When Meredith Chancellor first heard her father’s voice crackle through a forgotten World War II phonograph recording, she felt the full weight of a connection she never knew was lost. It was a voice she knew well – the same comforting voice that read to her every night as a child and wrote her daily letters when she was away. But this recording, made by Wally Rosen in 1943, brought that familiar presence back from a time long before she was born, capturing the optimism and yearning of a young soldier far from home.
“I was always a daddy’s girl,” Meredith said. “He was my rock. His voice was a source of real support for me, so to have something like this – something I can share with my son and listen to for the rest of my life – it’s remarkable.”
The disc, discovered by broadcaster John Pertzborn at a Dogtown resale shop and returned through a cascade of community connections, has now completed its improbable journey back to Rosen’s family. This week, I had the honor of handing the fragile record to Meredith and her husband, Jesse Chancellor, at a Baltimore hotel – a symbolic return 82 years in the making.
The back story
The recording, made in April 1943 when Rosen was just 20 years old, captured a moment in time – a young man speaking to his loved ones in St. Louis from Camp Stoneman, Calif., on the cusp of a world forever changed by war. Though colorblind – a condition that initially kept him from the front lines – Rosen served as an Reconnaissance Agent in the Pacific, seeing action in New Guinea and New Caledonia before returning home in December 1945.
“He never talked about the horrors of war,” Meredith said. “He talked about the grueling work, the long separations from family and the mules he had to keep quiet while moving artillery equipment through the jungle. But he never complained – he was always just so full of life.”
An athlete and a hero
Before the war, Rosen was known as an exceptional athlete. In high school, he played on a championship football team that once traveled to Memphis to beat the Tennessee champs. It was a defining chapter in his life, one that shaped his resilience and competitive spirit – traits that likely served him well in the Pacific.
The family historian
Jesse Chancellor, the family’s unofficial historian, described the moment he first read my email about the recording.
“I called her right away,” he said. “I said, ‘Honey, you need to see this. This journalist has found something I think you should be aware of.’ I didn’t spoil it for her – I let her read it for herself and she was overwhelmed.”
Jesse, who has been assembling a comprehensive family history for years, plans to archive the story of the recording alongside family documents, photographs and letters. The record, now protected in plastic, will soon be digitized so that future generations of the Rosen family can hear Wally’s long-ago words for themselves.
“It’s amazing how one man’s small act of curiosity – like John Pertzborn’s estate sale find – can lead to something this meaningful,” Jesse said. “It speaks to the bigness of the human spirit and the power of connection.”
The weight of memory
For Meredith, the recording holds deep emotional weight. “My father loved his mother, and he loved his wife. They had an amazing marriage,” she said, reflecting on the brief mention of her mother, June, in the recording. In the message, Wally tells his family that he and June will marry when he returns – a quiet, confident promise from a young soldier separated by half a continent but already looking to the future from across the country. “He took care of her until the day she died. They were true partners.”
Meredith also immediately recognized her father’s handwriting on the records mailing label, a deeply personal touch that brought back memories of the countless letters he wrote to his wife and children over the years.
“His handwriting is exactly the same,” she said. “I can still see it in my mind.”
Wally Rosen: A moment of honor
As we discussed Rosen’s military service and what it meant to him, Jesse recalled a particularly moving moment that happened when the family visited the National Archives in Washington, D.C. Rosen, then in a wheelchair, was given a private viewing of then Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, escorted by an honor guard. “These are the documents you served for,” the guard told him. It was a fitting tribute to a man who had served his country and family with quiet strength.
As Meredith and Jesse prepare to share the recording with their son Jay – Rosen’s grandson – they see it as a touchstone of family memory, a voice that bridges generations. “I think my dad would be beyond touched to see how moved I am,” Meredith said. “And I can’t wait to see how Jay reacts.”
A final homecoming
As I handed over the record, I thought about all the hands it had passed through over the decades – from a recording studio in 1943, into a family home on Oak Court in north St. Louis and somehow, finally to a resale shop in Dogtown. This is a story of survival, of memory and of the enduring power of the human voice. And now, at last, it’s back where it belongs.
