My father was an Air Force vet, and wasn’t treated all that well by the service, but it did put him on a career track and he spent most of adult life in government service. My parents met in 1962 in and around Fairbanks, Alaska, while both worked for the Federal Aviation Administration. (My mother had moved to Alaska after working for the National Archives in DC, because her fiancé was already up there, having moved there some months before, and her favorite sister lived there with her husband. The fiancé didn’t prove out. She spent considerable time in her adult life working in various governmental service jobs as well.) The remains of Camilla Mason nee Rocchi are interred and Robert Mason’s will be, once air travel is a bit more safe than it currently seems, at the Punchbowl Military Cemetery on the island of Oahu.
Todd, my father served on a destroyer in the Pacific. He was a Gunnery Mate. A Japanese kamikaze plane struck his ship and my father was injured. He was awarded a Purple Heart. After World War II was over, my father took advantage of the G. I. Bill to get a college degree (and later, a Master’s Degree–the first member of his family to do so).
Oddly enough, I think my father was the first in his family to get a MS degree…or any degree…with a qualifying exam for professional engineers, relatively late in his career. Likewise, my mother taking an associates degree in business early on was the first in her family to go that far. Both had taken further courses while in the FAA in Alaska, but life (and expensive hobbies, and the Cheena River flood in 1967) got in the way.
Todd, without the G.I. Bill, my father could not have afforded to go to College. But, once there, my father loved learning and the prospects of better jobs. My father’s five brothers didn’t go to College and ended up driving trucks, working in a factory, and farming.
Add granite-quarry and coalmine work to that list, and that’s what a lot of my uncles (as well as my grandfathers, and step-grandfather) found themselves doing as well, on both side of the family, among other jobs that may or may not have been as rewarding as the ones my parents were able to find.
Todd, as my father’s brothers got older and experienced job-related injuries, they looked at my father’s choice to go to College to get better jobs as a smart move.
Patti Abbott
Three gorgeous days in MI. May the force be with us a bit longer.
A good friend of my parents died on Guadalcanal. His name was Harold Speed, nicknamed (for reasons I never knew) “Jerry.” A few years later they had me, their first son, and named me Ralph (my father’s name) Harold House; from the day I was born I was called Jerry. The name fits me and I am very proud of it. I’m glad that there is a day to stop and reflect on the sacrifices of our servicemen, although that is something most of us would do even if there were no such holiday.
I hope you and Diane (and Patrick and Katie, wherever they might be) have a fantastic day. What’s on the menu?
Jerry, I love your story about how you got your name! I’m named after my father. I’m as proud as my name as you are of yours! Patrick is having fun in New York City. Katie has a picnic somewhere in the suburbs of Boston. Diane decided on traditional hot dogs, burgers, Cole Slaw, German Potato Salad, watermelon, and later, ice cream. The weather here is summery: 80s, sunny, with a refreshing breeze!
And, if I may, Jerry’s a better name than Ralph (or Todd, though I’ve grown accustomed to it). Perhaps Jerry was a substitute for Harry in the bad old days for your namesake.
Todd, there’ nothing the matter with the name Ralph. Over the years, a number of people have suggested that I change my name legally to Jerry but I insist on keeping the name of the man who I respected more than anyone else in the world.
Ralph, for those without having the excellent example of your father (or yourself), and leaving aside the Emersons of the world, is one of those names that has been twisted, much as Todd has…glad you have a good auto guy, we can hope not too badly insulted over his name over the years!
Todd, our Todd does more than general repairs. He paints (his specialty) and remodels kitchens and bathrooms. A year ago he installed a beautiful walk-in shower for us!
My lament was less to do with the names themselves, much less people who have them, than with the uses the names are put in popular culture and insult “humor”…
Jeff Meyerson
My father was 17 when he enlisted after Pearl Harbor, getting his mother to sign. He spent most of four years in Britain, working on airplanes for Omar Bradley and lesser mortals. My favorite picture from that time is of him, drunk, in full Highland regalia in Edinburgh.
