Gramps
Mayor
You asked for a synopsis of my life. Here it is. Sorry to bore anyone else.
Whenever I’ve been asked to pen the story of my life I’ve told those who ask that if I did it would bore them to death.
It’s a soap of sorts and then, again, it’s been exciting beyond anything soap operas have to offer.
I had an interesting childhood; born during the roaring 20’s, grew-up during the terrible 30’s, spent most of the 40’s in the military and finally met life head on in a host of endeavors that would astound some folks.
My mother died when I was 13 going on 14. It turned my life upside down. My dad just didn’t deal with it as he should have and as a result I was tossed (along with a kid brother five years younger than I) from pillar to post. I think we lived in eight different places in the following 24 months, most of them bug infested rooming houses that I would call slums.
It fell my task to oversee my brother, to get him up in the morning, to fix him breakfast, to pack him a lunch for school, then get myself up and running to go to school. I had an older brother who, being sixteen and seeing the handwriting on the wall, quit school and got the hell out. My only sister, the oldest, was already married and gone.
I was not permitted to enroll in after school events; sports or clubs or anything that would interfere with my being home in time to take care of my little bud.
But I did manage to finish high school because I had a stubborn streak about doing it, the only one of the boys who did.
The war began when I was in 11th grade. I looked forward to going into the army, first because I wanted to serve and second because anything was better than the life I had. I traded my cap and gown for a khaki uniform in 1943, trained to become a professional killer and finally was sent overseas to ply my talents.
I served in New Guinea for a relatively short period of time, then went to Leyte (Philippines), then Luzon, then caught the tail end of Okinawa, and finally served 1-½ years in the army of occupation in Japan. I was one of the first Americans to land in Japan and was in Tokyo while they were signing the peace terms in Yokohama Bay. I had the good luck of flying over Hiroshima while traveling from Okinawa to Japan and saw the devastation close up and was totally overwhelmed by the sight.
I finally went home, didn‘t fit the civilian garb so well (my head wasn‘t yet screwed on right) and re-enlisted in the army because I was given the opportunity to be close to home as a cadre for the re-establishment of the National Guard in the state of Iowa. I spent the next 2 and a half years in
Des Moines attached to headquarters of the 34th Infantry Division, mainly with the 168th Infantry but actually assigned out of the Fifth Army in Omaha.
I met the love of my life during that hitch and got out of the army to marry her. Our marriage was a dismal failure, lasted but three years (with one child born) and I ended-up divorced and was awarded custody of the child because my bride just vanished from the face of the earth and left her in my charge.
But my second marriage has lasted 56+ years and I had an additional four children, now have 15 grandkids, 5 Great grandkids and have evolved into an old man awaiting the Grim Reaper (who has had me pinned on the ropes and down on the mat more than once) to give it another try.
My one goal in life was to write a book. I had neither the training nor the talent to tackle such a task but did it anyway. I took me forever but I managed to write 144,000 words about WWII from my point of view. It never made me rich but it gave me a host of new friends who did read it and took the time to contact me with words of thanks. One such reader, a retired career Marine, said of the book, “It should be required reading for every non-commissioned office in the military”.
If you note in my posts I am short on patience with people who use excuses for their failures, then you read my mindset.. I beat some odds that few people ever do to make a success of my life and I have never failed to give a helping hand to anyone in need (I hope, anyway).
After getting my life back together I discovered my chosen vocation was a dying career choice; I had studied to be a printer with old fashioned methods when offset printing came on the scene and destroyed ,my dreams.
I went into the transportation field and worked in ,management of trucking firms until I retired. It was both challenging and rewarding, never dull and sometimes mind boggling to keep stride with changes that came fast and furious in those days following WWII. The science of industry was on the move and I saw a business go from single axle tractors and 32 ft. round-nose trailers to tandem diesels and 45 ft hi-cube trailers capable of hauling double the cargo of those runts I first encountered. I had to learn to operate computers for tracing and billing and manifesting, all improvements that evolved out of a “scrap of paper operation”. I managed terminals with as many as three hundred employees, dealt with contract negotiations and unions, and stayed on the firing line rather than take a higher post in mahogany row where the big wheels strive to manage from a distance that prohibits them the knowledge needed to manage in a reasonable manner.
