by David Frei
The most wonderful things happen to me because of my life in dogs. Here’s a story that has come to me in pieces over the years and has impacted me in a lot of ways.
In the mid-1990s, I was asked to guest host the show Pet News on the Fox News Channel, sitting in for my friend Brian Kilcommons, the great dog trainer. It was a two-hour show that included interviews and features from the world of pets. My invitation came from Chet Collier, who in addition to being president of Westminster, was an executive vice president of Fox News.
The show was shot at the Fox News studios in New York and was live on Saturday morning, repeated on tape on Sunday morning. It was indeed a “variety” show, featuring dogs, cats, fish, reptiles, birds, shelters, charities, you name it. I even hosted a doggy wedding one of the times that I was there.
One of my guests one week was a gentleman named Bill Wynne. Bill had served in the US Army Air Corps in World War II and was based in the South Pacific as an aerial photographer. One of his GI buddies had found a Yorkshire Terrier, of all things, in a foxhole in New Guinea, and Bill bought her for about $6.
Bill named the dog Smoky, and they became inseparable companions, with Smoky traveling in Bill’s duffel bag and accompanying him on twelve combat missions. Bill was on the show to tell the story of Smoky, as chronicled in his book, Yorkie Doodle Dandy.
While we think of military dogs as being German Shepherds or some other large-breed dogs, Bill told us the story about how Smoky was a notable 4-pound exception to this definition. She helped run wires and cables in places inaccessible to the troops; for example, she pulled a string with phone wires attached through 70 feet of an 8-inch pipe under a landing strip, doing a job in two minutes that would have otherwise required days of digging and exposure of Allied airplanes to the enemy.
Now, I suppose that I’d have to say that their helping the Allies win World War II had a significant impact on my (eventual) life, but Smoky and Bill just may have been responsible for everything that I am doing today in the world of therapy dogs. This detail didn’t come out in the TV show, but Bill told me the whole story recently.
It began during the war, in 1944, when Bill was hospitalized with dengue fever at the 233rd Station Hospital in Nadzab, New Guinea. Bill’s buddies brought him his mail, and they also brought Smoky to cheer Bill up. Two nurses saw Smoky and asked Bill—depending on if they could get permission from their commanding officer—if he would let them take Smoky on their rounds to visit battlefield casualties that were coming in from the Biak Island invasion.
“I told them sure, and they were back in ten minutes, bubbling over, with permission from the CO to do that,” Bill said.
Not only that, the nurses had gotten permission from the CO to let Smoky stay on Bill’s bed overnight. So they would pick up Smoky at 7 a.m., work with her all day, and then bring her back to Bill at night. They took care of all of her needs.
“I had always wondered about that CO,” Bill told me. “He had to be a doctor, but he had the compassion and the vision to allow a dog to visit the injured troops in the hospital and sleep overnight on my bed, too.”
He finally got the answer a few years ago. “I was watching the History Channel and there was a show about World War II, talking about the 233rd Station Hospital in New Guinea. It said that the hospital staff was made up of Mayo Clinic National Guard volunteers and was commanded by none other than Dr. Charles Mayo himself, then an Army major.”
What a great endorsement for therapy dogs. In my world, I give extra credit for the compassion and vision of the medical professionals in understanding what we do with our dogs, and today we can see that these traits have apparently served Dr. Mayo quite well, indeed.
After seeing Smoky work in the battlefield hospitals, Bill realized that this could be her calling. For as long as they were in the war in the South Pacific—an additional eighteen months in combat—Bill brought Smoky to the Army and Navy hospitals regularly to visit and lift the spirits of the troops injured in battle.
Bill taught Smoky an array of tricks, and she would entertain the troops long before Bob Hope could get there. Bill used airplane parts to build a scooter and to create a “high wire” act, and he taught her to run between his legs, jump through hoops and over obstacles, play dead, climb ladders, and weave through pickets. Smoky helped everyone pass the time, and she helped to settle a lot of anxieties.
After the war, Bill and Smoky returned to Cleveland and went into show business for ten years, with Smoky performing her tricks learned in the South Pacific for appreciative audiences. They continued to visit hospitals and the troops in Smoky’s adopted home country, doing so for twelve years. At the same time, Bill worked as a professional photographer; he had a thirty-one-year career with the Cleveland Plain Dealer and spent more than ten years working on NASA research programs.
On this day, on Fox News with me, Bill was a great interview, and Yorkie Doodle Dandy was a great story. And, as I came to realize several years later, I was hearing the story of what was probably the first recognized therapy dog, Smoky. If I had been into therapy dogs at the time of this show like I am now, I would have happily pointed that out then.
Since I didn’t do it then, I am doing it now. Bill Wynne and Smoky shaped my world.
Near the end of the interview, I told Bill that my dad had been in the South Pacific during the war—what a coincidence—and that I was happy to hear his story. “Thanks for all that you guys did for all of us.”
“What did your dad do in the South Pacific?” Bill asked me.
“He flew a P-38 on photo recon,” I answered. “He was in the Philippines, in the 26th Photo Recon.”
