Friday, June 19, 2015


 Big Silver, August 1959

My dad was born in the Ozark Mountains of south central Missouri in the early 1920s.  The family was of humble means, and when his mom past away he was forced to spend the remainder of his early years relying on the hospitality of his elder siblings and he regretted for as long as he lived, the financial burden he believed his presence placed on their households.  He left home at a young age and joined the Civilian Conservation Corp, where he served briefly before joining the war effort as a riveter at a bomber plant during World War II.  Once age permitted, he joined the Navy and shipped out on the Battleship New Jersey where he served until the close of the War.  Following his service, he left his home in Missouri and worked as a migrant farm worker, harvesting wheat enroot to California in the hope of joining the Merchant Marines. Arriving at last in California and finding the Merchant Marines on strike, he settled in Placerville, California with his sister and her family.  There he met and married my mom, and  hired on with the Pacific Gas & Electric Company, where he provided 32 years of dedicated service as a lineman. Following his retirement in 1978, our family returned to Missouri, where Dad was blessed to spend the next 30 years running a few head of cattle on our humble Ozark farm and turning our 120 acres into a park. Dad believed in doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with his God.  He rarely had an unkind word for anyone. He’d risked his life in the service of liberty, and he believed passionately that the fruits of his labors and all those who had given their lives in that pursuit should be enjoyed to the fullest extent possible by each and every American, as long as the pursuit of their own liberties infringed in no way upon the inalienable rights of others. Dad has been gone for several years now. I share his convictions and I miss him every day. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. SC

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