Tag Archive for: Resident Spotlight

Lyn Russek (L) and Phyllis Duin (R)

All it took to reunite two childhood friends was a World War II-era photo and the Homeland Center newsletter.

As Memorial Day 2021 approaches, it is also a reminder that America’s veterans who once served in uniform were backed to the hilt by those doing their part at home – including Homeland residents.

The telephone reunion of Homeland resident Lyn Russek and her lifelong friend Phyllis Hammer came about Lyn was profiled for Homeland’s April 2021 newsletter. She mentioned that she had volunteered for the Navy League during World War II. Assigned to Abington Memorial Hospital, her duties included delivering meals to patients and filling tiny bags with sugar for their trays.

That sent the newsletter writer on an internet search, which revealed a digital version of Abington Memorial Hospital’s report on its work during the war years. On page five was a photo of two teenage girls in white uniforms. Could one of them be Lyn? Homeland Assistant Director of Development Ed Savage took an iPad to Lyn and showed her the photo.

“I was amazed, absolutely amazed that you could find something like that,” Lyn says. The picture showed her on the left and her friend, now Phyllis Duin, on the right.

Immediately, Lyn picked up the phone. She last talked to Phyllis more than five years ago, after Phyllis’ husband died. The last time they were together was at their 50th high school reunion in 1995.

“She picked up the phone right away,” Lyn says. “We had a wonderful chat. We talked over old times. It was wonderful to talk to her. We caught up on our kids.”

Lyn and Phyllis were close friends, part of a tight-knit group from elementary school. When World War II arrived, their mothers served on the Navy League, a civilian support group. It was a time when everyone chipped in to feel useful, so Lyn and Phyllis volunteered, too.

The work was hard, but Lyn didn’t mind. She took the bus to the hospital – her patriotic father gave up the family car to help conserve gasoline – and the girls had fun.

“If you haven’t lived through a war like that, it’s very hard to explain,” says Lyn today. “You’re very aware of everybody being needed, and you found something to do. My boyfriend in high school was a part of the air patrol. He went on patrol two or three nights a week and scoured the skies. We were young, but we did things. Everybody did something.”

When she was a bit older, Lyn joined a group of girls who helped host weekly dinners at the Philmont Country Club for patients from the local military hospital. When news came of V-J Day, Lyn got on the bus once more – free to all riders on this day – and went to the USO. It turns out that the classic image of overflowing affection to celebrate the war’s end was true.

“It was wonderful,” she says. “Everybody kissed everybody. Nobody knew who anybody was, but we didn’t care.”

While Lyn was filling sugar packets, another Homeland resident also did her part for home front health care. Lee Spitalny was a Girl Scout whose troop rolled bandages. They were gauze bandages, provided in rolls that the girls cut to prescribed lengths and rolled up for use somewhere in the world.

“At age 13, I was not that aware of the war, but my mother made sure I went every week and did the rolling of the bandages,” Lee recalls, adding that her uncle served in the Army but was never shipped overseas.

“I remember the mailman waving letters from my uncle as he walked down the street to deliver the mail,” Lee says. “It was like he was saying, ‘Guess what’s coming! Wonderful stuff!’”

Unlike Lyn, Lee was a bit too young to serve as a hostess for servicemen.

“I was 13, and I wanted to volunteer at the USO and dance with the soldiers, and my mother said, ‘Get in your bedroom, and you’re going to stay there,’” Lee recalls with a laugh. “She didn’t send me to my bedroom, but she explained, ‘Honey, no USO.’”

Personal Care resident Clyde Johnson

It wasn’t always easy for Clyde Johnson, but after a lifetime of service to community, church, and country, he is happy to be at Homeland Center.

“They treat me just like a king,” he says. “I can’t even describe it.”

Clyde, the fourth of 11 children, grew up in Reedsville, North Carolina, in the tobacco-growing country near the Virginia border. His parents were sharecroppers, obliged to give half of everything they planted to the landowner.

His grandfather owned his own land and may have been a slave before Emancipation, but Clyde doesn’t know for sure. That grandfather, who used to give Clyde piggyback rides, died from a crash at a county fair auto race.

Between his father’s meager earnings and a couple of dollars his mother made doing laundry for the local white people, “it was rough,” Clyde says. Flour, sugar, shortening and other staples from the Red Cross helped the family survive. So did a cow they kept for milk and butter – when the cow cooperated.

“The cow would get mad and stick her foot in the bucket,” Clyde says. “She would do it on purpose.”

Every Sunday, the family would walk three miles to church, where Clyde’s father taught Sunday school. Black children couldn’t enroll at Clyde’s local high school, so his cousin – a schoolteacher – helped him enroll in a high school in a nearby town.

Later, he drove a school bus, and that’s how he met his “sweet Cecilia.” Sometimes, his passengers would complain because he would get off the bus to walk her from the bus stop the half-mile to her home.

After he graduated from high school, Clyde was determined to leave sharecropping behind. With World War II raging, he joined the Army and initially served at Fort Bragg before transferring to Fort Knox, Kentucky, where he helped guard the nation’s gold supply.