Bill lit up. “That was my unit! What was your dad’s name?”
“Jerry Frei.”
“I knew your dad!”
Oh my God. Here it was, more than fifty years later, and suddenly I felt like I was in the Philippines, listening to two old soldiers talk about the war. They were both modest and self-effacing of what they had done for our country, as so many of that “Greatest Generation” were. After hearing Bill’s Smoky stories and remembering my dad’s stories about flying in the war, I can see in my mind the aerial photo taken of Dad’s plane as he piloted his last mission.
When I finished the show, I ran to the telephone and called my dad, and I told him the Smoky story.
“I knew that dog, and I knew Bill. Great dog, great guy,” Dad said. “I remember all of those things that he told you about.”
I knew that Dad had a couple of close Army friends that he had corresponded with after they returned home, but he told me that he had not been in touch with Bill. So I put them together, and my dad, for the first time, went to a reunion of the 26th Photo Recon Squadron the following summer. There, he had some time with Bill and a lot of other old friends that had been in the war with them.
All of that made it well worth my while to have put up with a doggy wedding and snakes and birds and other stuff during my run on Pet News just to know that I was able to reunite the two of them.
In 2007, my friend Susan Bahary was a special guest of the Yorkshire Terrier Club of America’s national specialty in New York on Westminster weekend. Susan was a longtime friend of mine from the Afghan Hound world, a great artist and sculptor, and I had followed her success in her artistic accomplishments. She called me and invited me to stop by the annual dinner at the New Yorker Hotel, as she had someone that she wanted me to meet. That was easy for me to do; I was staying at the New Yorker and heading out for dinner, so I could easily drop in.
When I got there, I was surprised to see Bill Wynne. Bill had apparently told Susan the story about him and my dad. She thought it would be nice to get us together again and didn’t tell either of us of her plan. It was a nice reunion. We spoke about my father, who had passed away six years earlier.
Later that week, Bill paid me a wonderful compliment, one that I will always treasure. As part of our Westminster preshow publicity effort, I had appeared on the Today Show wit
h some of our entered dogs. Bill saw the segment and sent me an email telling me, “I saw a lot of your father in you.”
On Veterans Day in 2005, a memorial bronze sculpture of Smoky, created by Susan Bahary, was unveiled in the Cleveland Metroparks. It is beautiful, modeled after a famous photo of Smoky sitting up in Bill’s combat helmet. In 2009, Bill was inducted into the Ohio Senior Citizens Hall of Fame and into the Press Club of Cleveland Journalism Hall of Fame.
In 2008, USA Network did a feature on Smoky and Bill for the Westminster telecast, with me doing the voice-over of the story of “the small dog with the giant legacy.” At the end of the piece, coming back live to Lester Holt and me in the booth, I was able to tell the story about my father’s reunion with Bill. I held the 26th Photo Recon hat that Dad had left me after his death.
“This is a tribute to Bill Wynne and all of you guys and gals of the ‘Greatest Generation,’” I said. “We salute you though the person of Bill Wynne and his dog, Yorkie Doodle Dandy (Smoky).”
Postscript: Bill is working on another book about Smoky, this one called Angel in a Foxhole.
“Just as my father did with a football, I know that I am changing people’s lives with my dogs, visiting people in the street and visiting people in hospitals and other health care facilities.”
My Father, My Dogs
Part of Cheri’s job at Ronald McDonald House is to serve as a liaison to all of the faith groups in our Upper East Side neighborhood. One of them, the Bethany Memorial Reformed Church, asked her to fill in for the pastor while he was away on his honeymoon in the spring of 2009.
She was asked to deliver two sermons. The second one was for Father’s Day, and she decided that it would be a good idea for me to deliver that one. I declined the opportunity at first, but then, somehow, as a wife can do, she convinced me to do it. Admittedly, the Father’s Day theme was more appropriate for me than for her, so I thought I would give it a shot.
In my life, I stand before a TV camera that puts me in front of millions of people, and I have gotten to the point where that doesn’t make me too nervous anymore. But standing in a pulpit in front of a congregation is a whole ’nother story. However, as I worked to put together my presentation, I started to welcome the opportunity to share my father with someone on this Father’s Day.
Good morning. My name is David Frei. I am happy to be a part of this wonderful Father’s Day service here at Bethany Memorial Reformed Church.
I always welcome the chance to talk about my father, Jerry Frei. I was—and I still am—quite proud of him as my father, my mentor, and my friend.
My father died in 2001. He lived in Denver, and at the time, I lived in Seattle. I got to Denver shortly after he passed, and I spent time with my mother and my siblings—one brother, three sisters—at the family home in the time between his passing and his memorial service.
One morning, I was on the coffee run for all of us, and when I pulled into the driveway on my return, I saw a fox in the front yard. I had never seen a fox here, and when I told Mom about it, she said that Dad had seen the fox once before.
I am not sure that he was aware of this—I never heard him talk about it—but the Native American Indians were great believers in animal totems. Animals would reveal themselves to you, and their spirits would then become a totem in your life, providing an awareness of personality traits in your own spiritual identity.
