Never forget a Birthday . . .

Yesterday would have been my dad’s 100^st birthday. Sadly, he passed away in 2004, but there is hardly a day that goes by that I do not recall him in some way. It’s the little things like his off-the-wall witticisms. He was good at them, such as the popular Midwest adage, “Oh, go jump in the Lake (Lake Michigan, that was), Or this one, Oh, go scratch! And when I would get hurt, a scraped knee or a fall of my bike, he used reverse psychology and told me, “To do it again. He didn’t see it happen the first time!” That would get me so mad, but he would smile and made sure that I was alright. His smile was so genuine and his heart knew no bounds. 

The one constant characteristic about Dad is that he saved everything. Before hoarding became part of our lexicon, I remember living with piles of things, from boxes and newspapers reaching the ceiling, to walking in carefully placed paths around more piles of things. My mother would have a hissy-fit, but he turned a deaf ear. So, through the years, his stuff crowded every space imaginable. When push came to shove, and by virtue of relocations, much of his stuff disappeared. What remained we saved has much as we could. We looked through tons of boxes and bags, coffee cans, where ever Dad could find space to stash things.

As we investigated, we found the treasures. Boxes filled with oddities, like his coal miner’s breathing protection equipment for gas detection and lantern. He even saved a chuck of coal. Dad was a coal miner in Pennsylvania. He despised the work and as soon as he could, he joined the Navy. A veteran of WWII, he was on the USS Enterprise when it was hit by Japanese kamikaze, surviving by his wits alone. Later in his retirement years, he wrote about his life. I would see him sit at his desk and handwrite his thoughts. He had extremely fine penmanship. But he would not talk or share his writings.

Among these treasures were those writings. If they were not found, I would have never known so much about his life he wouldn’t talk about. Just before he passed away, I presented him with a hefty notebook filled with his papers, photographs and keepsakes. I have yet to finish it, as I am still finding paraphernalia I insert in the album.

Then I found a real treasure tucked into a birthday card he gave me. Dad was not a big gift giver. Mom took care of that. But here was a short note written to me and it took my breath away. I framed it and put it into our Family Museum.  It is a wonder how something that so easily could have been discarded sat hidden away for 22 years. Thank you dad for these precious words I will always cherish. I just wished I had him, but his words are enough to give me the encouragement to carry on, because he knew I was going to be successful “in whatever you set out to do.”   

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I will always love you.

My Dad * His Story - Part III

Dad wrote, “After I got my discharge paper in hand on Dc. 30, 1945 and the last stop at the release center, I had to go to the pay master office. There I drew out all of my money I had saved for many months, plus my flight pay and discharge money and sea pay. All together I came home with well over four half thousand dollars. Then he stamped my discharge papers. Also the navy paid my transportation to come home. When I got home, I went to get my car that I stored away at John Larry’s big barn. After a day at home I went up to see Edward Larry, his father was already gone. I guess he died when I was in the navy. There, I got my car, cleaned it all up, drove up to Carrolltown to Westrick Garage, got it State Inspected and applied for State license. Six days later I received the plates. Two days later I drove up to see my buddy George Owen up in Carrolltown, which I haven’t heard from him for many months while I was overseas. His two sisters were gone to New Jersey, his mother had died about a year before. So I asked one of the neighbors there and got to learn he was killed in the invasion of France. He was inducted into the Army way after I was in the Navy. Learning of that accident made me feel awful bad.

After his discharge and returning home, about two weeks later he drove up to the old Sterling Six Coal Mine. Before his discharge he wrote how when he used to go home on leave from the navy, he would go up to the coal mine and talk with some of the bosses that he had worked for. He told them how he had gone to mechanic school and studied everything about the airplane.

Dad wrote, “There I got talking to my old bosses who I had worked for on and off for many years. They asked me if I was out or discharged from the Navy and I said, “Yep, sure am!” “Good,” they said. “We got a good job for you, take your pick; run a motor, there is a job open for water pumper, electrician and few other jobs.” I looked up with a smile and said, “no way will I ever go back inside of those dirty coal mines!” That really surprised them.  

My father wrote his memories in an erratic manner. He would jump from one memory to the next, making it difficult to follow the story line. But I went with the flow and pieced together his thought process, as in this story about changing his surname after he was discharged from the navy. 

Dad wrote (to an Agnes?), “I had filled out some legal papers for change of name. I adopted my father’s mother’s maiden name before she married. The name couldn’t be changed not until I had established a residence for at least 6 months where ever I was to live. Chicago was my place for I was to get married there, work and raise a family. After 6 months was over, I gave all of my papers that I received from the navy to a civilian lawyer, went down town Chicago, had to face the judge. I had everything done according to the law. Now, dear Agnes, you know the story how my name was changed to what it is now. About eight months later, I married with my new name.

