World War II

On the fateful morning of December 7, 1941, as Dad and his fellow soldiers from a chemical warfare training unit prepared for the day at Hickam Field, they were startled by the sound of planes overhead. At around 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday, Dad found it unusual for maneuvers to occur at that hour, prompting him to investigate.

Upon seeing the planes, he immediately recognized they were not American, noting the large red suns adorning their tails. Unbeknownst to the soldiers at the time, Japan was launching a surprise assault on Pearl Harbor.

> The attack resulted in the deaths of 2,403 U.S. personnel, including 68 civilians, and inflicted damage on 19 Navy ships, including 8 battleships, with over 1,000 more wounded.

Fortunately, Dad was unharmed during this harrowing event.

> The Japanese offensive comprised 353 aircraft launched from four aircraft carriers.

> The attack included 131 Aichi 3A2 dive bombers, 79 Mitsubishi A6M2 Zeke fighters, and 143 Nakajima B5N2 torpedo bombers. [Source](https://visitpearlharbor.org/japanese-war-machines-pearl-harbor-attack/)

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Dad dashed to the armory to retrieve weapons, which had to be forcibly accessed. Once equipped, he and his comrades began firing at the incoming aircraft.

In a moment of chaos, Dad helped a young lieutenant who was panicking and needed to be brought to safety before he resumed his defense against the planes.

The following day, he was assigned to collect and bag body parts along the beaches—a gruesome task for a young man of just 23. Yet, Dad never shied away from difficult responsibilities.

Return to California

Following the war, Dad’s unit returned to the United States, landing in Seattle before taking a train to Bowling Green, Florida, where he remained until his discharge a year later, shortly after V-J Day (August 15, 1945).

Bowling Green, located a few miles north of Wauchula on U.S. 17, was where Dad met Mom, who worked as a waitress at a café frequented by him and his friend Lester. Lester married Rachel, another waitress, while Dad wed my mother, Flora, in a double ceremony in April 1944. They remained lifelong friends. I was born in January 1945.

A year later, Mom and Dad boarded a train to California, arriving in Susanville during the summer of 1946 with their one-year-old child and minimal belongings.

With no home to return to, they stayed with my great aunt Helen, her husband Loren, and my great grandmother. Aunt Helen, childless, likely found the presence of a screaming toddler challenging.

Fruit Growers Supply Company

Dad secured a position at the Fruit Growers Supply Company lumber mill, where he diligently stacked lumber in the yard to dry before shipment. It was physically demanding work, but he earned his keep.

In the winter, he often worked indoors feeding the green chain—a conveyor transporting logs to the band saws. Dad appreciated the warmth of indoor work during cold months.

His true aspiration was to work in the woods. Alongside a lifelong friend, Earnest Hopkins, Dad invested in a two-man I.E.L. chainsaw and began felling trees, a job he cherished throughout his life.

Stopping for a Refreshment

Like many hard-working individuals, Dad occasionally relished stopping at local bars for a drink or two—sometimes even more—on his way home. While not frequent, these stops often made him late for dinner, much to Mom’s dismay. Her anger stemmed from worry; she had no way of knowing whether he had encountered an accident or simply indulged with friends.

Working deep in the woods meant a lengthy drive home, often taking 40 minutes to an hour on narrow mountain roads. I still wonder how he managed to drive those treacherous routes after having a few too many drinks.

Since Mom didn’t drive, she had no means of checking on Dad until he arrived home.

Once I was old enough to drive, I sometimes went searching for him during these instances. Familiar with most of his usual spots, I would drive around until I spotted his pickup, then go in to convince him it was time to head home.

Outdoor Adventures

Despite Dad’s occasional drinking, he was a fantastic father, and our bond was strong. He loved hunting and fishing, and I shared that passion. We pursued various game, including deer, grouse, pheasants, ducks, geese, doves, and quail.

Fishing meant chasing trout in the streams of the Sierra Nevada mountains, though we occasionally ventured to local lakes for bass and panfish. Dad enjoyed fly-fishing, but I never quite mastered it.

Prospecting for Treasures

Dad also had a passion for prospecting and hunting for arrowheads, amassing a notable collection over the years. He had a knack for spotting them when others could not.

He would pan for gold in the Feather River and search for quartz crystals on a mountain known as Crystal Peak, where we found some beautiful specimens.

