hand, and if he got in trouble, he would yank on it, and I was to pull him up. So far, so good.
Now, for Test No. 1. Dave waded into the water, till he came to the edge of a shear drop-off, and said he was going down. He slipped into the water, but after much thrashing around, came back to the surface. He was disgusted, and said he was wasting too much energy trying to get down to the bottom, and he was going to need some weight to help him submerge. His next bright idea was to find a rock, not just a rock, but a ROCK, which he tied a piece of rope to, and the other end was tied around his waist. The other members of his team agreed this will surely work.
Test No. 2. Back to the drop-off, and this time Dave disappeared rather quickly. Skip was busy dishing out the hose, and I kept letting out the rope. After about 30 seconds, Skip asked if I felt any tugs on the rope, and I said “no, everything must be going ok”. About 20 seconds later, he asked if I felt anything, and again I said “no”, however I did notice the rope just seemed to be coiling up below the surface, and, smart as I am, I didn’t think that looked right. Just then, the water literally exploded right in front of us, and there was Dave, with maybe the only part of him still in the water was anything below the ankles. He almost looked like something out of an Ester William’s movie, and how he did it, I’ll never know, but you have to be swimming damned hard to come out of the water like that.
In case you haven’t figured it out by now, what happened was, our diver had misjudged the ROCK by a couple ounces, and it was taking him down a lot faster than he planned, so he tried to get rid of the ROCK, but found he had tied a pretty good knot around his waist, then, at probably 50 or 60 feet, he started hitting some very cold water, and wouldn’t you know it, he panicked, and let go of the rope, and I’m sure the air hose was long gone. I’m not sure at what depth he finally got untied, but I do know his diving suit was about the same color as that 53 Chevy I mentioned earlier.
Just for the record, Test No. 3, and future diving plans were cancelled after this mission.
When Gregal Spoke
Dave was responsible for many of us getting better grades, or in some cases even passing ones in high school. He would have his test read aloud by the teacher, usually in the back of the room as we were being tested. The teacher would very quietly begin reading and you could hear a pin drop as kids listened for Dave to say “True” or “C”! The worst nightmare was to hear Dave say, “Let’s skip those and come back to them later.” We were then out of sequence! Dave had a very high I.Q., and it was like the E.F. Hutton Commercial … “When E.F. Hutton [Gregal] talks, we listen!”
FRESHMAN CLASS OFFICERS -- 1954
“Dave” Earnhardt
During high school, Dave had an old, unlicensed car that he drove (with the help of friends) on the dirt roads behind his farm. What a thrill to go barreling down a narrow dirt road to the tune of “left, more left, now right, right, OK, straight.”! Here’s a portion of a letter that Dan Festa wrote to Dave, remembering an account of Dave driving around campus:
The time you and I were letting off steam driving your Renault 4CV with 26 Shetland Pony power around downtown State College. I was driving and I asked you if you wanted to drive. You said yes. So you got into the driver’s seat and I told you that I would tell you exactly what to do and when. And you did. And did very well. And then you told me that you wanted to slide around some corners and spin some wheels and you did, and did very well based on gassing, braking and turning when I told you to do so. And then I asked you if you wanted to just drive up onto campus to Pollock B Hall. And you said yes. So you drove to the traffic light at McLanahan’s and up onto Campus. I told you when to turn right into the complex to Pollock Halls and you did, and did well. And when we got to the bend to turn left to get to Pollock B, I told you not to get excited because there was a Campus policeman standing on the corner, but to do exactly what I told you. So I told you when to turn left in front of the cop, who was no more than 10 feet from us. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. And I told you when to turn sharply to the right into a parking spade and to stop quickly so as not to hit the curb. And you did so perfectly. Then we got out of your car and you unfolded your white and red cane and we walked away. (So help me, this true as are all of these reflections).
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Dave’s brother Mike told this story. Pop (Dave’s dad) owned or had access to a small, deep mine – a tunnel dug into the side of a mountain (like those in old cowboy movies). On Saturdays, Pop would take the boys to the mine where they would dig house coal (everyone had a coal/wood cooking stove complete with oven, plus a coal furnace or coal parlor stoves). Pop would have the older boys digging the coal, and Dave’s job was to take the big lumps and stack them near the entrance. The brothers would then back in a pick-up truck and haul the coal to the house. Dave had a small percentage of vision and could detect light; hence, he would stack coal at the lighted entrance. Just before Pop came back to check on things, I moved the lantern further into the mine and told Dave he was not stacking the coal near the lighted entrance. Just as he had placed several large lumps in the opposite direction, Pop came in and gave him hell.
I don’t intend to “air our dirty laundry” in this book, but boys will be boys.
When you are 16 or 17 and the legal age for drinking is 21, you are trapped in a “dead zone” – too young for bars and clubs and too old for the soda shop (yes, we had one in Houtzdale – The Dairy).
The cool thing to do was get someone older to buy you some beer – go to an abandoned strip mine and have a “redneck party.”
It was often difficult to find someone to buy the beer so Dave came up with an idea – make your own booze. Here is Rich Zimmerman’s account of Master Brewer – Gregal!
Introduction to Booze
I know it is quite common today for people to buy these do-it-yourself kits, and make your own wine, but this was another thing we learned from Dave, and we learned at a very early age. I remember we started drinking beer in our senior year of school, and some may have started sooner than that, but one day Dave told Skip Gustkey and I that we should start making our own hard cider. Apparently, Jim Huber was involved, too, because we needed his sister’s car to carry out this plan.
Again, where Dave got some of his ideas, and, knowledge, I’ll never know, but his older brothers, Frank, Alex, and Mick, would be my usual suspects. Anyway, he supposedly knew what to do, so he had a clean, wooden barrel, which held at least 50 gallons, and he knew we had to have a blend of 3 varieties of apples, and I believe the Gregal farm just happened to have all 3, (will wonders never cease). Now, Dave also knew of this old guy that had a cider press, and he would do it for practically nothing, all we had to do was get everything to Curwensville. Since this was about 25 miles away, that’s where the car came in. Jim borrowed his sister’s car, we quickly removed the trunk lid, inserted the barrel, and filled it, and the rest of the car, with apples. Once they were pressed, and the barrel was full, it was back to the barn, so Dave could begin his chemistry.
A word of warning here, just in case you decide to take this up, for a hobby. Now, I didn’t stick around the first night, but the other 3 did, and they stuck a hose in the top, and siphoned out the cider, and they probably would have been alright, if they hadn’t made hogs of themselves. I do know, the next day, they told me they thought they were going to bust, because, apparently fresh cider foams, and swells up inside your stomach, sort of like eating a lot of angel food cake, and drinking a quart or two of milk, so, know when to quit.
The reason I am so positive we were still in school is, just about every morning, for the next few months, I would get on the school bus, and there would be Dave, in a corner, in the dark, in the back of the bus, and I would sneak back, like nothing was going on, and would get updates as to how our cider was coming along. He would tell me how much sugar he put in last night, or raisins, instead of sugar, or sometimes it was honey, and yeast, to make it ferment from sugar to alcohol, and he knew how to keep the air out, and to let the gas escape, and……..my point is, that’s precisely why I think the rest of those Gregal boys were involved. I mean, I might not be no Albert Eisenhauer, but I’m smart enough to know that a bird has a natural ability, or instinct, to enable it to build a nest, without instructions, but, I don’t know that I’m buying into that crap, that just because they were Yugoslavian, it was a largely inherited, and unalterable tendency, which allowed him to make a complex stimuli. Well, Dave might not have said it, in so many words, but, I know, that’s what he was thinking. You just ain’t born knowing how to make hard cider, at least, not good hard cider, anyhow.
Anyway, this process would start around September, and about Christmas time, it was ready, and, was it ready. Don’t let anyone try to tell you, that you can’t get drunk on hard cider. Once we all had our own cars, everyone carried their own one gallon glass jug everywhere we went, and many was the night we passed out singing “Hang down your head, Tom Dooley”, with the Kingston Trio. Dave’s one flaw, in his brew, may have been, he couldn’t control the alcohol content very well, because sometimes it was so-so, and other times, it would knock you on your ass. A few years later, I was in Okinawa, drinking Manilla beer, from a brewery in the Philippines, supposedly part owned by Douglas MacArthur, and they had the same problem, but I was used to it, so didn’t complain. That was 1964, his last year, (I don’t mean as owner, he died that year).
GETTING GREASY IN HOUTZDALE
COLLEGE DAYS
Gregal Becomes a Lion
With superior intellect and test scores, Dave had no trouble enrolling at Penn State University. He earned good grades and graduated with a degree in counseling. I can’t imagine how Dave maneuvered around campus, as most sighted students are overwhelmed as freshman. To Dave, it was another “speed bump” in life.
Dave’s first roommate at PSU was Bob Miller. Here is his letter to Alice describing Dave and their relationship.
I don’t know where or how to begin this letter.
Yesterday, January 8, 2005, my old college buddy Lloyd called me to relay a story he read in the Penn State Alumni magazine about Dave. I was saddened to the point of tears and here 24 hours later the sad feelings and tears continue.
I searched the web and read the wonderful article in the Washington Pos, which combined admiration, sadness, and some humor. And that started me thinking about my own memories of Dave.
On that fall day in September 1959 when he appeared at the West Halls dorm door and introduced himself as my new roommate my immediate reaction, probably typical of a 20 year-old kid first time away from home, was apprehensive to say the least. I said to myself “How in the world am I going to do this!”
But it was only a matter of minutes that Dave’s personality took over and I became putty in his hands. What an amazing character he was back then. He sought to be “one of the boys” by finding some common ground subjects such as cars, girls, and booze to talk about. I told him about my girlfriend and that I had a picture of her on my desk. He wanted to see it. As he held the picture up close to his eyes near the light of the window he remarked how nice looking she was. I thought that a bit strange for when he handed the picture back to me I discovered he had been looking at it upside down!
During the next several days I showed him around the dorm and around campus. We visited the bathroom facilities, the dining hall, and the buildings in which he had his classes throughout the campus. I only had to show him these things once. I think that eventually he knew the campus better than I did. In fact the joke in the dorm as that Dave was “faking it.” Later on during the semester I remember walking to classes during the day with several student friends and a friendly voice would say “Hi Bob”. He was able to pick up and identify the sound of my voice in idle conversation as he was walking by our group.
He shared some of his tricks with me such as tapping his stick and listening for echoes off of buildings, and counting steps to maintain his orientation. By the way, it did not take him long to correct me when I referred to his stick as a cane. I still remember that well-used stick of his. It was a four-section fold-up device held together by a large rubber band inside and the sections were alternate colors of red and white. When he was not using it he would fold it up and put it in his rear pocket.
I remember how he taught me to walk with him. The first time we were walking together I would grab his arm and try to lead him around. That did not last long. “You don’t have to hold me” he said, “Just let me sort of touch your elbow as we walk.”
We looked forward to meal times. We ate together at last twice every day. The ritual was to get in line early at the dining hall. Sometimes we were first in line. We would walk through the food serving line and I would describe the food to Dave as we went down the line and he would voice his selections. We would then take our trays to the table. The tables would eat about eight students and it was a rare occasion that our table was not filled. It was coed dining and there were always several coeds at our table. We always seemed to prolong the meals. We all enjoyed each other’s company so much that we would often stay beyond the time that the hall was open. We had a lot of laughs. They were good times.
As you know Dave was one of the only guys on campus that was allowed in the girl’s dorms. He would have these coeds read to him almost every night after dinner as I recall. That is how he met Stephanie Mennen, the heiress to the Mennen Aftershave conglomerate.
Of course the practical jokes followed as the students in the dorm became more familiar and friendly with Dave. I must confess that I took part. Re-arranging the room without telling Dave was done at least once.
It was several months until I discovered that he hid a bottle of whiskey in is Braille typewriter. Booze was forbidden in the dorms and there were searches from time to time by the counselors. Perpetrators were punished. The funny thing about the fact that he his that whiskey is that I never once saw him drink and never smelled whiskey on his breath. I believe, looking at it 36 years later that this was just one example of what he would do to be just “one of the guys.”
Speaking of the typewriter, I hardly ever remember him using it. The reel tape recorder was another story. He would use that all the time. He would tape classes and the reader’s voices at night and play them back in the dorm. It was a usual sight to see him lugging that tape recorder to class.
Most weekends I would drive back to Philadelphia to visit my girlfriend so at the time he had the room pretty much to himself. I remember though several weekends when I drove him home to Houtzdale. If I recall his home was situated slightly above the road level and was rather small and modest. Although I must have met his family, I truthfully cannot remember them at this time. I do vaguely recall that he went home on quite a few weekends himself. I think his brother or family friend would come and pick him up.
Did you ever notice how well he listened to people when they spoke? How many of us have that ability? I believe Dave listened because he was really interested in what you had to say. More than once he surprised me by bringing my personality troubling subjects that I may have discussed with him many years ago to find out how I was getting along. Ever notice that most people don’t listen to you as you speak since they are so anxious to talk themselves? Dave was not that way.
These are just some of the things I remember during that year that I was fortunate enough to live with Dave. But the real story of Dave Gregal was Dave himself. You know I cannot recall him ever having a bad word to say about anyone. I cannot recall him ever being anything but a gentle human being. He was the type of person that actually listened to what you were saying and was truly interested in you. There are only a few people that you will meet in your entire life of whom you could say these things. I know I am not telling you anything you do not already know but I had to relay these thoughts to you in honor of Dave.
I am so fortunate to have known him and lived with him for that one year. I loved and admired Dave very much and will cherish his memory the rest of my life.
Please relay my thoughts to your sons. Also, I will call you sometime in the future when I feel that I can talk about Dave with you without balling my eyes out.
Sincerely, Bob Miller
Every college freshman sooner or later has to do the “term papers.” Dave decided to write one on what it was like to be blind in high school. Here are some excerpts from that paper, sent to me by his wife, Alice.
School officials thought that I should be send to a school for the blind in Pittsburgh. But then there was the opposing side – those who stated that I should attend public school because I did possess partial vision. This led to a controversy which was suspended for about two years, during which time I had no formal education.
The fact that my other childhood friends had been attending school while I had not, appeared very confusing to me. Questions such as: “What grade are you in?”; “What school do you attend?”; “Who is your teacher?”; “What subjects do you like?” followed by “How old are you?” were directed at me. To avoid all these questions, I simply stated that I was not prepared enough to attend school.
However the controversy was finally settled and I entered public school at the age of eight. As I vaguely recall, the first several days of school to me as well as to the rest of the students were ones of mass confusion and trying to adapt to the new role. After about a week had been consumed normal routine class activities had begun. And it was then that my instructor realized that I would not be able to use the conventional ways of obtaining material from the blackboard or visual charts as the other students were able to do. Other methods had to be sought.
Other methods were found and used by me as planned by the instructor. For instance, my instructor, Mrs. Cornell, while teaching writing would take my hand and literally draw the letters to show me how they actually were written. When she was using the chart for teaching the class how to read I would sit approximately 3 seats from the chart rack. It was then that I was able to see the material which the charts presented. In mathematic drills while the cards were being flashed she would repeat the various mathematic symbols. I was able to grasp material very readily then.
However another problem arose temporarily. The members of the class felt that I was receiving special favors from the instructor and they became jealous and as a result took a hostile attitude toward me and the typical childish harassment ensued. In other words I was getting one thing that they weren’t and they resented it.
While I was out of the room one day, Mrs. Cornell alleviated the problem and prevented this class disorganization from occurring. What it really amounted to was that she was able to channel the student’s hostilities and anxieties into helping her achieve her own goals, which was to enable me to grasp the material presented. She explained to the class that I was no different than they were except for the fact that I was unable to see. She explained to them that they should take a part in assisting me with my studies. This really enthused some of the students, especially the girls, because then they could also play the adult role of the teacher. Small groups of 5 and 6 were set up and mathematic and word games were played in which I was able to participate fully.
In reference to those students who were imitating the role of teacher, an interesting point I would like to bring up is that the majority of them are furthering their formal education, either in college, nurses’ training, or similar institutions of higher education. These students were all from middle class families and they possessed all the middle class standards, values, etc. There were virtually no students from lower class families participating with me in learning activities. In summary, there is a high correlation between class stratification and academic participation. The patterns which originated in the lower grades continued through high school.
Also the learning pattern which I adopted in the lower years of formal education continued on through high school and is even operations here at college. The content has changed but the methods are similar. The dictation of term papers has replaced the recitation of English grammar, students now tape record their notes for me rather than read me their notebooks, but as in high school, here at college I have students and instructors read me tests.
There is only one new method that I have adopted in college. Most of my work in the previous years of my education was not through the use of textbooks; participation in class activities enabled me to get the material needed to fulfill the academic requirements. This was my largest technical problem, the inability to read textbooks, when I first arrived at the University. This was solved however, through the use of readers, girls from various sororities and from my classes volunteered to read orally. At the present time I have approximately twelve to fifteen girls reading at least one hour a week, however at times this is rather inadequate and inefficient because oral communication consumes three to four times the amount of time that it normally would. Since I am not always psychologically ready to study when readers are scheduled I am unable to grasp the material being presented. My biggest problem in this area is I haven’t enough time to cover the material in all courses as efficiently as I would like. As far as I am concerned the day should be another twelve to sixteen hours longer, due to the slow and inefficient process in obtaining textbook material
I do not wish to be misleading all these processes and new role interpretations that I have obtained through my education process were not ones of simple mechanical action. There was a great deal of frustrations, anxieties, new role conceptions, adapting myself to the complementary roles that my society expected me to do. These I will briefly discuss at the end of the paper.
Now to set aside the academic role and go into the second area, social interaction: Recreation, such as dancing, sports, movies, etc. UP to the age of about eight these activities contributed very little to my socialization process. Living in a rural area I had a few childhood peers which I became intimate. We did take part in activities but there were more or less individual activities. Our activities were not of the cooperative type- we played with gadgets, but did not direct our activities toward group goals. It was when I entered school that I discovered my inability to be able to fully participate in the group games and activities.
Until that time I was not aware of games such as football and baseball. I had used these terms being used but I had no concept of them. As to why my parents never explained these games to me I am not fully aware, except the fact that they were reared in a foreign culture that did not have these games. Since they were adults when they became assimilated into our environment they never developed an interest in new recreation. Since my family was not aware of the role I was to play I had to seek and interpret for myself, which I did.
A point which I would like to emphasize here, procedures which I was able to set up while playing the academic role in the early years of formal education are operational up to the present time. This did not hold true in social interaction. As I grew chronologically older new ideas, roles, activities appeared to which I had to adapt.
At first I attempted to adapt to all the activities that normal individuals would engage which I finally realized would be impossible. For example, I attempted to participate in football and baseball. Since children make up their own rules and regulations I was permitted to have the ball rolled along the ground so that I could bat it. This terminated rather quickly because most of my friends at the age of nine engaged in Little League ball where the rules and regulations were defined for them. As a result they did not reel justified in allowing me to use my own rules.
My participation in football lasted approximately into the seventh grade. Due to being two years older than my peers I possessed superior strength and speed. After obtaining the ball from one of my teammates I was able with little difficulty to pierce the line and make a touchdown. But the onset of puberty equalized my peers strength, speed, and superiority along with organized junior and senior high football my career was ended. The inability to participate in these and other group interactions at that age was a traumatic defeat sine it was then that my friends who later wore the bit 17, 33, and 44 were beginning their athletic careers.
It was at that time I realized that I would have to seek other ways of obtaining satisfaction. This I found through a pet dog that I possessed. IN the evenings while my friends engaged in the above discussion I proceeded in teaching Lassie tricks. She became very proficient at these. When she was killed by an automobile my achieved satisfactions ended in total disgust.
My dad attempted to motivate me in another area, wood carving, but this I did not find satisfying. The manipulation of wood, however, lead me to work on soapbox carts. Sine mine was powered by a lawnmower engine which the others being built were not I was looked upon with high esteem and obtained a high degree of admiration and respect from my friends. This along with other activities in related fields brought me a great deal of satisfaction since I then found an area in which I could excel.
Since handicaps and non-handicaps will only accelerate in certain fields those who recognize my accelerations do not consider me as handicapped. Each and every individual is handicapped if he tries to function in a role that we have not been prepared for.
Above the statement was made those who realize my accelerations do not consider me as being handicapped. This I was fortunate before I started to date. Sine there is a stigma attached to handicapped individuals as being helpless those who are not familiar with me possess this stigma. As a result I have had to alter my methods of dating as compared to the normal individual. It is more advantageous that I establish a more intimate relationship than I normally would have had to do, since the complimentary roles are somewhat different. Since I do not drive, my date does; she also hands the ticket taker the tickets at an event; on a very crowded dance floor she may sometimes take the lead. While watching a moving picture of T.V. she occasionally describes finite points which I am unable to grasp. Until I was able to discover that girls gave no though to these trivial things I felt ill at ease about them. Then I realized that it is the seemingly small numerous favors rather than the large periodical huge favors that make for happiness.