This next paragraph sheds a bit of light on Agnes. She was his lost love.  

He wrote, “Towards the end of the first year of school, I used to build up my most desired hopes to get you dear Agnes on a date to Sunset (Ballroom). That was in 1938. But for some unknown reason I could never get to you. I do remember quite well in trying with no luck. Maybe someday you might want to enlighten me as to where you had been hiding at that time.   

Starting in 1946, he lived and worked in Chicago and reunited with Dorothy.     

About six weeks later, Dad left home for Chicago. He wrote, “With a sad and somewhat broken heart. It took me three days to get to Chicago. When I arrived I was very fortunate to get a room for a few days at one of the hotels. I didn’t care much for the place at all, so next few days I went out and drove around to some nice beautiful residential places looking for private rooms for rent. The second day out, I found a private home in Marquette Park that had a sign in the window, Room for Rent, to a single person. The people were very nice and friendly. They were German-Lithuania. They spoke very good English and I spent lot of time with them, talking where I came from, how I had worked in those dirty dangerous coal mines, and about my navy life. Later I was told they had a son in the Navy aboard one of the aircraft’s that was sunk by Japanese planes and he was lost in sinking of the ship. When I had moved in their son’s room, I made them feel much better and took away some of their dull moments thinking of their lost son. They had three daughters and all were married and away from home. I had stayed with them for nearly seven months.

Could have stayed much longer, but the first job I had gotten at Sunbeam as a die-setter went on strike. I didn’t care at all to participate so I left and went far up northwest of Chicago and there I found a job at Ekco Products Co. on April 3, 1946. There, my first job was the same; die-setter, later there was an opening for tool & die maker. I had stayed there for quite a long time. They are the company the makes all kinds of kitchen utensils. If you look at some of your kitchen utensils you’ll find some stamped, Made by Ecko Products Co. When I got married they gave me just about everything for use in the kitchen. Pots, pans, cooking vessel, forks, knives, spoons, egg beater and some other things. These very good gift was worth well over hundred dollars at that time. After nearly thirty seven years of our marriage we still use some of those things quite regularly!”              

Ekco Spoon                   Muffin Pan                  Egg Beater                                  Peeler

(A footnote on Dad’s job with Ekco: there he was, an educated and trained tool-and-die maker and aviation machinist making pots & pans and kitchen utensils. I am sure he must of felt frustrated working on such menial tools when he could be working on airplane engines.)

Nearly year and half later, on June 21, 1947, dad married Dorothy.

This is all Dad wrote about his wedding . . .  

When the Italians married their daughters, they sure know how to put up a big beautiful wedding. Well over hundred people attend our wedding. (But not one member from Dad's family.) 

. . .  and The Honeymoon: 

For our honey moon we drove to Washington DC. In my 1936 Chev. First we stopped at my parent’s home in Pennsylvania for a day. The next couple of days drove down to Washington DC. Took in many interesting sightseeing places. Spent nearly a week there. After all of that we drove up to Gettysburg Battle field to see civil war National Park and spent day and half there, and then on to New York Long Island where my sister Eldona lived. Spent two days there and after that, we drove back to my parent’s home. All in all our honey moon was quite exuberating.

Back to Agnes . . .

Once again, dad’s writing jumped, I think, about 40 years later, about the time he started to write his memoirs while living in Florida, writing on saved half-sheets of faded blue paper to Agnes.

Dad wrote, “Now if it wasn’t for the Barnesboro Star Newspaper which I have been getting for a longtime, I wouldn’t be writing to you Agnes. There is only one issue per week and there are times I don’t get one for some time later, it got lost in mail somehow.

But there is one time that still stands out in mind. I don’t know what propelled me to go up the hill to your old homestead, maybe to get a haircut, from time to time your brother Joe used to give me a haircut. Anyway, when I got up there I found Magdalyn making sandwiches with fresh garden pick tomatoes."

Dad ended his communication with Agnes by telling her this: “Nearly year & half later I married a beautiful girl who at that time look(ed) pretty much like you, Agnes. Had a very nice beautiful church wedding. You can see in some of the pictures that I had sent you. About sixteen months later our son Edward was born Sept 1948. Twenty one months later our daughter Elizabeth was born. Next about four years later I bought two acres of nice beautiful land just outside city of Chicago. Town called Mokena.”

