Philip Kline fought in World War II and did secret jobs for NASA. He loved the violin and was devoted to human rights.
By MARTY CLEAR
Published January 16, 2004
BEACH PARK - If you've lived in this neighborhood for any length of time, chances are you've seen Philip Kline walking his dog.
"Everyone in Beach Park knew my dad," Judith Rosenblatt said. "Everybody saw Phil walking Homer."
Lots of people knew Mr. Kline well enough to say hello, and he'd often stop to chat on his daily walks. He died Sunday (Jan. 11, 2004) of pancreatic cancer at age 82.
Ms. Rosenblatt didn't get to know her father fully until recent years. When she was a child, he held secretive jobs with NASA, helping to land men on the moon. He was often gone for months at a time, and even when he was home, he couldn't say much about what he was doing.
Mr. Kline was an electrician for most of his working life, but he loved architecture. While on walks with his daughter, he'd comment about the design and construction of the houses and sometimes let slip a story or two about his days with the space program.
"He worked on the tracking systems," she said. "He worked down range, on Grand Turk Island and Ascension and other islands. He'd tell us that even though it was such a great thing, nobody really knew what was going on. One time they had to fix some piece of electronic equipment with chewing gum wrappers, because they were made of foil at the time."
The story showed how precarious the space missions were, she said. They also demonstrated how her father could fix, make or build almost anything.
Mr. Kline served in the military during World War II and was among the soldiers who liberated prisoners from Nazi prison camps. It was an especially profound experience for Mr. Kline because he was a Jew.
"He was absolutely devoted to human rights," his daughter said. "I don't want to make him sound too political. It was more philosophical. It was in the way he lived his life. He was a humanist."
After the war, he went back to his native Michigan and met a young woman named Ruth at a party for returning Jewish veterans.
"He met my mother and fell in love and that was it," Ms. Rosenblatt said. "They were soul mates."
The Klines soon moved to Florida. Mr. Kline had been stationed in Tampa during the war and thought Florida was a perfect place to raise a family. They lived in Beach Park for more than 25 years.
Mr. Kline worked at NASA for RCA and spent most of his time away from home. He'd come back for a week every couple of months.
"When he was there, he was a regular dad," Ms. Rosenblatt said. "He'd mow the lawn, paint the house, catch up on all that stuff."
In between visits, he'd write frequent notes and letters to his wife and three daughters, Judith, Karen and Anita.
Though he was a practical man with a scientific bent, Mr. Kline had a creative side.
"He played the violin beautifully, and he was more or less self-taught," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "He was a woodworker, and he made his first violin himself. It had the most beautiful sound."
Later, when he was working in the Caribbean, he taught himself to play the mandolin. He also became a jeweler and goldsmith.
"He could take anything off the ground and make something beautiful out of it," his daughter said.
Mr. Kline didn't find out he had cancer until last month, after he had been on a cruise with his wife and complained of a stomachache. When he came home, his doctors discovered cancer had spread so extensively they couldn't do anything to save him.
"He handled it like he handled everything else, with stoicism and dignity," Ms. Rosenblatt said. "He said, "I've had 56 perfectly wonderful years with my wife and family. I have nothing to complain about.' "
He was survived by his wife, three daughters, three grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