Let me step aside to another problem in interaction here no campus. While walking to and from classes and other activities I am often greeted by friends who I am not able to recognize. Knowing many students on campus it is difficulty to detect the identification through the tone of voice. This irritated me because many people feel slighted not remembering them after having meet them a short while before. I solved this problem by simply stating casually that my new acquaintance state his name in making a greeting. Now the typical words are, “Hello, Dave.” “Sue or Jack or Jane,” whomever it may be. Another situation, one of many which I feel that I have satisfactorily handled.
Now to proceed to the third area on my discussion, individual independence. What I mean by individual independence is the degree to which one is or is not able to fulfill without the assistance of another. With me every individual role differs, there have been those that I’ve mastered fully, some partially, and there are those that haven’t’ been and probably never will be performed. Here are several of them.
The ability to travel alone. I have traveled alone and I have grasped that rather well. This was done partly through development of geographical perception and partially through sheer experience. Prior to high school I didn’t’ travel at all at night because my parents feared my safety. They were very aphetic toward the idea of me doing so. They feared that I might have been struck by a motor vehicle or possibly walk into an obstruction. When some of my friends obtained access to automobiles my parents then sanctioned my attending activities with them. After a short while I was able to walk from one part of town to the other. Streetlights have and still do enable me to follow the sidewalks. I am unable to see the pavement however the lights on one side and the reflections from windows provide a path that I am able to follow. Cracks and slopes in the pavement, curbs, and manhole coverings all contribute to my knowing my whereabouts. The streetlights in an unfamiliar area contribute the most. The ability to interpret these clues was just a matter of practice. As every day passes as I travel a route more and more clues appear. Thus I like for the most part to travel conventional routs.
The cane that I use is another great aid when I am not certain that I am interpreting the situation correctly I seek out other landmarks such as hedges, parking meters, etc. to channel me along my way. When I am in a hurry I use all the methods since I cannot allow for error when in a trot or slow run. While on the subjects of canes, I might point out that the type of cane used is indicative of one’s ability to travel. If the cane is vigorously used it must be made of a heavy material such as wood. If it is a relatively simple task for one to travel alone he uses a small, thin, aluminum folding cane that he can tuck away when its presence doesn’t warrant it. The sounds that these instruments make when struck against an object is an important factor in the type of cane a well or poorly adapted individual uses.
I use the cane for identification purposes mostly when the illumination is such that my vision is adequate. It is a very helpful instrument in building at all times to search out steps or open doors, maintenance equipment, etc. That may be impeding my passage.
One of the problems that I have not been able to solve is to attend public events alone. I am able to attend these events, however I am unable to participate in the activities as normal individuals would. It takes little effort for me to enter a dance hall such as the record hop held Friday nights at Waring Lounge, but due to the poor illumination on the dance floor, I am unable to make out the features of potential friends. The same holds true for a theater. Uncertain of the exact location of a friend in the theater although he may be only six feet away, I am unable to see him to obtain his attention. Along with driving other problems I will never be able to make adaptations to until medical science secures a corrective mechanism for my vision whether it be mechanical, electrical, or chemical.
Let us take a few other activities. Although I am far from the best in bowling, I have bowled scores as high as 165. This again depended on the illumination of the alley. During my senior year of high school I was on the varsity wrestling squad. Vision is not imperative in this sport. The manner in which the opponent made contact with my body indicated to me types of wrestling maneuvers he planned to inflict. Although I was unable to hung wild game, I was able to engage in the sport of fishing. It is at night when I surpass the normal seeing individual. Because of its thin construction the fishing line is virtually impossible to see in the dark, as a fish may nibble on the bait. Due to my sensitive hands, with little difficulty I am able to detect these occurrences and respond to them and pull myself a fish from the stream. The kind and size of catch is known to me before slipping him from the water by the manner in which the line is pulled. It is arbitrary as to the rolls that I’m able to perform. The amount of vision needed to play a role has a high correlation with ones integrated into it.
To briefly summarize, any task that requires in many instances I am hindered in their participation, but can adapt myself to them. However in those tasks where vision is not mandatory, I am superior to those non-handicapped in many instances.
Bill Chauncey – Gift of Gab
When Dave was in college, he hung out with Bill Chauncey and a bunch of other guys that had an apartment in State College. One evening Dave visited them and was all excited about this new girl he met. He was going on and on about how nice she was and he had a date with her the next evening. Finally Bill said, “Gregal, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in awhile.” Dave told me that story about two and a half weeks before he died. We were both laughing so hard tears rolled out of his eyes. I will always remember Dave dabbing at those eyes with a tissue every time he really laughed!
Shifting Gears
Dave made friends easily, both male and female. Sororities volunteered to read his texts and assignments. Once they spent some time with Dave, it was like the Seafood Shanty slogan, “One nibble and you’re hooked!” He kept a licensed car at Penn State, having one major problem: the car was standard shift and many of his dates could only drive an automatic. The solution was to change the transmission, which he did by himself. Smooth shifting equaled smooth dating.
DAVE WORKING ON ONE OF HIS MANY CARS
Dave’s “Rating Dating Game” in College
Dave had an ingenious rating system worked out with his male friends. When different girls that volunteered to read Dave’s texts and assignments would sit down at the dining hall, the friends would “tap rate” the girls…1 tap = OK and 5 taps = Keep talking, she’s a fox. In a letter to Dave, Dan Festa recalls a particularly entertaining situation involving the “Rating Dating Game”:
I remember the time Tony forgot the rating system for girls at the table in the co-ed dining hall where you would look toward each place at the table and we would bump your knee 1-5 times based on the attractiveness of the female sitting there, 5 being Marilyn Monroe class looks and Tony thought the scale was 1-10 and he bumped you 5 times and you were so excited you couldn’t eat.
Cane VS Able
One of David’s friends tried to convince him to get a seeing eye dog. He claimed it would really attract girls. His closing argument was… how many girls have asked to pet your cane?
Everybody Remembered Dave!
Most everyone knew or had seen Dave around the campus at Penn State. During the summer session in the 60’s I would go down to the shore and invariably see someone wearing a Penn State shirt or cap. I’d say, “Oh, Penn State, maybe you know my friend Dave.” They would chuckle and always give me the “How Dumb Are You? Look” and say, “Do you know how many students are enrolled at Main Campus?” I’d reply, “Yes, but this guy is remarkable. He is blind and travels all over State College – alone.” They would almost always get a big smile and say, “Yes, I never met him but I see him ‘caning’ his way into the cafeteria, Rathskeller’s, or any of the numerous watering holes in State College.”
Daniel E. Festa writes:
Hi Bill,
Here is a copy of reflections regarding Dave that I sent to John for presentation at his 65th birthday party since I couldn’t make it. Here are some remembrances of our days at Penn State–
• The time that you, Tony Petrucelli and I went to Bellefonte to go to the State Store and we ended up getting stopped by the Police (I was driving but I think we all were yelling out the windows) and we were told to leave Bellefonte and to never return, before we ever got to the store.
• We were going to Pittsburgh to visit my parents in your extra, extra large Oldsmobile 98 with the inaccurate gas gauge and we ran out of gas at the crest of a hill–and we collectively (there were a couple of riders with us) decided to try to reach the gas station that was visible about a half mile down the hill. We successfully got to the bottom of the hill but when we tried to stop at the gas pumps, we flew by them at about 50 mpg because we had used up all of the residual vacuum to the power brake booster going down the hill and there was no power brakes (and almost no brakes at all –certainly not enough to stop that apartment building of a car.) In any case we had to push the car back about a half mile after we successfully (although I can’t remember how) got the car stopped.
• The time you and I were driving on campus and a group of guys lifted the Renault up with you and me in it and set it up on the sidewalk.
• The time your 1950 blue Dodge wouldn’t start and you, Tony, and I were trying to push-start it but it had Fluid Drive and had to be pushed quite fast to try to start it. And when we got it up to a reasonable speed, I jumped in and closed the door before I pulled it into gear. But I closed the door on Tony’s fingers which he had wrapped around the door post when the door was open. The car started and I was going about 25 mph with Tony screaming for me to stop. I stopped immediately, but the 3 or 4 seconds of running at 25 mph made Tony a little upset. Fortunately he got over it quickly.
Anyway, Dave, our friendship made some of the tougher days more tolerable and I’m glad we met. I’m sorry that I can’t be with you tonight, but we’ll catch up. Take care and have fun.
-Fest
DAVE GRADUATING FROM COLLEGE OR GRADUATE SCHOOL -- PENN STATE UNIVERSITY
This is 1963 or 1964. Dave getting his undergraduate or master’s degree. Parents, Luby and Alex, stand proud.
DAVE MOVES TO WASHINGTON
Meeting Dave Gregal by his longtime friend - PC Wood
I arrived at Penn State in State College, PA in the fall of 1963. It was a made scramble to find a room to rent at the last moment, but I did find one on South Burroughs St. Dan Festa had a room there at the house for the prior year and we became good friends. One night that fall he asked me if I wanted to meet this neat blind guy who was his friend and also a grad student; he had a unique Braille typewriter. I envisioned an IBM Executive typewriter with the 6 dot Braille cells on the ends of the strike bars where letters would have been. Out of curiosity, I went along to the graduate dorm up on campus, Granger Hall. Dave was very welcoming and sure changed my idea of what blind people can do.
In his room that first night he complimented my bright red windbreaker. (Now how did he know that?) It turns out Dave at that time had a sliver of vision in his left eye and I was standing under the ceiling light; secret revealed… Dan asked Dave to show me his Braille typewriter. It was a Perkins Brailler with operated much like a court reporter’s stenographic machine. Six keys controlled each of the 6 dots in a cell when some combination were simultaneous pressed to make a Braille letter. Dave typed out my name in Braille!
Beer and cars bonded all of us for a life time! The male/female ratio was pretty bad.
I knew that Dave and PC were best friends during college. Dave and I weren’t that close during the late 60’s, as we were both too busy starting careers, families, houses, etc. – he in D.C. and myself in Quakertown, PA. I never kenw PC’s real name, so I asked Alice.
PC’s name is actually Philip Conaty Wood. His childhood friends call him Conaty. He didn’t like that and started calling himself PC when he moved to DC … around 1967.
PC worked at Honeywell in Boston,and I worked at Honeywell in Arlington, VA. He came down to DC on business in March or April, 1967 and asked me out. He asked me if one of my roommates would like to go out with his blind friend Dave. I said (to myself) “I don’t think so.” So the 3 of us went out. PC went bck to Boston and Dave asked PC if he could ask me out. Which he did. And the rest is history.
“Life with Dave in an Apartment House” -PC Wood
One word from the dictionary comes to mind to describe Dave:
aplomb \uh-PLOM\, noun:
Assurance of manner or of action; self-possession; confidence; coolness.
With Dave, nothing was usual or quiet in the Savoy Apartments at 22nd and New Hampshire Ave, NW in Washington DC.
When I came to Washington in June of 1967, Dave offered to let me stay in his apartment with him until I got acquainted with the area and chose a place of my own. I did and it was an apartment diagonally across from his. Didn’t stray too far! Dave did acquaint me with the city. In the mornings, I sometimes would walk down to 19th St with Dave to the Job Corps office building. There we would “dine” on chipped beef and cream sauce over a biscuit and then I went off to work in Silver Spring, MD.
At night I came down to Dave’s office and we went often to the Embers (a local watering hole and restaurant) in his office building. It had a nice little buffet of appetizers in the cocktail lounge and there we would have “dinner’ along with our beers. Everyone knew Dave and the bartender was jealous. Wasn’t he the one to be known and hear of everyone’s problems. No… It was Dave. He could give advice on any topic to almost anyone there and they sought it out. And if it was on car repair, then Dave was good for the evening. He know the right gap setting for spark plugs on every model and where to find the frem-o-stam somewhere.
Down the street at 21st and M st, there was another little bar in a small building that had been there since the late 1800’s or early 1900’s. The Mar-Eth was also a place that Dave was well known. The Mar-Eth was a tavern in the truest sense of the word and featured a go-go dancer (all they could afford). Maybe it is better described as a “friendly dive”. Sandy was the waitress and Dave knew everyone who worked there or came in as a customer. Dave was in demand for his personality readings. He would hold a person’s palm and feel it with his fingers to read the “Braille” of the person’s personality. From this he dispensed advice or got a date with a girl.
“Dave, everyone is staring at us!” I said to him one morning as we walked down toward his office building. I said that I thought we both dressed normally, didn’t have some large ink or food stain on our clothes. But this went on for a few blocks. Dave hadn’t a clue either as to what was going on. He was walking normally swing his white cane and I was dangling a large, narrowly rolled up blueprint. Then it occurred to us… Were people thinking that they were seeing the blind leading the blind? It was as funny as when we passed two guys down and out on their luck at the corner of Connecticut Ave and M St, and seeing them in animated conversation as they looked at the stock quotes in the Wall Street Journal.
Then there was life in the apartment building itself. One of the earliest memories of the apartment was a Sunday when Dave wanted to cook Maryland crabs. So we went down to the DC waterfront on Maine Ave, SW where the fishmarkets were all located. Dave bought a dozen and we brought them back to the apartment in a large brown paper grocery bag. Not being a crab enthusiast at the time, I left Dave to his cooking and went back across the hall to my apartment. About 20 minutes later I got a frantic call. The crabs escaped, the bag is empty! Dinner was one crab short that night and we never did find where the twelfth was hiding. It may have crawled out on the balcony.
And speaking of cooking, Dave had an invention idea (among many he had) of the “tacone”. This would be a cone, like a large ice cream cone, filled with his famous chili. He had visions of this being sold at football games and other cool weather events. But chili does soften the cones. So that was on eternal hold. Dave did make a good chili, and I can still taste it now.
And on another Sunday, Dave and I went to church at St. Stephen’s on Pennsylvania Ave, NW, where President Kennedy used to go often. After Mass, we went down to the coffee hour where we met a couple of girls. As Dave got acquainted, he found out that her TV was broken and he offered to come over to fix it that evening. So there we went to an apartment complex in Southwest DC. Meanwhile Pat Collins, who owned this defective and never to be fixed TV, had invited another girl to come over to be there threpair of this ancient TV. Well, they both believed that it would happen, but this was one time Dave was not able to do a thing. But all was not lost. The other girl, Jeanie David, became my wonderful and loving wife of 34 years this summer!
This reminds me of when Dave and Alice were going together. It was a very nice Friday and Saturday one fall, but storm clouds arose and it thundered and lightening flew. Woe is me; what am I going to do? Dave and Alice had a real big argument Friday night. They split and each was off to their own apartments. I went to bed and the next morning, I decided to skip the day. It was a terrible event. Even though the sun shone brightly, it was a dark day in DC.! About four that afternoon, a knock on my apartment door got me out of bed. There were Dave and Alice! Smiling! Alice asked “was I coming with them for dinner?” Just as if nothing had happened… The sun shone brightly again that evening when it was really a normally dark fall evening… What a miracle.
Dave was into all kinds of engine repair. He would go out to friends and co-workers to repair their cars. Even boats. I had a 18’ inboard motorboat docked on the Potomac across from the Pentagon. On weekends all of “our gang” would go out on it and cruise up and down the Potomac River. Sometimes even water-skiing which Dave did also with real aplomb. Then the engine would stop and fails to restart. Dave grabbed his tools he was never without and dive into the engine compartment to start disassembling whatever was the problem. Sure dark down here, he might offer as a comment. In minutes we were off and sailing again. Each spring bring the boat out of storage, I would have to travel on the boat down the Anacostia River (to the Potomac), thru marshes where you aren’t going to see anyone or get help easily if you broke down. Dave was always there, tools in hand. On more than one bringing out of storage, the engine would quit and Dave got us out of there. If Dave hadn’t been there, I would still be waiting in the Anacostia; it was the days before cell phones.
Dave also was wanting to rebuild an outboard engine and put it on a smaller boat. He got the engine, and having assured himself that it was absolutely broken beyond repair, He took it out onto his balcony and disassembled the whole thing, down to every last nut and bolt. He then washed every part with some engine part cleaner and laid the parts out on the balcony floor. Seeing so many and intricate parts, I said “Dave, no way you can assemble this without having a manual from the manufacturer.” A few months later, I was following Dave and Alice as they drove the boat down the Potomac River with spray going up on both sides of it. It never failed to work.
WORKING ON PC’S BOAT
PC, Joe Fitzgerald, Dave
Alice was mechanically minded too. Dave and Alice lived in Dave’s apartment after they were married. Alice designed a living room cabinet with doors and I think a couple of drawers. She hustled and bustled with circular saw and hammer. Sawdust flew and everything would get covered in it. Then the dust settled and out of it all came a beautiful cabinet in green with cream trim if I remember correctly. It had a beautifully smooth, glossy finish to it. It was to remain in use for some years even in their home when they moved in.
Tacones! Tacones! Dave was an inventor or many ideas. He came up with the idea of a stove pipe that would be covered inside with mirror pieces or made out of fiber optic cable material. One would thread it from the roof to the basement, and you could have sunlight anywhere in dark places. Some one actually marketed such a device years later; Dave was first. He had the idea of a talking compass years before the first GPS satellite was launched into orbit. But tacones was a favorite of his. It was an ice-cream cup cone of larger size, filled with Famous Dave’s chili. It would be sold at cold fall and winter events to warm the spectators up. But it couldn’t take off until one could find cones that resisted getting soggy with the juices of the chili. But Dave did make them and they were delicious if you ate them before the bottom fell out of the cone!
It was a wonderful time with Dave and Alice, a time that my wife, Jeanie, and I will never forget!
THE WIFE
Boy Meets Girl, Boy Marries Girl….
Yadda, Yadda, Yadda
After college, Dave moved to Washington DC where he lived with his lovely wife Alice, and two boys, David and John. Both sons received the “Superior Gregal “I.Q, Genes” and are quite adept with computers, math, physics, and women!
Alice and I were the total opposite of each other. Republican – Democrat, Carnivore – Vegetarian, Loved cars of distinction, beauty and performance - Loved cheap hand me down cars for transportation. If you know Alice – you get the “drift”. I always had great respect for Alice - as a strong personality plus being my best friend’s wife. They seemed so compatible, even when arguing. I can so vividly visualize Dave saying, “Alby, Alby, time out. I need time to process….” Once Alice wanted to build an addition on their house and was having a difficult time finding a local contractor. Dave hired a contractor from his hometown (and mine) that did the job for a fraction of a local DC company – yes the contractor lived at the Gregals during construction. How many of you reading this book has lived at one time or another at “The Gregals”. Warren Street should have the plaque from the Statue of Liberty – Give me your tired, your…
DAVE & ALICE AT REHOBETH BEACH -- 1969
You S.O.B., I Knew it!
I love this story! Alice and Dave began dating in 1968, and the time finally came for her to meet Mom and Dad in Houtzdale. The trip is about three and a half to four hours, and to make matters worse, Alice had to deal with adverse weather conditions. It was very dark with heavy rain. From the beginning, Dave was the navigator, giving excellent directions: make a right up here in a quarter of a mile, then left on the detour, etc. About two to three hours later, Dave said we might want to take a break at the Howard Johnson coming up on the right. Alice pulled over, really pissed! “What’s going on here?” Dave smiled and said, “I promised not tell anyone, but I’m pretending to be blind for a year, and I’m getting $20,000 for writing a book.” Alice yelled “You S.O.B., I knew you weren’t blind and I’ve hauled your butt everywhere!”
I asked Alice to write a short article about her thoughts and reflections on her marriage and life with Dave. Here is what she wrote:
Remembering Dave by Alice Gregal
I remember when Dave and I finally decided to get married, 3 ½ years after we started dating, he mentioned, famously, that while I may not always be happy but that I’d never be bored. That turned out to be true for both of us. I spent 37 ½ action-packed years with this extraordinary man.
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I want to acknowledge Dave’s amazing parents: Alex (a.k.a. “Pop”) and Luby. While they weren’t educated (his dad attended only 2 days of school and his mom attended school regularly through 2nd grade only), they were among the smartest people I ever knew. Without reading any books or going to therapy, they seemed to just know how to be good parents: no hidden agendas, no duplicity, just consistency and love. Unlike so many children, Dave never doubted that his parents loved him. In fact, he actually got up during an EST seminar once and asked if it was okay if he didn’t have any issues with his parents. He didn’t and wondered if that was a problem. The trainer assured him that it wasn’t.
To call Pop and Luby hard working would be an understatement. I remember volunteering to iron some shirts on one of our many visits to Houtzdale. Pop brought out 20 something 100% cotton, long-sleeved shirts. That was the last time I offered to help without being specific. Better to say “I’ll iron one shirt” then to feel like a failure for lacking the stamina to iron 20 or more. I knew better than to volunteer to help weed the garden. Pop turned the garden over with a tractor. The rows went on and on.
Luby and later Pop’s second wife, Barbara, were famous as the womens (Pop’s term) to whom the rest of the Gregal and Reifer women compared themselves. Who could keep up with making 7 pies from scratch every Saturday and 3 meats (meatloaf, ham and chicken) and 4 vegetables every Sunday dinner that both women routinely rustled up? They were hard acts to follow.