Jeff, that must be some picture! My father’s brothers enlisted in the Army and served in the European Theater. After WWII, my father went to college and met my future mother who worked in the Bursar’s Office as a secretary. While they were dating, my future mother wanted to take a boat ride. My father told her, “I spent four years on a ship. I never want to go on the water ever again!” Despite that, my father was an excellent swimmer.
My father complained about the ship home from England. Seems he got fresh green peppers for the first time in four years and ate several, to the detriment of his stomach on the trip home! My father initially wanted to be a pilot (he joined the Army Air Corps), but when he failed at the last level, he said that he wasn’t going to get in a plane if he couldn’t fly it himself, so became an expert mechanic.
He had a good friend who had served in the South Pacific, who got malaria, which flared up from time to time for the rest of his life.
Actually, my parents met on Christmas Eve, 1941 at a party. She was with her boyfriend, who got drunk and disgraced himself. (He went on to be an ace pilot in the war.) My father was with his girlfriend, but he took my mother home. His ex later married his cousin. My parents corres[ponded for the four years he was away and we still have some of the letters.
Jeff, my father didn’t meet my future mother until after the war was over…so no letters. My father started out at college thinking he wanted to ba an accountant, but when he struggled in the Intermediate Accounting course, he decided to switch to Education.
wolf
Have a nice holiday!
And now a story from the other side.
My father grew up in West Prussia near the city of Danzig (Polish Gdansk) which became a kind of buffer after WW1.
He had to leave school at 13 years, worked in the harbour and later became a policeman. When Hitler came to power he needed people for his army and since “The Free City of Danzig” was in problems my father went to Germany, came to the Black Forest and met a lovely young blonde …
As a sergeant he knew that something would be happening so in summer 1939 he asked his girlfriend to marry him but they agreed not to have children because the times.
What was crazy:
As a Prussian he was a protestant (“evangelisch”) but his girlfriend came from a catholic family – the city where she grew up had been a part of Austria until Napoleon reorganised Germany. So the catholic priest visited my grand mother to ask how she could give her daughter to a heretic and grandmother told him to f*ck off!
My father became an officer, Hitler needed those and made it to captain while in Russia. In 1942 he realised that the war was lost for the Germans and he and his wife decided that she needed a souvenir from him because the probabilty of him dying in Russia was so high.
That’s how I was born in 1943.
Father was lucky in a way, he got hit by a shrapnel from a Russian cannon in 1944 and was sent home or rather to a hospital. Later he regularly had to go again and get new pills for his brain, Lithium, Valium, Librium and so on.
My mother’s only brother wasn’t so lucky, he disappeared near Stalingrad without a trace.
The city where I grew up became part of the French Occupied Zone and I can proudly tell that I still have the paper from the French authorities declaring that my father was just a “Mitläufer”, also ran, the lowest level of involvement with the Nazis.
PS:
Because of the fear that my father wouldn’t come home I was only baptised after WW2 ended, if he hadn’t returned I would habe become a catholic not a protestant.
When I was 6 years old and waiting to start school I was told that most of my friends and neighbours would go to the catholic school while I was going to the evangelical school – since then I hate that crazy state of mind they call religion!
As a (West-) German I can call myself really lucky that we managed the war so well, now I live in a really liberal and green country.
When I was a girl in Arizona, Memorial Day was to remember and celebrate those, mostly family, who were lost to us; grandparents and other ancestors, tribal or not, and special people in our and families past, and the great ones of the Nation. Now it seems to have become a day honoring U.S. military service, which was what Veterans Day used to be. I guess there are just two Veterans Days now. Too bad, the old way was important.
Virgo, Memorial Day is for mourning the U.S. military personnel who have died while serving in the United States armed forces. The first national observance of Memorial Day occurred on May 30, 1868. It was known as Decoration Day: the day was proclaimed by Commander in Chief John A. Logan of the Grand Army of the Republic for the purpose of honoring Union soldiers who died in the Civil War. As you and Cap’n Bob pointed out, Memorial Day has also become a day to honor Veterans, living and dead.
