Toast to the Ladies

In the photo above: Judy Wolff by the tractor wheel, Harvey Wolff holding 6 month old Robby Wolff.

This toast to the ladies, given by Harvey Henry Wolff at a Rotary Charter Night, seems a fitting way on Father’s Day to introduce the personality and character of my father to those of you who did not know him.

Dad was an active Rotarian. He served as president, at least once, of the Cardston Club and was honoured as a Paul Harris Fellow.

President Roy, Honoured Guests, Rotary Annes, Rotarians. I have been honouredtonight to have been asked to give a toast to the ladies. This should be one of the easiest tasks of my career but now that it is my pleasure I find it difficult to express my thoughts and have them come out as I feel them. Believe me when I say they are all good. If in the next few minutes I say something which may be offensive to you please forgive me as I only wish to convey to you, by using past history, my, and I hope our feelings, as Rotarians to toast you ladies.

In the beginning God made man. He saw that what he had done was good, so good in fact that he felt that man should have a mate to look after him and keep him as good as he was. He then made women. I want to thank God for that—He did a real nice thing. I would like to thank you, ladies, for the patience and tolerance you have given us, which reminds me of an experience I would like to share with you now. When Isabel and I were married only a short time we lived in Medicine Hat where I ran a bowling alley. We had come back home to Cardston, traveling by train, for a weekend visit and my dad had this here 1930 Chev “trade” that he wanted us to take back to The Hat and try to sell. We didn’t own a car so we were only too happy to take advantage of a little free transportation and also have a car to use until sold.

We started out early Monday morning in great spirits with our new transportation little realizing that the events to come would indeed be trying. It wasn’t long before we experienced fuel problems, caused by the vacuum tank. After much frustration, we discovered that by siphoning a pop bottle full of gas and using this to periodically fill the vacuum tank that we could keep going. No way were we going to return this car back in defeat. Even if it meant having Isabel stand on the running board with the hood up feeding gasoline to the carb on this hot and dusty road, which, incidentally she refused to do because the road was rough as pavement was not in style as yet.

Well to make a very long story short, several hours later after numerous flats and with a boiling radiator, only a few miles out of The Hat, we had just about reached our destination. It was a good feeling even though the rain was pouring down as only it can in this dry area making these dirt roads a series of mud puddles. The wipers didn’t work but no matter we were almost home.

My mother, Isabella Wolff

I smoked in those days, so I lit up a fag and with a feeling of a job well done I raised my arm to put it around my wife and in so doing I scrubbed the lit end of my torch on the headliner of the car causing the live ashes to fall in my wife’s hair. I remember that it was beautifully long and well kept, in a sort of pageboy in those days, and our concern was great.

I immediately stopped the car and thanks to the rain the fire was soon quenched but we were in for more trouble. Due to water splashing up into the ignition we were hopelessly stalled. Luckily a transport stopped and offered his assistance in towing us the rest of the way. Our happiness was short-lived, as it developed with the road in such terrible condition and the wipers not working, I couldn’t see where I was going so I asked Isabel to put her head out of the window and direct me. Naturally, she got thoroughly splattered with mud. We had no way of signaling the driver to slow down so we just hung on for one of the most hair-raising trips of our life. He finally stopped at the top of the Medicine Hat hill and asked us where we wanted to go. This is far enough I advised him and thanked him to cut us loose.

Now the point of this story is tolerance and understanding. You know Isabel never scolded me for our troubled trip home. She didn’t scold me for setting her hair on fire. Nor did she ball me out for the mud splattering. She didn’t say anything—in fact, she didn’t speak to me for three weeks.

Seriously we do appreciate all you do for us and love you for it. Gentlemen, please rise with me and toast these fine gals.

Harvey Wolff

Glossary

Vacuum Tank – before automobile fuel pumps became readily available fuel from the gas tank was drawn by engine vacuum into a cylindrical canister mounted to the firewall above the engine. The fuel would then be fed by gravity into the carburetor. If there ever was a vacuum leak, and there often was, fuel would not get to the carburetor.

Fag – a colloquialism used to describe a cigarette.  The term may have come from faggot which refers to a bundle, as in a bundle of sticks.  A pack of cigarettes is somewhat like a bundle, or faggot of cigarettes.