I always appreciated Dave’s mom for teaching him to keep his clothes so clean, which was no small feat, considering how many projects Dave took on. When one or another of our many cars broke down, he often wore a suit or sport jacket and tie. He’d get out, push the bottom of his tie into the slit between the buttons on his shirt, push his jacket sleeves up a bit and create an “invisible shield” between him and the engine his was working on. Invariably, he’d get the car running, step back and ask if he’d gotten any grease on his clothes. The answer was always “no”. I, on the other hand, would often wander out to check on a Gregal job in-progress and invariably lean into the job and get grease on my blouse or pant leg. If I actually had to do real work with him, I’d need to change completely into old clothes. Unlike Dave, I could not be anywhere near a greasy car and stay clean.
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I learned a lot about friendship from Dave. He didn’t just accumulate friends, he maintained friendships. Once a friend of Dave’s, always a friend of Dave’s, no matter the time between visits or the distance between people. If I complained about this or that friend’s perceived shortcomings, Dave would explain his approach, which was to take from each person what they had to give and to ignore the rest.
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Dave was brave. I’m sure it frustrated him that the speed he could do something often depended on his visual guide, which was often me. I remember visiting the then-Yugoslavia with Dave and his dad several months before Dave and I married. On one occasion, his cousin took us out in the country to see a vineyard that was on a very steep hill. While there was a stone staircase that went straight up the hill, it was ancient and overgrown and there were no railings. It didn’t seem the safest way to traverse the hill. Going up was scary enough for me. The thought of coming down without falling off the hill, seemed impossible. Dave was confident. He simply suggested that I close my eyes, hold on to his belt and follow him. Believe it or not, trailing behind the blind guy down with my eyes closed didn’t seem like such a crazy idea. I followed his lead and arrived at the bottom without incident.
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One of the indications of our success together was how normal I think our family looked to the outside world. We pretty much kept up with what all of our friends were doing: we bought a house, had kids, entertained, went boating, took vacations and generally didn’t expect folks to make allowances for us. Our sons are as different as Dave and I were and have grown up to be interesting and engaging men who have attracted marvelous women, Anne and Amanda, who I love dearly. At this writing, Dave Jr. teaches 5th grade at Lafayette Elementary and John sells real estate and is a mortgage broker for Colwell Banker Real Estate. Both live and work in Washington D.C.
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Hal Hunton, Dave’s long-time neighbor and coffee buddy, retired from the government to begin a second career as a therapist. After Dave died, Hal and his wife Liz invited me over for dinner to touch base and reminisce about Dave. It was at that dinner that Hal told me that he thought that women struggle to find their “no” and that men struggle to find their “yes”. Hal mused that Dave’s “yes” might have come with the cancer and, perhaps the realization that after he died, Dave would no longer have control over how his money was spent.
Dave and I were both frugal. Okay. Some might say cheap but I think that’s a bit harsh. I think it’s fair to say that we were generous with others but frugal with ourselves. Not much for giving elaborate gifts, we tended to buy what was needed and avoided Hallmark or societal dictates.
One day, about a year before Dave died, my friend Diane and I went shopping for what we referred to as a “jewelry uniform” for me to wear to work that would be in keeping with my position as a division director at the US Department of Housing and Urban Development. We chose diamond stud earrings and a 24K four-stranded gold designer necklace as that perfect uniform. Not one to fuss about clothing and always into efficiency, I planned to wear my jewelry uniform every day.
I came home eager to tell Dave about our discoveries and had to answer his first question, which was “How much does it cost?” The answer to that pretty much stopped further discussion about the jewelry uniform.
A year passed and Dave’s health deteriorated dramatically requiring me to get more and more involved in his daily care. About a month before he died, Dave called Diane to help him buy that necklace, which I now own and treasure. Maybe Dave wanted to thank me for going above and beyond the call of duty or maybe he just wanted to give me something as a visible sign of his love for me. Or maybe, as Hal mused, he finally got to his “yes”.
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Even though I didn’t meet Dave until I was 22, I feel like I grew up with him. So much of who I am was influenced by with that amazing man.
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Alice Gregal
DAVE & ALICE’S WEDDING -- AUGUST 19, 1970 --
ST. STEPHENS CHURCH, WASHINGTON D.C.
THE KIDS
DAVE WITH BOTH OF HIS SONS, DAVEY & JOHNNY
Parenting is a tough job. If you have or had children (or reared children - my college English Professor said you raise crops but rear children) you know the “road is rocky” at times. Dave and I would often discuss our “rocky roads”. He was the master of diplomacy, developing strategies like an army general or a corporate raider, and they were ingenious. He was non-judgmental, clever, and extremely subtle. He could have taught a Dale Carnegie course. Here are two examples. [Note: Omitted from the book are many, many, anecdotes and stories that are private and cannot be shared. If you were close and “tight” with Dave – I need say no more – you understand.] Here’s the first story:
Johnny was a student at University of North Carolina and had a personal problem that concerned Dave greatly. Dave knew that his usual Socratic Counseling would not sooth nor correct the situation. He knew he should create a diversion, to get Johnny’s mind and thoughts away from his problem and focused elsewhere. That elsewhere had to be profound, as Johnny, like his brother Dave, was extremely intelligent and couldn’t be “hoodwinked” (we can’t allow these old fashioned terms to die). Dave remembered that Johnny once expressed an interest in learning to fly. Dave called Johnny and in his subtle manner, suggested it might be fun to get a pilot’s license. Bingo! Dave said it was the best $2,500 that he ever spent.
The Rest of the Story (as Paul Harvey would say)
It worked! Johnny became a pilot and loved it. About a year after Dave was diagnosed with cancer, he called me and said he chartered a small, four-seat plane, and he and Johnny were coming to Quakertown, PA (where I live) to take Peggy and me for a ride. I was not a happy camper. I couldn’t imagine climbing into a plane with little Johnny Gregal. All of the pranks and goof-ups that he had ever done flashed through my mind. But would I let Dave down? No way! Peggy and I climbed in that little plane and Johnny taxied down the runway and all fears subsided. This was not the “old Johnny”, the brat who did (never mind). This was a new Johnny – a confident, skilled “TWA” pilot. We had a great time. Dave was so proud and so was I – and I wasn’t “scared”.
FLYING WITH JOHNNY
Although Dave had some “rocky times” with his boys, I have always had the utmost respect and admiration for the manner in which they related to Dave. In their teen years many kids find their parents embarrassing: dowdy clothing, lame wood grained station wagons, dumb hobbies like bird watching or fly fishing – you get the idea! Dave’s kids were always there for him. At hotels, swimming pools, restaurants, etc., Dave was always “on the arm” of Johnny or David. People stared as it was an unusual situation. David & Johnny – you were the greatest! Again, you that really knew Dave empathize with and understand what I am saying.
The second incident was with my daughter Kelly. She was a junior in high school and rebellious. Most people say that she was a carbon copy of me; she was always “jerking our chain”. One example was her decision not to go to college; she wasn’t going to be a “goody goody – kiss up”. Many times Dave would call about 4:15 in the afternoon – just when I was coming home from school. Kelly, being an active teen, would always answer our phone (98.3% of the calls were for her). Dave would engage in casual conversation (subtle counseling) with her believing it was nothing but idle chit-chat. I must add that having Gregal consume some of her friends talk time didn’t please her, as Dave was sometimes long winded. When I would enter the house, Kelly would be on the phone (always) and I’d know immediately it was Gregal on the other end. She would close her eyes and move her hand as if she had a “Gregal Cane” and was “caning her way”. Then she’d scowl, signifying that Gregal was on the line. But, how I digress!
Back to Kelly’s “no college decision”! Dave would patiently listen to her rambling and then the subtle “Gregal Wisdom” would kick in – not dumb like me who would say, “Kelly, what you ought to do is…” but smart like Gregal. The conversation would probably be like this:
Gregal: “Well Kelly, you’re a very intelligent young lady, and I’m sure you would select the path that is right for you. You are a very outgoing and social girl” (he meant she is a party animal). “One major aspect of college life is the fact that it can provide a substantial social life” (translation – you can party like hell!).
Kelly: Silence, thinking. “Maybe I’ll look into it.”
Gregal: “I’m sure you’ll choose the correct path.”
Dave was the greatest – a deep thinker and a master of language. He was the ultimate counselor and friend, patiently listening and never judgmental.
I believe Alice was amazed and possibly shocked at how things were done in Dave’s hometown of Houtzdale. If you needed some trees for landscaping, you went out in the woods and dug them. If stones were needed for a wall or patio, you would take a visit to the nearest strip mine and you had all you wanted. The same procedure worked for pets. The “grapevine” knew whose beagle had puppies and whose cat had kittens.
Dave, Alice, and the kids went to Houtzdale for a short visit. Alice casually mentioned --- well, here is Alice’s account:
Actually, Davey and John were after to us to get a cat for several months. Davey was in 6th grade and wrote a composition about cats. We also went to see the musical “Cats”. Worn down by their persistence, Dave and I decided to surprise them by getting two cats. We thought we’d cut down on fights if each boy had his own cat (that worked) and we also thought that the cats could keep each other company (that didn’t). Once we made the decision, we decided to ask Pop if he had any kittens. Pop responded immediately by calling his friend “Bumblebee”, who came over straight-away with two kittens in a brown paper grocery bag. We all resisted a bit because we wanted to be able to choose our own kittens. However, once we looked at the kittens and realized that Pop was insistent, we decided to accept them. Davey named the tabby cat “Mouser” and John named the black and white cat “Dexter” and they both bonded with their respective kittens, who soon became full-grown cats.
I asked Johnny (John) to write a few words about “Growing up with Dave”!
I’m often asked what it was like having a blind father. I really don’t think it was much different than having a seeing father. My dad was really quite normal. He had a full-time job and commuted to work by himself. He fixed our cars, taught me how to tie my tie and “watched” the evening news. He brought my mom flowers and a card on her birthday, he went to Penn State football games and taught me to drive a car. Actually, I can think of several people he taught to drive. As a result, I treated my dad like he was normal and never went out of my way to tell people he was blind.
Throughout junior high and high school, new friends would come by the house and eventually would meet my parents. They would introduce themselves and my dad would shake their hands and we would be on our way. After about a month or several visits to the house, they would always ask: “Hey man, is your dad blind?” It took some longer than others to figure it out, but they all were surprised. “He looked at me when he talked with me and walked through the house without running into anything” they would say.
Some people thought that I could get away with more because he was blind. In truth, I was more wary of being caught by my blind dad then my seeing mom. Dad just knew things. He could sense if you had a smile on your face, he knew if you were walking differently, he knew if you didn’t put the normal amount of milk in your cereal. You’d tell him it was because we are out of milk or this milk is sour and he’d tell you to fill the rest of the bowl with water. “It won’t taste much different” this from the guy with heightened senses.
Sometimes I would pick dad up from the Metro (underground train in DC) when he was coming home from work. I’d pull up and honk the horn, which he recognized as the horn from our 1985 black Dodge Aries station wagon. He would use his “stick” to find his way to the car. He’d get in and say: “Thanks for picking me up, but God Damn it, you’ve got to stop driving this car so fast. I could smell the brakes and knew it was you, before you even honked the horn.” He just knew things.
One time in high school, my friend JP was in the kitchen talking to my dad. JP and I had a few beers before coming to the house and JP was worried about my dad smelling the beer on his breath. As JP spoke, he would turn his head away from my dad, so that he couldn’t smell the alcohol. After just a few sentences, Dad asked “JP, why are you turning away from me when you talk?” Busted.
In the basement of our house, my dad had a work area complete with just about any tool you would find in a high school shop class, and then some. One day after school, JP and I were using a drill in the basement. Over the whine of the drill I heard my dad walking down the wooden steps in his dress shoes, he was home from work. As soon as I heard his footsteps I shut off the drill. JP and I froze, as neither of us knew what to expect. My dad walked over and asked what we were up to. “Nothing” I replied. Dad reached out and felt the drill bit, which he knew was for drilling through glass. He paused for a second, looked at me and asked us what kind of bong we were making. Sometimes when I tell stories about my dad, I feel like I’m lying. Some of the things he did were routine but now seem implausible. As time goes on, I even start to wonder if these things could have really happened. In the end, they could, they did and I am glad I was there to be part of it. I am proud to have had Dave Gregal as a father and grateful for the 25 years I spent with him.
Davey’s Recollection of His Father
I have a lot of memories of going places with my dad.
The world in his head
Dad always seemed to know where he was. A lot of people need a map to know where they are. And even with a map, they still might be lost. Dad’s sense of space and how things fit together was phenomenal. He seemed to have a mental map of the city in his head. Once he got his bearings, he seemed to know the best route to get where you wanted to go. And unlike a map, his calculations often took into account variables such as weather conditions, road work, and rush hour traffic congestion.
We’d ride the metro together and he’d know where to stand to get on the train so that when you got off at your stop the escalator to get out would be right in front of you.
One time when we were driving somewhere--Trak Auto, Home Depot-- and as we got off the beltway and curved around the ramp he said something like “watch out, the sun will be hitting you in your eyes.”
Another time he didn’t even have to be awake to know where we were. On the way back from Houtzdale, he had drifted off to sleep for a little bit. Then he perked up all of a sudden, and sort of turned his head back and forth gently as if looking around with his ears. Then he said, we should be near the turnpike soon. At that very same moment I was looking at the sign that said, turnpike, 2 miles ahead.
Dad often said he felt a connection to the universe and I sometimes wonder how far out his mental map of the world really went.
Getting looks
Before I could drive, dad and I would often walk places together. Often times he’d navigate and I’d watch out for curbs and low-hanging branches. As far as I can remember I only ran dad into a wall once. I was horrified, but he seemed unfazed. It was a hollow wall and I guess it sounded worse than it was. Anyhow, whenever we went places together, I always felt like people were looking at us. We stuck out wherever we went. A blind guy at the DMV, to get registration for a car, or a boat, or a trailer just doesn’t seem to fit in. At first it made me feel extremely self-conscious. But over time I realized that dad wasn’t bothered by it. I got used to being stared at with him and my self confidence got a boost. And it became sort of fun to think what other people might be thinking: “What is that blind guy doing registering a car...?!”
Touch
One thing I miss the most about going places with dad is the feel of his gentle grip on my elbow. I remember dad mentioning a few random strangers who would help lead him out of the metro or take him to a particular building. He’d hold onto their elbow and then they’d clamp their elbow to their side, with dad’s hand stuck in between. (Not so bad if it was a woman, he could even quote their cup size!) I guess folks figured that when leading a blind man around you’d want him attached to your arm as firmly as possible so he couldn’t escape. But dad usually preferred a real light grip. I think it was a control thing. He’d take your lead, but he was always prepared to jump ship if he had to. If you fell down a hole in the earth, he didn’t want to be dragged down with you.
We had a real nice relationship; a comfortable coordination of two people working as one. I could tell him a curb was coming by lifting my elbow and he’d know to take a bigger step up. Or if I saw a light changing color and wanted to make it across the street, I’d say, “let’s make this light.” His grip would tighten a little, and we’d take off running together.
On the metro this could get kind of extreme. For some reason I’ve always disliked waiting for metro trains. It’s that feeling when you get down to the platform and the train is just pulling away and you realize that if you had been a few seconds quicker, you would be on that train instead of waiting 10 minutes for the next one. So dad and I did a lot of running in metro stations. During rush hour, when the stations were full of people, and we were running for a train, I’d yell “Blind man coming! Blind man coming!” Dad would swing his cane back and forth, the crowd would part like the Red Sea, and we’d jog on through.
The sense of communication we had just through touch is real important to me. I feel like we had a closeness and sense of trust that is eally special in a father-son relationship. I’ll treasure that forever.
CAME DAVEY
…AND ALONG CAME JOHN
1978
DAVE & 2 YEAR OLD DAVEY
1983
DAVE & THE BOYS IN HOUTZDALE
PUTTING TOGETHER A DOME TENT ON CHRISTMAS MORNING
SWIMMING LESSON
COACHING JOHN ON RACE DAY
HOW TO TIE A NECKTIE-101
BAD HAIR DAY
CRUISING
SNOOZING
WHO’S LEADING?
WORDS OF WISDOM
GREGAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS CARD -- 1997
GREETING INSIDE CARD: HOPING TO SEE YOU SOON!
DAVE CUTTING DOWN CHRISTMAS TREE
This was a yearly ritual. Davey looks on as Dave does the heavy work. Probably at a tree farm in Poolesville, MD.
REMOVING TREE STUMP FROM FRONT YARDJohn looks on as Dave gets rid of a huge tree stump to make roomfor new plantings.
THE BEACH
How may of you have stayed with the Gregals at Bethany? Dave and Alice had rituals. The first thing in the morning - coffee with donuts or danish on the boardwalk. Dave loved the surf sounds – it was both of their “happy place”. Another ritual was clam shopping. Dave had to get the best price - which involved going from seafood shop-to-shop – pursuing the best deal! The last time I saw Dave, I pushed him in a wheelchair to the beach at Lewes, Delaware. A woman who wanted Dave’s input on Lewes getting better beach access for the handicapped approached us. Dave obliged with his usual words of wisdom. He died a few weeks later.
Visiting the Gregals at their DC address or joining them at their rented beach house in Bethany was a great multicultural experience – from the cleaning man’s mother to a masseuse – everyone grabbed a couch or sleeping bag and “let the good times roll”!
DUKES OF HAZZARD -- BETHANY BEACH
THE FAMILY
CORN HUSKERS: DAVE, DAVEY, ERIC & ANNE REIFER
KNEEBOARDING
WATERSKIING
THE COTTAGE GANG
MAKING SANDCASTLES AT BETHANY BEACHThe Gregals spent a week at Bethany Beach almost every summer. That’s Dave taking the lead on making a sand castle. Davey and John (about 4 and 1 respectively) look on.
CHARLES ATLAS OR ARNOLD SCHWARTZENAGER
THE INVENTOR, THE ENTREPRENEUR, THE ENGINEER
Dave’s older son, Davie, wrote an essay on his Dad’s yogurt experience:
“The Rise and Fall of the Dave Gregal Yogurt Repository”
At the knowledgeable age of three, sometime in September of 1979 I was quoted as saying “My daddy can fix anything.” I was speaking about my dad Dave Gregal Sr. Over the years I have come to realize that not only can he fix anything, he’ll also try to make anything. About a year ago he began a project that started off a chain of events, culminating spectacularly in the Yogurt Fiasco of ’93.
I think it all started one day in the beginning of April. I came home from school to find dad stopped over a salad bowl full of some white, pasty, chunky substance. There were also five gallon-jugs of milk at his feet, one of which was empty.
“What’re you up to dad?” I asked somewhat apprehensively as I eyed the gallon jugs on the floor.
“I’m making yogurt,” he responded. “Yogurt” I said to myself. I took a look at the white stuff in the salad bowl.
“Uh, what for dad?” I asked out loud, hoping that he wasn’t talking about the kind of yogurt you eat.
“To eat,” he said. My stomach lurched. I had never been too fond of yogurt, so the fact that my dad was spending time making something that I wouldn’t buy sort of bewildered me. Then there was the ‘yogurt’ itself. That is the chunky white soupy substance that my dad was so quick to call yogurt. As I dropped my bag and stepped closer to get a better look, I was confronted by the smell of sour milk.
“Yogurt huh?”
“Yeah; Patsy had 5 gallons of milk that were a little sour and I figured that there was no point in letting it go to waste. I always wanted to try to make yogurt, so I decided to give it a shot,” he explained. Patsy was a neighbor of ours who picked up milk and produce that supermarkets had thrown out because the expiration date had passed. She gave most of it to her church to help the homeless, and the rest to whoever would take it. Most of the time the milk was still drinkable, but occasionally it wasn’t. every so often we’d get a bad one. Or five in this case. I looked from the bowl of “yogurt,” to my dad, to the gallon jugs on the floor, and then back to my dad.
“How are you going to make five gallons of yogurt?” I asked.
“Well it’s basically a combination of letting the milk ferment and heating it. Except I’ve never done this before so I’m going to have to experiment. I’ve been working on this batch for a couple days and we’ll see how it turns out at the end of the week.”
The back door opened and my younger brother John came in. “Hey,” he said. Then he saw what dad had created. “What the hellis that?”
“Yogurt,” both my dad and I said, although he said it with more conviction than I could muster. John looked at me, then to the bowl of yogurt, then to our dad, then to the gallon jugs on the floor, then back to our dad. Finally he looked up at me and asked, “The kind you eat?” I nodded, John rolled his eyes, and my dad it seemed was listening to his yogurt.
