LARRY A. WALLACE

FAMILY MEMORIES

WRITTEN 2015

My name is Lawrence (Larry) A. Wallace, and this my story. I was born

on January 19, 1951 at Chanute Air Force Base, in Rantoul Illinois.

My parents were Roger D. Wallace, a career military man from

Haverhill, Massachusetts. My mother Agnes C. Quinlan, a local girl, born

in Ludlow, IL with a rich Irish heritage.

Both sets of my Great Great Grandparents, on my mother’s side, had

Agnes Quinlan & Roger Wallace wedding 1950

farmed in El Paso, Illinois, in McLean County.

Both sets are buried 30 feet apart in El Paso, in

St. Mary’s Cemetery. On the Paternal side, there

were the Corbitts, Patrick and Mary (Dearney)

Corbitt. They had seven children. Mary died

early in 1869, when my Great Grand Father,

Richard Patrick, was about 6 years of age. Patrick died in 1880, and

Richard was 16. Sometime between 1880 and 1892 Richard changed

the spelling of his last name to Corbett.

On the maternal side were the Cleary’s, Michael and Sarah (Murphy).

They had come to this land with their families and prospered. They also

managed to multiply, having 12 children, all of whom survived to

adulthood. Michael died in 1907, and Sarah in 1917.

Their oldest daughter was Mary Agnes, who liked to be called “Molly”.

Molly was the third in line and she was my Great Grandmother. She

was born in El Paso, as was my Great Grandfather Richard. They were

married in El Paso, on February 10, 1892. That same month they moved

to Ludlow and began farming.

Michael & Sarah Murphy Cleary and some of their children circa 1890s at their farm

east of El Paso IL circa 1890

Richard & Molly Cleary Corbett family circa 1912. Row

1: Michael, Richard, Bessie, Josephine, Molly, John Row 2:

Roy, Raymond, Ethel

My Great Great Grandfather Michael Cleary had purchased farms in

Ludlow for five of his sons. It is likely that he had a hand in the purchase

of the Corbett farm, as well. Michael Cleary also sent some of his

daughters to Ludlow, to work alongside the sons. The Corbetts worked

hard and thrived. They were active in their Church and their

community. Richard, my great grandfather, lost his farm during the

depression. Years later, my mother told me that he went under trying

to help his friends, neighbors and relatives. She also told me, he never

truly recovered from the experience. Several years ago, I was able to

tour the original farm house, just outside of Ludlow. After losing his

farm, he and John Corbett, his youngest son, leased another piece of

property from the Brown family and they farmed that property. At

some point, that property was purchased. It remains in the family

today. Richard died there in 1947. Mary “Molly” died in February of

1951, when I was about one month old. As a young boy I spent as many

days as possible there, pretending to be a farmer with my Great Uncle

John Corbett. But, I was really a military brat, and a city kid.

Farm Tour 2008 Booklet by John Duffin

The Corbetts had nine children. Two died early in life. But the oldest

daughter, Ethel Mary, born in Ludlow, in 1993, was my grandmother.

She was wonderful woman, with great love for her family and the

church. In December of 1919, she married Martin Leo Quinlan, shortly

after he returned from WWI. They were married in Ludlow.

My grandfather, Martin was born in 1891 in Hardwood, to Michael and

Mary McKevitt Quinlan. Michael was born Ireland, and immigrated.

First living in Illiopolis, with his siblings near Springfield, Illinois. Mary

McKevitt, was born in Cleveland, Ohio, to Owen and Mary McKevitt.

Owen and Mary farmed near Lincoln City. Mary and Michael Quinlan,

farmed two miles west of Ludlow. They had nine children.

Martin was their eighth child. Both Mary and Michael Quinlan died of

Pneumonia, in March 1905 within 10 days of each other. Martin age 14

and younger brother Theodore were placed in an orphanage. Later

their oldest brother Owen would remove them from the Orphanage,

Martin & Ethel Corbett

Quinlan 1919

and put them to work on the farm. At best it was a difficult life. As was

normal at the time the oldest brother got the farm, younger siblings

became field hands.

