Standing: Joe Flagg, Ltc. Ehly, Charlie Bingman, John Carnes, Ray Schuck, Jim Bingman. Front: Dan Anderson, Jack Roller, Guido Dalpra. These are but a few of the key players in our multi-year restoration effort. 
Jamie Farr, of M*A*S*H fame, takes time to autograph our Sherman at an outing in central Ohio. I was transferred to Lima, Ohio in the spring of 1990. As it was only myself and my son at home, and he was nearly grown (that age when you don't seem to have much in common with “old” people – somehow he always wanted to spend more time with people his age) I was spending way too much time around the plant. A lot of people were suggesting (or stressing) that I needed to get a life. The management club invited me to take over a project that had been languishing for several months. Did I mention that Forest Gump side of me?
This tank had been parked outside of the museum downtown for 32 years, just one of those typical monument tanks you see here and there around the country. Nature and neighborhood kids had conspired to pretty much destroy this old relic. Then a local resident named Oliver Hawk started bugging Ray Schuck, the Museum Director, about that old tank. Oliver fought in these tanks during WWII in Europe. He made it pretty plain how shameful it was to allow this artifact to be so neglected. Ray contacted Jack Roller, an engineer at the plant and volunteers were rounded up to haul this old rust bucket in for a trip through our “armor beauty salon”. It got to the plant in late October, 1989, and some volunteers started working on it. They managed to get the turret off to prep it for shot-blast and a new coat of paint. But that was before Ltc. Powlicki (then Tank Plant Commander) got involved.
Just ask a seasoned politician how easy it is to stick your foot in your mouth when the cameras are rolling.
Someone in the local media thought this was a good human interest story and sent a crew out to interview the colonel. There he was, on the 6 o'clock news answering the polite questions for this puff piece, and looking pretty good – makes for great PR. But then he had to add one little line that changed the rules, and a whole bunch of lives, “Yes, and we think we can make it run again, too!” All of a sudden the managers became very busy, so busy that no one had the time to coordinate work on the Sherman any more.
That's when Forest Gump came into town.
One of those guys who “got busy” was Mike Trigilio, a Production Superintendent (he really did have a full plate at the time). After Forest had already answered, “Sure, I'll see what I can do”, it occurred to him that he didn't have a clue what the hell he was even talking about. His next “intelligent” sentence was something on the order of, “Duh, where do I start?” Mike, I was told, was the man to see; he knew the most about the project.
I found Mike in his office, introduced myself and proudly announced I was going to get the volunteer program back up and running... all I needed to know was, “where did you leave off, and what do we need to do next” (more accurately put, I'm an idiot about this stuff and you're going to help me! - but to be that honest wasn't going to be helpful). Mike probably thought, “Who's idea was it to put a paper hanging air-head in charge? He doesn't have a clue what he's doing! He really is going to need help!” But Mike was considerate and simply said, “Go find Jimmy Bingman”. “OK, but what I want to know is...” Mike cut me off and repeated, “Go find Jimmy Bingman”. “OK” I said again, “but can you...” Mike just shook his head and said for the 3rd time, “Go find Jimmy Bingman.” Exasperated, I said, “Who the hell is Jimmy Bingman?”
You can call him Jim or Mister Bingman. But “Jimmy”, I would soon learn, was not appropriate. Not that Jim would be offended, he isn't pretentious like that. It's just that when you come to admire someone as much as I do Jim, juvenile monikers do not apply.
I found Jim late in the shift at the Hull Weld line. Most of the day's production had ended and everyone was cleaning up, preparing to go home. After introducing myself and explaining why I had sought him out, my first question was, “What do you think, can that tank be fully restored?” “Well, yes.” His reply was measured with heavy implication of the interjection 'BUT'. I would soon learn why.
“Forest” had no clue then, but he had signed on for a FIVE YEAR enlistment. In that time he would be a scrounger, a beggar, a cajoler, a caterer, and a cleaning boy; but he would never be in charge. Jim Bingman was in charge the whole time. And the few times Jim wasn't available, his brother Charlie took over. The best volunteer efforts are just like that; no formal organizational structure required. Everyone is focused on the same ultimate goal. The volunteers will naturally gravitate to the one with the knowledge. Jim did not want to be “in charge” of anything (he repeatedly turned down offers to promote him to management through the years) but he was the guy who knew the most.
To underscore what I've just said, I will tell you I watched at a distance on numerous Saturdays when Ltc. Ehly, the Tank Plant Commander during most of the restoration effort, would come in to join the volunteers; he understood instinctively from the start that Jim was the go-to guy. He simply asked Jim what needed to be done and went to work. Little wonder that Jim became known among us as the “father” of the Sherman Restoration. Little wonder why I have long admired him.
Eventually, we went international in our research. We found more than 30 companies and organizations to volunteer support. We enlisted more than 60 volunteers at the plant. We restored that Sherman, uncovered some remarkable history, met some very impressive people, and when we were done, got drafted by the Army to restore an M-1 Abrams tank. Is there higher praise?
And I got to participate because I didn't know any better. Folks, if I could do this – so could you. If you haven't offered your time and energy as a volunteer in a worthwhile effort, you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime.
If Jim Bingman was the “Father of the Sherman Restoration”, clearly Charlie, his brother, would be the “Uncle”. Charlie also worked at the plant and put in close to the same number of volunteer hours as Jim, which was well over 1,500. (We never counted, the actual numbers were probably twice that, but I've made this guess very conservative; during the first 2 years we worked roughly 4 hours on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and all day Saturdays. It was then when the Sherman, though not finished, was ready to start meeting the public and those outings were a lot more work for everyone). This photo was shot on a hot August day, 1995, as we arrived at the Veterans Administration Center in Dayton, Ohio for their commemoration on the 50th anniversary of the end of WWII. Click on the photo to enlarge and as you can see in the short caption below, Charlie became famous in his new identity as “Big Man”.