ж
Three weeks later we were all helping dad make yogurt, yet as far as I could remember he was the only one who had actually eaten any of it. By that time we had quite a bit of the stuff. Patsy had found a veritable goldmine of expired milk at the Safeway. We’d get two or three more gallons of sour or semi-sour milk every couple of days. There were 11 jars fermenting in the basement, some yogurt was wrapped in cheesecloth and hanging over the basement sink for what purpose I’m not sure, two jars were in the oven heating, as well as a couple plastic containers in the refrigerator that dad pronounced ‘done.’ Keep in mind the size o fthe jars housing dad’s yogurt. They were gallon jars that had once been filled with peppers, or pickles, or sauerkraut (some of my dad’s favorites). This was no small amount of yogurt. However that was only the tip of the iceberg.
But like I said we were all helping my dad with his project. Not because we wanted to yogurt but because we all loved my dad and we would support him in whatever venture he began. I ended up helping my dad make the stuff. I’d follow his instructions, moving the jars from the basement to the oven, pouring half the contents of one jar into another, or something like that. John would help by cataloging the yogurt. He would keep track of how many times the yogurt had been in the oven and for how long, how many times it had been left in the basement to ferment, and how old the milk was that had been used in each jar. He would tally the results on the outside of the jar so that dad would know which ones had to be moved where. At first John had doubts as to how important his job was so he cataloged one of the jars wrong to see what would happen. As a result he set our dad’s advances in yogurt research back almost a week. My mother who on the day she married my father probably never thought she would have to make room in the oven for two gallons of yogurt remained content with giving us moral support. Later she told me that it was her undying love for dad that kept her from going crazy. Yogurt can do tha to people. Especially in the amounts we were dealing with.
In the first three weeks of the project we had already acquired nearly 15 gallons of yogurt in various stages of development. We still didn’t know what dad was going to do with it. We thought maybe he was going to try selling it, but the market for home-made yogurt just wasn’t out there. He continued to take the milk from Patsy when she had it, and she kept having more to give us. It got to the point where John or I would have to go over to Patsy’s with a wagon to bring the milk home. Always looking for ways to be more efficient, dad considered building an underground pipe to carry the milk from Patsy’s house directly into the basement, but after looking at the blueprints we saw that it would have conflicted with some of the plumbing.
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A month passed and dad had figured the process out enough so that by subtly changing the oven temperature and how long he allowed the yogurt to ferment he was able to produce yogurt with more body than normal. My father was a yogurt connoisseur. The rest of us really didn’t want any yogurt at all, let alone yogurt with more body. There was still the matter of the 40 some odd gallons of yogurt that we had stockpiled in the house along with the 15 gallons still being made. When we asked dad what his plans were for all the yogurt he said that he planned to eat it, and maybe take some to his Pop, my grandfather in Pennsylvania who had similar tastes. Dad even had fleeting plans to build and incubator and a walk-in refrigerator. The first so that he could heat more yogurt at once, and the latter so that he could have more room to store the finished product. Mom, John, and I remained speechless. We all admired dad for this project he had taken on, but the big question still loomed in our minds, and that was “WHY?” There were jars of yogurt all over the house. They were in the chimney and resting next to sofas, and under tables. They were tables. We would get four jars that were in their fermenting stage and lay a board across them to make a coffee table. It seemed that every room, even the bedrooms, had a coffee table of this sort.
ж
Another month passed and dad was still producing yogurt. Every couple of days he would go down into the basement and come back up with a gallon jar of yogurt. He’d open the jar up, scoop out some of his yogurt on to a piece of bread, and have himself a yogurt sandwich. Or he’d eat it with a hotdog and sauerkraut. Or he just may eat it plain.
However even dad realized that he couldn’t be the sole consumer for the massive yogurt repository he had built. He tried selling it among his friends and at work. He found few takers. Only Mrs. Mentz his 76 year old secretary (who’s hearing was never quite what it should be, and at the same time not one to admit that there was anything wrong in the first place: her hearing was just fine she thought) did agree to buy a couple jars at two-fifty a piece. When dad brought his yogurt into Mrs. Mentz she was shocked to see what she had ordered, for she had thought dad was selling Girl Scout cookies and unfortunately, the deal was off.
Finally he picked up the phone and called our loyal neighbors the Allens to see if they wanted to come over for beer and yogurt. They weren’t busy and though the idea of beer and yogurt didn’t at first appeal to them, they came over, willing, as always, to see what the Gregals were up to next. We all sat around the dining room table, each of us with a coke or a beer or a glass of water in our hand talking about the state of things in general. We were having a grand old time when suddenly, during one of the lulls in the conversation, dad asked if any of the Allens wanted to try some of his yogurt. Before anyone could reply, dad had jumped out of his chair and gone to the refrigerator. He came back with a plastic container of yogurt and asked again who would like to try some. The Allens looked at one another quickly, then Hugh Allen, perhaps one of the bravest men in the neighborhood, said “Alright Dave, I’ll give it a shot.”
Then my dad asked Hugh if he wanted it on bread, or a cracker, or maybe with a hotdog. Hugh, who up until then had only eaten yogurt out of a cup, just stopped and thought on that for a bit. Mom was able to catch Hugh’s eye and push a piece of bread over to him. Then she nodded, as if to say that he was doing the right thing. He took the bread she offered him and said to dad, “Tell you what, I’ll have it on a piece of bread.”
And so that was how it went. As the Allens left, we eagerly pressed jars of yogurt into their arms until they couldn’t carry any more. Then John and I carried a couple more over with them for good measure. But even with the Allen’s help, there was still hardly a dent in dad’s supply.
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Eventually summer was upon us and with it the heat. It happened suddenly. John was off at camp. Mom ha enlisted me to help her with the garden, and dad was working in the garage. The early afternoon air was shattered by a sound much like a muffled gun shot. And then another, and another. In seconds a cacophony of muffled explosions filled the air. To our horror we realized that they were coming from inside the house. As mom and I looked through the windows, we saw that the jars of yogurt were exploding! Our yogurt coffee tables shot into the air, only to slam into the ceiling and fall back down. The jars in the chimney exploded with enough force to shoot some yogurt up and out to where we were standing in the garden. Eventually the blasts died down, and we were able to enter the house. It was a mess. There was yogurt everywhere. Nearly a hundred gallons of yogurt and sour milk covered the inside of the house. In the kitchen, in the basement, and in our rooms. Everywhere. Apparently there was something like yeast in the yogurt that made it expand in the heat, and eventually explode the tops off the jars.
Dad took it surprisingly well. When he found out about the extent of the damage, he said, “Well I was sort of wondering how this thing would turn out.” Then as an after thought he added, “I guess I won’t be able to take any yogurt up to Pop.” And somewhere a jar of yogurt exploded.
-David Gregal
If you knew Dave – you knew how frugal he could be – (translation: damn tight). I asked Alice, “How tight was Dave?” Her reply: “Dave was a pain in the ass to live with. He was cheap when he didn’t have to be. But he did redeem himself by buying the $4,000 necklace for me less than two months before he died. I figure that was about $100/year of relationship. Not too expensive, after all.” Here is an essay written by Dave on “Doing Your Own Car Repairs.” This must have been written in the 50’s or early 60’s, as today’s wages for a mechanic range from $55-125/hour.
“Repairing Your Car”
Imagine wasting at least $4 every time one has his car repaired simply because of the high cost of labor by mechanics. With a rudimentary knowledge of how to repair one’s car, one can do many of the minor repair jobs for the cost of parts alone.
I find it’s much cheaper to perform many of the trivial automobile repairs myself. With today’s high prices, the mechanic is forced to charge at least $3.50 to $4.50 an hour. It is very easy to see that two or three hours of labor can easily total up to 10 or 12 dollars. Adding this 10 or 12 dollars to the price of the parts can become quite expensive. A set of spark plugs costs approximately 8 dollars and takes about an hour to be installed. This minor repair can be done very easily by the owner with a savings of 4 dollars. The car owner can learn this minor repair plus many others with a few hours of home study and the repairman’s manual.
Not only can the car owner repair his car cheaper but at his own convenience. As most car owners know, garages are quite busy and can sometimes take 45 minutes to an hour or longer before the mechanics have an opportunity to check for defective parts on the owner’s car. Many times the garages do not have the part in stock and time is lost in waiting for the part to be shipped in and installed. Many garages are open early during the day and since this conflicts with the working schedule of many car owners, they are forced to leave their car in the garage and use public transportation.
I personally believe this is a truly unique idea, conceived by Dave in the early 70’s:
“The TaCone Project”
David L. Gregal Date October 10, 1971
Subject, Documentation of “TaCone” including ingredients for legal protection for ownership.
This document, witnessed, signed, and notarized by an authorized official is to serve as a preliminary statement to provide evidence of my exclusive interest in the item described until patent rights have been secured.
Item title and description:
The time is called a TaCone. The container is made from flour and shaped like a cone. Although flour is the main base, other ingredients are combined with mixing instructiosn in attachment B.
The contents of the TaCone include ground beef, chilly beans, and seasoning immersed in a sauce of tomato paste and other ingredients.
The chili-like filling is placed into the cone. The diner eats the whole item. The cone is used to hold the food and when the food is eaten from the cone, the cone is also eaten until all is gone. The chili-like filling and the cone which contains it together create a unique food item. Other fillings could include barbecued pork/beef, spinach, rice.
Witnessed: Joseph P. Fitzgerald 10/25/71
David Gregal 10/25/71
Dave would undertake any project – mechanical, electrical, construction, etc. Here are a few photos of the contractor/inspector in action:
DISSATISFACTION WITH FOUNDATION CONTRACTOR
That’s Dave measuring the distance that the sidewalk fell after our addition was built. Dave had a lot of issues with the contractor who put in the foundation. The workers didn’t use a level and must not have tamped the soil down, either, before laying the concrete sidewalk.
A pretty bad job, overall, but, true to form, we got the lowest bid.
Sometimes you really do get what you pay for.
TEARING DOWN THE OLD SUN PORCHES ON OUR HOUSE
That’s Dave and friends (Dave is second from right, Ken Kalscheur is on his right, Hugh Allen to his immediate left and Brad Knopp, Dave’s reader at Dept of Labor, on the far left) tearing off the back of our house. We were preparing to build an addition on our house. It was August, 1970, and I was 8-months pregnant with John. Dave called up some buddies and spent the day wacking away. The hard part, though, was getting rid of the trash. It didn’t immediately occur to us that we couldn’t very well leave it out for the trash guys. Although we did try. I remember attempting to hide from the trash collector. Looking back, it does seem reasonable for the trash guys to balk at 20+ grocery bags full of plaster and sheetrock.
Scraping Wallpaper
Dave is scraping wallpaper off the dining room wall in our Warren Street house. He’s standing on the chest that PC describes us making in our apartment.
Climbing Oil Rig in Oklahoma
Dave traveled to a Job Corps Center in Oklahoma as part of his job writing training programs for Job Corps staff. That’s him atop an oil rig.
MR. GREGAL GOES TO WASHINGTON
DAVE RECEIVING “HANDICAPPED WORKER OF THE YEAR’ AWARD
ALICE GREGAL, AIDE TO SECRETARY, DAVID MARSHALL-SECRETARY OF LABOR, DAVE McCREADY, DAVE’S BOSS, POP, ALICE’S MOTHER, ED REIFER
RAY MARSHALL, SECRETARY OF LABOR, PRESENTING AWARD TO DAVE
SECRETARY’S AIDE CONGRATULATING A BEAMING ‘POP’ GREGAL
DAVE ACCEPTING GROUP AWARD FOR OFFICE OF CONTRACT COMPLIANCE FROM SECRETARY OF LABOR, ELIZABETH DOLE
LATER YEARS
My wife Peggy and I have always been active with antique cars – they are not only fun but you meet so many interesting and wonderful people. Many years ago we met a young couple at an antique car event in the hill country of Texas. The woman was the “crown jewel” of Texas women – great personality, big smile, and an intellectual! Not a boring one spewing out facts – one that knows an inordinate amount of interesting facts, especially about the flora, fauna, and history of Texas.
For years I told her that she should meet my friend Dave, as they could “relate” for hours. I told Dave the same story.
Well, it finally happened – we all went on a cruise together and it was non-stop “jaw-jacking” (a southern term for a lot of talk). Several years later, Dave stopped to visit Elyse at her ranch in Round Mountain, Texas. Here is her account – Carol (Elyse) McKinny:
Howdy – Welcome to Texas!
All Hat and No Cattle
I first met Dave shortly after he had retired. He talked about how nice it would be to work on all the projects he had waiting. One he was looking forward to tackling was an old Volkswagen which needed work. I told him that I too had an old VW but that it would probably never run again because it had some sort of mystery problem. I needed to sell it but knew I wouldn’t get much if it didn’t run. Having just met Dave, I didn’t know that I Had just waved a red flag in a bull’s face. I thought I was making polite conversation. Instead, I had thrown the gauntlet.
Nothing would do but he must come to Texas and fix my car. It seemed like an odd offer but he had time on his hands and frequent flier miles to burn, so we picked a week in August and made the arrangements.
I live in a part of Texas where there are a good number of real cowboys. They have real horses, and real cattle, and real pick-up trucks, and they dress the part. Not because they care about fashion but because it has evolved to be the most practical for our climate. The cowboy uniform consists of pressed blue jeans and a long sleeved shirt, lightly starched. You also need cowboy boots (not Ropers, but something with a slanted heel and pointed toe) and a good quality had (light color fine gauge straw for Summer and dark wool felt for Winter). We even have a term for people who try to dress the part and don’t get it quite right. We say they are “All hat and no cattle.”
The day Dave arrived was blistering hot. Heat waves shimmered across the airport runway as I watched for the plane to arrive.
As the doors of the plane opened, a sea of passengers spilled out. There were a few men in business suits mixed in among the boots and straw hats and there, in the middle of it all, stood Dave. Khaki pants, Polo shirt, white sneakers, and the biggest black felt cowboy hat I had ever laid eyes on. It had an enormous brim and an overly tall crown and put me in mind of the sombreros drunken tourists bring back from Mexico. It didn’t fit very well either so instead of setting down on his head it sort of perched up on top and rocket a little when he walked.
I greeted Dave and he immediately asked, “Do you like my hat?”
“Why, I’m speechless.” I answered. “I had no idea you owned such a hat.” I offered to carry it for him but he said he would wear it.
We made our way to baggage claim, clearing a wide path as we went. Children pointed and teenagers laughed out loud. The man next to us at the baggage carousel said to Dave “Welcome to Texas” And when Dave got a quizzical look on his face I told him, “That accent of yours is a dead give-away.”
I felt certain that when we got that black hat out in the sunshine he would discard it in a hurry but I was wrong. The sweat ran down his face in rivulets but he wouldn’t give it up.
I didn’t know Dave well enough yet to tell him that his hat was laughable. He had come all that way to work on my car for no more pay than a heartfelt thank you and a few home cooked meals. I didn’t want to risk offending him when he was being so kind.
He wore that hat everywhere we went and I came to enjoy the reactions.
It turned out to be a good week. My car was fixed and ran well enough to sell. I had a chance to show Dave some of our local hospitality. But most importantly I came to know and love a wonderful friend, even if he was fashion challenged.
HOWDY PARTNER
Cop a Feel
Bruce McKelvey and I sailed into Annapolis harbor in his boat. It was 1982, just after Dave had fallen off the subway platform and broken his wrist. He was feeling a little blue and Alice drove him down to spend the night on the boat…. little beer and a lot of bull. All three of us went into town and were “downing a few” and having a good time. Finally, I went back to the boat, exhausted after a day on the bay, and a night on the beer. Dave and Bruce stayed later and began to wander towards the boat. David had “grabbed onto” Bruce’s arm in the dark and Bruce wasn’t paying much attention to his steering. Dave’s right hand and arm were on a collision course with the left “boob” (36C) of a “Hottie”..foxy lady! The female didn’t appreciate the collision/feel and yelled “f-----g faggots!” Dave turned to Bruce and said, “Boy, she sure had nice breasts”.
The Referee is Blind
Dave’s brother Alex and his late wife Juanita were “true blue” Penn State fans. Alex was the Lion mascot in the 50’s, moved to State College in the 80’s, and has two great tailgating spots near the stadium. Home games are usually a great reunion of family and friends. Dave and I have had many, many excellent times together, but one of the very best was the Fall of 2003 at some Penn State games. Dave was battling cancer but still had stamina and energy. Penn State’s team was struggling and Joe Paterno was extremely upset with many of the referee’s calls. Instant replay showed they erred on critical plays. The fans were outraged, yelling all kinds of unprintable “stuff” at the refs. I bought an official referee’s shirt and had “Big Ten” printed on the front. Peggy bought a white cap, white pants, and black and white knee socks. Dave was a Big Ten ref. On game days he would “dress” and we would “work” the tailgate parties. He would walk in with cane extended and yell, “You were right!” Everyone would stop and stare – then Dave would yell, “The Referee is Blind!” All hell would break loose: the crowd would roar, the cameras would appear, and the drink and food offers were relentless. Dave was overwhelmed with the response. The handshaking, back patting and complimenting were unbelievable. It was one of our finest times together – one that I will always remember.
TWO LEGENDS
TAILGATE PARTY ANIMALS
“HOLDING”
NO HOLDING
BRIBING THE “REF”
HEAR NO _______
SPEAK NO _______
SEE NO _______
TEAILGATERS -- ALEX, DAVE, PEGGY, JUANITA
TOUCHDOWN!
BEAVER STADIUM GANG
BILL, DAVE, ALICE, JUANITA, PEGGY, ALEX (PSU LION MASCOT IN THE 50’S)
FRIENDS, SLOVAKS (RELATIVES), AND COUNTRYMEN – LEND ME YOUR EARS
The Friends
Dave (and Alice) had hundreds of friends. I think one could rework Will Rogers famous quote to: I never met a man (or woman) that didn’t like Dave. His friends always seemed more interesting than other people’s friends, They were lobbyists, consultants, masseuses, lived on houseboats, owned antique boats and cars etc.
There Goes the Neighborhood
The Gregals have had some nice neighbors, but the very best are Julie and Hugh Allen. The first day the Allens moved into the area, Hugh was having a morning coffee on his deck when he called for Julie. He told her that some drunk next door was trying to climb up the side of his garage! What Hugh didn’t know was that “Tool Time Gregal” was performing another astonishing feat. He was installing (by himself…solo) vinyl siding on his garage and he was feeling the wall and existing siding to calculate his next cut!
DAVE PUTTING NEW SIDING ON THE GARAGE
Siding the Garage – 3833 Warren Street NW
After paying nephew Eddie Reifer to strip the paint off half of the garage, Dave decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He insulated and put the siding on himself.
Fire in the Hole
Dave helped all his DC friends with car and household problems. Once Hugh was having electrical trouble, and Dave asked if there was any “juice” coming into the box. Dave thrust a screwdriver into the box and a huge ball of fire arced out. Dave replied, “Yes, you have juice!!”
I asked Hugh and Julie Allen to write about their experiences as friends and neighbors:
The Allen Family developed a very “special relationship” with David. We were the neighbors who lived “across the alleyway” and that alleyway not only linked our properties, but it connected our lives into one extended family. David was more than a “best friend; he was a mentor and like a father to Reiss, Erica and Leslie. Our family appreciated the time he would take to listen and offer a different point of view on our individual issues.
Now missing from our daily lives is watching and hearing Dave work on his cars in the alleyway, seeing him climb a ladder to trim a tree or fix his slate roof and most of all laughing and sharing a meal on his deck during a warm summer evening. Nothing would stop David from participating in a new adventure. On a joint family vacation to Club Med on Eleuthra Island, we recall Dave hanging upside down by his legs on a flying trapeze, scuba diving, sailboat racing and running beach relays while drinking a few rum punches.
Now and then you would be amazed to see brave David walking to and from the Metro on Wisconsin Avenue, one of the busiest streets in D.C. He had such a keen sense of hearing to maneuver crossing the street filled with rush hour traffic. Unfortunately, there were times when his blindness led him into dangerous situations. David survived a fall off the subway platform and onto the tracks with minor bruises and a broken wrist! And it was a sad day when he walked into the end of a broomstick at his home, injured his eye, and turned what little light vision he had into total darkness.
However, through all of life’s challenges, Dave managed to maintain a sense of humor and “a keep on going attitude.” David was a thinker and a doer and enjoyed solving problems and working on projects around his house or a neighbor’s house. Only David would think of lifting our porch roof with his carjack! During heavy snowfalls, you could hear him clearing a path in the alleyway with his snow blower. One cold winter’s day, he detected water running down the alleyway and saved a neighbor’s house from bursting frozen pipes. It was in his nature to help anyone who needed assistance and he never expected favors in return. Dave reminds us of The Little Prince’s words written by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. “One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.” Over 28 years David’s life reached out across the alleyway and touched our hearts and we are truly grateful!
From Jane Schnell, a long-time neighbor and friend …
Driving Techniques
Dave, my neighbor, worked on cars, which was his hobby. Occasionally, he asked me to drive one of them around a block or two so that he could verify that it was repaired. One day, we were driving somewhere in my car when he asked, “Could I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve noticed over a long period that you are the most smooth driver I’ve ever ridden with. But I can’t figure out why? Do you know what the reason might be?”
