[I have come across some of my old writing and decided to place it here on Substack over the coming weeks and months…]
Sausalito today is a trendy tourist destination just across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County. But it wasn’t always so. When young Dave, the son of a railroad worker, was born in Willets, California in 1924, Sausalito consisted of a few fishermen living in ramshackle shacks who caught and sold fish and shellfish to the rich people over in San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge was still just a dream in the eyes of a few visionaries, and the trip across cold and windy San Francisco Bay was a long one.
Working for the railroad, Dave’s father moved around a lot. He went where the work was. That led him down the line from Willets to Sausalito, where Dave then spent most of his formative years. It was a hard-scrabble Depression-era existence, nothing like what the children who today live in Sausalito enjoy. But Dave worked hard and was accepted by Berkeley to study chemistry. It was a state school so he could (barely) afford it.
But something interrupted Dave’s plans to be a chemist – as it did the plans of 16,112,565 other young men and women who served in uniform in World War II. Dave joined the Army, and was selected for the Army Air Corps and flight school. He was then sent to Italy where he served in the Balkan theater. Though he never weighed more than 130 pounds, “Fearless Willie” herked and jerked his P-47 Thunderbolt between the flak and the ground fire he took while strafing German troops and convoys. And lived to come home to America.
Iola, Kansas would never be mistaken for Sausalito, then or now. It was and still is a small town, not far from the geographic center of the country. Paul was born in Iola in 1927. But the first Big Event young Paul would encounter in his life was not the horrors of war, but the power of Nature. You see, Iola was at the eastern edge of the 1930s Dustbowl. Paul grew up working hard on the family farm, but hard work was no match for the dust and the wind and the bankers. As many farmers of the day said wryly, “The wind blew the farm away, but we didn't lose everything—we still got the mortgage."
Like tens of thousands of others, with nothing left in Kansas, Paul’s Mom and Dad put a few possessions in their old jalopy and set out for what they hoped would be fertile California. Paul’s Dad had always been an independent man, a self-employed farmer now reduced to taking any job he could. He became a bag boy and later a clerk at the Stater Brothers grocery store. Yet he never lost his dignity and never said an unkind word about another person or his lot in life – qualities his son would note and follow.
Paul was just 17 when WWII ended. But since he’d planned to join the Marines as soon as he could join up, he did so even though the war was over when he turned 18. He took easily to military life. Though only 5’6” tall, he’d been a star point guard in school and his athletic ability, work ethic, and intelligence got him quickly promoted to Corporal – at which time he married his high school sweetheart and left the Marines. We’ve all heard this line, but it isn’t apocryphal – his Master Gunny really did tell him, “If the Marines wanted you to have a wife, they’d have issued you one.” Paul and Lois were married 55 years, a few more than the Marines might have allowed.
Since there was no Air Force Reserve at the time, Paul joined its precursor, the Civil Air Patrol, and began college. He wanted to become a veterinarian. All was going smoothly until the North Koreans poured across the 38th parallel. Paul was recalled to active duty and didn’t leave the newly formed Air Force for another 21 years. Assignments in Japan, Norway, France, and The Netherlands, numerous assignments in the U.S., and two volunteer tours in Vietnam followed.
Dave and Paul chose very different career paths in many ways, yet both returned to California, both settled down to raise their families and go about the business of doing a good job at what they did. These two men lived far enough apart that they met just once: at the wedding of their eldest kids. Yet both have stayed in the hearts of those two kids and so many others.
Those who have seen combat are forever changed, some indiscernibly, some more obviously. The changes may be subtle, but one way it manifests itself is that those who have been there don’t talk about it much unless it is with others who have had the same or similar experiences. Those who have tasted fear, seen chaos, and shaken hands with Death in uneasy agreement as each backed away from the other, can seldom relate any of it to those who have not experienced it.
I had the honor of knowing both these men well over many walks, more than a few whiskies, and sometimes just in silence and presence. Memorial Day is that day set aside to honor those who have fallen; Veterans Day for those who have served. Both Dave and Paul made it home from their wars so why write about them now? Because some men die in combat; others are allowed to live with new eyes and to give thanks daily and remember often. But sooner or later, the handshake grows distant for Death, and he returns.
For Paul, he came a few years back, after a doctor’s misdiagnosis and a hospital’s subsequent decision not to treat left him on a gurney in a hallway dying of a ruptured aneurysm. For Dave, it came more recently. He walked with his best friend and fellow veteran 3 miles a day every day, rain or shine, around the hills of the Sierra foothills until he was 84. But at 85 cancer would not be satisfied until Dave succumbed to it. Both these California boys, Paul and Dave, served in their lifetime, both fought, and both lived – until they faced an enemy that could not be beaten.
Many people describe Dave and Paul as members of The Greatest Generation. Well, by comparison to some generations raised to believe that feeling good about yourself is more important than hard work, common sense, and personal ethics, maybe that was The Greatest Generation.
I would say instead they were a typical American Generation. Every generation carries the seeds of greatness. And events, too often harsh or evil events, make them either Great or “found wanting.” Our own Founding Fathers, the generation torn by a horrible Civil War, the generations that forged a nation from sea to shining sea, and many before and many that will come after, all had or will have the potential for greatness thrust upon them.
Both Dave and Paul responded when the clarion call went out, each in their own way, bound only by the union of their two kids. I don’t know about The Greatest Generation appellation. I only know Paul and Dave were good men who could still be hard when needed. Gentle men who were also warriors when the need arose. Honest men who dealt with cruelty and dishonesty from others without being diminished by interaction with those lesser lights.
I do know they were the Greatest Dads ever. Dave Williams, my wife’s Dad, and
Paul Shaefer, my Dad.
We miss them, and honor them, today and every day.
© JL Shaefer 2011