My father was an Air Force vet, and wasn’t treated all that well by the service, but it did put him on a career track and he spent most of adult life in government service. My parents met in 1962 in and around Fairbanks, Alaska, while both worked for the Federal Aviation Administration. (My mother had moved to Alaska after working for the National Archives in DC, because her fiancé was already up there, having moved there some months before, and her favorite sister lived there with her husband. The fiancé didn’t prove out. She spent considerable time in her adult life working in various governmental service jobs as well.) The remains of Camilla Mason nee Rocchi are interred and Robert Mason’s will be, once air travel is a bit more safe than it currently seems, at the Punchbowl Military Cemetery on the island of Oahu.
Todd, my father served on a destroyer in the Pacific. He was a Gunnery Mate. A Japanese kamikaze plane struck his ship and my father was injured. He was awarded a Purple Heart. After World War II was over, my father took advantage of the G. I. Bill to get a college degree (and later, a Master’s Degree–the first member of his family to do so).
Oddly enough, I think my father was the first in his family to get a MS degree…or any degree…with a qualifying exam for professional engineers, relatively late in his career. Likewise, my mother taking an associates degree in business early on was the first in her family to go that far. Both had taken further courses while in the FAA in Alaska, but life (and expensive hobbies, and the Cheena River flood in 1967) got in the way.
Todd, without the G.I. Bill, my father could not have afforded to go to College. But, once there, my father loved learning and the prospects of better jobs. My father’s five brothers didn’t go to College and ended up driving trucks, working in a factory, and farming.
Add granite-quarry and coalmine work to that list, and that’s what a lot of my uncles (as well as my grandfathers, and step-grandfather) found themselves doing as well, on both side of the family, among other jobs that may or may not have been as rewarding as the ones my parents were able to find.
Todd, as my father’s brothers got older and experienced job-related injuries, they looked at my father’s choice to go to College to get better jobs as a smart move.
Three gorgeous days in MI. May the force be with us a bit longer.
Patti, Diane celebrated those three gorgeous days in a row by going out and buying furniture for her deck.
A good friend of my parents died on Guadalcanal. His name was Harold Speed, nicknamed (for reasons I never knew) “Jerry.” A few years later they had me, their first son, and named me Ralph (my father’s name) Harold House; from the day I was born I was called Jerry. The name fits me and I am very proud of it. I’m glad that there is a day to stop and reflect on the sacrifices of our servicemen, although that is something most of us would do even if there were no such holiday.
I hope you and Diane (and Patrick and Katie, wherever they might be) have a fantastic day. What’s on the menu?
Jerry, I love your story about how you got your name! I’m named after my father. I’m as proud as my name as you are of yours! Patrick is having fun in New York City. Katie has a picnic somewhere in the suburbs of Boston. Diane decided on traditional hot dogs, burgers, Cole Slaw, German Potato Salad, watermelon, and later, ice cream. The weather here is summery: 80s, sunny, with a refreshing breeze!
And, if I may, Jerry’s a better name than Ralph (or Todd, though I’ve grown accustomed to it). Perhaps Jerry was a substitute for Harry in the bad old days for your namesake.
Todd, there’ nothing the matter with the name Ralph. Over the years, a number of people have suggested that I change my name legally to Jerry but I insist on keeping the name of the man who I respected more than anyone else in the world.
Jerry, one of my favorite movies is WRECK-IT RALPH!
Todd, “Todd” is the name of our fix-it guy who we love! The guy can fix anything and seemingly owns every tool ever made!
Ralph, for those without having the excellent example of your father (or yourself), and leaving aside the Emersons of the world, is one of those names that has been twisted, much as Todd has…glad you have a good auto guy, we can hope not too badly insulted over his name over the years!
Ah, sorry, general repair man, George!
Todd, our Todd does more than general repairs. He paints (his specialty) and remodels kitchens and bathrooms. A year ago he installed a beautiful walk-in shower for us!
My lament was less to do with the names themselves, much less people who have them, than with the uses the names are put in popular culture and insult “humor”…
My father was 17 when he enlisted after Pearl Harbor, getting his mother to sign. He spent most of four years in Britain, working on airplanes for Omar Bradley and lesser mortals. My favorite picture from that time is of him, drunk, in full Highland regalia in Edinburgh.
