Tom Bartlett

This essay should probably be entitled The Most Unforgettable Character Ive Ever Met since it seems straight out of the old Readers Digest mold. In the seventies my wife and I resided in Hope, Arkansas where she taught school and I was a purchasing manager for a manufacturing company. I immediately heard stories about a local eccentric genius that manufactured hi-fi speakers out in the Proving Ground. As an aside, during WWII the Army located a Research & Development facility just outside Hope. The Army enlarged the adjacent airport, strengthened the runways, and generally conducted experiments to improve artillery shells and bombs. They built many buildings and a housing area to house the scientists and workers. I understand (this may or may not be correct) that Mr. Klipsch was one of the researchers and this is how he came to be located in Hope. Anyway, his factory was located in the area that was once called the Proving Ground. Like most residents, we were a little in awe of Mr. Klipsch for several reasons. One was his commanding physical appearance. He was tall and thin as a reed, with a shock of gray hair and goatee. He usually wore faded blue jeans, sports shirt with sometimes a bolo tie and a western hat. The western boots and hat made him appear even taller. At this time he must have been in his late sixties, but he could be seen virtually every day jogging near his home. I understand he ran three to five miles every day. Even though he stood out from the local crowd, I gathered he had many friends and was well regarded locally (His manufacturing plant was an important source of jobs). I first met him at the local airport, where I had rented a portion of the shop area to restore a 1952 MG-TD. On most Saturdays he could be found there, hanger flying, puttering around his Beech Baron or chatting with the local airport rats. There was an active flying club and always some members hanging around wanting to talk flying. He always took an active part in the round table discussions. One of the early comments that I had heard about him was if you asked him the time, hed tell you how to make a watch. At first I just listened in to his dialogue and observed he possessed several unique qualities. He had a passion for precision that was apparent in all his conversations. One day we observed that he was wearing three wrist watches, all Bulova Accutrons. Someone asked him about the multiple watches, and he explained that he was calibrating one of them. He related that on one occasion he called the Bulova factory to report an inaccurate timepiece, reporting that the watch was losing two or three seconds a month. The factory representative wanted to know exactly how Mr. Klipsch was able to ascertain that the watch was losing so few seconds a month, implying, I suppose, that Mr. Klipsch could be mistaken. After listening to Mr. Klipschs calibration procedures, which I am sure took fifteen to twenty minutes, the factory rep agreed that the watch was probably inaccurate, and that Mr. Klipsch should mail it back to them for adjustment. But his passion for precision made him difficult to chat with. Once I asked him a question about an aeronautical matter, and in his explanation, he had no sooner uttered the term about as twice as expensive when he suddenly stopped, whipped out his pocket calculator, entered a few digits, and corrected himself, saying, well, actually 2.133 times as expensive. Another time I innocently offered a favorite quotation from Mark Twain, when he stopped, pulled out a notepad and pen and wanted to know which of Twains novels the quote came from. When he found something that interested him, he wanted to research it immediately. Of course I could not remember the source (I looked it up later and told him) but I never again offered idle chitchat in his presence. He was often accompanied with a worn leather briefcase, and habitually when discussing some obscure subject, he would whip open the briefcase and search until he found a paper that clarified the matter. I remember he expressed the greatest respect for the experimental work at the Bell Laboratories. But he was a fascinating speaker, full of precise technical details, with a dry sense of humor that sometimes went over the heads of listeners. Once at a reception, we were talking flying and a lady came up and said Mr. Klipsch, since you make those expensive speakers, I wanted to know what kind of music you listened to. Mr. Klipsch blandly replied Well, lately Ive been listening to a lot of Joe Green. The blank stare on the face of the questioner probably matched my own. Since I knew he enjoyed classical music, opera, and virtually anything that featured a pipe organ, I was completely clueless. He never offered an explanation, but went on talking about flying. His comment stayed with me for days, until one morning I was shaving and thought Verdi! Guiseppe Verdi. The mention of the pipe organ reminds me of his work with local Episcopal Church. The building, which was over one hundred years old, was beautifully restored and featured a huge pipe organ that Mr. Klipsch lovingly kept in perfect condition and pitch. If during the service he detected a false note, he would bound up on the stage after the services to adjust it. I am sure that he made the rector nervous at times, for sometimes during the Sunday message he would whip out his ever- present notepad, scribble a few notes, and buttonhole the speaker afterward. Although he later drove a Mercedes, he mostly drove a 1953 or 54 Ford Station Wagon, six cylinder with overdrive. He explained to me that he had calculated the ton-miles per gallon (a measure of hauling efficiency) of the vehicle, and that particular Ford was the most efficient vehicle he had found. In his office on the wall behind his desk were several elaborate models of steam-driven trains. He had created each one in mostly solid brass, making the parts himself on a modelers lathe. I remember him mentioning that since his eyesight had grown weaker, he was forced to purchase miniature brass screws from a jeweler, rather than turn them himself. I only flew with him one time, but found him to be a careful, meticulous pilot. One sunny Saturday morning he mentioned that he was flying up to Little Rock to go glider flying, and asked if I wished to go along for the ride. Did I? Sorta like if Bob Dylan called up one day and casually asked if Id like to go on his next tour. When we arrived at the glider field, I found he was well known to the staff there. I used his camera to take several photos of him in the cockpit of the high performance glider, and off he went.

Am I too late? We lived in Hope, AR during the seventies, and I hung out at the airport where Paul kept his Beech Baron. (is it O.K. to call him Paul? We called him Col. Klipsch or Mr. Klipsch back then) I think I might be able to locate a couple of photos of him at the airport. If so, I'll post them on the forum. I've got a lot of "Mr. Klipsch" stories if anyone is interested. Anyway, I'd love a set of emblems. Tom Bartlett