I retired and that was when I took up writing. My retirement was short lived. The firm I retired from went broke three years later and my pension went up in smoke with them. I went back to work part time, working an average of 25-30 each week until I was 82 years of age (a new field, private security). Since then my bride and I have gotten by on our income from SS and have managed to eat regularly and keep a roof over our heads.
I quit driving at age 84. It was time and a decision I think lots of other old timers wait too long to make. It’s an inconvenience not just for me but for my kids who see to it that mom and dad get wheels to go wherever they need to keep on top of necessities.
Health becomes a big issue with age. I have Parkinson’s disease, COPD and arthritis to name a couple of drawbacks. And my bride is a heart patient along with premature aging who has difficulty just getting around. But, we’re a team.
She is, BTW, eleven years younger than I. When we married people asked me why I was marrying such a young chick and I would tell them, “so I have someone to look after me when I get old”. Fate deals hands that are difficult to explain. I’ve been seeing to her needs daily since she had her first two heart attacks in the year 1989.
Life is whatever you make it. Strength is a necessity for survival. I tell people who ask that one of my hang-ups is probably responsible more than anything else for whatever success I’ve attained; getting me to do something I do not want to do or to NOT doing something my mind is set on has always been akin to shoving a wet noodle up a wildcats rectum.
Do I consider myself as lucky? You bet I do. I have it so much better than my forefathers did not that many years ago. I was born in the U. S. of A., have lived in the U. S. of A. for a lifetime and even defended the U. S. of A. in one of her hours of need and I have few regrets.
Jack Dallas once said I was a “hack” as a writer. Perhaps I am. I think I am more of a storyteller than a writer. Jack is an excellent writer. I wish him well. And then along come those like MaryAnn who read my book and compliment me on its merits rather than its failure to convey the message I wanted to plant in reader’s minds: war is the saddest state of affairs mankind has ever resorted to in their quest to solve problems. I know. I was in one.
Boring, huh? Gramps
Whenever I’ve been asked to pen the story of my life I’ve told those who ask that if I did it would bore them to death.
It’s a soap of sorts and then, again, it’s been exciting beyond anything soap operas have to offer.
I had an interesting childhood; born during the roaring 20’s, grew-up during the terrible 30’s, spent most of the 40’s in the military and finally met life head on in a host of endeavors that would astound some folks.
My mother died when I was 13 going on 14. It turned my life upside down. My dad just didn’t deal with it as he should have and as a result I was tossed (along with a kid brother five years younger than I) from pillar to post. I think we lived in eight different places in the following 24 months, most of them bug infested rooming houses that I would call slums.
It fell my task to oversee my brother, to get him up in the morning, to fix him breakfast, to pack him a lunch for school, then get myself up and running to go to school. I had an older brother who, being sixteen and seeing the handwriting on the wall, quit school and got the hell out. My only sister, the oldest, was already married and gone.
I was not permitted to enroll in after school events; sports or clubs or anything that would interfere with my being home in time to take care of my little bud.
But I did manage to finish high school because I had a stubborn streak about doing it, the only one of the boys who did.
The war began when I was in 11th grade. I looked forward to going into the army, first because I wanted to serve and second because anything was better than the life I had. I traded my cap and gown for a khaki uniform in 1943, trained to become a professional killer and finally was sent overseas to ply my talents.
I served in New Guinea for a relatively short period of time, then went to Leyte (Philippines), then Luzon, then caught the tail end of Okinawa, and finally served 1-½ years in the army of occupation in Japan. I was one of the first Americans to land in Japan and was in Tokyo while they were signing the peace terms in Yokohama Bay. I had the good luck of flying over Hiroshima while traveling from Okinawa to Japan and saw the devastation close up and was totally overwhelmed by the sight.