I thought a moment and then replied, “As a child and young adult, I was prone to air/sea/car sickness. I could never go with another driver unless it was mandatory. Over time, I guess I learned not to make myself sick. I learned to steer a straight line, anticipate breaking or starting off so there were no jerks and so on. Could that be what you mean?
“It must be.”, he replied, “but I just couldn’t figure it out.”
New Car Looking
One day, I was going off to look for a new car and asked Dave if he would like to go along.
At the first new car store, we drove three cars. Around the first block, Dave said, “Take this one back and ask for another.”
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“The muffler attachment screws are not tight and it might fall off. Also there is a slight leak where it attaches to the manifold.”
We drove out with a second then a third car, each of which had something wrong. Before we turned in the third car, Dave suggested, “You don’t want to buy any car here, their service isn’t good. A good dealer will not give a prospective buyer a car that needs such attention.”
— GREEN ACRES — The Gregal Farm
It was always fun to visit Dave’s home at holidays. His mother was an excellent cook! For Thanksgiving and Christmas she made enough food for an army. A turkey alone wouldn’t do – she had a large roast plus a ham and numerous sides, along with a wide variety of pies.
IT didn’t matter if you had just finished eating at your home – when you stepped in the kitchen (how you entered the home) she was “fixin’ a plate.”
Another “plus” was Dave’s three brothers. Dave was the youngest and had little contact with them except on holidays. What they brought home with them was always interesting and exotic – automobiles and girlfriends!
Here is Rich Zimmerman’s account of “The Gregal Brothers.”
I used to like to go down to the farm, and I know Dave’s older brothers don’t remember me, because I was a little, skinny, black haired kid, at the time, but I remember them. I can’t say that I knew Frank, and Alex, because they had left home by then, but Mick was around, sometimes. I used to kind of look up to them, because they always seemed to have these great jobs, and if Dave told me, in school, that one of them was coming home for the weekend, well, I used to manage to show up. I had several reasons to be there, one was, you already know I liked Mrs. Gregals cooking, another was, they used to have some pretty neat cars when they came in. I remember Mick being at our place twice, once in a ’55 T-Bird, black bottom, white top, (I think), sharp car. The other time in a BMW Isetta, probably about the same year, and if you never saw one, just imagine a cross between a scooter, and a refrigerator. It had a door for the whole front end, and was so ugly, you had to like it, but it was different, and you didn’t see very many of them running around in Houtzdale.
The third reason I went down, was to see what kinda babes they brought home. I really don’t remember any of them, probably because I never saw the same one twice, but I do recall one incident, but, it had to do with cars, not women.
I went down there one Saturday afternoon, and there was a new car sitting in front of the barn. Well, it wasn’t brand new, but new to me, and I found out, new to Frank. It was a Studebaker Hawk, I believe the Silver Hawk, shiny black, and lookin’ pretty good. Now, I kinda liked those Stupidbakers, with their sporty looks, toggle switches, and all that stuff, and they seemed a little ahead of their time.
I know the Hawks came out in 1956, and this one was about that year, or ’57.or ’58.
Now, my set of wheels, at the time, was a 54 Mercury convertible, which didn’t look too bad, had cruiser skirts, and a good sounding exhaust system. Again, Dave comes up with another of his bright ideas, and says, “Hey, Zimmy, wonder which one of these is the fastest, yours, or Franks?” Now, I know I’m innocent this time, because I knew that Mercury could whip that puny 289 in that thing, (but I was keeping my fingers crossed that it didn’t have that Packard 352 like a few had). So, just to humor Dave, (you had to humor him, you know), I said “I don’t know, let’s try them out tonight”, so we agreed to meet, after it got dark.
Ok, it’s good and dark, Frank is apparently staying home tonight, with the babe, and Dave has a driver for the Studebaker. Remember the kid that just got his license, well, he’s back. Yeah, Billy McAlkich was going to test his wings tonight. First, we take both cars down to Philipsburg, to cruise around, get some pizza, and kill some time. About 2:00am, we decide to head back home, and agree that as soon as we get past the bridge at Coal Run, then the race will start. I was following Billy, so when we crossed the bridge, went around the curve, on this two lane highway, I pulled into the other lane, and got alongside him, and then we both floored it.
I never did find out which engine was in that car, but if it was the puny 289, it ran pretty good. Anyone familiar with that road knows it’s an uphill grade for about ¼ mile, then a dip, before you get to the sawmill. We were still side by side, going about exactly 100 mph, and right on top of that hill, before the dip, when it sounded like a 12 gauge shotgun went off in my passenger seat. I looked to my right, and all I could see was the hood had come unlatched on the Studebaker, completely covered the windshield, and was flattened across the roof. Well, with the windshield completely covered by the hood, Billy couldn’t see a thing, and I’m thinking, “what a predicament that Gregal got me into this time, now I’ve got two blind guys to deal with”, so he’s standing on the brakes, while I’m trying to stay slightly ahead of him, and force him to the right side of the road, until we finally come to a stop in the sawmill parking area. I get out, walk back, and when the dust settled, noticing the two in the car are slightly shook up. After I see they are ok, I begin to exam the damage, and how the hood has taken the shape of the windshield, then the roofline at the top of the windshield, and finally I notice something hanging down, on the inside, about where the dome light should be, or, used to be, and damned if it wasn’t a bird, or maybe a chicken, a chromed one, at that. Here, it was that stupid hawk they used for a hood ornament, had gone clean through the roof, and headliner. All the time I’m thinking, “Frank isn’t going to like this one bit” Anyway, we get the car back to the farm, park the car exactly in the same place we took it from, so no one will even know it’s even been moved, I tell Dave goodnight, take Billy home, and I think the next day is when I joined the Air Force. Actually, I think I did leave in a few days, because I never saw Frank again, nor hear what happened, and I figured I’d take a chance on going to war, before facing Frank. Man, that was a nice lookin’ car, too.
THE GREGAL BOYS: MIKE, FRANK, DAVE, ALEX
One of Dave’s (and Alice’s) best friends is Diane Meyer. She and her husband Dan led most interesting lives – especially their experiences with the Outward Bound School. Here is what Diane wrote about “The Gregals & the Meyers.”
I first met Dave in 1968. He worked with my (current) husband, Dan; then Dave and I became co-workers, the three of us traveling together to conduct training sessions. Dave and Alice, Dan and I double dated—remember that term?! Our friendship continued through the 70’s and 80’s even though we moved to North Carolina to the Outward Bound School. Dave and Alice visited us, eventually with children in tow. We visited and stayed with them in DC. We returned to DC in 1990 and were happy to be enveloped in their lives and the lives of their hundreds of friends.
We probably all have had some of the same remarkable experiences over the years with Dave, but here are some of mine from the different phases of our intertwined lives:
• Walking with Dave on a DC street, him telling me to watch out for the puddle of water in front of us (he could smell it; Iwas oblivious).
• Running with Dave to catch a plane. You can already know who was leading whom.
• Watching Dave jump from a “flea hop” (a 5 foot pole) at the Outward Bound School. (Dan tried to do it with his eyes closed and couldn’t do it.)???
• Watching Dave cook and then eating the best chili ever—his own recipe that I still make. Learning how to bake sliced, spiced potatoes in the toaster oven and how to fill up on mushrooms when dieting.
• Zooming down the Potomac with Dave in his speedboat. And then,
• Sitting quietly at night in the boat by National Airport, listening to and feeling the planes take off and land. It had never occurred to me to that I could feel the planes as well as watch and listen.
• Describing movie scenes to Dave—and forcing me to really see. And answering his questions that demonstrated he had more insight without sight than I did.
• Going shopping with Dave to buy gifts for Alice. The first time he wanted to purchase sexy underwear!
• Observing the definitive Dave at his 65th surprise birthday bash. He was surprised—that was amazing. But he was unshakable and immediately became his usual self—a great host, a charmer with a superior sense of humor, and a man with huge gratitude for his life and especially for his friends.
• Calling Dave from our camper on the road for advice on the care and the trailer. Yes, you know it. He just had to listen (over the phone) to diagnose and prescribe solutions.
• Sitting for hours with Dave during chemo, watching him endure unbearable pain without complaining, learning the most incredible stories about his life as a blind child; hearing the most incredible stories about his love and admiration for his sons and Alice.
• Having coffee with Dave and Alice after appointments with Dr. Algren, “our” oncologist, watching and listening to Dave process, come to terms with and then move on with living his life.
• Talking on the phone with Dave on our 2004 summer camping trip. No matter how ill he was, he always wanted to know where we were, what we were doing, and how other people were fairing in their trials and tribulations. When he would call, he would always ask: is it 9:00 yet? (When the rates went down!)
One can’t add up these memories and find Dave Gregal. He was so much more than all of the stories and memories in this book. But I think for each of us, every story conjures up a dozen or two more. Dave was one in a million. I wonder what he is fixing now.
NORTH CAROLINA OUTWARD BOUND SCHOOL
Dan Meyer was the director of the NC Outward Bound School for about 6 years in the mid-1970s. Dave is jumping from a “flea platform” into a pile of sawdust as Dan spots and Diane looks on. Try doing that with your eyes closed. Dan did and decided not to jump.
PART OF THE “FAM”
JUANITA, ED, DAVE, BARBARA, ERIC, ETHAN, MICHELLE, ALEX
DAVE WITH ONLY SISTER, ANNA MAE
BILL, SHANE, JOHN, DAVE WITH POTATO GUN
(BILL THRUSH’S RETIREMENT PARTY -- 1998)
SHANE THRUSH ASSISTING DAVE, WHO VOLUNTEERED TO ENTER THE “DUNK TANK”
(BILL THRUSH’S RETIREMENT PARTY -- 1998)
1998 -- T-SHIRT: “TRUST ME, I WORK FOR THE GOVERNMENT.
Hotties!
JULY 4TH -- MALL, WASHINGTON D.C.
JULY 4TH -- MALL, WASHINGTON D.C.
DAVE’S SUPERIOR SENSES
Once you met him, you never forgot him! Once he met you, he never for got you. He would always remember you by your name, your voice, your perfume, etc. Here are some examples of this:
Memory Like an Elephant
Dave never forgot a voice. The other day I called our old high school math teacher, Bob Kay. Mr. Kay is now in his 80s but remembered Dave vividly. He told me that he and a group of fellow teachers were going to Penn State during the summer to work on their Master’s degree. They decided to walk into town and get a beer and pizza. As they were walking and joking with each other, a passing voice yelled, “Hey, Mr. Kay, Mr. Kay – it’s me, Dave Gregal!” Bob said he was dumbfounded – especially since this was several years later.
Another great example of Dave’s remarkable power of voice recognition occurred just several years ago. Dave and I were in our hometown of Houtzdale and we went to the American Legion for a drink. It was also a great place to meet old friends and local characters of our past! Anyway, we were sitting with a group of friends and I took the empty pitcher to the bar for a refill. A woman asked me if that was Dave Gregal sitting with us. She remarked that she hadn’t seen him since 1960. I joked that he hadn’t seen her either!
I said she should go over and say hello. She did, and in a typical, small-town manner, she said, “David Gregal, do you remember me?” Dave cocked his head to one side, pondering, and said, “Berg – you were a Berg!” She about flipped and so did we – about 44 years later, and he remembered her maiden name.
One side note: Dave and I (mostly me) would try to get “something going” with new or “long ago” female acquaintances. I would say to the women “Dave has no idea what you are like. You don’t mind if he ‘pats you down’, do you?” The women’s expressions were priceless: they didn’t want to offend a blind man and yet, they didn’t want him “feeling them up” either.
However, this backfired that day in the Legion – Patty Berg raised her hand and said, “Pat away!” Myself and two other guys closed our eyes and pretended to be “caning”!
Dave also had a remarkable sense of smell. Here’s an example:
The Nose Knows!
Several years ago, Alice bought musk melon along with a large food order for their vacation cottage. In the confusion of unpacking all their food, clothes and beach stuff, they misplaced the melon. Everyone searched for the missing melon with no success. Finally the melon was found by…guess who. The nose!!
Suzette Stroud can also recall a time when Dave amazed her with his incredible sense of smell. Here is her account:
I met Dave in 1990 through work. I found him remarkable in the manner he worked, utilizing his skills, so connected in what was going on. He could “see” through people. In some regard, he scared the “living be-Jesus” out of me because of his leadership skills! I had never met anyone like him. Yet, he was so kind and helpful. His goal was get the job done.
One evening in Tulsa, the group went to dinner. It was the first time I ever saw tumbleweeds. Dave laughed at me because I thought tumbleweeds were only “in the movies”. At dinner that evening he told me of his sons and how they were helping him restore a Fiat or Ghia (I can’t remember the type of sports car). His face beamed when he spoke of his wife and sons. He knew he was blessed and so did I. About three years later I was working in the National Office in DC. I boarded the subway one morning and heard someone call my name. It was Dave. When I asked how he knew it was me, he said “I know your perfume”. Again, I was just astounded.
Our lives crossed only briefly, but he meant a lot to me. I wanted you to know that.
I hope you find comfort in my sharing. I did.
-Suzette J. Stroud
ACTION ADVENTURE GREGAL
Years ago, folks went on a relaxing vacation – sun tanning on the beach at Cape May – sitting in an Adirondack chair on Jordan Pond in Acadia National Park in Maine eating popovers – etc. The latest trend is the action adventure vacation – the adrenaline must flow!
Dave was way ahead of this trend. I would imagine every task a blind man undertakes is an adrenaline rush. The things Dave tried were super rushes: climbing the mast while sailing, kayaking and canoeing, bicycling off-road, scuba diving, and dozens more. Here are a few more of these, done in later life around 50 or 60+ years of age.
Lance Armstrong Gregal
Dave was always intrigued by bicycles and motorcycles. Rich Zimmerman, his bike-riding buddy, wrote about this in an earlier chapter. Dave’s love of bicycles never stopped at childhood. He owned a Schwinn Tandem which he rode with family and friends.
I decided to buy an upscale tandem so we could do some serious riding. I bought a Burly which is the Mercedes of bikes.
I read about an awesome bike trip, and it was in Dave’s “back yard” – the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Tow Path. It is approximately 198 miles long – starting in Cumberland, Maryland and terminating in Washington DC. We decided 198 miles in “one shot” was too much – especially since the tow path is dirt, gravel, pot holes, and exposed tree roots.
We agreed on doing one half of the trail at a time – giving us two 30-40 mile days and a short one of 10-20. We used Williamsburg, Maryland as the center point – located just off I-81 along the Potomac River.
I can’t remember who went along on that first trip, nor can I remember which “leg” we rode – Cumberland to Williamsburg or the latter to DC. The most important thing is that we were hooked! The tow path follows the Potomac River – running between the river and the canal. The scenery is unbelievable, and I would give Dave a running account of what we were seeing – turtles, snakes, waterfowl, deer – an unbelievable array of wildlife.
Equally interesting were the locks and the Lock-Tenders’ Houses – many were in poor condition, but they steadily improved the closer we came to DC. We would stop and it was “Feel and Tell” time, as Dave inquisitively inspected, critiqued, and offered suggestions for a more efficient operation (should the canal systems ever be functional again).
We would always ride in a group, pedal downhill west to east – Cumberland to DC, and park a car at the end for return transportation.
Dave had powerful legs and was a great “andem mate. Once, when we first rode together, he was a little too powerful, and I was a little “slow-thinking”. When we would come upon a small hill (there were few, as the path is pretty flat) I would say, “Hill, Dave” and hang on; Dave was my “passing gear”, zipping us up the grade. I’d always forget Dave was blind and didn’t tell him a two-lane road was at the top of the grade. When I realized we were “Barelling” through the stop sign, my yells of “Road” – “Stop” – “Cars” were too late. Thank goodness ther was little traffic and from that time on it was “Stop sign – 50 yards ahead”!
One trip was unfavorably memorable as it rained, making the dirt path extremely slippery. Twice we wrecked, and I felt terrible. A tandem is difficult to maneuver, especially one loaded with food, water, and camping gear. Throw in wet tree roots, slimy mud, and a few rocks and pot holes, and – well, you get the message.
Several times Dave’s son Johnny went with us. I believe he handled the hard miles better than we did – as he would ride ahead and then wait or ride back and meet us. We were riding on the Cumberland to Williamsburg section, which is quite beautiful but remote and sparsely populated. It was getting late in the afternoon, and we were tired and dirty. I wanted to get a motel, but Dave insisted on camping (note: every seven miles on the C & O Tow Path there is a camping spot complete with a Porta-Potty, picnic table, and hand pump for water). Dave said he didn’t get a chance to camp with his son, so I quickly agreed – we’ll camp. Well, it was one of those magic moments in life – one that you smile when remembering – father, son, and old-good friends, sitting around campfire, stars out everywhere –
I sold the tandem this spring – I couldn’t ride it anymore.
“LANCE” MAKES ADJUSTMENTS
TRIP PREPARATION
DICK THOMAS, DAVE GREGAL, BILL DILLON, BILL THRUSH
WHITE’S FERRY -- POTOMIC RIVER
TIRED DAVE, BILL T., BILL D.
The Fashion Statement
Several of us were going canoeing and kayaking on the Lehigh River. I told them they might want to put their bathing suits on, as we were likely to get wet. It was a little cold when we were leaving and I gave Dave a jogging suit to wear over his river clothes. When we arrived at the river and unloaded the boats, Dave decided it was warm enough to shed the jogging suit. In his haste to get ready, he had put his underwear over his swimsuit. Everyone was looking in disbelief until our friend Elyse asked him if that was a new fashion statement – reversed underwear.
KAYAKING ON THE LEHIGH RIVER
THE GREGAL FLEET
WHO OWNED MORE BOATS, CARS, & MOTORCYCLESTHAN THE GREGALS?
A “GREGAL” OUTBOARD MOTOR
MORE BOATS
GALLEY CHEF
CAPTAIN DAVE
WONDERS OF DAVE
Seek and Find
Dave was a master mechanic. He could analyze and repair most anything. Cars, household appliances, electric and gasoline powered tools and toys. If you ever helped Dave on one of these projects (and I mean help as Dave was the principal), you would be in awe of his ability. Other than the miracle of disassembly, repair, and reassembly, one faction of the procedure always left me in pure amazement. I’ll call this one the “Dropped Parts Miracle.”
It is inevitable that you will drop some parts when you repair something: nuts, bolts, screws, washers, springs, etc. Dave could find these parts! Many times we would be “wrenching” under the hood of a car and Dave or I would drop a part. It would fall either landing on the car’s frame or hit the floor. I asked him how he always knew where to find the part. He said he listened carefully to the sound – where it hit and where it rolled. It worked – we always found the “runaway” (When you and I drop something, we don’t listen or worry as we figure we’ll find it later. We usually do, after 20 minutes of searching everywhere).
Walk Like Me
There is an old American Indian saying: “Never judge another till you walk a mile in his moccasins.” I’d like to rephrase that: “Never cease to be amazed by Gregal by walking in his shoes.” An example: Sometimes I’d enter my workshop, close my eyes, and try to navigate and find tools. I’d try to walk from my garage to the house and stay on the sidewalk, or get up in the middle of the night with no lights and try and find the bathroom. All disasters. There are dozens of stories - you all have one - where Dave showed up on your doorstep, campsite, etc. many times by himself, or he was directing the sighted driver. Try a “Gregal Walk” around your house – that will be easier than one in an unfamiliar house. I went on several cruises with Dave – he memorized the entire ship and could navigate (no pun) the corridors finding his room constantly. How many of us have taken a wrong turn?
CRUISING WITH DAVE
THE CRUISE GANG
EXPLORING SAN JUAN RAINFOREST
DAVE, KATE QUINN, PEGGY THRUSH, VINCE QUINN
FORMAL NIGHTS
GRAND MIDNIGHT BUFFET -- DAVE CHECKING OUT ICE SCULPTURES& VEGETABLE CARVINGS
DAVE CLIMBING MAYAN RUINS -- 2003
DAVE GOING NATIVE WWEARING THE SHIRT I GAVE HIM
WGASA -- WHO GIVES A S_ _T ANYWAY
Tool Time Dave: Mr. Goodwrench
Growing up on a farm with worn out machinery provided Dave with unlimited opportunities and challenges. He became extremely proficient at repairing almost anything: lawn mowers, clocks, hay bailers, etc. Dave could make it work! The secret recipe is one part I.Q. with two parts of “mechanical knack” and five parts of perseverance and voila—it was running!
Dave owned of vast array of tools and a trip to his basement was a real experience The first time I visited his workshop I could barely see, as there was one fifty watt light bulb for the entire room. I foolishly said, “Dave I can’t see a damn thing down here.” What do you think was his reply? When my eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, I was amazed. It was fully equipped: drill presses, radial arm saw, mig welder, electric stick welder, bench grinder, band saw, and a sixteen inch McCollough chain saw, all of which he used on a regular basis!