According to Native American Indian lore, the fox is a symbol of wisdom and is the protector of the family unit, charged with keeping the family together and safe. That was certainly my father.
So as did my father before me, I have now had a fox reveal itself to me. It makes sense to me that this would be my father’s totem; the fox may have even been my father, telling me that everything would be all right. In any case, I now can carry on.
There is a country song that has the lyrics, “I am my father’s son, I am inclined to do what he has done.” The Bible (Proverbs 20:7) says it like this:
A righteous man who walks in his integrity, how blessed are his sons after him.
I am indeed blessed. My father was a man of integrity, and he was a spiritual man; at one point in his life he actually contemplated going to seminary. Instead, he became a football coach at the high school, college, and professional levels.
God shaped his life, and God helped him to shape the lives of others: the young people that he coached for more than fifty years.
He was a bit famous in his lifetime, but as an American poet once said, it doesn’t matter who he was, what matters is who I remember he was.
I was on the Today Show a few years ago, right after he passed, and a man named Bill Wynne [see chapter 16] saw me. I met Bill through my involvement with dogs, and in an amazing coincidence, we discovered that he been stationed with my father in the same Army Air Corps company in the South Pacific in World War II.
Bill sent me an email that I treasure: “I just watched you on the Today Show, and I saw a lot of your father in you.” I couldn’t have had a greater compliment.
My father didn’t tell me or my brother and my sisters what to think; by living his life the way he did, he showed us how to think. My father never put any pressure on me to live up to any standards, but he inspired me to be the best that I could be, to give something back to the world. He did that for others, too, teaching us that we were accountable for our actions, but he let us learn about ourselves to live productive lives and enjoy the people around us. What perfect thoughts for us on Father’s Day.
My dad lived this life with a football. I am trying to live the same life with my dogs, inspired by God and inspired by my own father. My father may be gone from this world, but he lives on in my heart and in my mind and, hopefully, in the things that I do every day.
As a football coach, my dad did it with some very simple rules, rules that applied not only to his players but also to life in general. And I am finding that my dogs play by my dad’s rules:
• It doesn’t matter if you make a mistake, as long as you are going full speed. That means that if you are trying to do the right thing and it doesn’t work out, it’s OK. It’s the effort and the intent that matter. This is great—my dogs are always going at full speed, living life in the fast lane.
His other rules don’t need any explanation, and I can see and hear them coming from my dogs’ actions:
• Be nice to people.
• Expect the best from people. They are generally good; enjoy them in your life.
• Smile.
That’s a perfect fit under the heading “Unconditional Love” when it comes to dogs.
Just as my father did with a football, I know that I am changing people’s lives with my dogs, visiting people in the street and visiting people in hospitals and other health care facilities. Again to Proverbs, this time 4:11–13:
I instruct you in the way of wisdom and lead you along straight paths. When you walk, your steps will not be hampered. When you run, you will not stumble. Hold on to instruction, do not let it go. Guard it well, for it is your life.
And even more from Proverbs (23:15–16):
My son, if your heart is wise, then my heart will be glad; my inmost being will rejoice when your lips speak what is right.
I hope that every day my Holy Father and my own father are looking down on me here and rejoicing.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
Thank you all for allowing me to share my father with you. I hope that you will all celebrate this special day with my father and me.
The End
The editors of Dogs in Review, a magazine of the dog show world, were running a questionnaire feature as part of their fifteenth-anniversary celebration, and they asked me to participate.
The final question was this: If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
My answer: “You’re arriving later than we expected, but your Brittanys, Teigh and Belle, are still waiting right here for you.”
I know that they will be there, along with any of my other dogs who have gone before me.
From Job 12:10:
In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind.
About the Author
David Frei is well known to millions of television viewers as the longtime cohost of USA Network’s annual telecast of the popular Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show from New York’s Madison Square Garden, a role he has played since 1990. His adventures with the Westminster Best in Show winners have taken him to such places as the White House and for a ride on a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade as well as appearances on programs including NBC’s Today Show, ABC’s Good Morning America, CBS’s Early Show, Ellen, The View, Martha Stewart, and Charlie Rose. He has been Director of Communications for the Westminster Kennel Club since 2003.
David also has cohosted NBC’s annual Thanksgiving Day telecast of the National Dog Show presented by Purina, which is seen by approximately 20 million viewers each year, since its inception in 2002.
A longtime breeder-owner-handler and judge in the world of purebred dogs, David has judged all over the world, in the United States, Canada, Australia, Denmark, China, and other countries, and he has also enjoyed much competitive success with his Afghan Hounds, Brittanys, and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. David is most proud of the wonderful work that his own dogs do as therapy dogs, regularly visiting patients and families at Ronald McDonald House New York and Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, both in New York City.
With Westminster, David helped to create Angel On A Leash, a charitable endeavor supporting a therapy dog program at the NewYork-Presbyterian Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital. Angel On A Leash has become an independent 501(c)(3) charity with David as president and CEO and has expanded into a number of additional facilities across the country.