Martin and Ethel had ten children. All survived to adulthood, however

Rita Ann died at age 20 in 1945, and John Edward was struck by lighting

and killed, in 1951. The Eight surviving children produced 31

grandchildren.

There are now only three surviving members of my mother’s family.

Mom’s brother Willard Joseph Quinlan, known as Uncle Bill. He and

Aunt Caroline have a lovely place just outside of Rantoul. I have two

aunts. Both live in California with their husbands. Rosemary and Robert

Shull Sr. live in Goleta, near Santa Barbra. Aunt Sarah lives in Upland,

east of Los Angeles with my Uncle Tom Leonard.

Times were always good at Grandmas Quinlan’s house. It seemed like a

Holiday whenever we were there, or it was a Holiday! And there were

Martin Quinlan family circa 1945

Row 1: Sarah, Bill, Rose Row 2: Agnes,

Betty, Martin, Ethel, Mary Jo, Marguerite

Row 3: Richard, John Missing: Rita

reunions. I think when we would come they would have a reunion. I

remember one at the VFW, downtown and another in the backyard of

their house at 609 Bell Place. I also recall the Christmases were great

there as well. Throw in a wedding or two and it was a party. I also recall

how well my cousins treated us when we came to visit. I have

memories of Mitchell Court, where they lived when I was born. I recall

most clearly the coal box in the front yard for the furnace. And then my

cousin Sharon giving me a ride of the rear fender of her bike and

getting my ankle stuck in the spokes. I recall Sharon and Joe McNamara

Jr. selling ice cream on a delivery bike. Rita and Jan Hamik, were the

movers and shakers of the day. They always had a game or a play going

with a part for everybody. I remember Paul Snyder and Jim Quinlan

were bigger and older but paid attention to me. That meant a lot to me.

Good Times!

But we always seemed to be passing through. Here today and gone

tomorrow. We moved about a lot it seemed. Too young to understand,

and not allowed to question why, it was just that way. I did not

understand for years.

My father Roger Wallace joined the Navy in June of 1943. Born in

January of 1928 in Massachusetts, he was only 15 years old. His parents

were James A. Wallace Sr. and Wenona Florence Lunnie. His father

had lied and signed him in. He had done the same for my father’s older

brother James A. Wallace Jr. Life was not good at home.

On February 19, 1945 my father, age 17, was at Iwo Jima. A Machinist

Mate on the USS Lubbock, a Liberty ship, built here in Vancouver. Soon

after that he was at Okinawa. At the end of the war he was mustered

out of the Navy. He then joined the Army Air Corps. He was sent to

Europe and served with the occupation forces. He was assigned to

aircraft maintenance with a fighter wing. By 1948 he was back in the

country at Keesler AFB. He learned to fly there, in open cockpit trainers.

When the Army Air Corps separated into the Army and the Airforce he

ended up in the Airforce. He was sent to Chanute Airforce Base where

he took his “Refrigeration” training.

1943 Wenona, Russell, James Sr, Roger, Jimmy,

Wenona's mother Martha E. Dandrow

Bradstreet

My mother worked in the Food Service Industry all her life. At this time

she was working for Earl King at King’s Castle on the main drag of

Rantoul. Prior to that, she had worked at the Steak and Shake. This is

where my parents meet. Mom loved to dance. Dad was apparently was

a good dancer, both with and without roller skates. It was a love that

lasted the next 53 years.

Our next duty post was White Sands Missile Base, New Mexico. It is hot

there, so they must have had lots of refrigerators.

We were then sent to Northern Maine, to Presque Isle Airforce Base.

While there both my sister Martha J. and my brother John Roger were

born. Marty was born in March of 1953. John was born in November of

1954. In October of 1955, because my father was restricted to country,

Alaska was the only overseas assignment he could receive. So we were

transferred to Elmendorf Airforce Base. Dad worked up on the

mountain at the Nike Missile Site on the refrigerators.

Roger Wallace Agnes Quinlan Wallace

Mom landed a job at a new restaurant “The Lucky Wishbone”. It had

just opened in November 1955. 51 years later, in October of 2006,

mom would trip and fall at the Wishbone. Breaking her hip and ending

her career in the Food Services Industry, at the age of 76. She did not

need the job, nor did she need the money. She just loved the people

and the environment. In 1955 there were 12,000 people living in

Anchorage Alaska. This number included both military bases. The

restaurant was located on the Richardson Highway outside of town.

