Reflections on the life of George Rupel Walz
as recalled by his daughter Marilyn Walz Taylor / January 2021
It is a pleasure to try to reconstruct some high points of the life of our father, George Rupel Walz, to accompany his physics lab notes from over 90 years ago.
Mr. Walz was born in South Bend, Indiana, in 1910, the third and youngest child of Nellie Rupel Walz and George Henry Walz. Though he quickly grew to be 6'3" tall, in South Bend he was always known as "Little George."
He graduated from South Bend High School in 1927. While there, he was among those chosen by Joseph Maddy, founder of Interlochen (Michigan) Music Camp, as part of the National High School Orchestra performing at the Department of Superintendence, National Education Association's March (1927) conference in Dallas, Texas. Playing flute and piccolo, Mr. Walz enjoyed being regularly introduced as "the biggest man in the orchestra, playing the smallest instrument."
He was an amateur photographer and visual artist as well. Many imaginative photos and beautifully framed items (as well as the lab notes) still bear witness his fine eye for order and beauty.
Once Mr. Walz had earned his degree in Mechanical Engineering at Purdue (Class of 1931), he immediately faced the Great Depression. Though he had received many job offers during his senior year at Purdue, by the time he'd actually graduated he had been repeatedly "fired." In a three-ring notebook, he saved those many "reject letters," all with essentially the same message (paraphrased here):
Mr. Walz, though your qualifications are excellent, due to the current economic situation, we must release even long-term employees and therefore cannot in good conscience hire anyone new. We wish you the best in your professional endeavors...etc.
That book became a great treasure in our eyes, a testament to perseverance.
Armed with a fresh degree from Purdue but no job, Mr. Walz returned to South Bend where he worked on the family farm (parenthetically now an historic landmark -- for other reasons! -- 59449 Keria Trail) and also became a test driver for Studebaker, then manufactured in South Bend. Always an excellent driver, he taught us that practical skill and included many tips not in the typical drivers ed. manual. One example: carefully observe what's in front of you and when you see a patch of oil on the road, you know a bump is coming up ... why's that, Daddy? ... because a drop of oil falls from every car as it hits that bump and over time, drop by drop, that oil becomes visible even when you cannot see the bump itself.
As economic conditions improved, Mr. Walz was hired by Minneapolis Honeywell as a manufacturer's representative and moved to Washington, DC. Our mother [Lois Mildred Fitz], likewise a native of the Midwest (Nebraska), had also moved to the DC area and very soon caught the attention of Mr. Walz who remarked with a smile that "something new has been added" to the young adult group at Foundry Methodist Church. They were married in1938. Four years later they moved to Minneapolis having become by then parents of a daughter, aged four months. Mother's recently-discovered diaries from that time reveal how hard they both worked ("George still at work till 7:00 pm" -- or later -- was a common refrain) while maintaining an active social life, raising a small child, handling rationing ("looked for meat at the store again today -- no luck") and the ever-changing notifications from the draft board.
In 1945 they returned to the Washington DC area just in time for the birth of their second daughter, one month after they purchased their first house. Because it had quickly come to light that "George can fix anything," he was called upon to do that quite often in that hastily built wartime house and elsewhere. Tasks such as rehanging doors, straightening out quirky electrical hook-ups (the front porch light was originally and illogically controlled by a light switch upstairs, which took a while to discover), and shoveling coal into the cantankerous furnace in the basement were common at home, while "call Mr. Walz" became the go-to solution discovered by many, including our elementary school principal in the brand-new school building. Because our father habitually encouraged us to tag along on his sales and service calls, the furnace room at school became almost as familiar to me as my grade two classroom.
He later formed the George R. Walz Company, representing several heating and air conditioning companies including Barber-Colman, Mid-Continental Metal Products, and Indeeco (Industrial Engineering and Equipment Company / St. Louis). This resulted in decades of mutual professional respect and friendship with the founders and clients. (The Indeeco founder's son, who, as a young boy, first met our father, shared several warm-hearted memories at his funeral.)
Throughout his professional career, Mr. Walz was talented not only in solving many varied technical mechanical/engineering dilemmas, but also in treating others with honesty, respect, and empathy. ("Remember Marilyn, every person you meet is carrying a heavy load.")
