MY FATHER AND THE PEABODY HOTEL January 29, 2004 Tonight before I closed my Trip Journal and my album of snapshots concerning our family trip from Spokane to Memphis in 1952, I thought again of my father and his appearance. Although he held important positions as General Superintendent of several ferroalloy plants, the higher ups could never get him to dress appropriately in the very minimum of a coat and tie. After all, he was "management!" No, Daddy was never into "dress up," for appearances sake. When he walked into the plant on a daily basis he went straight into the blast furnace area of the plant where the real action was going on. He checked out the results of the most recent furnace tap and he checked out the ratio of iron ore to coke, to sand, and whatever else had been shoveled into the blast furnaces overnight and he took serious notes. And while he was in the blast furnace area, if he saw a laborer shoveling sand into the furnace like an amateur, Daddy took the shovel from him and showed him the right way. Hey, Daddy had been there and done that during his college years in the 1920s! There were only two times that I can remember seeing Daddy dressed up in a suit, white shirt, tie and shined shoes. Actually, it was only one time and that was on the occasion of my graduation from high school. I felt so honored that he would do that for me. The other time I saw him "dressed up," he wore a tuxedo and was leading me down the aisle as father of the bride. Of course, no doubt he dressed appropriately on other occasions when push came to shove. Note: that wasn't the first time that Daddy had worn a tuxedo, no indeedy. The Vanadium Corporation had sent him over to France in 1938 aboard the US Normandy to study the new French furnace and he returned on the original US Queen Mary. I have many, many pictures taken of him aboard such a glorious ship and he fit right in with the social crowd. But other than that, in my memory when Daddy left for work in the morning he always wore the same old baggy trousers, the scuffed shoes, the shirt that puffed out over his belt buckle, a jacket of some sort and his trademark, an old battered (but originally proper) hat that I remember always sparkled with the metal dust from the plant. That was Daddy and no one could ever change him. He was flexible but he never changed. And in the only two photographs I took of him on our trip to Memphis, he looked the same, including the stub of a cigar that always stayed with him. Therefore when we checked into the elegant Peabody Hotel in Memphis, there's no doubt but what he stood before the Desk Clerk in the same baggy pants, the unshined shoes, the stub of a cigar in his hand and his battered hat on. He may not have been viewed as a suitable guest of the Peabody Hotel, but trust me Montana Ferroalloys, Inc., knew his true value and trusted him to build their new plant from the bottom to the top. And by George, he did! I was there! vee