He was a “Duesy”

Looking back, I remember Dad had an absolute crush on the Duesenberg and Cord motor cars of his childhood days.  They weren’t only stylish, but were also technically superior to any other automobile at the time. Trouble was they were too expensive (unpractical) for the times. The dichotomy that was my Dad can be summed up with my own memory of 1957.  Dad was going to buy his first brand new car ever.  The choice was between a Chevrolet and a Rambler.  I was rooting for the Chevy (which remains a classic) but the Rambler ended up in the driveway because it was the practical choice!  God help me, I hated that car!

Today was (or is?) my father’s birthday.  Since he would have been 90 years old today, I guess using the past tense is proper.  Except he remains alive in my memory as much --  maybe even more so -- than ever.

Tom Brokaw would have characterized him as a member of The Greatest Generation.  I don’t believe he would have ever self-identified with that moniker.  But I know firsthand he was a significant contributor to the “Baby Boomer” generation (for which I will be forever thankful)!

You grow up in the shadow of someone and still rarely know what makes him “tick.”  Sure, you learn if I say “this” his reaction may predictably be “that”. But rarely have I ever contemplated what life experiences he might have had that could have shaped a particular reaction.

Born in 1922, the only son of an only son (a tradition that has continued for two succeeding generations), it was the beginning of the Roaring Twenties. By all accounts, the Chicago-land area faired exceedingly well (particularly if you factor out Wall Street).

By the time he was 7, a Great Depression had fallen upon the land.  His family survived because his father was a highly skilled, unionized, printing craftsman called an electrotyper.   I can imagine (now) how seemingly important and practical it would be to him to develop technical capabilities.  And he did so, first by enrolling in Lane Technical High School, then going on to apprentice as a tool and die maker.  Nuts and bolts basically, as important as any cog in a functioning wheel.

Along come WWII, and he gets drafted into the Army.  Because of his “technical” background (and I suspect his solid physic) he became a field radio operator.  Fighting in Germany, with a surname the same as an opposing German general, must not have been any picnic.  But it was during this time that a pen-pal romantic relationship took root with my mother.  As someone famous once quipped, it must have been “the worst of times and the best of times.”

Some of both were still in his future.  Upon his return, he proposed to his sweetheart (knowing a little about his personality, I still cannot fathom the depth of his courage to do this) and married soon after.  He became an entrepreneur in a partnership with a high school friend to create and sell authentic-to-scale model railroad cars, specializing in electric interurban specimens.  This was a disastrous combination of skill and passion. 

At the same time the business venture was falling apart, I entered his world.  I can never say I was unwelcomed or unloved, but I definitely had to have been a burden.  The financial situation was such that my first address was identical to my grandfather’s -- because my parents had to move back to his home.  Dad petitioned Grandpa to sponsor him as an apprentice in the Electrotyper’s Union.  Long story short, Dad followed in his father’s profession.

Anxious to gain a sense of independence (I’m sure), my parents bought a bungalow way out in the Chicago ‘burbs.  It was really a shack, but it had “promise.”  I was 4.  I was 30 before the promise was completed.  I saw Dad self-learn to become a builder/carpenter, pipefitter, brick mason, roofer, landscaper -- a true jack-of-all-trades.  He did this on weekends and weeknights after a two hour round trip commute to the city.

Technology changes and union inflexibility eventually led to the demise of the electrotyping trade.  Out of work with 30+ years of experience in a now non-existent field, Dad went back to school to learn to become a computer programmer and landed a position with the local school district.  I think it was at this point that I first remember being so proud of him, not only for this but for all his accomplishments.

I was fortunate he was able to spend the last few months of his life nearby and we used that time to connect again. He told us stories I had never heard, which only made me appreciate him more.  My advice:  don’t wait until the last few months to connect.