A man I knew

He was born in Ohio. His birthday was in the last week of November, so every few years, it would fall on Thanksgiving. The man's family moved to California where he grew up and lived on the farm his dad worked. Around 1942, he joined the Army Air Corp. He was assigned at one time to England where he drove truck. He related stories of doing this as bombs fell from the skies.

He met a woman in a bar. He asked her to marry him. She told him she would never marry anyone who didn't know the answer to a particular riddle. He knew it. They were married the next week. The woman hated the man's first name and so she called him Steve. His Army buddies called him "Cyclone" They started a family with a little girl. Tragically, the girl died. He and his wife must have been devastated. I know what losing a child is like, I could not imagine if the child had been an infant or toddler. Their life was hard.

After WWII, Steve stayed in the Army and served during the Korea Conflict as it was called. He also served during the Cold war days of the Cuban missile Crisis. By this time, though, The Army Air Corp had become it's own branch of the US military, The Air Force. Steve transferred into the branch of the Air Force know as SAC -The Strategic Air Command. SACs duties were to provide defense for the nation as opposed to air strikes overseas.

The man was intelligent and a master of mechanics. His duties in the Air Force was running a mechanic crew repairing and maintaining aircraft. He was very skilled at other things such as electrical and plumbing. His final assignment was on Guam and finally in Washington State during the Vietnam War buildup. He retired there with 22 years in.

In Washington, he had eventually bought three houses and repaired them as rental property. Then, following a promise he and his wife had made during a visit to San Diego, he moved his family there. The times were hard and the man had developed a problem with alcohol. Looking back, a rough childhood under a strict father and/ or the heartbreak of losing a child. might have been the necessary emotional factors. There was some problems with his family as his Dad's family was totally against his marriage to a Catholic woman he only known a week and met in a bar. This along with his military service seemed to separate him from his family and he only occasionally saw any of them. He remained married for 25 years despite his going off the rails and his wife raised her children Catholic though the Church in those days disapproved of marriage with Protestants.

His wife got sick with heart disease and during an operation, contracted pneumonia and passed away. By this time, the boys were out of high school. One was serving in the USAF himself. The daughter was still young. The tragedies that followed the rest of his life were regrettable but no one was there to help him. His drinking had alienated most of his children as well. He suffered a stroke in 1990 about the same time he got his first grandchild. A heavy smoker, he had just quit a number of years before. He had just decided he didn't want to do it anymore. His life, however, was a social one surrounding his tavern life. He was known as a normally gentle, smart, and good humored man. After his stroke, he had a hard time getting around and withdrew deeper and deeper into himself. His children by this time had established solid lives and he was helped out by apartments provided by one son and daughter-in-law, and later general care and shopping by another. The one son had moved to another state, and as the man's health worsened with age, he was moved to where they lived and cared for by his son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

My Father Willard (Steve) E. McGlone, was a good but tragically flawed man. He did possess a heart as big as the open skies of North Dakota. He taught me mechanics. He taught me Chess. He taught me to shoot pool. He taught me that even the broken people are often full of love and caring. He despised no one and looked for the best in everyone. He taught me this, too.

He failed many times, but the memories I have of him, I cherish. Playing baseball as a five year old with other kids and parents in the neighborhood. sledding down the hill at Pease. Working on Buicks in the carport on Guam. Going on drives with him. swimming in a lake in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Watching and trying to help him refurbish houses. The month we spent without electricity after Typhoon Karen. When others had converted trash cans to BBQs, he built an oven/griddle/grill that was the envy of the neighborhood. We had eggs and pancakes for breakfast and hamburgers and steaks for dinner. Sitting in the house listening to rock and roll while we played chess, rummy or spades as a family. Fishing off a boat in Mission Bay. Yes, even drinking in a dark bar in the afternoon listening to him tell me his opinion on politics, considerably further right than I had imagined.

He had many faults. He also had strength and greatness. I miss him and I love him. His birthday is tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Dad.