I finally went home, didn‘t fit the civilian garb so well (my head wasn‘t yet screwed on right) and re-enlisted in the army because I was given the opportunity to be close to home as a cadre for the re-establishment of the National Guard in the state of Iowa. I spent the next 2 and a half years in
Des Moines attached to headquarters of the 34th Infantry Division, mainly with the 168th Infantry but actually assigned out of the Fifth Army in Omaha.
I met the love of my life during that hitch and got out of the army to marry her. Our marriage was a dismal failure, lasted but three years (with one child born) and I ended-up divorced and was awarded custody of the child because my bride just vanished from the face of the earth and left her in my charge.
But my second marriage has lasted 56+ years and I had an additional four children, now have 15 grandkids, 5 Great grandkids and have evolved into an old man awaiting the Grim Reaper (who has had me pinned on the ropes and down on the mat more than once) to give it another try.
My one goal in life was to write a book. I had neither the training nor the talent to tackle such a task but did it anyway. I took me forever but I managed to write 144,000 words about WWII from my point of view. It never made me rich but it gave me a host of new friends who did read it and took the time to contact me with words of thanks. One such reader, a retired career Marine, said of the book, “It should be required reading for every non-commissioned office in the military”.
If you note in my posts I am short on patience with people who use excuses for their failures, then you read my mindset.. I beat some odds that few people ever do to make a success of my life and I have never failed to give a helping hand to anyone in need (I hope, anyway).
After getting my life back together I discovered my chosen vocation was a dying career choice; I had studied to be a printer with old fashioned methods when offset printing came on the scene and destroyed ,my dreams.
I went into the transportation field and worked in ,management of trucking firms until I retired. It was both challenging and rewarding, never dull and sometimes mind boggling to keep stride with changes that came fast and furious in those days following WWII. The science of industry was on the move and I saw a business go from single axle tractors and 32 ft. round-nose trailers to tandem diesels and 45 ft hi-cube trailers capable of hauling double the cargo of those runts I first encountered. I had to learn to operate computers for tracing and billing and manifesting, all improvements that evolved out of a “scrap of paper operation”. I managed terminals with as many as three hundred employees, dealt with contract negotiations and unions, and stayed on the firing line rather than take a higher post in mahogany row where the big wheels strive to manage from a distance that prohibits them the knowledge needed to manage in a reasonable manner.
I retired and that was when I took up writing. My retirement was short lived. The firm I retired from went broke three years later and my pension went up in smoke with them. I went back to work part time, working an average of 25-30 each week until I was 82 years of age (a new field, private security). Since then my bride and I have gotten by on our income from SS and have managed to eat regularly and keep a roof over our heads.
I quit driving at age 84. It was time and a decision I think lots of other old timers wait too long to make. It’s an inconvenience not just for me but for my kids who see to it that mom and dad get wheels to go wherever they need to keep on top of necessities.
Health becomes a big issue with age. I have Parkinson’s disease, COPD and arthritis to name a couple of drawbacks. And my bride is a heart patient along with premature aging who has difficulty just getting around. But, we’re a team.
She is, BTW, eleven years younger than I. When we married people asked me why I was marrying such a young chick and I would tell them, “so I have someone to look after me when I get old”. Fate deals hands that are difficult to explain. I’ve been seeing to her needs daily since she had her first two heart attacks in the year 1989.
Life is whatever you make it. Strength is a necessity for survival. I tell people who ask that one of my hang-ups is probably responsible more than anything else for whatever success I’ve attained; getting me to do something I do not want to do or to NOT doing something my mind is set on has always been akin to shoving a wet noodle up a wildcats rectum.
Do I consider myself as lucky? You bet I do. I have it so much better than my forefathers did not that many years ago. I was born in the U. S. of A., have lived in the U. S. of A. for a lifetime and even defended the U. S. of A. in one of her hours of need and I have few regrets.
Jack Dallas once said I was a “hack” as a writer. Perhaps I am. I think I am more of a storyteller than a writer. Jack is an excellent writer. I wish him well. And then along come those like MaryAnn who read my book and compliment me on its merits rather than its failure to convey the message I wanted to plant in reader’s minds: war is the saddest state of affairs mankind has ever resorted to in their quest to solve problems. I know. I was in one.
Boring, huh? Gramps
