My father was a man of few words. He would share his thoughts and ideas about life in his basement electronics workshop. I'd listen to him and I swear those evenings cast my view on everything in life from getting an education to how to treat people.
My dad was essentially homeless at age 11. His mom and dad had split up and his new step dad did not want to pay for two hungry boys during the Great Depression. So, my grandmother called my dad in and told him he needed to take his nine year-old brother and go to live with their dad in Oklahoma. With barely ten dollars in his pocket, my dad and his brother headed down to the freight yards in Modesto California looking for any train heading east.
A hobo getting off one of the trains admonished them saying, "Trains are dangerous. You boys got no business being here." When they explained that they were headed to Oklahoma to live with their dad, the hobo said he had just come from Oklahoma and he had nothing to do. The hobo said he would teach them how to ride the rails and take them back to Oklahoma City. Riding the rails in search of work was common back then.
When they got to Oklahoma, their dad said, "I can't afford you boys. You need to go back to your mom's in California." The boys worked on a farm for two months to earn money for the trip home. When they went to the farmer to get their pay, he said, "You boys been working for room and board." So, they headed back to the freight yards.
Two days later, the train they were on stopped in El Paso even the hobos were getting off. My dad asked why they trains had stopped and a hobo told him, "Boys, the trains don't never run on Thanksgiving." Later, as a pilot flying on Thanksgiving, I would look down and see trains idle on tracks across the nation and think of my father.
With no food in two days, the boys were hungry and headed into town. They knocked on a house door and the wife told them she would bring them a plate if they sat on the back porch quietly. They had to promise to leave as soon as they were done. They headed back to the freight yards to sleep in a box car and, two days later, made it back into Modesto.
My dad got a job working on a fruit orchard in Modesto. He worked there, adopted by the couple who could not have any children of their own. When he turned 16, he lied about his age and joined the Merchant Marine. Two years later, he joined the Navy. Dad never finished 7th grade. He became a Navy photographer and camera repair instructor. After leaving the Navy, dad took courses and learned electronics, retiring as an associate field engineer and tech rep for a company building multi-million dollar aerial reconnaissance cameras for the military.
As a little kid, I only heard this story directly from my dad once, over dinner. Like many who face severe hardship, he rarely talked about his past. I heard many of the details again from my mother through my life. It affected me to the core knowing that, going through what he did as a child, he still provided for me as best he could. Knowing what he had been through, that security meant everything to me. Looking back, I had a wonderful childhood.
Viewing things from this side of life, I now wonder if those we call "The Greatest Generation" were like they were because of the hardship they had experienced and I wonder how present generations will handle the hardships coming their way...
At one of those evening father-son times at his workbench in the basement in the smoky haze of solder smoke (while I was burning the workbench with his soldering iron) my father told me his concept of what being a father, or a parent meant...
"The best you can do is try and teach your children how to make the best decisions they can, and to learn from the mistakes they will inevitably make. Once they walk out the door, they are on their own."
To all the fathers out there, Happy Fathers Day.