DAVE’S BASEMENT WORKSHOP
“Mind Blowing” Feats
Some of the jobs that Dave has attempted and completed just blow me away. Dave & Alice had a contractor put a 12x26 foot, two story addition on their home, and Dave did all the plumbing, soldering over 300 copper joints. He installed a new gas furnace by himself and removed the old oil furnace including the oil tank. Everything worked fine! In addition to all this, he completely covered his garage with aluminum siding. He said he just wanted to see if he could do it (he did and it looks great). Dave’s neighbors, Hugh and Julie, happened to have their first encounter with Dave during this “aluminum siding job.” Here’s their account:
Many of you will recall that I told you that the first time that I encountered Dave was a few months after Julie and I bought our house in DC in November 1976, directly across the alley from Dave and Alice. One day, I was standing on back porch, looking across the alley at this guy feeling his way up and down a stepladder, carefully carrying aluminum siding, and going through a lot of hand motions to attach each siding strip to the exterior walls of his garage. I remember calling Julie and telling her to come look at this guy who had obviously been drinking and yet, he was nailing on siding. I recall saying that, man, I would never ask or trust that neighbor to help me do anything….well, as the journalist Paul Harvey says, “….and now you know the rest of the story!” Yes, over the last 27 years, the Gregals and the Allens, and our children, who are close in age, have grown together like flowering vines along a garden fence.
DAVE’S COMPLETED SIDING JOB
He Ain’t Blind, “Is He or isn’t He?”
Once people get to know Dave, they forget his handicap and often embarrass themselves with questions like, “Did you see Seinfeld last night?’ They are really shocked when he responds with, “Yes, I almost split my pants when Kramer…” Years ago, Dave and I were going to Harrisburg, in my 1961 MGA and it broke down. It was pitch dark and as Dave open the hood, I foolishly said, “Dave---, I forgot a flashlight!”
Sometimes people become a little too helpful, even to the point of irritation to both Dave and his family. In a restaurant near Altoona, a waiter was being “way too helpful” saying, “The water is at three o‘clock, salt and pepper at twelve o’clock.” Finally Alice had enough and politely said, “Oh he will be alright … he’s eaten before!”
In 1973 Dave was introduced to a man producing a documentary film on handicapped people. He interviewed Dave to see what it was like to be blind. After an extensive interview, he admitted he did not think Dave was blind!
A Leak in the Alley
It was a cold day during the “winter of ’88”. Dave and Hugh, a neighbor, were walking down the alley behind their house when Dave cocked his head to one side, rather like a bird dog on point. You know he heard something. Sure enough, he detected squirting water inside the neighbor’s vacant house. She was in Florida, and a radiator pipe had frozen and burst in the ten-degree temperature. Again, Gregal saved the day! Yes, knowing that Dave is a Houtzdale man, I’m sure there were other “leaks” in that alley.
I guess stories get embellished over the years and the beers! Alice wrote the following note to me – but I really like the original version best.
Note to Bill: This corrects inaccuracies in the “A Leak in the Alley” story that was on page 19 of your draft printed 5/11/06. Jane was there.
I had heard several new neighbors compliment Dave’s skills and voluntary helpfulness but my first major experience with the quality of the neighborhood occurred a cold winter night near Christmas.
When I came in, I’d noticed the snow was crunching underfoot; the night was quiet as foot-deep snow muffled everything. I decided to enjoy a few crunchy footfalls before going to bed. I went out the back door and down the alley, taking great joy in the quiet except for my crunchy steps and the white decoration of our alleyway. Almost to the end of the block, I noticed a waterfall running down Patti Macie’s steps but continued in my state of muse a few more minutes. “Wait a minute,” I said to myself, “Why is there a waterfall at Patti’s steps when everything everywhere else is frozen?” I looked at the house – no lights and then walked up into the yard and found a gushing pipe under her enclosed back room.
We had no cell phones in those days, so I went home and called Dave who said that Patti and her family had left for Christmas. He would call Hugh who had a key and I should come to the alley and show them the problem.
By the time we got into Patti’s house, a call around had brought out several other neighbors. Dave had directed my flashlight to the right pipe, which he had used to shut off the water and sent me to be sure outside it was off. As major contractor, Dave sent guys home or to the hardware store a few blocks away to procure PVC pipe, fittings, clamps, tools with which to bypass the radiator pipe that broke. Another neighbor phone Patti to get permission to make the temporary repair so that the heat could continue in the house until her return and that room could be closed off (the rest of the house had a basement under it and was not affected.)
A few hours later, we all went home.
Alice’s postscript: That temporary fix lasted Patti for years.
DAVE’S PLUMBING
Gregal the Carjacker
Dave and Alice prided themselves on buying cheap cars ($300-$1000) and driving them to the “graveyard”. This was only possible using Dave’s mechanical skills to keep them running. Many a day was spent diagnosing, repairing, tuning, etc. Since they live in a residential area of Washington, working on your car in the street is a “no no”. Their car had been acting up and Dave decided to rebuild the carburetor. He removed it and started to rebuild it in the house! After the evening meal, he had a short nap and around 10 p.m. decided he had better complete the job, as Alice needed the car for work the next day. One of Washington’s finest was patrolling Warren Street and you can imagine what went through his mind as he saw a man working under the hood in total darkness. I believe the conversation went something like this: “You there, step back from the car! What are your doing under the hood? Yeah right you expect me to believe that? Yeah, right, all blind guys repair their cars. Let’s see some ID! Yeah, right, since you are doing a greasy job, you wear old clothes and no wallet! Where do you live? Well, let’s just ring the bell and see. Oops!! Well, I’ll let you go this time, but you know there is an ordinance about car repair on city streets.” Later… “Chief, you’re not going to believe this one…..”
SHADE TREE MECHANICS
How Much is the Fine?
Dave was a little like the “Dukes of Hazzard”…always having little problems with the “Law”. All the experiences came about as a result of repairing cars on the streets of DC. Once, a policeman told him to stop the repairs immediately or face a fine! Dave almost had the car completed, and knowing he’d have to get it towed as it was, he asked the cop this simple question, “How much is the fine?” I believe the cop let him finish the job.
CAR TALK
A frequent activity in the alley between the Gregals and the Allens was Dave working on cars. Here’s John at about 2 years old full of mischief with Davey (5 years old) looking on.
Lewis had Clark…Thrush had Gregal
In 1965 I accepted a teaching position in the Philadelphia suburbs. Dave took a train and bus to Willow Grove to visit with me. He had never been to a pari-mutuel horseracing track, so we decided we must have that experience. We arrived at Liberty Bell Race Track after the races had started. I drove a 1960 white MGA and we parked in a sea of cars. It was dark, and I didn’t pay any attention to our location. After several races, we decided to leave early and beat the crowd. When we entered the parking lot, there were hundreds of large cars, and I had parked the small MGA with the top down who knows where. I was panicked, until Lewis/Clark Gregal said those magic words... “Grab on!!! You’re going in the right direction!” Three minutes later…voila! Behold the infamous white MGA.
Here is another testimonial to “Gregal the Magnificent” from a fellow colleague, Carol Grossman.
My name is Carol Grossman. I had the privilege of working with Dave as his part-time reader from 1995-1999 and wanted to share a few memories and thoughts about Dave.
I was paid to be Dave’s reasonable accommodation for his blindness. I was sighted help - his reader. The Americans with Disabilities Act requires employers in certain circumstances to provide reasonable accommodations to qualified individuals with disabilities. The word “reasonable” refers to the level of burden for the employer. As I was thinking about my relationship with Dave, I realized that while I was paid to be his reasonable accommodation, Dave volunteered as my remarkable accommodation. He went above and beyond the call of duty to help me simply because he was a mensch (Yiddish for a person of integrity who is a sweetheart).
For example, as many of you know, Dave was masterful at fixing things and building things. He built the desk part of my Ikea loft bed when 4 sighted friends of mine with graduate degrees were unable to help me. It was an elaborate, intricate piece of blond wood furniture with shelves and drawers that attached to the full-size loft bed. When I started to read the directions to him, he stopped me and told me to let him feel all the parts and then he’d know what to do. And he did. We built that desk in less than 30 minutes. Sometimes I thought he really could see and it was all a big hoax! That desk really improved my capacity to get things done. I wrote my graduate school application on that desk and my Fellowship application to come to Israel. In this instance and in many others, he literally and figuratively helped me to build the infrastructure in my life that enabled me to move forward.
Dave demonstrated caring in so many ways. He stood up for me, watched out for me, brought me muffins and bagels, bought me lunch, critiqued me when I deserved it, wrote recommendations for me, helped me move boxes, was flexible with my work schedule, told me stories, listened to my stories and so much more. It really makes a difference to work with a caring person. It is a nourishment for the soul.
The time that I spent working with Dave was a period of time in which I built a stronger foundation in my life, experimented with various possible career directions and eventually made choices and moved forward. Dave’s presence in my life really helped me move through that process and lay groundwork for what I am doing now.
I tried to tell him how important he had been to me when I saw him last Spring when I was in CD. Typically, he returned the compliment and told me that working together had been beneficial for both of us. Whenever I thanked him, Dave would tell me to pass it on. People did things for him and he was passing it on by helping me, he told me. And he wanted me to pass it on to others. Well, Dave, I promise you that I will do that. Thank you for being an inspiration, a role model, and a true friend. I really miss you and I treasure your memory.
Sailing
Dave loved anything mechanical, especially those machines that moved – bicycles, motorcycles, cars, and especially boats. Like myself, he was a frugal man (yeah- I know what you are saying). I think he had a passion for sailboats. Not only were they inexpensive (cheap) to run, they were technical to maneuver – requiring skills, tact, and “smarts” to achieve maximum performance.
Dave was so fortunate – he had a very close friend, Leon Schertler, who owned a sailboat. Dave and Leon had a great relationship – Dave was the boat’s mechanic and Leon – his “chauffeur.”
Here are some Comments from Jean Schertler, who wrote on behalf of her husband, Leon, who likes the idea of this book, but chooses to keep his memories of Dave inside him. Leon was Dave’s boss and later a very close friend. Leon called Dave every day after Dave retired to give him a heads up about articles that were in The Washington Post. Dave would call in to The Post’s audio service for the blind and keep up-to-date on what everybody else was reading.
Here’s what Jean wrote for Leon:
“I first met Dave in 1968 when he worked for me at the Job Corps and we became good friends. I think that he very much liked spending time on my 36 foot motor sailor, a wooden boat built in 1935. We fished and sailed and spent many nights on the “Amy Baker”. I can
still see him when he used to climb to the top of the mast. I
sometimes wondered what he got out of doing it. Perhaps it was one
more thing he had done to add to the many things most blind men
never do.”
DAVE THE SAILOR ON LEON’S BOATSUMMERS IN VERMONT
Here’s what Alice remembers about summers in Vermont:
Here’s what I remember about Dave water skiing. When we went to Vermont to visit my mom each summer, Dave and I enjoyed visiting Ira (“Smitty”) and Ivy Smith and Charlie and Marge Freeman, other Vermont regulars. We would coordinate our vacations and spend a week up there every summer, catching up with each other, discussing politics, eating, and generally having a really good time. The Smiths came from Williamsport, PA and the Freemans came from Lexington, MA. All of us enjoyed each other’s company and we never seemed to run out of things to say.
I remember one time, in particular, when I happened to be driving the ski boat, Marge was the spotter, which meant that she was supposed to keep an eye on the skier and alert the driver if the skier wanted the boat to go faster or slower or if he simply was tired and wanted to go back to the shore. Marge and I were engaged in intense conversation and forgot all about Dave riding behind us. I don’t’ remember how long he was motioning to get our attention but it must have been several minutes because we didn’t look back until we noticed Charlie motioning from the shore. “Oh, okay. Dave is back ther. And I guess he wants to go back to the shore. And what were you saying, Marge?”
DAVE WATERSKIING
Aside from a week at Bethany Beach, for years the Gregals spent one week at Lake St. Catherine, Vermont, the summer home of Alice’s mom. Dave always found something to do. Here he’s pictured fixing his car and fishing off the dock.
DAVE DEFROSTING THE REFRIGERATOR
That’s a bearded Dave finding a creative way to handle a mundane chore. Remember the days before frost-free refrigerators? Well, we had such a refrigerator in our apartment on New Hampshire Avenue. I used to boil water and set hot pots full of water in the freezer compartment to hasten the melting of the ice build-up. Dave didn’t have patience for that method. Instead, he boiled water in the pressure cooker on the stove and attached a plastic hose to the lid. Steam was “transported” from the pressure cooker right into the freezer. If you look closely, you can see the plastic hose rising up from the pressure cooker on the stove and winding through several handles on the kitchen cabinets to hold it securely so that it would be just the right height to poke into the freezer.
DAVE SCUBA DIVING -- CLUB MED That’s Dave in real-life scuba gear at Club Med in Eleuthra, Caribbean. Fearless as always, he charmed and wowed the staff and the guests during that week in January 1994.
CAMPING AT CHINCOTEAQUE I think this was 1968 or 1969. The big scandal was that nobody was married except for Ken and Ann Kalscheur. We’d spent most of the day lost … traveling to our campsite. And when we got there, it was Dave, of course, who took the lead putting up the tent. That’s Dave 2nd from the right again and slim versions of Joe Fitzgerald (foreground) Ken Kalscheur and Mike Doheny behind Joe.
DON’T LOOK DOWN
TARZAN
HOWDY PILGRIM
HEE HAW
DERBY BOUND
SCUBA DIVING
THAT WOULD BE A POGO STICK
DAVE AT FAMILY FARM -- NOTE THE 2 GUIDING ASSISTANTSRUNNING BEHIND
HE DIDN’T ALWAYS “WALK ON WATER”
Ouch!
Dave, being blind and extremely independent, was a combination that wrought havoc to his body. You can imagine how many cuts, bruises, bumps, and breaks a sighted person encounters. Try to imagine Dave tackling jobs that are difficult and dangerous: rafting, carpentry, auto-body, walking alone in the city, and the list is endless.
Here are two incidents that exemplify his vulnerability:
“Pain and the Train”
In 1987, Dave entered the Van Ness Subway Station where trains enter from either the right or left side. Dave asked a lady for directions and she said, “Just go straight.” He did just that and fell off the train platform to the rails below, breaking his wrist and ribs.
Dave’s wife, Alice, wrote this account:
Dave did fall in the subway pit. I still shudder to think about it. At the time he did that, it was difficult for him to identify the edge, even though there was concrete with embedded lights on the edge and terracotta tile everywhere else. After that, metro did change. They now have an additional 12 inches of a third type of texture between the tiles and the concrete edge.
After that accident, the city of Washington changed the texture of the platform so a person using a cane could detect the change. In the past, by the time you figured out where the edge stopped, you were already falling.
RELIEF FOR DAVE’S BROKEN WRIST
Around 1981, Dave fell onto the metro tracks at the Van Ness Metro station in DC and broke his wrist. His arm must have itched underneath that cast. Inventive, as always, Dave thought putting his arm in the freezer would give him some relief.
“It’s the Pits”
In the summer of 1971, Dave was walking to his office at the Department of Labor in downtown Washington. He came upon a construction site. Unknown to him, a worker had opened the gate to the site as he looked for a tool in his truck. Dave’s cane felt the obstacle blocking the sidewalk, walked through the opening, and –
Let’s hear Alice’s account:
Yes, someone left the gate open and Dave walked right down the street and fell down a construction ladder. The fall was about 15 feet onto a platform. If he had fallen to either side, he would have fallen much further and probably been paralyzed. He was really lucky that he fell along the ladder to the platform below. The issue with the suit was that I’d just had holes (probably from smoking) rewoven in that suit. We paid $25 to have the holes rewoven which seemed like boatload of money at the time. I think it felt like $250. And the suit was totally ruined. The pants seat was torn very badly.
You can imagine the company’s concern with the “negligent incident”! Most people would have “milked” the company for a bundle. David, being unhurt, settled for a new suit and a very modest sum. However, he went to quite a lot of physical therapy after that.
MY ALL-TIME CLASSIC FAVORITES
Car Talk
I have two flea market spaces at the Carlisle Auto Show. Friends usually stop by for bull and beer and we have a good time. Dave, Bill Dillon, and I were sitting and jawing when a noisy sputtering vehicle drove past. Dave asked about the type of car it was, stating it sounded like an old model T. Dillon replied that it was an old golf cart. A little while later, some friends of Dillon came by and we chatted. Bill happened to look down the road and saw the old golf cart turning around and heading back towards us. Bill casually told our visitors that Dave was a genius in identifying old cars by the sound of their engines. They looked at each other skeptically and smiled as if to say, yeah, right!!! A few minutes later the golf cart approached and Bill told his friends to test Dave. Ask him what kind of car is going past us. They were stunned as David cocked his head sideways and replied, “Don’t believe that’s a car, sounds like an old golf cart!”
The Doctor is in
My daughter, Kelly took her 1972 VW Bug to Pitt her freshman year and the car broke down. My wife, Peggy took a tow bar out and towed it back to my uncle’s garage, Zulick Chevrolet Cadillac. He had one of the mechanics check the car and the diagnosis was not good – major motor problems, bearings shot, overhaul needed. By luck or coincidence, Dave called the garage while I was there and asked me to describe the problem. He said it sounded like the cooling fan shroud had come loose and needed tightening. Bingo, that was it… the “Doctor” was in!!! I don’t think the mechanic was too happy when my uncle, Harold Zulick, told him a blind man had correctly diagnosed the problem over the phone.
Family Jewels (This is one of my favorites)
Dave and Alice were invited to a suburban DC home for a picnic and barbeque. Sometimes when you’re a male, the “family jewels” get in a bind, especially when seated, and for maximum comfort you must rearrange the “seating plan”. Dave casually reached under the table and started to reorganize everything. Just when he was in the process, Alice looked over and yelled, “Dave, it’s a glass-topped table!”
GUILTY LOOK
Green-Thumb Gregal
One summer morning around 1980, Dave and his neighbor were walking down the alley that separated their two houses. The neighbor happened to glance in the back corner of Dave’s yard, stopped In his tracks, and yelled, “G.D. it Dave – you have three big pot plants growing right inside your fence! If anyone spots them, you’re in a real mess – someone must have planted them here!” Dave cocked his head to one side, smiled, and said, “I don’t believe they are someone else’s…!”
Once Dave gave me a few “good seeds” to plant on our farm. The small crop (2 plants) grew, were harvested, and delivered. Dave was happy, I was relieved, and Peggy didn’t know about it until she read this story – yesterday. Yes, Gregal was a character.
Here are Alice’s views on Dave’s “farming”:
Yes, I knew about the marijuana plant that grew in among the tomato plants. In fact, it was as big as a tomato plant and I think Dave actually thought people wouldn’t notice because it blended in. Not exactly. The next year, I prevailed on him to not plant marijuana in the back yard garden so he moved his little garden to the attic and used a light up there. Ugh. I lost interest in the plant after that.
YOU CAN TAKE THE BOY OUT OF THE COUNTRY, BUT…
Your Mother Warned You…
or The Master of His Domain
Bill Dillon’s daughter, Dina, graduated from PSU in the spring of ‘98 and we had a keg party at the Little Brookie Hunting Camp in RD Houtzdale. It was the perfect place for a party..no neighbors, no crashers, and no problems. After several hours of merrymaking, a group of us gathered around the campfire and the conversation turned serious. People asked Dave about his blindness, how it affected him, etc. Dave responded that once he accepted the fact that he was blind and would be blind, he seemed at peace with himself. Everyone was quite pondering his words, until I asked this question – “But Dave, did you accept the reason you became blind? Your mother warned you!” With that came an outburst of roaring laughter, and huge tears poured out of the most insightful, sightless eyes I know!
FRIENDS SINCE 1ST GRADE -- 1998
BILL & PAT DILLON, ALICE & DAVE GREGAL, PEGGY & BILL THRUSH
PRESENT DAY
Cheap Like Me
Dave and I were both thrifty. My wife says it is “baggage” from our youth. Our parents had struggled through the depression and experienced the shortages and rationing of WWII. As a result, we had little in regards to material things. The funny part is that we were like everyone else in the small mining town – what you never had, you never miss!
I’ve talked with many friends of Dave and mine – all agreed: we had a wonderfully happy youth. We invented our own fun, we were pretty well adjusted (yeah – I’m getting your vibes), and we did it all with no money. I guess you never forget those times.
Peggy and I recently visited with Alice at her home in DC. She smiled as she said she had just experienced a new phenomenon – one that was practically non-existent to the Gregal household.
May I digress? Dave was a fixer and a repairman – sometimes using “Rube Goldberg” tactics rather than purchase the correct, expensive, replacement part. Many electrical and mechanical items, such as lawn mowers, boat motors, washers and dryers, etc., needed the “Dave Touch” to operate. Sometimes extra switches needed pushed, a motor needed a few taps with a hammer, you get the picture.
Just recently, Alice told me she had a repairman come to the house! Dave was the only person that could twist a screwdriver into the broken oven door and get it to latch so Alice could bake. With Dave gone, Alice said she wanted to use the oven and tried for an hour unsuccessfully to “latch”, giving up to do the “forbidden” – call a repairman. She laughed at the new experience: you call, you pay,it works!