Following his discharge from the Army, he and Cecilia married and traveled around North Carolina, New Jersey and other states. For a time, they lived with Cecilia’s family after she became pregnant with the first of their two sons.

Clyde used the GI Bill benefits to learn bricklaying at night school and began working for contractors in Pennsylvania and the Washington, D.C., area.

Eventually, they settled in Bressler, where Clyde built the family home. He was active in his church, serving as treasurer and singing in the gospel choir.

Singing was always a big part of Clyde’s life. In his younger days in Reedsville, he was part of a gospel quartet called the Pearly Gates. For seven years, the group performed live on the radio every Sunday morning. They traveled to Chicago, South Carolina, New York, and Virginia to perform at churches.

Giving back is also important to Clyde, who is a 33rd degree Mason. His order – based in a former Steelton firehouse that he helped renovate – engages in a variety of community activities, such as preparing gift baskets for neighborhood residents at Christmas.

While Clyde was an active Mason, Cecelia rose to become Grand Worthy Matron of the Pennsylvania Order of the Eastern Star, a Masons’ auxiliary.

“I had to take her all over the state,” he jokes. “I was her chauffeur.”

Cecilia died in 2017, two weeks short of their 75th anniversary. At the hospital, before she died, Clyde held her hand and told her, “We have to make 75 years.”

“She squeezed my hand and smiled,” he said.

At Homeland, Clyde appreciates the excellent food and the attentive laundry for his sharp wardrobe, hanging neatly in the walk-in closet of his sunny suite.

“Everything they do here is very nice,” he says. “They really care about the people who live here.’’

Susan and Bill Gaylor still enjoying Valentines Day through 59 years of marriage.

The helicopter engine-fault light came on, and Crew Chief Bill Gaylor directed the pilot to land. A vast field opened up below. But when the craft hit the ground, a frantic U.S. Park Ranger drove up, insisting that they couldn’t land there.

“The hell I won’t,” said Bill. And that was how he came to make an emergency landing at Gettysburg National Military Park, on the hallowed ground of Pickett’s charge.

Homeland resident Bill Gaylor has lived a colorful life, driven by a talent for mechanics and a love of country and his fellow veterans. It follows a line from the 38th parallel during the Korean War, to crewing helicopter flights, to ensuring that every Dauphin County veteran gets a funeral with military honors.

Bill and his wife, Susan, will celebrate 59 years of marriage and a loving family that includes three children, eight grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Susan, who does not live at Homeland, said she appreciates the care her husband receives.

“Homeland is well-kept,” says Susan. “Everything’s always clean. I feel he’s well taken care of.”

“I like the people,” adds Bill.

Born in Hazelton, Bill joined the Army after graduating from high school in 1954 and served in Korea, where he initially drove a truck and then chauffeured officials engaged in the peace talks at Panmunjom. One admiral treated him like a son.

“He wanted to go in style, so they gave him a new car,” Bill recalls. “I’m driving a new car, and I’m thinking, ‘I’m in heaven, driving a brand-new Chevy.’ I mean, I’m still a kid.”

One night, the MPs detained Bill for speeding when the admiral wasn’t in the back seat. When the admiral learned the next morning, he issued an ultimatum.

“If he isn’t out here within two minutes,” the admiral barked, “all of you are going to be in there, and he’s going to be out here laughing at you.”

After three years of Army service, Bill worked at a shop in Lebanon. He soon noticed a pretty young woman who often sat on the front porch of a nearby home. Susan was only 16 and he was 21 when they first met, but Bill won over her skeptical parents and they married after she graduated from high school.

After they married, the couple moved around as Bill worked for business machine companies. Then, at age 40, he took advantage of the military’s call for experienced personnel. He served two years in the Navy Reserve before transferring to the Army National Guard, which led to his going to Fort Indiantown Gap and learning to repair helicopters.

Progressing to in-flight crew chief, he was responsible for ensuring the helicopter was in working order and that loads were evenly distributed.

Bill’s helicopter missions included lowering air conditioning units onto the roof of the Pentagon and lifting lighthouses off eroding Great Lakes beaches.

The mission that ended with the Gettysburg emergency landing started as a test of air defenses for the president’s retreat at Camp David. Luckily, the helicopter was quickly repaired.

Bill had to retire from duty at 60, but that was not the end of his service. He recruited other veterans to form a volunteer honor guard that provides military ceremonies at about 100 funerals a year.

Members buy their own uniforms and give their time traveling throughout Dauphin County. Any donations go toward supplies such as matching overcoats. Though others took on Bill’s organizing duties recently, he is still considered commander.

“Families would come up to us after funerals and thank us so much,” says Bill. “We’d be hugged and kissed. They were so happy to see that somebody cared that their loved one served.”

Update:  Bill and Susan continue to visit using FaceTime during the COVID-19 pandemic. They are part of an expanding group of loved ones able to visit through FaceTime, Zoom, and Skype. These visits are coordinated by our Activities and Social Work teams and are making a difference!