I know my oddball way of presenting issues sometimes is lost in translation, a burden I've borne all my life. There is something I must divest myself of in the here and now, hope you don't mind. In a way it's even on topic.

My dad was born in August of '20, in the rolling hill country of Stewart County, Tn., just outside a little berg called Dover, on the Cumberland River. You may not have heard of Dover, but there was a time when U.S. Grant rued the day that he found it. It was a log cabin on Lick Creek where it occurred, and where he grew up. No running water, no electric lights, just his father, mother and two sisters, both younger. His father was called "Square" by the locals, a reference to his business dealings, as in Square Deal. He demanded the same of his offspring. And an LOT of hard work on the farm as well. I suppose that in that era there was no such thing as an easy farm, but still, I'm thinking that bringing timber out of the hollows with a mule team makes you tough in a hurry.

There are the odd tales told of fall slaughter, the scalding of the hogs, the processing, nothing wasted back then. The times of hunting, a half dozen .22 shorts issued and a half dozen squirrel expected. Head shots were required as meat was wasted otherwise. Gramps was earnest about that point. Then there was the fishing for smallmouth bass in the creek, guinea feathered spinners, the big one that always eluded him, and other days down at the "bottomless" hole where everybody swam on hot summer days. At a kid I jumped into Lick Creek off that enticing rope swing...Oh Lord it was COLD!

Grand Dad had earned the Distinguished Service Cross, at Belleau Wood I think, retrieving wounded comrades while under fire, and that set a high bar there in the county. When Dad was old enough he joined the Army, in early 1940, with his fathers blessing. It was there that he experienced indoor lighthing(electric) and plumbing for the first time.

For reasons known only to the Department of the Army he wound up in the Air Corps, and quickly embraced the world of aircraft maintenance. B-17s at Hendrix Field, now known as Sebring. Within a short time he met my mother, got transfered to another airdrome, then back, as WWII began. He did not gain an assignment into the war zone, and thus became one of the unkowns, the faceless minions that supported the line, fixing, teaching, and flying as a crew member on anti-sub patrols in the Gulf and Atlantic. He and Mom married with the passing of time, the acquaintences became family in the town of Frostproof, Fl. and their story began. There were stories told of that time too, a time of abundant wildlife, and suicidal bass in the multitude of surrounding lakes. Just before the war ended they were transfered to Chanute Field in Champagne, Il. and my brother came into the world. It was a time of downsizing, and a time of many moves. Salina, Ks, March Field in Riverside. Columbus, Oh., Lake Charles, La., West Palm Beach(Morrison Field), Tinker, then Guam and Patrick AFB near Cape Kennedy. By then they were lugging me around too, and Dad was a Warrant Officer. Chief of Maintenance.

We had built some of our own legend by then, hunting and fishing, an occasional warming of the buns as well. He never had to explain things a second time after such punctuation. We hunted quail in Florida and Oklahoma with his magical liver and white named Jo-Jo. We hunted squirrel, pheasant, rabbits, hogs, dove, and other things too. Hunting on Guam was a trip, an memorable experience indeed. Fishing in fresh and salt water, and all the while he managed against great odds, to keep me out of jail and in school. For that I am indebted and in awe.

I joined the Army myself in '68, snuck down to the recruiting office and signed up to fly choppers...as a Warrant Officer. He didn't show it much but I knew he was proud. I was sorry that it upset mom so badly, but I had to do what I had to do.

In his career he had transitioned into the Air Force at inception, in 1947, and immediately fallen into the clutches of Curtis LeMay and his Strategic Air Command. It was a nightmare I'm quite sure. When the chance came he took a change in career paths and hooked up with MATS, the precursor to MAC. In West Palm, and in Ok City he had enough influence to allow my brother and I to explore C-124s and B-50s(without supervision) that were in for maintenance. He only had to tell us once not to touch the red stuff...how neat was that?! I was 10-12 years old then...

Prior to that, he had the occasion to help maintain a fleet of nuke equipped B-50s in Okinawa in the immediate aftermath of the Korean thing. The photos he brought home fascinated me no end. I didn't know what Nose Art was back then, but all them nekkid ladies fascinated me! So did the little wooden boat with the electric motor from Japan. What high science that was, considering that we never had a phone or TV until the late '50's. Or air conditioning. That waited until the '60s.

I went to Viet Nam, and when I returned we passed as ships in the night as he headed for Thailand. Korat and Takhli, for first the EB-66 operation(remember Bat21?) and then for the Wild Weasel mission performed by the Thud, or F-105s. We passed a year later at LAX when he returned home and I left for my second tour. He and mom found a home on the east coast of the Windy State and lived there from that time as he had retired after 31 years of service. They golfed, fished, hunted(yes, mom was known to bust a quail bird now and then) and traveled, for another 34 years. In that time he found his place in the world, made an awful lot of friends and I still ponder how to imitate that in my retirement. He had a way with people I've never quite developed, and in that manner left a big mark in ways I can't even begin to explain.

