Without recognition, his deeds will live on

ROBERT GARDNER

I was once asked who I thought had contributed the most to the

history of Newport Beach. Without giving the matter much thought, I

said, “Harry Welch, Dora Hill and Lancey Sherman.”

Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I still think that’s a

pretty good list. In previous dispatches I have discussed Dora Hill

and Lancey Sherman. Now it’s Harry Welch’s turn.

To put the matter as simply as possible, Harry Welch, longtime

secretary of the Chamber of Commerce, was the most selfless man I

have ever known. He literally dedicated his life to helping others.

He spent his time doing nice things for others and not asking for

anything in return. And that’s what he got in return. Nothing. Zilch.

Zero. For all his efforts, Harry Welch died in what could be

charitably called modest circumstances. Very modest.

In appearance, Harry Welch was a quiet man. He spoke with a soft,

husky voice, more of a whisper. He walked with a peculiar,

pigeon-toed shuffle. He had a mane of silvery hair and peered out at

the world, through rimless glasses, with a kind of perpetually

cheerful look. He was no glad hander. I’m sure he never clapped

anyone on the back during his entire life. But, in his quiet way,

Harry Welch was very effective.

I think his part in the 1934-36 harbor-improvement project is a

good example of Harry Welch at his most effective -- and, as usual,

he received no credit for his efforts.

Prior to 1934 there was no Newport Harbor. All there was was

Balboa Bay, a large expanse of mud flats and sand islands with a few

narrow channels running between them. The harbor mouth was a mess.

The jetties were a disgrace. Boats turned over with depressing

regularity in that harbor mouth.

One day, a boatload of young men turned over and the

polio-handicapped son of George Rogers, a wealthy retired highway

contractor, drowned. Because of his son’s tragic death, Rogers became

interested in improving the harbor mouth.

He developed the idea of getting federal money from one of those

New Deal reclamation programs then in vogue. He and Pat Patterson,

the city engineer, went to Washington and succeeded in getting a

commitment from the federal government for about $1.8 million for

harbor improvements -- but with a proviso. The local community had to

come up with about $8 million in matching funds. Where to get that

much money? Newport Beach sure didn’t have it.

The only way to get that much money was by a countywide bond

issue. That was a ridiculous idea. Hopeless. Those tight-fisted,

penny-pitching orange ranchers had never passed a bond issue. They

never would. Particularly one for the benefit of Newport Beach, the

sin city of Orange County, with all that booze, gambling and even a

dance hall. But one man thought it could be done. Harry Welch.

So Harry went on a countywide campaign. He was aided in part by

A.B. Rouselle, Lew Wallace and George Rogers. But Harry was the one

with the contacts -- particularly with people who owed him favors for

nice things he had done for them.

Tirelessly, he canvassed the county, twisting arms, pleading,

cajoling, calling in old favors. Quietly but effectively, he did the

impossible. Orange County voted in favor of a countywide bond issue,

and the harbor was built.

And what recognition did Harry Welch get for his efforts? On the

landward end of the west jetty there is a large rock holding a bronze

plaque recognizing the harbor improvements of 1934-36.

And whose name is in that plaque?

George Rogers’ name is on that plaque, not Harry Welch’s. Harry

Welch’s life is living proof of the old adage that nice guys finish

last.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a resident of Corona del Mar and longtime

observer of life in Newport Beach.