Jeff, that must be some picture! My father’s brothers enlisted in the Army and served in the European Theater. After WWII, my father went to college and met my future mother who worked in the Bursar’s Office as a secretary. While they were dating, my future mother wanted to take a boat ride. My father told her, “I spent four years on a ship. I never want to go on the water ever again!” Despite that, my father was an excellent swimmer.
My father complained about the ship home from England. Seems he got fresh green peppers for the first time in four years and ate several, to the detriment of his stomach on the trip home! My father initially wanted to be a pilot (he joined the Army Air Corps), but when he failed at the last level, he said that he wasn’t going to get in a plane if he couldn’t fly it himself, so became an expert mechanic.
He had a good friend who had served in the South Pacific, who got malaria, which flared up from time to time for the rest of his life.
Actually, my parents met on Christmas Eve, 1941 at a party. She was with her boyfriend, who got drunk and disgraced himself. (He went on to be an ace pilot in the war.) My father was with his girlfriend, but he took my mother home. His ex later married his cousin. My parents corres[ponded for the four years he was away and we still have some of the letters.
Jeff, my father didn’t meet my future mother until after the war was over…so no letters. My father started out at college thinking he wanted to ba an accountant, but when he struggled in the Intermediate Accounting course, he decided to switch to Education.
Have a nice holiday!
And now a story from the other side.
My father grew up in West Prussia near the city of Danzig (Polish Gdansk) which became a kind of buffer after WW1.
He had to leave school at 13 years, worked in the harbour and later became a policeman. When Hitler came to power he needed people for his army and since “The Free City of Danzig” was in problems my father went to Germany, came to the Black Forest and met a lovely young blonde …
As a sergeant he knew that something would be happening so in summer 1939 he asked his girlfriend to marry him but they agreed not to have children because the times.
What was crazy:
As a Prussian he was a protestant (“evangelisch”) but his girlfriend came from a catholic family – the city where she grew up had been a part of Austria until Napoleon reorganised Germany. So the catholic priest visited my grand mother to ask how she could give her daughter to a heretic and grandmother told him to f*ck off!
My father became an officer, Hitler needed those and made it to captain while in Russia. In 1942 he realised that the war was lost for the Germans and he and his wife decided that she needed a souvenir from him because the probabilty of him dying in Russia was so high.
That’s how I was born in 1943.
Father was lucky in a way, he got hit by a shrapnel from a Russian cannon in 1944 and was sent home or rather to a hospital. Later he regularly had to go again and get new pills for his brain, Lithium, Valium, Librium and so on.
My mother’s only brother wasn’t so lucky, he disappeared near Stalingrad without a trace.
The city where I grew up became part of the French Occupied Zone and I can proudly tell that I still have the paper from the French authorities declaring that my father was just a “Mitläufer”, also ran, the lowest level of involvement with the Nazis.
PS:
Because of the fear that my father wouldn’t come home I was only baptised after WW2 ended, if he hadn’t returned I would habe become a catholic not a protestant.
When I was 6 years old and waiting to start school I was told that most of my friends and neighbours would go to the catholic school while I was going to the evangelical school – since then I hate that crazy state of mind they call religion!
As a (West-) German I can call myself really lucky that we managed the war so well, now I live in a really liberal and green country.
Wolf, compelling story! But now Europe’s liberal and green countries are under threat by what’s happen in Ukraine.
May I remind everyone that this day is to honor the dead, those who died in service? You should save these comments for Veterans Day!
Bob, good point.
When I was a girl in Arizona, Memorial Day was to remember and celebrate those, mostly family, who were lost to us; grandparents and other ancestors, tribal or not, and special people in our and families past, and the great ones of the Nation. Now it seems to have become a day honoring U.S. military service, which was what Veterans Day used to be. I guess there are just two Veterans Days now. Too bad, the old way was important.
Virgo, Memorial Day is for mourning the U.S. military personnel who have died while serving in the United States armed forces. The first national observance of Memorial Day occurred on May 30, 1868. It was known as Decoration Day: the day was proclaimed by Commander in Chief John A. Logan of the Grand Army of the Republic for the purpose of honoring Union soldiers who died in the Civil War. As you and Cap’n Bob pointed out, Memorial Day has also become a day to honor Veterans, living and dead.