He had his follies, certainly. Living thru the Depression made pack rats of many of his generation, and when I recently helped clean up his workbench(under his close scrutiny) he was less surprised than me when I found an unused head gasket set for an early '50s vintage Mecury outboard, purchased in '56. It still had the sales receipt in the bag, and it was perfectly usuable as well. The motor stayed with us only briefly as he'd found his Martin 10 hp much more reliable. He did NOT allow me to dispose of the gaskets, as my nephew has developed a penchant for restoring antique outboards... Did I tell you he invented bass buggin' with a flyrod? Yep, in the Palm Beach area back in '54. At least I thought so, 'cause I'd never seen anyone else do that. And man-o-man did he ever catch some bass with that rig. It had an Automatic Martin Flyreel and an 8' glass rod, level C floating fly line. His favorite pattern was a bumble bee bug with 6 rubber legs, a mottled yellow and black color. Pure death on the bass population back then. He used 3 different sizes. Never figured out how he made the choice from one day to the next, but he was seldom wrong. Someday I'll tell you about the Model T swamp buggy he built, the one we used to use in the Everglades when we got the family together for the annual Thanksgiving campout. Pokety-pokety, it never got stuck...

Well, I could go on forever with this but it's not necessary I suppose. My telling of this is perhaps odd, but it is a small measure of my admiration of the man, and his measure as well. In his own way he was "Square" too, always fair, and he suffered fools far better than I. Perhaps that came from life around 2LTs for all those years? After a year fighting a staggering onslaught of cancer he passed last Monday, and I will miss him dearly.


There is a Browning Sweet 16, 44 years young, in my rack now, not quite NIB but not far from it. It has done things I have never mastered even though I can strive for that level of skill. And there are 3 bumble bee pattern poppers, gummed to bits by the bass he enticed with subtle pops and twitches, laying on my loading bench. I'll never fish with them of course, but they will make a nice touch, stuck in the cork of that old rod with the Automatic Martin Flyreel as it hangs on wooden pegs over the bench. I can never look at those things without remembering the day he caught the one-eyed bass in Lake Osbourne. It was surely the biggest bass in the whole wide world... Only MY Dad could have caught that fish.

I don't know what I'm going to do with the perfectly pristine spinner, the one with the guinea feathers, mottled grey with red and white.

Good story, beautiful memories.
My condolances Dan

Ahhh, memories.
It seems we don't relish our contact with family and friends until we have one taken away.Part of life I guess.
I've been lucky so far as I still have both my parents.In fact, they sold the homestead on the other side of town and moved in just a few blocks away from me.
I have been busy with work and play.I haven't even called my folks in weeks.
After reading your story DD, I think I'll stop by their place and see if they want to go get something to eat.

I am sorry and saddened by your dad's passing.

The good do die way too young.

Thanks for taking the time to put it to paper. It helped me put my little problems into perspective.

Danno, Sorry I didn't get to know him better, hope to see you this fall, perhaps creeping the bottoms. G

DD,

My Dad was 16 years older than yours, but led just about the same life, a hard headed Irishman who died the same day Ronnie Reagan was shot by Hinkley. I still have his hump back Browning and old bamboo flyrods too. My Dad is still there with me when I hunt and fish and I'll bet yours will be too!!

Our best to you and your family.

Dan, my condolances. Thank you for sharing your memories with us.

Regards,
Martin

Geez Danno, You got me to reminising(sp) and damn near to blubbering, ya fink! derf

Dan, Ya got the tears to show up. There are 2 fly rods in my closet I will never master as my dad did. My heart goses out to you and yours.
The Memories mean alot to me to.
Gene

My condolences. He sounds like a fine man that led a full and honorable life.

As to the spinner. You should take it fishing once a year. Maybe sometime around his birthday....

Got a little misty eyed reading that,,My condolances to you Dan,,Clay

Dan,

Sorry for your loss. My condolances to you.

Hog Killer

In case anyone wonders why it is called "The Greatest Generation" just re-read Dan's post. No whining, no "they owe me" or any of the nonsense we hear today.

What else can a guy say...

I just pray that at my passing there is someone able to say half of that about myself. Sorta makes me think, sitting here with a 2 year old and imminent newborn in the house...

Mourn the passing and celebrate the life. Good luck and best wishes!

Every cat you kill will move him higher up in the pecking order in heaven. At your rate I figure another 6-7 years and him and St Peter will be popping golden quail on the covey rise with Berretta shotguns made by the original Berreta (before they all got inbred up there in the Val Trompia).

