Letter to the Editor

A Bradham Memory

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Editor:

Bravo to Mr. Richard Carpenter for his splendid editorial, "A Kelly Bradham Memory," in the Aug. 29 issue of the "Nevada Daily Mail". I didn't know Kelly when he was a kid here in Nevada my wife, daughter, and I didn't arrive until 1973, by which time Kelly was already, I believe, writing for this newspaper. But Mr. Carpenter's "collage of picture stories" about a "summer weekday morning" in Kelly's boyhood, both created and awakened, an evergreen memory with which a few million other American boys, no matter their hometowns or ages, can quickly identify.

Kelly and I were never "friends," but I always read his columns, even though I had no use for his politics, and knew we'd quickly come to blows if we discussed them. But baseball! He had a more encyclopedic knowledge of the game than anyone I've ever known or heard of. He was one of the few souls I'd ever met who knew the names of all the Brooklyn Dodgers of the 1950s, when Jackie Robinson was introduced to the team as the first black in professional baseball. And he seemed to know Brooklyn's Ebbets field as if he'd played or even lived there as a kid. That my mother had been Dodger manager Branch Rickey's niece's college roommate threw him for a loop, and helped bridge a gap or two between us.

Not too long ago, Kelly responded to a Sunday "At Random" column of mine on my boyhood hobby of making model World War II aircraft by asking that the company "Historic Aviation," of New Brighton, Minnesota, send me a copy of their catalogue. I appreciated that gesture. Unfortunately, I chose to do so by phoning him, unwittingly, on the afternoon of the Super Bowl. The ribbon of expletives that unwound from his phone curled my toenails. We both hung up. He hadn't even given his name, nor, for that matter, had he given me the chance to give mine. That was the last time I "spoke with him". I regret that deeply.

In about 1975, knowing Kelly was an avid aficionado of World War II, one of the members of the "Friends of the Nevada Public Library" group, of which I was a member, learned Kelly had just finished reading the most recent biography of Hitler, and asked him if he would speak to the group about its merits. Kelly agreed without a hitch, and we set a date for him to speak to us at the City-County Community Center, on Ash Street. Came the day, a fine, sunny Saturday afternoon, and, as the meeting hour arrived, someone rushed into the room where the Friends were already seated, and announced that walking coolly down Ash, in full Nazi regalia and glittering medals and colorful ribbons and apparently dry-cleaned and starched Nazi military cap, was Kelly "Ape" Bradham. Cars were slowing down or stopping completely outside, to get a load of this once-in-a-lifetime show. But It took his appearing in the flesh, as it were, for me to believe that this story could possibly be true. But so it was. Kelly entered the room, doffed his cap, introduced himself, and proceeded to give a well-researched and well-organized talk on his subject. As an English teacher, I'd have given his performance an A.

But I was a little outraged by his evidently characteristic wallowing in Nazism. What if, instead of little, Protestant-leaning Nevada, Mo., he'd been invited, and paid royally, to give his report to a civic organization headquartered in the upper east side of my hometown? There would still be a few elderly Jewish survivors of the concentration death camps from which they'd been whisked, out, taking the sun on park benches, in this new, fabled city to which the world's unwanted had sought refuge for more than 200 years. Now, how would they react to seeing a Nazi officer in full uniform strutting the streets of New York City? I foresaw heart attacks galore.

But, then, I immediately remembered this was Nevada, that there was probably not a Jew for miles. And I was thankful we all lived in a country that allowed everyone to act the fool without having to pay a penalty.

Dr. Charles C. Nash

Nevada