He and our mother were very hospitable and civic-minded. They went door-to-door gathering donations to establish the local hospital in Arlington, Virginia. They served on the PTAs of our schools at every level, and my father was the first PTA president at Yorktown High School when it opened in 1960. He also served as president of the Arlington YMCA and the Arlington Outdoor Education Association. Active in the Cherrydale Methodist Church beginning in the 1940s, Mr. Walz became a member of the finance committee, chairman of the Board of Trustees, and an enthusiastic bass in the choir. (He and the choir director, an Indiana University alumnus, enjoyed ongoing light-hearted rivalry.) As in other areas of his life, Mr. Walz was often called upon to cajole the church heating/ventilating system into action. He also served as a member of the Arlington County (Virginia) Planning Commission, and as president of the local Rotary Club. He always seemed tickled to be of service and rather surprised that these honors came his way.
Serious when that was needed, he also had a great sense of humor -- even when the joke was on him. This was tested mightily one memorable evening in 1956 when, after a long day on the road, our family stopped at the Missouri home of longtime friends for dinner. The story became a classic for our two families (and possibly for other observers of the scene). Years later, the host recounted it thus:
Our house was full of people -- too many for the dining room -- and we were eating all over the place. This was a great trial for our two dogs, who were at odds to determine who was the likeliest touch for a surreptitious handout. At the height of the confusion, just as the dogs had unsuccessfully worked through two rooms full of people and entered the living room, a big tall guy (6'3"), sitting unsteadily on a too small chair at an even smaller TV table (not quite big enough for his somewhat overloaded plate), heartily dug his fork into his precariously balanced meal, flipping the whole thing onto the floor. The resulting pandemonium as the two dogs tore into that pile of food appeared to come from forty snarling beasts. George is a great guy and a great practical joker, and this was the only time I ever saw him beaten and speechless.
Mr. Walz set high standards for himself and his children. Once, when one of his rulings was deemed just too, too strict, he received this exasperated retort: "Well all right, you are the king!" At that spirited, totally unexpected insurrection, he hesitated just a moment, then burst out laughing -- along with all who had witnessed this exchange. The story spread, and he was affectionately known as "King" throughout our extended family for the rest of his life.
Mr. Walz loved animals and we housed many stray pets. Persia, a female kitten who came into heat before we were prepared, received some remarkable TLC from him one memorable night when, sensing her condition, many howling tom cats circled round and round our house in full amorous voice. Mr. Walz spent that entire night on the floor with little Persia (understandably straining to heed the energetic courting just outside), trying to distract her -- with limited success -- by calmly stroking and talking to her until a bit after sunrise when we could take her to the vet to be spayed. Going the extra mile was his habit.
He loved his family greatly and showed it in many ways, some rather surprising for a large, strong man, so often the master of huge machinery. With a steady hand and great patience, for many months Mr. Walz was the only one entrusted with trimming the tiny fingernails of his newborn grandson (the mother was too scared to try it). In time, he trained his daughter (the mother) in this additional practical skill, eventually giving her his special nail-trimming scissors to do the job correctly. (She grew confident, took over the job, and still has the scissors. The grandson grew up healthy and unscathed.)
In our parents' house of nearly 60 years, it was fun to discover these ancient lab notes and, as adults, to appreciate the precision and detail of them. In hindsight, the genesis of our childhood familiarity with blueprints all over the house is evident. Mr. Walz's attention to detail was evident when he was a student and reflected the fine training he received. That quality remained with him throughout life and was complemented by his caring for others and his conscientious work ethic. He was a hard-working and fair-minded businessman with an artistic eye, an ear for music, and a kind heart.
Our mother observed that of all his varied activities, "he was proudest of his associations with other people. In every activity he participated in, everybody loved him, and he loved them."
In summary, Mr. Walz, whom today we might call "the HVAC Whisperer," used his engineering knowledge to make his living as a manufacturer's sales and service representative for heating and ventilating equipment. He made his life through hard work, honest and caring treatment of his associates, many long and faithful friendships, and knowing how to see the humorous side of life, even near its end.
Recovering from open-heart surgery in 1983, he was asked to fill out lots of paperwork while in the hospital. When he noticed that the pen his nurse had handed him was from "Murphy's Funeral Home," he laughed out loud, humorously accusing that flustered young lady of "sending him a message." He refused to return the pen and delighted in sharing it and a hearty laugh with his subsequent hospital visitors.
Our parents had planned a short road trip for a sunny Saturday in September 1986. Instead, Mr. Walz died at home in bed early that very morning at the age of 76. A member of the Greatest Generation (along with Jimmy Stewart), Mr. Walz had lived A Wonderful Life.