Just across the road was the Territorial Police Headquarters. Still there

today, The Lucky Wishbone celebrated their 60th anniversary in

November 2015. Still run by the original owner, George Brown. George

is 93, a WWII Pilot. He still flies his Cessna 185 floatplane.

In 1960 after Statehood we were sent to Spokane, Washington, to

Geiger AFB. By 1962 we were headed 100 miles west to Larsen AFB, in

Moses Lake, Washington. In 1964 my sister Cecelia Joy was born, in

Moses Lake. We were then transferred to McCord AFB, in Tacoma,

Washington. In June 1966, my father retired from the Military. He was

38 and had served for 22 years. We left Tacoma on July 1st 1966 and

drove the Alcan Highway back to Anchorage. It took 4 days.

By July 4, 1966 there were 50,000 people in Anchorage. The rapid

increase in population was mostly due to the construction following the

earthquake. The Wishbone, unmoved, was now inside the city limits.

Anchorage was a very rough and tumble town. The town was growing

fast. I started High School at Dimond. It was the third High School for

Anchorage. The problem was that it had not been built yet. We had to

double shift for a year with the new East High School. We lived on the

south side, near the airport, outside the city. Mom went back to the

Wishbone immediately. Probably the 5th of July. Dad started a

refrigeration business with a partner that quickly failed. He went to

work for a new Sears store as the Building Engineer in October of 1966.

He helped build and maintain the first mall in Alaska. It was attached to

Sears. He was there for next 23 years. In 1967 my parents bought their

house on Imlach Way. My son Roger now owns it. By spring of 1967 I

went to work at the Wishbone, replacing the owner’s son. He was

headed off to college.

The Lucky Wishbone would be the starting block for my family for years

to come. I worked there all through high school. Throughout all the

years the Wishbone has always been a gathering place for the Police. It

still is. It was here that I had my first encounters with the Police. I was

actively recruited by the Alaska State Troopers. But the City Police had

better looking uniforms, seemed to have more fun, and did not have

the military baggage (forced transfers) attached to them. Very early,

while still in high school, I decided that is what I wanted to do.

In May of 1969, at 18, and a few days out of school, I got a Union

Dispatch to Amchitka Island. It was located 1,500 miles west, at the end

of Aleutians. It was also the best construction job in Alaska. We were

doing underground nuclear testing there. Under Contract, I worked 10

hours a day, seven days a week for six months. I then did a stint in the

arctic during the early oil exploration days. I then did another six

months on Amchitka in 1971. Upon returning from the construction

camps, I drove truck and hauled freight. I unloaded railcars. All the

while biding my time until I could apply to the City Police Department.

By the time I was 21 years old, I had apparently worn out my welcome

with the Anchorage Police Departments administration. Starting at 16

after my first ride along I was hooked. I spent every extra bit of time I

had for the next several years riding in patrol cars. I must have been

running around with the wrong cops. I could not even get in the

reserves. In the interim, I had returned to the Wishbone. It would be

several more years before I got that dream job. .

The Wishbone continued to be at the center of our family’s existence.

I met my first wife there. Both of my sisters worked there. My son

Roger later worked there. I still have a niece who works there.

In early 1979 I got a call at the Wishbone. It was the Police Chief in

Kotzebue. He was retired out of the Seattle area. He proved to be one

of the smartest police executives I would ever meet, and a great friend.

Later he would joke about answering an ad, “Sleepy Little Fishing

Village, on the Northwest Arctic Coast, Desires Police Chief”. He got my

name from the local banker, who was on his reserve force at the time.

The Banker’s name was John Palmer. He had worked at the Wishbone

for several years. The Chief asked me to apply. Before I could be hired,

John Palmer was transferred by the bank to Kodiak, Alaska. The

following year, John and I were attending the same Municipal Police

Academy, in Sitka. Twenty years later John retired as the Police Chief in

Kodiak.

