On a June evening in the late 1960s, I flinched as the VW bug my photographer drove sped down the center line of busy Cochran Road behind a shiny black limo enroute to the Parkway West and the 911th Airlift Wing. There was no police escort, nothing but shock and awe, to persuade cars to pull over and let us pass. But they did, which was a blessing for the soon-to-be graduates of Carnegie High School, who were awaiting a special commencement guest.
Mercury Astronaut Gordon Cooper, who would land his own small plane momentarily at the 911, was the guest. In the limo was U.S. Representative James Grove Fulton, Cooper’s host. Driving was Fulton’s loyal aide, Eddie, who accompanied him everywhere.
This was not the first or last time I accompanied “Jim” Fulton as an unseasoned reporter from the chain of suburban newspapers he and his brother, Robert, published. But it is my favorite example of the verve that made Fulton the choice of Mt. Lebanon area voters for 13 terms, even though eventually Democrats in district far outnumbered his fellow Republicans. A legend in his own time, he served nearly 30 years until his death from a heart attack in 1971.
“Gordo,” handsome as Dennis Quaid’s portrayal of him in the 1983’s The Right Stuff, was waiting by his small plane. He posed for photographs genially. Then, we continued the race to the high school’s athletic field, where the ceremony was in progress. “Mr. Fulton,” as I called the congressman, needed no introduction. Interrupting the keynote speaker, he barreled onto the field and strode along the sidelines waving and shouting, “This is the astronaut, folks. This is the astronaut!”
The photographer and I trailed him, mortified, but no one was looking at us. They were cheering for the astronaut, and just as much, for the accomplished congressman. By this time, Fulton secured federal funding for the widening, deepening and realigning of Chartiers Creek, which mitigated the flood threat to many South Hills communities. In addition to altering the creek’s channel, the 1968 project also adjusted drainage lines, relocated sewer lines, altered utilities and replaced and constructed several railroad and highway bridges.
The James G. Fulton Flood Protection Project was one of the congressman’s proudest accomplishments. Another was his contribution to the United States’ fledgling space program as the ranking Republican on the House Committee on Space Science and Technology.
I didn’t wonder at the time why the astronaut had answered Fulton’s call — I just figured space cadets did what they were told. Only recently did I learn that Fulton, a lawyer first elected to Congress in 1945 while serving as a World War II naval officer, was a huge advocate for manned space flight, especially for a lunar landing and the Space Shuttle. A 2018 Heinz History Center blog by Alexander Kurland notes that Fulton’s keen interest in space was fueled by the Cold War and his fear Russia might beat the USA to the moon. Fulton also believed the space race would bring manufacturing jobs to Pittsburgh, which then truly was the Steel City.
An indelible character, Fulton was the only congressman I knew for the first two decades of my life. So, when I Googled him more than 50 years after his death, I was surprised to find his public service well-documented but little anecdotal information. Having lived near him, worked for him and occasionally run into him in the nation’s capital when I worked briefly for the Washington Post, I have a few stories.
Growing up, I lived just blocks from “Fulton’s Farm,” [1] a property the congressman leased off Shady Drive West near Mt. Lebanon Cemetery. Fulton’s family home was on Espy Avenue in Dormont, but he used the “farm” for relaxing and entertaining. My friends and I cut through the yard of what formally was called the Snyder-Bockstoce House on our way uptown to the library or the five and ten. The pond, and in particular a duck who swaggered around with an arrow through its head, fascinated us. We didn’t usually see Fulton, but his housekeeper would pop her head out the back door when she heard us, ever vigilant but never discouraging our passage. Sadly, the developers of the Main-Line Mt. Lebanon eventually demolished the farmhouse.
In college, I worked three summers for Fulton’s Pittsburgh Suburban Community Newspapers, a chain of seven weeklies covering Mt. Lebanon, Bethel Park, Chartiers Valley, Baldwin Borough, Dormont, Peters Township and Squirrel Hill. Featuring folksy events such as fashion shows, fancy houses and football games, the papers launched many a serious journalist, even though they were filled with misspellings and sometimes bore captions with fake names kids gave such as Chuck Roast or Ima Heine. Wally Carroll was the editor, but Fulton’s hand was everywhere. Winning voters was the papers’ raison d’etre.
I was on the staff of my college paper, so working as a reporter made sense. The second summer, however, I was made photo coordinator, even though I didn’t own a camera and had never marked up a contact sheet. And my final year, I managed the Squirrel Hill News, peddling ads with limited success to the Forbes and Murray avenues merchants. At the main office on West Liberty Avenue in Dormont, I met my future mother-in-law, a GOP committeewoman and her “photographer” son, a law student who hadn’t seen a twin lens Yashika reflex camera until his first day on the job. The entire office was filled with hard-working know-nothings like us, and to Fulton’s credit, people still speak fondly of the papers.
For Fulton’s staff, the Fourth of July and Memorial Day were the longest days (not election night as for most media) because patriotic holidays were when the congressman could get the most public exposure. One Memorial Day, a photographer and I accompanied him to at least three grand parades, struggling to keep up with the old man (he was only around 65) as he glad-handed constituents, many of whom he knew by name.
In Fulton’s era, most congressmen were born in their districts and elected by people who considered their elected officials neighbors. With rare exceptions, many of us “know” the congressional leaders we see on TV or social media — those calling for hearings, impeachments, resignations, and ironically, unity — better than the men and women elected from our own districts, who might only serve only a term or two. It’s possible we won’t meet our representative unless he or she pops in at Eat ‘n Park to rustle up votes just before an election.
Today, with 24/7 media access, we are better informed than Jim Fulton’s constituents. When an elected official does something good — or more likely bad — we hear about it, and hear about it, and hear about it. It’s likely that the driver of a limo speeding down the center line of a Cochran Road — even carrying a VIP — would get a ticket or at least a stern warning, along with a few flips of the bird and cusses from other drivers. Its powerful passenger might get coverage on the evening news or perhaps even be roasted on late night shows. He or she might not be re-elected.
Not sayin’ that’s good or bad. Just sayin’…