Note: Dave and I both had a difficult time throwing out anything – you never know when it might be useful. At this recent visit with Alice, she showed me a wood lathe that Dave made in Industrial Arts Class (“Shop” we called it) in high school, about 1957. It was made from pipe fittings filled with lead and “bored out” for the rotating shaft and pulley.
If you are familiar with wood turning, can you imagine Dave operating this lathe?
DAVE’S WOOD LATHE
CONCLUSION
There is an old saying, “If you go through life and have had one good friend, you were very lucky.” I must be the luckiest person alive! Other than good health for yourself and family, the next most important thing is a good friend. I have been so fortunate, having a wonderful family and great friends.
Many people work diligently and long hours at their jobs, but are extremely lax at building and keeping friendships. How many times have you heard this statement? I was meaning to phone/write/email/etc. but I am so busy lately. It is sad when you can’t find time for a friend. You can always get another job, work longer for a higher salary, but finding, having, and keeping a good friend is priceless.
Old friends are a very special type. You have a history with them-they know your strengths and shortcomings-and they like you anyway. In your journey through life, I sincerely hope you have the good fortune to know and have your “Dave Gregal”!
Serenity Prayer
God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Guys from Houtzdale don’t usually write poetry. Maybe losing your best friend changes everything. I wrote this short poem about a year after Dave died.
Life
by
Bill Thrush
There are certain things that touch our souls
And give us misty eyes
Have you ever looked at a baby’s fingers and heard it’s hungry cries
Or Christmas Eve with candlelight
And Singing Silent Night
Can you explain the feeling you get inside
When your grandchild asks for a horsey ride
Or watch a father’s misty smile
As he leads his daughter down the isle
All of these affect us in a different way
But nothing as great as a friend going away.
LETTERS FROM FRIENDS AND RELATIVES
Kinfolk
Sisters:
Allison Novosel
Hi Bill,
I hope you are doing OK. We all loved Uncle Dave very much, but I know his loss will leave a very large hole in your heart for some time.
The leaking eyes thing when you laugh is a Gregal trait. My dad, Alex (Dave’s brother), has it as well, and he passed it down to me. People think it’s odd, but it’s a sign of true happiness in our family.
As for a good Dave story…I have one that is probably redundant - as Dave taught so many people how to drive. But here goes:
When I was at GU, we didn’t have the great football spirit that the Nittany Lions do. I used to miss the PSU football games and tailgates I loved to attend when I was in high school. One weekend, Uncle Dave offered to take me to Penn State with the boys. I said, “That’s great, but who is going to drive?” Dave said, “You are.” I told him I didn’t know how to drive stick and he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” I knew he had taught Alice and plenty of other co-eds in this day, so I trusted him. But when I got to his house, he piled Dave and John in the back seat and said, “Let’s go.” I reminded him that I didn’t know how to drive stick, and he said, “That’s OK, I’ll teach you on the way.” Well, I am not a very good driver in an automatic car, and with the pressure of two young boys in the backseat judging me and also with all of our safety in mind, I was pretty rough. We kept stalling in the middle of intersections and lurching and so on. It had been 20 minutes and we hadn’t gone as far as Albemarle. Finally, Dave got down on his hands and knees and started working the pedals with his hands and telling me just to steer. Sooner or later, I got some sort of hang of it, and we made it to Penn State and back without loss of life or limb. But, I have to tell you, I never did drive a stick shift again after that weekend. I’m not sure if I could do it without Uncle Dave on the floor working the pedals.
In case you don’t hear this one from my sister, Beth…
When she was about 10, she and my uncle Dave went for a walk in Dave and Alice’s neighborhood. Dave held onto Beth’s arm but she kept letting him walk into poles and signs etc. Finally, Dave said to Beth, “You know, Beth, I am blind.” Beth said, “Oh yeah, I forgot.” - We all forgot sooner or later.
Please send me a book when you are done with it Bill, and thanks for being such a great friend to Dave all these years.
Take care of yourself,
Alli
Beth Gregal
Hi Bill,
Allison, my sister sent you the story when I walked him intoa stop Sign. But I was 18 years old. He took me all over DC so I could learn where things were. I really did walk him into a number
of obstacles.
He taught me how to parallel park, can you believe that. I am very good at now. But I tore up his tires but a very good lesson.
Thanks I would love one book also. Please send email when it is done.
I wrote about him in High School. Maybe I can find it soon and send you a copy.
Beth
Cousin:
Sally Giese
Dear Bill,
I’m one of Dave’s cousins, Sally Giese. Dave’s father and my mother were brother and sister.
I remember as kids we visited “Uncle Alex and Aunt Luby” on their farm in Pennsylvania. We were the “city” cousins from New York and then New Jersey.
I remember how we used to all jump from the hayloft to a huge pile of hay to the bottom of the barn floor. We never even realized how hard it was for “Davey” to see until we were all much older. I was just amazed at all the things he did around the farm with such limited sight. Like riding his bike to town and running around with us on the grounds of his parents’ place.
After we all grew up and went our separate ways, we didn’t have much contact with each other except at Christmas time with Christmas cards.
Dave visited us a few times here in Denver on business and we all went to dinner and had conversations here at the house. One thing that I must note is when I was “leading” Dave to the outside patio of our home, Dave held onto my arm and he commented “you are a tall person.” How amazing that he was able to note that by where my arm fell next to his side.
My husband, Ken, had to make a trip to Washington DC once during a tour of duty with the Marine Corps and Dave and Alice were so kind to entertain him and a buddy for the evening.
I will miss Dave very much, knowing that he is not with us here on earth anymore. But I have some very fond memories of him. I know that God was always by his side with His guardian angel during his time here.
Sincerely,
Sally Giese
Friends and Neighbors:
Bob Miller
Bill
I am flattered that you may include the letter in your book.
I would do anything you ask of me to help document the memory of this great human being.
I think that John Donne got it right when he said that “no man is an island” and that when that bell tolled for Dave, it tolled for not so small a part of myself also. And I’m sure yourself.
As you know I lived with Dave for one year in college and after graduation saw him only seldom. Perhaps only five or six times over the next 44 years, although we talked on the telephone more often than that.
I have only feelings of love for him for he was truly a love-giving and caring person. As I may have stated I never heard him utter a bad word about any other human except perhaps for Ronald Reagan.
Did you ever notice how well he listened to people when they spoke? How many of us have that ability? I believe Dave listened because he was really interested in what you had to say. More than once he surprised me by bringing my personality troubling subjects that I may have discussed with him many years ago to find out how I was getting along. Ever notice that most people don’t listen to you as you speak since they are so anxious to talk themselves? Dave was not that way.
Sincerely,
Bob Miller
Jon Goldstein
For David
We’ve heard many wonderful things about David today. He was a real person, you know, not a saint. And he wasn’t a Pollyanna. I can almost hear him demanding, “Hey! Cut it out. Tell the truth.” Okay, okay, okay. I’ll try to provide a little balance.
David was impatient, and sometimes he let it show. He could not stand the phrase “I cannot do it.” I never heard him use it, and he did not take gladly to anyone who did. Whine, whine, whine.
• It’s too hard. I can’t do it.
• I’m not smart enough. I can’t learn it.
• I don’t have the time. I can’t do it.
Ann and I met the Gregals in the late 80 when we moved to Windom Place across the alley from them. My introduction to David came one blustery fall day when I was gazing out a back window and noticed a guy hanging precariously, high up in a tree, waving a chainsaw. “Hey, Hon. Look at this lunatic, dangling from the tree. He’s gonna get himself killed.”
Once after a particularly awe-inspiring recitation on auto mechanics I asked David, “How the hell do you know so much about cars?” “I read about it. “ Oh, you read about it. How stupid of me. Ford and GM and Mercedes Benz all saw an attractive business opportunity after hearing about David, and just began publishing repair manuals in Braille.
I’m a confirmed atheist. Angered by David’s blindness, I’ve often taken it as corroboration that there is no god. No deity would be so mean-spirited, so perverse as to burden such a talented, gregarious person with loss of sight, and deprive the rest of us all the wonderful things he could have done had he been sighted. I’ve come to believe that this line of reasoning is complete nonsense, that it’s quite likely that I’ve missed the point entirely. God, if there be such, may well have selected David to endure loss of sight and other unimaginable horrors as a lesson to us all: Stop your whining and get on with it.
My relationship with David seems to have had two phases: before and after cancer. Before he got ill we devoted the majority of our time to fixing things or discussing how things worked. External things, giving only superficial treatment to internal issues. During these last, declining years, when neither of us was working full-time, Dave and I were able to just spend time together, time without an urgent goal or objective. Although neither of us was particularly good about revealing our feelings, a sort of unspoken acceptance pervaded these unstructured times. We’d have breakfast together on occasion or just do mundane, routine things. Once we drove all the way to southern Maryland to see if we could find a saddlery with a western hat that Dave could war to Kentucky Derby party.
One of the few regrets that I have about our relationship is that we never said goodbye to each other properly. I don’t think that David knew how to say goodbye or when to give up the ghost. He had such a tenacious will to live and such abiding faith in technology that I think he genuinely believed that he as going to overcome the fates.
Hugh & Julie
Dave Gregal was my very close friend and Dave was a close friend to my wife, Julie, and our children Reiss, Erica, and Leslie. We were lucky and fortunate in life to have known him.
Our lives have intertwined over these years in the ebb and flow of life; supporting each other in time of need, sharing holiday and birthday celebrations, weddings, meals together, vacations to the beach, trips, sharing the company of friends and family, hanging together while meeting the challenges and joys of raising our kids, sharing outdoor activities of camping, tandem biking, boating, hiking, shooting a potato gun in the alley, and eating watermelon in the summer when the kids were younger and sometimes the parents joining the kids trying to spit the seeds across the alley…our families have some wonderful memories when we were all together. But since Dave’s death, I have been reflecting on my special friendship with him. To me, Dave was an inspiring person that I want to share with you some observations and some life lessons that I learned from him: 1-It’s obvious to me that Dave grew up in Houtzdale, PA, in a loving, supportive family who instilled in him a strong work ethic, the value of friendship, and that you were to be responsible for yourself, do your part, and carry your share of the load. I recall that Dave always spoke lovingly of Pop, his mom, step Mom, and his brothers and sister and about his numerous nephews and nieces who always looked up to their Uncle Dave. And let me just say how much I know Alice, Davey, and John, and we here today as neighbors, friends, and family appreciated Ana Mae, Dave’s sister, staying in the home the last to weeks of Dave’s life. She brought much love, comfort and solace not only to Dave and the family, but also to many of us who called or came in and out of the house his last days.
2-In life, you play hand that you are dealt the best you can and you don’t whien about it. During the many years that Dave and I were friends, I do not recall him complaining about being blind or the things that he could not do. He did not let his disability of blindness define him, instead Dave defined his own blindness and its limitation on him. After you spent some time with Dave you could easily forget he was blind. And remember, in spite of his blindness, Dave came to Washington, DC with a vision to have a work career, to find a wife and partner, to have children, to establish a home, and to make new friends. Against incredible odds, he realized his vision and was living his dreams.
3-If you have the right tools, you can fix anything; and if you check out Dave’s basement and garage, you knew he had all the right tools! But more than tools, Dave was a bright, competent guy, and a talented problem solver. I know because he worked with me on numerous household repairs of plumbing, wiring, carpentry, roofing, and his forte, car repairs. For me, working with Dave over the years could be characterized as a Zen experience in household and auto repair. I trusted his skills and insights without reservation. I can still recall Dave’s voice saying, “Here, Hugh let me give you a hand with that…”
INSTALLING HARDWOOD FLOORS
DEMOLITION DAVE REMODELING THE HOUSE -- 1979
BACK TO THE “GRIND”
4-Friendship and loyalty to friends are among the most important ingredients of life. Not only was Dave always there for me as my friend, but also I could discuss freely with him my concerns or my experiences. Although he had his opinions and he would offer sound advice, he was not judgmental. He listened and he was genuinely interested in what I had to say or was doing.
5-You embrace life fully and trust the direction you have chosen to go. Over the years, I observed that Dave did not live his life routinely or on automatic pilot. Being around Dave was interesting and filled with an element of adventure. He was always working on a project or going somewhere with friends and family. He was not one to look back and regret that he didn’t do this or he didn’t do that. He was going forward and if you wanted to come along, OK and if didn’t want to come along, that was OK too!
6-You build a little community of those you love and who love you. Just look around at all the friends and family here today in this church and you get some sense of the community that Dave and Alice have built and to which they are connected. This community was there for Dave all along the way as he battled cancer. And in his life and his dying days, Dave was blessed and surrounded by his loving, wonderful wife Alice, and two awesome sons Davey and John. And soon to be part of the Gregal family, is Davey’s attractive, unbelievable fiancée, Ann Beausang. The family’s support, love, care, and concern were with Dave till the end.
I surely am going to miss Dave and our special friendship, but I count my self fortunate in life, as I am sure you do, to have known him. Iw as honored to be Dave’s friend…. In closing, I quote an excerpt from the writings of William Wordsworth, an English poet, which speaks, I think, to Dave’s and my friendship… “what though the radiance which was once so bright, be now for ever taken from my sight, though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, or glory in the flower,… which having been must ever be; …we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind…” Goodbye, Dave.
JULIE & HUGH ALLEN WITH THE GREGALS
Tom Wells
I’m Tom Wells and I work in the U.S. Department of Labor’s Office of Federal Contract Compliance Programs where Dave worked for 25 years. Dave leaves behind many friends there who fondly remember his kind helpfulness, his sense of humor, and his positive attitude. His refusal to be bound by limitations amazed everyone, as he waded into projects that even most sighted people are afraid of and unable to tackle. And that same persistence served him well in his battle with illness the past several years, far beyond the point where many others would have given up. The grace and endurance with which he waged that fight has been an inspiration to all of us at OFCCP. We’re sorry that he didn’t get to spend more time doing the fun things in retirement that we wished for him at his farewell luncheon a couple years ago, but we also know he made the most of the time and strength he had.
My daughter Kelly called me from Denver Colorado where she is a PE teacher. She had just registered for her last course in completing her Masters Degree at University of Colorado. Her first assignment in the new course was to write a short essay about someone who was a genius. Guess who she chose? She sent me a copy of the paper. The following is an excerpt on “our genius”.
Kelly’s Essay
February 10, 2005
Observations of an Expert
The moment I heard the words, “think of someone you know as an expert,” I immediately thought of David Gregal. There was no hesitation. He had an innate ability to apply his vast knowledge in any situation while at the same time being blind. He truly amazed me. Yes, unfortunately, this is all in the past tense as Dave is no longer with us on earth. He recently passed away from cancer. He is missed greatly and often comes up in conversation.
First, some background information on Mr. David Gregal. He was born partially sighted after a mishap with the midwife at birth. He later became fully blind after several accidents including one major one involving a broomstick to the eye. As a young child, Dave would not be allowed to enter school as he was “different and would not fit in.” His mother begged the classroom teacher to allow him in on a trial basis and that was it. In all honesty, to meet Dave is to love him. He truly became one of the brightest kids in the class.
He went on to receive a scholarship to Penn State University and studied counseling. This may be the basis for his wonderful “people skills.” Dave got a job in Washington D.C. for the Department of Labor. His job basically entailed making sure all businesses compiled and allowed for accommodations for people. For example, if a place did not have a ramp for access of wheelchairs, his job was to follow up and see what the problem was and fix it. That’s who he was…Mister Fix It!
Dave could fix most anything. According to How People Learn by the National Research Council, “experts have acquired extensive knowledge that affects what they notice and how they organize, represent, and interpret information in their environment. This, in turn, affects their abilities to remember, reason and solve problems.” Continuously, the book talks about an expert’s ability to “reflect contexts of applicability.” Dave could literally fix anything with an engine. He even listened to my old Volkswagen Beetle over the phone one time and diagnosed the problem based on a noise. Basically he takes his knowledge of how a basic engine works and his past experiences with them and then applies that information to any new engine problem that would arise. I am almost certain Dave has saved my family and friends hundreds of dollars in false hypotheses from mechanics.
More importantly than his actual ability to fix these types of problems is the way he went about it. It was more the process than the product if you will. I will return back to my previous statement of Dave having wonderful people skills. He had a way of interacting with people on the same level. Basically the process went like this…Dave would ask what was bothering you. You would share your problem with him. He would offer about two to three suggestions that you might want to try and one of them was always right. He explained the problem and the resolution to you so one could understand in basic terms and then it all made sense.
Dave was an “adaptive expert” according to the book. He could approach new situations flexibly and continue learning throughout his lifetime. Dave was a curious man. He did not simply attempt to do the same things, he attempted to do new things and better. Just a few examples included driving a car, snow skiing, bicycling, fixing cars, installing a new plumbing system in his house all while being without sight. Being without sight never seemed to bother Dave. It was just one more obstacle for him to work with. He never complained and was always more concerned with the other person. The list of Dave stories as I like to call them goes on and on. He lived a fulfilled life and I am a small expert just having known him. I was one of the lucky ones.
He was amazing to talk with. Dave was always very interested in people’s lives on a genuine level and the conversations never ended. Some people struggle for words and with Dave that was one problem that never needed fixed. To me, he was not just an expert in Washington or an expert on engines, but really an expert on life.
Eulogy by JP Fitzgerald
Having been raised with great respect for formal education, and the conviction that the good life would follow the pursuit of maximum schooling, I spent a lot of evenings/summers collecting post graduate degrees. Only much later did I realize that ‘book learning’ has nothing to do with gaining wisdom and is in fact completely insignificant when compared with lessons learned just through living life and knowing people.
Having known Dave for over 35 years I learned a number of life lessons from him. I’d like to share with you a few of the things that I learned in my relationship with Dave.
1. I learned from Dave, in the early Seventies, that my 1965 MG had TWO carburetors and that they had to be balanced carefully, that the carburetors had a lot to do with gas going into the engine, and that only blind people had a shot at correctly balancing those babies.
2. I learned from Dave that knowledge is treasure and that curiosity is the hunt for that treasure. Have you ever known anyone more curious - about anything and everything - than Dave was? Sitting in a bar, Dave would inevitably ask about the appearance of one or more females he was hearing. Walking down the street, there would be unfamiliar sounds that Dave would want explained to him, especially in those days of Metro construction in DC. While skiing, Dave used hands and ears to figure out exactly how the chairlifts operated (and came up with a couple of ideas for improvement, by the way!). And I can assure you that Dave was always curious about what made individuals ‘tick’.
3. I learned from Dave that you can repair a false tooth with a bit of epoxy and a warm stove.
4. Probably more than from anyone else I’ve known, I learned from Dave how valuable each day of life is. For Dave, each new day held the prospect of one or more new ‘projects’ and maybe once in a while completion of an ongoing project. ‘Courageous’ and ‘tenacious’ don’t begin to describe his years-long battle with illness. Tomorrow always seemed to hold promise for improvement.
5. I learned from Dave that blindness isn’t a handicap and that self-pity is a waste of time and energy.
6. And I learned from Dave an awful lot about friendship! The number of folks fortunate enough to call themselves friends of Dave’s is astounding. Dave has always been a really great friend. When he said ‘how’s it going, guy’ what he meant was that he actually wanted to know how things were going for me. I’ve always been in awe of his ability to recall the issues he’d want to follow up on with various friends - he’d call me to inquire about issues that I’d forgotten I had mentioned to him, perhaps a problem with my boat or a job related complaint, or whatever. It’s said that cultivating friendships takes significant effort, even work; I doubt it involved work for Dave because it came to him so naturally, but if it did then truly it was for him a labor of love.
I’m one of the many who will miss Dave very deeply, will always cherish my memories of him, and will always be grateful for the companionship and the true inspiration that Dave provided for all these years.
PHOTO GALLERY
Davey driving Harold Zulick, Peggy, & Dave in 1973 convertible
APPENDIX
Dave was First – Rich Zimmerman
Dave was not only a good bodyman, but he was one heck of a mechanic, and was always coming up with ideas to improve things. Like on that 53 Chevy, back in those days, even guys as dumb as we were noticed that our cars ran better on rainy nights. Had something to do with the moist air was more dense, which created better combustion, at least according to Gregal. The only part I understood was the dense part. Anyway, Dave rigged up a contraption, which consisted of a copper tube soldered in the top of the radiator, and the other end connected into the gas line, right before the carburetor, and darned if it didn’t run better. Probably even got a little better gas mileage, too, but who cared, at 29 cents a gallon. In the fifties, when guys talked cars, they said things like, how does this baby run, or, what’ll it do, but do you ever once remember someone asking, “what kinda mileage you gettin”? Probably a good thing, because we probably weren’t bright enough to figure it out, and calculators didn’t come out till the early ‘70’s. Like I said, you can’t have too much horsepower, and that’s what we were after.
Well, that was when we were out of school, like 1958, and were far advanced for our age, but I’d like to back up to about 1955 or so, when we first started fooling around with cars, after his brother, Alex, gave Dave his first car, a 1935 Dodge coupe. This little thing has remained lodged in my brain all these years, and though my mind is probably going, I never forgot this.
