Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Pacis pro meus abbas
The young sailor stared at the picture on the mantle. "That's the girl I'm going to marry," he said. "Who is she?"He was eventually introduced to her. Her name was Hazel Simpson, but everyone called her Suzy and she was no ordinary woman. She learned to fly at age seventeen and had rubbed elbows with the likes of Wiley Post and Will Rogers.
Defying the wishes of a strict father, she'd left home at a young age, co-piloting an aircraft cross-country to California. She was from a family of wealth, he of more humble beginnings. A small town lad, the sailor realized he had his work cut out for him if he was going to win the heart of Miss Simpson.
The young couple soon fell into a rhythm of earnest courtship, hitting up the the Trocadero in West Hollywood, or the Troc as it was more familiarly known. They didn't often make it inside, finding themselves embroiled in conversation that would last for hours in the front seat of the sailor's car.
The sailor's ebullient charm and determination eventually won the heart and hand of Miss Simpson. She said yes to his proposal right before he shipped out to Honolulu and his post at Pearl Harbor.The next time they would see each other, instead of the affable sailor she'd bid farewell to nearly two years pevious, she would greet the sober man who'd survived the horrors of the morning of December 7th, 1941.
She had concerns about this changed man to whom she was about to make a life time commitment, but she set those concerns aside, and in the Little Brown Church, as they called it, they were wed in the company of a few friends. A month later, he reported for duty on the newly commissioned escort carrier Liscome Bay.
Barely three months after that, in the wee hours of a south pacific morning, the sailor was struggling for his life as he shinnied up a searing steam-pipe moments after the carrier had been struck by torpedo.
He didn't know how he made it off the ship. Less than half of the crew survived, he was one among them who'd been fished out of the pacific waters, severely burned and clinging to life by a thread.
On the mainland, the sailor's young bride had been back on the job, working at Lockheed Vega designing the aircraft that would help to advance the country's war efforts, when she got word her husband's ship had gone down. There was no news, however, as to whether he survived.
After an agonizing wait, she finally got the news that he was in a hospital in Hawaii. Some time later, he was shipped home to recuperate.
He kept his commission, working a desk job after his recuperation, until shortly after the war ended.
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It was those experiences, the coming of age during a time of war, facing its horrors, surviving what so many others didn't - it was those experiences that served to define the character of the man who was my father.
Although those experiences irrevocably changed him, he never lost his optimism, never lost the spirit which made my mother fall in love with him. He was always reluctant to talk about those times, however it was always there, the backdrop to a life of devotion, unwavering duty and integrity.
Of course he wasn't perfect, but even the finest gems are not unflawed. He kept his feelings tightly boxed, but he always had a story to tell and had a sense of humor as large as all outdoors.
It was that sense of humor that became our family's hallmark and provided the bridge that carried us over, around and through our various dysfunctions. Laughter is the glue that bonds us.
Fiercely loyal and unforgiving of betrayal, he kept his vow to his war bride, weathering the storms of marriage and all of its twists and turns until he said farewell to his Suzy fifty-eight years later.
It's now time to say farewell to him. His ninety years on this earth have left their mark. No-one who has ever met him will soon forget him. I am glad I got to be his daughter, glad for what he taught me and proud of the man he was.
Bye, daddy. I love you. You did your job well. Be at peace.
Posted at 8:12 PM | |