The Chief in Kotzebue had a problem. The place was a Zoo. My first

wife Penny was required to attend my oral interview. He wanted to

make sure we both knew what we were getting into. He had a base

crew of five guys and one woman. He was trying to fill nine positions.

Ten cops is a lot of cops for less the 4000 people. He was looking for a

two year commitment. Penny said she could do it, so I committed. I

started on July 27, 1979. Then we figured out that there was no decent

place to live and the school was very poor. Our oldest, Roger, was 5 and

about to start school. Our youngest, Roy Corbett, was 9 months old. I

lived at the Police Station in an empty office for the first few weeks and

ended up renting a room from my Sergeant. Penny, in the meantime,

had landed a good job with British Petroleum in their records

department. She wanted to keep the job and we both wanted Roger to

get a good start in school. At the end of three years, because of hard

work on my part and attrition on the Departments, I had been

promoted to Lieutenant. Penny had done equally well. But our

marriage was over. Today Penny has a Masters in Business

Administration and specializes in Records Management. She helps large

companies and small countries with their records problems. I am proud

say that throughout it all, we remain the best of friends to this day.

In 1979 the City of Kotzebue made the World Book of Lists as the

World’s second most hated city. We were number two, after Tehran

Iran, and they had our Hostages. We were known for violence, filth and

mosquitos. The Chief had his first Homicide, the first month he was

there, in Oct 1977. In July of 1978, eight months later, he had his

second. The victim in that case was a twelve year girl. She was

murdered in the most savage way. Kotzebue had averaged one

homicide every two years throughout written history. There had never

been a solved homicide there. If you killed somebody you got away

with it. It would take seven years to solve the little girl’s case. The 1977

homicide took nearly twenty. It also seemed as if we were operating in

the suicide capital of the world. We had two cops commit suicide in

1980. They were brothers. One was a reserve. We were the sexual

assault capital of the world as well. One time I worked eleven rapes in

thirteen days. And we were just beginning to learn about the child

sexual assaults.

Man with a gun calls were a dime a dozen. We were lucky, we only had

two cops shot while I was there. I have no idea how many times I was

shot at. I do remember the night the guy shot my left front tire out and

put a round in the front fender of my personal vehicle. He shot at us 35

times. We did not fire a shot. In 1980 Penny called the Police Station for

me one Sunday afternoon. She was told by dispatch that it would be a

while before I could call her back. They told her I was in a gun fight

down the street.

We had a great City Manager. He turned the City around while the

Police Chief fixed the Police Department. By 1983 the City became

recognized as an All American City. New vehicles, good equipment and

training for all Departments. I spent much of my first three years going

to training schools. The State and the Alaska Police Standards

Commission were awash in Oil Money and they were investing it in

Training. Our City Manager was on the Commission. I got my

Intermediate Certificate and my Police Instructors Certification. Over

the next few years the Police Department got a better hold on the

streets. We gained the trust of the people which is paramount.

Every once in a while you are at the right place at the right time. In

January of 1981 the Chief sent me Anchorage to train with the Troopers

Homicide Unit. My Training there was wrapping up at the end of

February. Pope John Paul was coming on the 26th, and they expected

and got 100,000 people. The head of the Unit called the Chief and got

permission for me to stay and help with the Plain Clothes Unit at the

airport. I held the door for the Pope when he returned from saying

Mass downtown. An experience I will never forget.

In December of 1979, at the suggestion of the Police Chief, I joined the

Volunteer Fire Department. The Chief and the City Manager were

also members. After a devastating fire in 1981 I was assigned to assist a

State Fire Marshall with his investigation. They then sent me to Cause

and Origination Investigators Training. In 1982 the City Manager asked

if I would take the New Position of Director of the new Regional Fire

Training Center. It was about to be constructed. It was one of five such

centers in the State. When I agreed the City promoted me to Fire

Captain and sent me to the Anchorage Fire Training. I got my Fire

Fighter Certification and then Fire Fighters Instructors Certificate. My

job was mostly administrative. But I taught some subject areas in all the

classes we held. After two years, and once everything was up and

running, the City allowed me to transfer back to the Police Department

at the rank of Captain.