We were in a classroom, probably a study hall, because we had lots of them, but Dave was at one desk, and I was at another. I didn’t know what he was doing, and of course, don’t remember what I was doing, but it probably didn’t have anything to do with studying, but Dave hollered over and said “hey, Zimmie, get over here, I have something I want you to look at”, so, over I go. I’m leaning on his desk, looking at this big piece of paper he had, and I can remember, he had been drawing, (yeah, he did that stuff, too), and he had a huge circle with a triangle inside it, with some other little gitchies, here and there. Ok, so maybe the triangle wasn’t exactly inside the circle, like he wanted it to be, but I’d seen enough of Dave’s drawings, so I knew how to interpret. Anyway, I said, “so what’s this supposed to be”, and Dave said, “You know, I’ve been thinking, an internal combustion engine is really an inefficient engine”. Now, this was a problem that had been bothering me since the beginning of time, also, but I would have been happy if I knew how to change a spark plug, so I figured I would let Dave enlighten me. “So what are you going to do about it” I asked. I knew I really didn’t have to ask, because he was going to tell me about it, anyway. Dave explained to me how the internal combustion engine worked, since he knew damned well I didn’t have a clue. He showed me how the intake happened, then the combustion, then the firing, then the exhaust, meanwhile the pistons are going up and down, and the crankshaft going round and round, and the motor cooled down, the heat went down, and Chuck Berry made a song out of it a few years later. Meanwhile, my head is spinning like that crankshaft, so Dave shows me his idea. He says this triangle thingy is going to rotate inside that cylinder, and the gas would come in this hole, and get compressed, and fire, then go out that hole, and that triangle is going to keep spinning in the same direction all the time, instead of working against itself, etc. etc.
I probably walked away muttering something like, “Gregal, you are just plain crazy”, and hoping my headache went away before I had to go to the next study hall.
Now, fast forward to 1974, and my latest edition of Road&Track came in the mail, I open it up, and there is an artist’s conception of this new engine that Mazda is putting in their pickup truck, and it’s a big circle with a rotor in the middle, and ports where Dave had those holes, and this was supposed to be big news. Hah. This drawing might have been a little better than Dave’s was, and, that guy, Dr. Felix Wankel, might have taken the credit for the rotary engine, but as far as I’m concerned, Dave Gregal thought of it first, and I remember it like it just happened a few weeks ago. Sometimes this guy was scary. Just imagine what kind of engineer he would have been, had he been able to see.
Dave’s First Car
by Rich Zimmerman
The’35 Dodge
Now, I know Dave owned a lot of cars in his lifetime, something like 40 or 50, and that’s not bad for a blind guy. I also recall Dave was somewhat of a cheapskate when it came time to buy one, but I was there when he got his first car, and the price was right.
One morning, in school, Dave told Skip Gustkey, and I, that his brother, Alex, was going in the Air Force, and was giving Dave his car, which he had used while attending Penn State, where he had also been the Nittany Lion mascot. Alex said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore, and Dave’s exact words were “He needed this like a hole in the head”. I believe this was 1954, which meant Dave should have been 15, myself 13, and Skip, somewhere in the middle, in other words, the perfect ages to start fooling around with cars.
Needless to say, as soon as we got home from school, the three of us were at the farm, to see this gem. It was a 1935 Dodge coupe, 6 banger, 3 on the floor, painted black, (what else?), and to tell the truth, it wasn’t a bad looking car, and I’d love to have it today, in that same condition. The only problem, what do we do with it? It certainly wasn’t going to run on the highway anymore, considering we had a few things against us, but we saw this as our ticket to freedom, and it was going to become a” Woods Car.” Back in those days, there were only 2 or 3 state highways around Houtzdale, but there were a million miles of dirt roads, in the woods, and all we had to do was get this thing “woods ready”.
I don’t recall if we started right away, or dragged it out till the next day, but, with Dave’s, (or probably his Dad’s) collection of tools, in no time at all, that car was stripped to the bare essentials. Body parts, like the hood, trunk lid, and most everything except the 2 doors, were gone, as well as anything mechanical, like entire exhaust systems, and anything you didn’t need to make it run, was also eliminated. Even things that would drag, like maybe the gas tank, which was eventually removed, and replaced by Dave’s gravity flow system, mounted on the firewall, above the carburetor. I believe Dave came up with this idea, when we were out riding around, and the fuel pump went out, and at the time, I gave credit to Dave, but I guess someone like Henry Ford came up with it before our time.
There was only one more problem remaining, nobody knew how to drive, (except Dave, naturally). That meant he had to teach me, then later on, I taught Skip. I really don’t remember my driving lessons, but I do know my driving got us in a lot of trouble, like speeding and hitting rocks, and stumps, sometimes trees that got in the way, and especially big water holes, (my specialty), that would drown the engine, and let us sit. Yeah, I’ll admit I was a crazy driver, but then, look who my instructor was.
Speaking of my instructor, don’t think he got off scott free. He drove about as much as I did, and since it was his car, what are you gonna do? Dave liked to sit in the driver’s seat, so he could work the pedals, gears, and all the controls. I had to sit beside him, and do the steering, and if you think that sounds easy, try it sometime, especially with a speed demon at the controls. I used to yell at him, “Hey, Gregal, slow down, this ain’t easy, you know”, and the next thing you know, we’re flying off the road, into who knows what. One time it was into a group of Aspen trees, maybe 10 to 15 feet tall, and we didn’t hit the base of the trees, it was more like the middle, or above that, since we just flew off an embankment. These little escapades usually resulted in the same finale, a long walk back to the farm, for the tractor. Actually, one of my early drives ended this way, too. It was a winter day, very cold, and we were heading back to the farm. This Dodge must have been the Deluxe model, because the windshield had a little crank on the dash, and when you turned it, the bottom of the windshield would open out, I thought it was a pretty neat idea. Well, we had it open, probably to keep the frost off the windshield, and we were going downhill, rather swiftly, and this was a dip which we knew had quite a water hole at the bottom, but, what the heck, it would be frozen. Well, it was, but the ice was only about 5 inches thick, and do you know what happens when all 4 tires break through 5 inches of ice at exactly the same time? It is similar to a head-on collision with the Great Wall of China, meaning, we stopped immediately, water came gushing through the open windshield, and formed ice, on us, without delay. Stupid damned crank. To say my passengers were not “happy campers” would be an understatement. This one had a happy ending though; it was a “short” walk back for the tractor. Well, maybe happy isn’t quite the right word to use, but you get the idea.
Actually, Dave wasn’t a bad driver, and I know he was better on the clutch, and gears, than I was. The only problem was, his personality changed, like, from “half crazy” to “completely crazy”, once he got behind the wheel, but there is just something about speed that will do that to a person, and I understand that. Back in those days there were a lot of crazy drivers around Houtzdale, but I’ll bet if you walked up to most of them and asked, “who the hell taught you how to drive”, they would probably say, Dave Gregal.
We used that car in the woods for several years, and I’m not saying it was never on the highway again, but we tried to keep it to a minimum. Exhaust flames coming out the side of an engine kinda draws attention.
After using it for about two years, one day the engine threw a rod. We got it back to the farm, and I thought we were done for, but not Dave. He just got the tools out, removed the connecting rod, and piston, put it back together, again, and we got another couple years out of it, running on five cylinders, (heck, Volkswagen and Volvo think that’s big news now-a –days, Gregal had it fifty years ago). That’s another thing; today’s car makers are using lighter alloy metals, etc. to reduce weight, but in our constant quest for speed, and weight reduction, the Gregal motto was, “if you don’t need it, hell, just throw it away”. Dave’s scrap pile was quite sizeable.
Finally, one day, a guy spotted that coupe sitting in the field, pulled in and approached Dave and me, said he’d like to buy it. We thought he was crazy, and even Dave could see it wasn’t much to look at, but turns out this person was just planning on using the body for a stock car, so looks didn’t mean much. We told him about the motor, but that was no big deal, since he was going to put a big V8 in it, and didn’t even want the motor, so Dave agreed on a price, and the buyer said he’d be back in a few days to pick it up.
Now, we had this bright idea. Neither of us had ever witnessed a motor blowing up, so we decided that’s just what we would do, blow it to smithereens, (by now, you are probably starting to realize there wasn’t much to do for excitement around there). Anyway, we filled up the gas tank, (a one gallon gas can mounted to the firewall), started that buggar up, placed a brick on the gas pedal, and walked a few yards away, sat on a dirt pile, to watch the action. The engine was just screaming. After thirty or fourty minutes, it ran out of gas. I was disgusted, and went home.
You thought this was going to have an exciting ending, didn’t you?
Moto Guzzi- Final Chapter
Rich Zimmerman
In case anyone is even interested in what became of the Moto Guzzi motorcycle, well, we did get it all back together again, and this time Dave finally agreed to let me try it out, and on a paved road, no less.
Since the bike had no license, inspection, and all those other things that would make it legal, we decided that this was going to be a midnight run. The plan was, to leave the farm at midnight, Dave and I would ride double, with me up front, naturally, and for some reason, young Bill McAlkich, who had just gotten his drivers license, was going to follow us in his dad’s car, I guess in case we broke down. Hah, fat chance.
We drove to Parsonville, about 5 or 6 miles away, and parked in the church parking lot. Dave went over the bike, and figured it was running like a top. By now, I had driven all the way out here, plus those couple hundred yards on the motor scooter, so I figured what I didn’t know about bike riding wasn’t worth knowing, and I told Dave I wanted to try it out by myself, to see what it would really do, and, surprisingly, Dave agreed.
I took off and headed to Ashland, another mile or two out the road, and just as I was coming up to the first house, a car came around the curve, and was headed right for me. I knew it had to be the State Cops, probably Andy Harchak, and they were looking for me. Somehow I made a pretty fancy u-turn in the middle of the road, and headed back to where I just came from. I was going about 60mph, and for anyone familiar with that road, there is an S curve right before you come to the small bridge, and stream. Well, I made the left part of the S, but was going a little too fast for the right part. The bike was riding on the right crash bar so hard, that it finally wore through, collapsed, wrapped around my right ankle, and down we go, with the bike dragging me into the ditch, on the left side of the road. There I was, half dead, with water running over me, and the bike, and feeling more and more like Evel Knieval, all the time. I actually had a vision of trying the fountain at Caesars Palace some day. Anyway, little did I know, but I had witnesses to the whole thing. Billy had moved the car down to the bridge, and there they were, standing by the car, watching me. Yeah, Dave saw it, too.
They came running down, mostly to rescue the motorcycle, then Dave found I had run a rock through the battery, so it was out of commission, again. (Do you see a pattern starting to form here)? Anyway, what do you do with a dead motorcycle, at 3 O’clock in the morning? Like I keep trying to point out to you, we might have been a bunch of country bumpkins, but we didn’t exactly come ridin’ in here on a head of cabbage, so we jumped in the car, went up by the church, and cut down the first clothesline we came to. Back to the scene of the crime, tied the clothesline to the back bumper of the car, and the forks of the motorcycle, and were going to tow it home.
I can’t remember, but I think I probably tried to talk Dave into riding the bike this time. I mean, think about it, you don’t have to see to drive a bike that’s being towed, right, the guy in the car will take care of that part, and, besides, it was his motorcycle. OK, OK, I wrecked it, I’ll drive it. You know, if you ever really get bored, and you want to put a little spice in your life, forget about sky diving, and bungee jumping, and that wimpy stuff. Try towing a motorcycle, behind a 16 year old, that’s just gotten his driver’s license, and hadn’t quite mastered the clutch in a 59 Chevy, with a stick on the column, and a short piece of clothesline rope.
I got to bed that morning at 4:00am, woke up about 9 or 10, and couldn’t get out of bed. I then realized my back was one solid brush burn from my belt to my shoulder blades. Worse than that, the right rear pocket of my James Dean blue jeans was just about gone, as well as half of my wallet, and my last 2 or 3 dollars.
If there’s a lesson to be learned from this, it is, to be a little more selective than we were, and cut down a longer clothesline. I know I certainly will the next time.
Oh, and as far as the Moto Guzzi, and what happened to it, I don’t know, and, like Clark Gable says, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t givea damn”.
You know, and this just dawned on me, that car that I thought was the Cops, never did come down the road, to the scene of the accident, and neither did any other cars, because the road from Ashland to Brisbin never did have a heavy volume traffic count, at 3:00am, then, or now. I’ll be darned, that guy must have lived in that house I was just coming to. I don’t know, they sure looked like State Cop headlights to me.
Internal Combustion Engine
I intend to explain a new type of valve, the Gregal Multi-Flow Rotating Spool Valve, which can be used in place of the tapid valve in the internal combustion engine. I wish to state first that I initially originated the idea in the middle of 1961, approximately September first. I had worked on this idea for approximately a year prior to this, intermittently. In the latter part of December 1961 I had discussed the idea of this new valve with Kurt Weis. Others familiar with the workings of this valve were Richard Zimmerman, Frank Gregal, Dan Festa, and others who at the time of this letter I do not recall. (Gary Noll and Ed McKelvey)
About the first of July 1962 I was referred to Mr. Bill Brown of Pine Grove Mills by a Mr. Chomicky who is an art instructor at the Pennsylvania State University. Approximately two weeks later I visited Mr. Brown accompanied by Kathy McManus. I thoroughly discussed the new valve with Mr. Brown who was immensely interested in it due to his knowledge of internal combustion engines. My original intent was to have Mr. Brown and myself make a model for patenting purposes and possible future manufacturing.
I spoke to Mr. Brown at his home approximately six or seven times, of which the latest was Sunday evening, September twenty-third. Until this time to my knowledge or the knowledge of Kathy McManus, who accompanied me on Sunday evening September twenty-third, Mr. Brown had not engaged in any machining or assembling of an engine which would function with this new valve.
No definite profit sharing financial contributions or any other aid has been agreed upon by Mr. Brown or myself. Accepting the advice of Mr. Mazza, a practicing lawyer in State College, Pennsylvania, I am giving in written form an account to the best of my knowledge at this time of the occurrences up to the present. I wish to state also that I, to my knowledge, had the original idea of this new valve in September 1961, and have not made definite agreements with anyone upon profit sharing due to explorations in the past or possible future of this valve.
This valve can be used on numerous devices; engines using gaseous or liquid fuels, any type of machine that requires a flow of material in or out of the machine itself. The principle of this valve accompanied by a rough diagram will now be given. The valve consists of a cylinder (A). Inside of cylinder (A) is a cylinder (B). From cylinder (A) to (B) is a tube (C). Between cylinder (A) and (B) is space. This is are (D). An orifice on cylinder (A) at the end of tube (C) is an orifice (E) which is located ninety degrees from orifice (F). Orifice (F) leads into area (D). Orifice (E) and (F) may be on different or the same parallels depending upon future research.
This valve makes unnecessary the use on an internal combustion engine of an intake and exhaust manifold along with the present tapid valves, used on the combustion engine, which originates with the camshaft. In the diagram, the piston (I) is on an intake stroke. Fuel is allowed to enter the combustion cylinder (J) through orifice (F), which is in line with orifice (G), located in the cylinder head (K). The fuel enters the valve at one end and travels through area (D) to orifice (F). The complete valve rides on a set of lubricated bearings and is in constant motion proportional to the R.P.M.’s of the crankshaft. Due to the tube in clockwise motion in proportion to the engine when the piston reaches its downward stroke, the end of orifice (F) has bypassed orifice (G) and there remains no passage now to allow gasses to enter or escape the combustion cylinder. The piston then compresses the fuel mixture, is ignited, power stroke occurs, and then the piston is on its exhaust cycle. At this point the valve has rotated on its bearings to the position where orifice (E) has met with orifice (H), and the exhaust gasses pass through orifice (H), through orifice (E), into tube (C) and then flows to the open end of the cylinder (B). During this process of the exhaust stroke, orifices (E) and (H) have met each other, allowing the exhaust gasses to be forced out, completing the exhaust cycle, and, due to the valve rotating, orifice (E) has passed orifice (H) allowing no exhaust gases to enter back into the combustion cylinder when the piston now begins its intake stroke. During this process the valve has made one complete rotation and at the beginning of the intake stroke, orifice (F) again aligns itself with orifice (G) allowing fuel into the combustion chamber, thus preventing gases from escaping when the compressed fules are ignited, or during any other phase of the various cycles where it would be deemed undesirable. The manner in which the valve is designed eliminates the standard tapid intake, and exhaust valves because the valve, with the use of orifice (F), tube (C), and cylinder (B) are able to dissipate the exhaust gases and with area (D) between cylingers (A) and (B) along with orifice (F) allows raw fuels to flow to the cylinder in which they are needed. Due to the exhaust gases heating cylinder (A), the fuel flowing through area (D) is heated as is done in the present system as is done on various engines. A cover or shield is placed over the entire area of the valve. This is machined to fit over the valve and using gaskets and seals this prevents raw fuels and exhaust gases from combining or from escaping into the air. This valve can be used on any size engine that requires use of such valves. The individual process described above is merely to be multiplied depending on the number of cylinders on which it is to be used; as are the lugs on the present camshaft. The exact locatin of orifices will depend on the size, purpose, and crankshaft timing of the engine on which the new valve will be used. The specific metals used in the valve in cylinders (A) and (B) and tube (C) along with these seals will be selected for practical use for their wearability, coefficient of expansion and heat dissipating abilities. I might add there will be seals at the end of the valve and between each cylinder to prevent leakage. These seals encircle the entire valve. When necessary, cylinder (B) or any part of the valve due to heat variation will be constructed in such a manner that telescoping of tubes or cylinders, one upon another, will provide for elongation and contraction in various areas of the tubes and valves. The seals in the cylinder head will be spring loaded and assisted by the compression enabling the seal to be held firmly against the valve. The valve due to its design and close geographical proximity to the combustion chamber allows a freer flow of gases into and out of the engine. Tube (C) will be constructed to that the exhaust gases upon entering cylinder (B) will enter ona n angle which will direct the flow of gas more efficiently out of cylinder (B) rather than a right angle which would direct the gases to the opposite side of cylinder (B).
The information which I have stated in this letter is for my protection in case of infringing interests. It will be placed in an envelope, be given to the U.S. government post mark, indicating the date on which this was sealed and indicating that this letter has not been opened until this time.
The Magnetic Book Reader
The device in figure one was devised by me, Dave Gregal, in its present state on October 15th. It is a device to record and pick up voice or sound from a text book, dictionary, newspaper, or any other surface. This si done by placing a recording and playback head on an arm which will, through a drive mechanism, travel across the page recording and picking up sound impulses.
The paper surface will be covered with a substance such as a metallic oxide or ferrous filings, or materials susceptible to being magnetized. The process is designed to function similar to a magnetic tape. The purpose for a magnetic book reader is to record the printed material on the same page or sheet where the printed material itself occurs. Reading speeds and the drive speed of the arm moving across the page will be in relationship with the amount of material to be read in a given amount of space. The size of printed material will in turn be partially determining the space allotted for recording.
The book reader can use a regular audio-amplifier. Future research may show it desirable to record on a carrier of a specific frequency to be later determined. This will prevent pick up of recorded material on the opposite side of the page on a carrier of different frequency. Future research will be done as to the most efficient way of placing the magnetic base material on the page to facilitate the greatest useful reading ability and maximize the recorded material.
The recording arm driving mechanism will be a series of interconnecting gears or belts in such a manner that selection of speed as well as location at any specific moment can be done with ease. The magnetic book reader can be used by the blind or normal sighted students. When used by the normal sighted student the dual media or stimulation is presented to the individual, expediting quicker learning.
The dual media referred to above, refers to the written print being intact and legible even though it is covered by the magnetic material on the same surface as the written material.
The purpose for having such a combination is to enable a standard text or article or such other material to serve a dual purpose. This is to have a written as well as an oral mode of communication. It is also planned that a hand operated scanning arm be used in magnetic reading of such pre-recorded aural material. This would enable simplification, portability, and accessibility of such a device. If necessary, a special guide will be designed to permit accurate tracking of the hand held device.
The machine will possess the characteristics enabling the operator to determine the width of spacing between recording tracks to determine left and right as well as top and bottom margins.
Accompanying this written description is a diagram of the device as presently conceived.
Ironically, Dave tested a devise similar to the one he “invented” in 1962. Dave called his The Magnetic Book Reader and Raymond Kurzweil named his “Optical Scanner.”
posted by Bill T @ 11:04 AM
3 Comments
3 Comments:
Bill,
I was one of the lucky ones to have meet Dave. The book you wrote is a wonderful way to keep him alive in the hearts of everyone who came in contact with him. I know you miss him a lot, but a little part of him will always be with anyone who had the honor of knowing him. He was an very unique person and his courage and love of life gave us all hope.
Jsnet Clyde
Janet,
Thank you for your kind comments! BT
Thanks for doing this book, Bill. I've given away all 25 copies you've given me plus I have a waiting list now for the additional copies in the pipeline. This book means a lot to the Gregal family.
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