House-Raising

It was the kind of project--at once heartwarming, over-organized and unabashedly flamboyant--that Americans dote on. The townspeople of New Brunswick, NJ. had set out to build a home for 23-year-old ex-Marine Robert William Hoelzle, who lost the use of his legs when he was hit by a Japanese bullet on Okinawa. It was just like an old-fashioned house-raising bee, except that it took place in the age of the assembly line and the publicity man.

A Bob Hoelzle Housing Committee was appointed with a judge as its chairman. Staff members of a local radio station and a local newspaper became self-appointed "expediters." Benefit dances and basketball games were held. The committee's zeal was unbounded; they got a lot in a fine residential section and built a $22,000 house with an elevator shaft, ramps for Bob Hoelzle's wheelchair, and special bathroom fixtures.

Last weekend 2,000 delighted people gathered to watch the best part of all--a high-speed painting job donated by 96 A.F.L. painters. Scaffolding was rigged to give each man just 16 square feet of space to cover. A big timing clock was set up. Bob Hoelzle and his bride-to-be, a pretty telephone operator named Frances Noll, were stationed at a vantage point in the front yard. Then the mayor started the proceedings by firing a pistol.

The 96 painters finished in two minutes and 32 seconds, and the union business agent proudly announced that they had broken a record. Said Bob Hoelzle, a little shakily: "It's wonderful." Everybody in New Brunswick thought so too.

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