They'll bring LeMay up from hell on your dad's birthdays just to light your dad's cigars.

If I get a chance next week I'll kill a cat, take it to my local Catholic church and stick a lit candle in it's ass in memory of your dad.

I'm glad his suffering is over and he is back home with my dad.

John Francis Xavier "Charlie" Noak
lawndart

I am certain that your father will be remembered by many and missed by all who knew him. Thanks for telling us about his life; it is without doubt a tale worth the telling.

My condolances to you.

quote:

They'll bring LeMay up from hell on your dad's birthdays just to light your dad's cigars.

Lawndart, that is priceless, and I'm not the only one smiling about that one I know.

BTW, I didn't delve into some of the more esoteric aspects of his hunting practice, suffice it to say he was one of us.

Dan, That's a wonderful story. My condolances to your family.

Dan, my thought and prayers are with you.

My father is 78 years young, I just finished building and setting up a new blind for him to hunt this fall and winter, roofed and heated. Small recompense for the labor he has spent on me and my siblings over the years.

Your story moved me. I am proud to be acquainted with you, even if it is only through this site. Peace be upon you in this time of grief.

Remember, Dan, I got your back. Ellen and my prayers are with you.

Your father and mine are of an age, and while mine still lives, it makes me want to give him a call and pass the time a little.

Thanks for sharing, Dan.

I always enjoy your posts .... and now I see why.

It's obvious the acorn landed next to the tree.


teflon

Nice tribute to a good man. Sorry for your loss, Dan.

My condolances to you and yours Dan. Your story quickly brings to mind and heart the fact that I have not been hunting or fishing with my dad for over ten years... I had better call him while I still can. Thanks for shareing.

Dan, My Buddy,

Sorry to hear about your loss. Hold on to and cherish the memories of your father. He will live forever in your heart.

Regards,
Kory

Dan, theres' not much left to be said, but i offer my condolences, your father sounds like a truely great man. I wish you and all those around you peace in this, your time of sorrow. May his memory live in you and your's for the rest of your days, and you remember nothing but good times.

I am overwhelmed my the kind words from all of you, and thanks to each and every one.

A curious series of coincidences occurred at services, held at Florida National Cemetary, a place I'd never heard of until then. It is a beautiful and peaceful place in the oak covered hills west of Orlando. The Honor Guard for the service is staffed by voluteers, many being older vets from years gone by. The presiding gentleman was named Hendricks, the name of my father's first duty station, as I mentioned above. His counterpart was a veteran of Claire Chenault's Flying Tigers. Old and weathered, but still going strong. The facility representitive had at several points attempted to inject some levity into the affair, and I suppose there was a feeling of uncertainty on his part due to the lack of response from the group gathered there that afternoon. He began to explain his intent and in the process mentioned his service in Viet Nam as a grunt, and that he would never intend to show disrespect to one interred there. My mother understood this, we all did actually, but when she mentioned my years 'over there' flying helicopters he blurted out, "You probably saved my butt." THAT got a laugh at a very appropriate time. I shook his hand and puzzled about the symetry of it all as we departed. I gotta say though, it is really quite impossible to keep an iron reserve after the rifles salute and Taps is sounded.

My wife and I got straffed by a Bald Eagle as we left the grounds, northbound on SR476B. I have no idea how they arranged that.

DD, first off, I know I've not been hanging around for a while (like a year) but this was the thread I've read here since I signed back up. My condolences are with you. From the memories you shared, it's obvious your father and you had a lot of good times together. That's something to be proud of, because it's something not everyone gets to experience.

Thanks for sharing.

Rick

DD, your Daddy was a man.

Those of you with fathers - parents - like Dan's - cherish them!

Not all of us were so lucky...

DigitalDan, Your DAD was First Class.

Im not that far from Stewart County. I was really close to it for about 2 years at Ft. Campbell. The Cumberland River runs right through here. My dad drove a ferry boat on it here for 27 years.

Danno sorry to hear about you dad. My deepest condolences go out to you.

Thank you for your tribute to your father. He was a good man who left a worthy son. I join you in mourning his passing and rejoicing that he lived.

quote:

Living thru the Depression made pack rats of many of his generation

Every time I go thru the junk in my garage I get bittersweet feelings and think of my Dad and my Grand Dads. A lot of my tools and fishing and hunting gear belonged to them. I guess they're the reason I'm a packrat and an outdoorsman too.

Sorry to hear of your loss, I think of my departed family members every day.

Dan,

Sorry to hear you lost your Dad.

Check your email.

$bob$

DD,
The story of your father's life is very much like the story of my Dad would read.
He too was born in 1920, on January 2. My father passed away on May 15 of this year and I do miss him so much. I think of him and all the good times we had together everyday.
My best to you and yours,
Pat B.