This part of my Dad’s story stops here. Yet there is so much more to tell . . . another twenty-five years or so . . . and one day I will complete the story about my father.  Till then . . .

–

I hope you enjoyed reading this story about my Dad and hopefully it will encourage you to write a story about your father or any of your family members. If someone does not write their stories, their history will be forever gone. Photographs are great to have, but the written word makes the picture come alive.
 

“You are our living link to the past. Tell your grandchildren the story of the struggles waged at home and abroad. Of sacrifices made for freedom’s sake. And tell them your own story as well – because (everybody) has a story to tell.”        

                                                                                                                       George H.W. Bush           
                                                                                                State of the Union Address 1990

 

 

Thanks for the Memories - Father's Day

Father's Day was founded in Spokane, Washington at the YMCA in 1910 by Sonora Smart Dodd. Its first celebration was on June 19, 1910. Her father, the Civil War veteran William Jackson Smart, was a single parent who raised his six children.

It’s always good to know a little about the origins of our family holidays. Many a deserving father receives cards and gifts on this day, as well he should. Just like mom, he works hard to provide for his family and deserves to be appreciated.

My recollections of celebrating this day with my dad are some for the fondest ones I have.  I followed him where ever he went; out in the garage or down in the basement. While he built our house, we would have our lunch together sitting on top of the roof. That drove my mom crazy. But I was never afraid when I was with my dad. What I remember most was how challenging it was to find a gift for him. He was a hard-working man, always toiling away at something. If it wasn’t his job as a machinist, his hands always oily and greasy, he was working on building our house or working in the garden. His only past time was reading the newspaper and he cherished this time when he could just sit and read. He also loved cigars and that was the one thing he always received for every special occasion. I still have one of his cigar boxes.

Keith remembers how his pop would play with him and when he became a dad, he did the same with his kids.

After I was married, Father’s Day had a new focus. The first year we were married, Keith became a father. We still shared the day with our dads, but now things were different. I still bought mine his box of cigars and Keith gave his father a new fishing pole.

But the day seemed different.

We had our baby Tiffeni and we celebrated Father’s Day feeling quite overwhelmed with the challenges that awaited us both.

For the next seventeen years, Tiffeni and Keith were inseparable. They did everything together and were liked kindred spirits. She loved being with her papa when he was building our house, she like playing down in the basement or out in the garage. (Sound familiar?) Wherever he was, she was. When we moved to Florida they went to baseball games together he taught her how to grow a garden. They shared their love for history, architecture, and adventure. Every Father’s Day she presented him with cards and gifts, and as she got older, she wrote philosophical thoughts reflecting on her love for her him.

Two months after Tiffeni turned seventeen, she got a baby brother, Charlie. Never did we think that another child would come into our lives. And boy! Did our lives change. This bouncy baby boy fulfilled so many wishes for all of us. 

Tiffeni was in her last year of high school when Charlie was born. The next year she would be off to college. Keith and my plans change dramatically. But that was OK. We both enjoyed another childhood. Charlie became papa’s little boy and they, too, became inseparable.  

Pictures and stories should be recalled during Mother’s & Father’s Days. What makes these memories even better are the greeting cards. Look back at the April 21 posting about what to do with old greeting cards. The advice there puts the monumental task of organizing kept cards into manageable projects that will help you manage and keep your memories alive. When I found the box of the hundreds of cards I saved over the decades, it was a formidable task sorting them out. I can’t tell you how many I threw out and saved for a contribution to St. Jude’s recycling program. But once I started to organize them, every card was a trip down memory lane. Here are a few Father’s Day cards from the kids and even one from me.

 Tiffeni was the first born. When Tif was old enough to pick out her own cards, she selected ones that reflected some their activities they shared, like gardening, and fun and quite times she cherished with her papa.

Charlie loved to draw in the cards he gave his papa. Especially ships. Keith would ask Charlie, “Who’s my favorite boy”? Even now, and this year Charlie turned 27, Keith still refers to Charlie as his favorite boy. Very endearing!

           The one card I love very much was how even at a young age, Charlie understood his father’s challenging times, and his Father’s day card that year offered him words of encouragement.

This card was the first one from me for Keith’s first Father’s Day, dated June 9, 1970, about six weeks after Tiffeni was born. Inside it said, "Ours has been a heir raising experience!

This Sunday is Father’s Day and Keith will be given more cards.  I will save these, too, and put them in his memory box. And if and when a day should come when memories are more cherished than ever, he can look back and read all of his cards and enjoy the life he gave and shared with his children. Happy Father’s Day!

Have a great weekend.    

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