In 1986 when the Police Chief retired I was made Acting Chief. I applied

but the City was not interested. They were having trouble replacing

him. I was acting for two years. In the midst of this my wife Daphne

(who had been with the Department since 1977) was the Chief Jailer,

ran the records department, and was the Chiefs Executive Assistant.

But she could not work for me. She soon found work with the Alaska

State Troopers. She was there 16 years.

The next Chief was hired in 1988, and I went back to being a Captain.

He lasted about three years. This time around I did not apply. They

came to me and asked me to apply. I turned in a short letter of interest.

I was promoted to Chief of Police in September of 1991.

In early 1997 the State of Alaska announced a PERS sponsored early

retirement program. If you retired early they gave you credit for three

additional years of service. I had eighteen and a half years in and could

leave with credit for 21 and a half. It would cost me $93.00 a month to

retire early. I was 46 years old, I figured I could steal that much. While I

was thinking about it, Maniilaq, the local nonprofit end of the Native

Corporation, offered me a position as Director of Security and

Occupational and Environmental Safety. I filed the next day and never

looked back. Maniilaq Association is the largest employer in the region.

My adopted daughter Minnie has worked there since 1989. Her son

Landis works in Security there and Daphne is a Social Worker there

since her retirement from the Troopers.

I was at Maniilaq for three years. In January of 2000 my mother asked if

I could come home and help with my Father. He was in poor health and

developing Dementia. Dad died October 9th 2001 with me at his side.

I spent the next year helping put my mother’s life back together. She

almost immediately went back to work at the Wishbone. I began to

look around at what I was going to do. I heard about the CSO program

for the U.S. Marshals Service from my son Roger who was a Deputy

Sheriff in Portland, Oregon. I applied. It took a year, but in March of

2003, I was sworn in as a Court Services Officer for the Marshals Service

in Portland, Oregon. I went to training in Atlanta, Georgia. It was a great

job and I got to work all over Oregon over the next three years.

In October 2006, I got the call. Mom had broken her hip and I needed

to return to Anchorage. I sold my house and returned. Like with my

father I was situated better to be able to take care of my mother than

were my sisters or brother. While taking care of my mother, I spent my

spare time researching family history.

I lived with and took care of my mother from 2006 until she died on

May 31, 2009. She died at home, as was her wish, in the exact same

spot as my father. They are buried together in the National Cemetery at

Fort Richardson.

Roger Wallace, his mother Winifred and

his daughter Joy aboard The Jolly Roger

in 1976 Seward Alaska

There were only a few loose strings to tie up. My parents had done a

masterful job planning and preparing for their old age. My sister Marty,

a Paralegal, had been named the executor of their estate years before.

By November I was able to return to Vancouver, Washington and

bought a new place.

I like Vancouver. I can get on a plane and be in Alaska in three hours. Or

I can get in my car and drive anywhere in the country in three days. I go

to Alaska two or three times a year. I also spend time every year in

Arizona. Daphne comes to Vancouver a couple of time a year. Minnie,

my daughter, has three sons all of whom are attached to Daphne. We

say they are not spoiled but are over loved. I love to travel with them

by car. They are Landis Tyler, Delbert Lawrence, and Paul Roger. We

also have two great grandchildren, Kanen Blake and Zander Lawrence.

Landis, Delbert, Minnie and Paul at St. Mary’s Cemetery, El Paso IL 2013 by

their great great great grandparents, Michael & Sarah Murphy Cleary gravesite.

In late 2011, my brother John fell and broke his hip. Where else but at

the Wishbone. He had not been in good health to begin with. As a

result, he died on August 24, 2012. He was 57 years old. At his request

he was cremated and buried at sea.

I continue to travel and have been back to Illinois to visit relatives many

times. I have enjoyed contributing to many Roots activities.

lw

ROOTS REUNION OCTOBER 2012 BLOOMINGTON IL: In October 2012, Larry Wallace brought his

wife, Daphne, and grandson, Landis. They are from Kotzebue, Alaska. Kotzebue is 33 miles

north of the Artic Circle on Alaska’s western coast. Daphne offered a prayer for the family in her

native Inuit language.