I first noticed the line while listening to Stephen Wilson Jr.’s song “Gary.”
“There ain’t a lot of boys named Gary these days.”
It’s a song about names that fade with time. Names tied to a certain generation. Names that once filled my Spoede school classrooms and my OAA sports rosters but slowly disappeared.
With the song stuck in my head, Jewish Light Editor-in-Chief Ellen Futterman asked if we could dedicate a Morning Light to Wally Mayer, who turns 100 this month and is celebrating at the Jewish Community Center’s Beit Midrash room on March 28 from 3 to 5 p.m. I’ve written about Mayer before. A World War II veteran. A Holocaust survivor. The kind of man who lived through history but never thought of himself as historic.
That conversation reminded me of another Wally.
A few years ago, my friend John Pertzborn discovered a World War II-era USO recording belonging to a soldier named Wally Rosen. We eventually tracked down his family and returned it more than 80 years after it was recorded.
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Two Wallys. From the same generation. Both veterans. Both reminders of a time when the name just fit.
And that’s when the lyric hit me again.
There aren’t many boys named Wally these days, either.
So, I went looking. Not for one Wally. For all of them. Every Wally I could find in the Jewish Light archives. I didn’t expect to find more than a few.
Turns out, Jewish St. Louis had quite a few.
The Wallys who helped build a community
Wally Mayer
At nearly 100, Mayer represents a generation that rarely talked about what they lived through. A World War II veteran and Holocaust survivor, he built a life in St. Louis, raised a family and became one of those guys every community depends on.
Wally Rosen
Rosen never knew his name would resurface decades later. A soldier whose USO recording found its way back to his family more than 80 years later, his story became less about war and more about how long it can take for history to come back to a family.
Wally Waldman
As part of the family behind Laurie’s Shoes, Waldman helped build not just a business but a St. Louis retail legacy. His story reflects something you don’t see much anymore; a family business carried across generations.
Wally Pankowski
Pankowski first shows up in 1970 in a wedding announcement, just another young name in the social pages. More than a decade later he reappears as Wally J. Pankowski, now established professionally. The kind of Jewish Light timeline you only notice when you start digging.
Wally Weil
Weil wasn’t just a name in the social pages. In 1969 he appears as chairman of a volunteer substitute program helping coordinate community manpower, the kind of behind-the-scenes work that kept Jewish organizations running. Years later he surfaces again advocating for state arts funding through Missouri Citizens for the Arts, urging readers to contact legislators.
Mrs. Wally Weil
We could not find Mrs. Wally Weil’s first name, but she also appears through the social conventions of the time, with references tied to the Auxiliary volunteer world where many women powered community work but were often identified only as “Mrs.” followed by their husband’s name. It’s a small reminder of how the paper documented not just people, but the norms of Jewish St. Louis itself.
Wally Arnowitz
Some Wallys didn’t just show up in the Jewish Light. They got advertising space. When Arnowitz joined Carlson Olds-Honda in 1983, the dealership invited readers to stop by and meet him. If you were buying an Oldsmobile in Jewish St. Louis that year, Wally A. was probably your guy.
Wally Ruwitch
In 1967, Ruwitch shows up as part of a Camp Council committee organizing a benefit showing of “Camelot” to help fund summer camp scholarships. One more example of how the Jewish Light captured not just celebrations, but the people doing the work behind them.
The everyday Wallys
Not every Wally came with a long story attached.
Some Wallys only showed up once. A meeting notice. A classroom mention. A business listing. A social column item. Small appearances but proof the name showed up everywhere Jewish St. Louis life was happening.
A name from another time
Stephen Wilson Jr. was right.
There aren’t many boys named Gary anymore.
And there probably won’t be many Wallys either.
But if you want to know where they went, you can still find them. In old clips. In family stories. In the pages of a community newspaper that, without trying, kept track of a generation.
For a while, Wally was a very good name to have in St. Louis.
And if you read the old pages closely, it still is.
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