Creating A Life
Paths cross and lives intertwine. People, places, and events weave in and out forming the tapestry of our lives. Today’s decisions inform tomorrow’s experiences and imprint their pattern in the design.
Things happen that we can’t explain at the time but often make sense with hindsight. It appears at times as if someone’s hand other than our own is on the loom. Ultimately, our choices blend with the choices made by others. Dumb luck and happenstance influences them all. We choose the colors of our lives from the infinite supply of threads but it is the loom that joins the threads together and over which we exert little control.
We didn’t create the loom anymore than we chose our parents or where we were born. The choices we make every moment of every day… that’s where our power lies.
Dad decided early on the texture he would impart to the fabric of his life. He started working at the age of twelve. At first he didn’t stay at one job too long as he wanted to experience what kinds of work were available to choose from.
He picked up bottles at Barton Springs in Austin, Texas. The owner of the Windmill burger stand there was impressed by his work ethic and told dad, “I like the way you work, how about working in the stand, you’ll make more money?”
In the early 40’s dad delivered ice. He’d grab a block of ice with a pair of tongs and throw it up over his shoulder onto a leather shoulder pad. Then he’d carry it to his customer‘s ice box. There were refrigerators, but few had them at the time. Most people had ice boxes. Usually wooden boxes lined with felt and sawdust.
Dad had a lot of jobs and sometimes two jobs at once. People would ask, “You like to work, don’t you?” He would reply, “I like money.” His father had told him once, “There are three ways to get money. You can steal it, earn it, or someone can give it to you. You had better not let me catch you stealing it, and I’m not going to give it to you.”
R.D., as he was referred to since birth, worked at a bar-b-que place, a paint supply store, and at a loading dock loading pipe. There were many others but the one job that probably influenced his life’s direction the most was one he never had a chance to work at. He got a job in Houston, Texas painting railroad bridges. He was to start on the coming Tuesday. He would be sleeping in a rail car, take a sack lunch, and hang off the side of the bridge in a harness painting the trusses.
Dad was out of cash at the moment and had a couple of day’s time to hitch hike to Austin to borrow fifty dollars from his mother. He told her about his job and promised to pay her back. He did pay her back, but not with money from painting trusses. Dad caught a ride from his dad to the outskirts of town where he intended to thumb his way back to Houston. He was out on Highway 71 near Bastrop when a car rumbled by, then screeched to a stop, and backed up to where he was standing on the shoulder.
“R.D.? get in, let’s go join the Marines.” It was Herman Wells, a friend he had known for a very long time. Dad said, “no, I have a job.” Herman said, “Well then, come with me to my grandparents farm and we’ll have a good meal. We can talk about it afterwards.”
They enjoyed a hearty country meal and afterwards Herman convinced dad they should join the Marines. Back in Austin they discovered the Marine Recruiting office was closed. Close by, however, was the Naval recruiting office and it was open for business.
When dad returned home unexpectedly his mom asked what he was doing back already. “I thought you had a job in Houston.” “I’m in the Navy, mom.” It was 1948.
At the Naval training base in San Diego, California, the Marines taught the Navy recruits how to fire a rifle. Dad was on his belly practicing one day when apparently his rear was sticking up too high. The Marine instructor came by and put his foot on dad pressing him down to the ground and telling him to “keep his ass down.” Dad looked up at the Marine. The Marine appeared to be a giant, because as Dad put it, “When you’re on the ground looking up people can seem very tall.” The man pointed a finger at dad and said matter-of-factly, “You’re a Cain.” “Well, yes.” he responded, “My mother’s maiden name is Cain and I have two Uncle Cains.“ The instructor told dad that he had buddied with the two uncles and knew them well. Dad never saw the man again, but has often thought about this experience and how strange life can be.
Dad wanted to go to sea so he was separated from Herman Wells after training. He became a gunner on the USS George (DE-697) Buckley-Class destroyer escort.
His buddy Herman became a hospital corpsman. According to the glossary at capmarine.com: Corpsman- "coreman" -- A U.S. Navy enlisted "hospitalman" assigned to provide medical care in Marine Corps units, Navy hospitals and hospital ships.
From 1947 to 1951 the George served with Escort Division 31 attached to the Fleet Sonar School at Pearl Harbor. So, dad was at Pearl Harbor but fortunately it was eight years after the Japanese bombed it.
Dad’s job was to keep one of the three 50 caliber guns clean and ready to fire. He asked his superior what he was supposed to do all day and was told, “rub it.” Dad was used to hard work and this didn’t seem like much to him. When they practiced firing the weapon dad was First Charge. He dropped the ammo into the gun. Afterwards, he would take the gun apart, clean it, and then reassemble it.
Most jobs were like that in the Navy, but you had to stay on deck, no lying around in your quarters. They deserved to have it “easy” like that. They had to be ready at any time to defend our country from attack and that is no easy task.
Many years later when visiting the Admiral Nimitz Naval Museum in Fredericksburg, Texas, dad came across an enclosed glass display. In it was a photograph of dad’s graduating Company. There he was in the last row at the top left of the picture. Presumably, someone in his company was from Fredericksburg and had loaned the photo to the museum. It was not there at a later visit. Strange, life is.
My father’s Aunt Bertie asked him once. “R.D. will you see if you can get my son Melvin into the military, he’s about to drive me crazy.” To Aunt Bertie’s chagrin neither the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, or the Marines would take him.
Melvin was dating a young woman by the name of Janet and asked her if she would invite her sister Reta along for a double date with him and R.D. They agreed and the date must have gone pretty smoothly because my dad and Reta began to date, They were soon married.
Reta was the first girl my dad ever dated. When his friends were dating, dad was working. He didn’t have much time for a social life. After he got out of the Navy dad asked mom to marry him. Mom said, “If I’m going to marry you, you don’t have to wear a jacket, but you have to wear a tie.” Dad had a job, an apartment, and gas for a week, but no money for a tie. He borrowed five dollars and bought a tie for two bucks. He gave the preacher three.
Sometime after that dad joined the Air Force and spent the next 30 years in service to our country. He always had money and we always had enough for what we needed. On a long drive back from my brother’s wedding we had lots of time to talk. Dad told me that he probably could have done more with his life had he set his sites higher and maybe he could have been more of a success. I told him he was one of the most successful people I know. He had provided for his family and accomplished what he had set out to accomplish. That made him a success in my book.
A few days before Thanksgiving, we were sitting around swapping stories about our military experiences, when my father told me some of what I have written here. There are other stories that only he should tell, so I’ll keep those to myself.
Swapping stories and taking time to look back at one’s life is like standing back away from the loom to get the whole tapestry in view. One sees the bigger picture and notices any rough edges or imperfections but also sees how everything is woven together to form a complete work of art.
Dad‘s tapestry is colorful, even, and uniform throughout. Well planned and well executed.
Good work dad. Nice job!