In the 1950s, like many of his peers, Dad dabbled in uranium prospecting, acquiring a Geiger counter and UV light. Though he never struck it rich, we discovered a few radioactive rocks that fluoresced vividly under UV light, always thrilling us when we found something particularly striking.

Camping in the Desert

Our prospecting excursions led to desert camping adventures. Our first experience was a trip to explore the crash site of a naval jet in Smoke Creek Desert.

Dad borrowed a WWII Weasel vehicle from his boss, allowing us to navigate several miles of soft mud to reach the site. Although it kicked up dust and occasionally overheated, it proved effective for our journey.

The Crash Site

Upon arriving at the crash site, we were met with little more than twisted metal half-buried in the ground. We managed to salvage a corroded machine gun and a few items, but the effort felt hardly worthwhile due to the heat and dirt.

Black Rock Desert Adventures

Not far from Smoke Creek Desert lies Black Rock Desert, where Dad and I frequently camped and explored, often visiting natural hot springs that yielded many arrowheads.

In those days, we rarely encountered other people for days on end. The rough roads made access challenging, but driving on the dry mud flat was like cruising on a smooth highway.

Today, Black Rock Desert hosts the famous Burning Man Festival, attracting diverse crowds each September. I can only imagine how astonished Dad would be to see the desert filled with people celebrating.

Mining Ventures

Dad’s prospecting spirit led him to discover a promising outcropping that warranted further exploration. Encouraged by the assay results, he decided to try his hand at mining.

He purchased a pneumatic drill and dynamite, and we drilled into the rock, filling the hole with explosives. Handling dynamite made me anxious, but I trusted Dad knew what he was doing.

The first blast sent rocks soaring skyward, and one came dangerously close to our position, prompting us to scatter. Fortunately, it landed safely away from us, and Dad wisely decided to abandon our mining efforts after that incident.

Moving a Boulder

Dad was never one to shy away from risky undertakings. When I was in kindergarten, he and Mr. Harris, our landlord, decided to replace the septic tank drain line. While digging in rocky soil, they encountered a massive boulder.

Undeterred, Dad and his companions employed prybars to lift the stone, allowing him to position a jack beneath it. Mom, witnessing this scene, was understandably alarmed and begged him to get out from under the precarious boulder. Dad, ever the optimist, reassured her that everything was under control. They successfully removed the boulder, and I believe it still rests at the end of our garden.

My First Deer

As mentioned, hunting was a shared passion. During my first deer season, we ventured into the mountains north of town. Upon reaching the tree line, we spotted a small herd, including a buck. After stopping, we aimed and fired, but I knew my aim was questionable.

At the top of the hill, we found two men standing over a deceased buck. Dad spoke to them, then signaled for me to tag the deer. It was an impressive specimen, and while I doubted my shot had brought it down, I accepted their word without argument.

Dad's Vehicle Obsession

Dad had a soft spot for vehicles. While he typically owned a reliable pickup for work, he often bought various used junkers. I lost count of how many he accumulated over the years, but he always had a clunker alongside his dependable vehicle.

One that stands out was an old Willis pickup, which reeked of gas and oil. I had to keep the window down and my head outside to avoid nausea. It's a wonder Dad trusted these aging vehicles on mountainous hunting trips, yet we rarely faced breakdowns.

Stuck in the Mud

We often encountered situations where we got stuck. One memorable instance happened near Pyramid Lake, Nevada. Dad drove onto an old, unused roadbed, and as soon as he hit the brakes, the tires sank into soft sand, leaving us stranded.

For hours, we struggled to free the truck, jacking it up and filling the area under the tires with rocks. Finally, a group in a jeep with a winch came to our rescue, pulling us out just as darkness fell. Mom had begun to worry by the time we arrived home.

Accidents in the Woods

Dad loved working in the woods as a timber faller and felled thousands of trees in his career. One day, while I helped carry his gear, we had a good day, having cut down 99 trees. As he prepared to fell the hundredth, a gust of wind caught the tree, causing it to fall backward.

The tree narrowly missed Dad's pickup, instead smashing into the rear corner, damaging both the truck and Dad's saw. Thankfully, no one was hurt, and despite the damage, the truck remained functional. Dad replaced the truck bed with a wooden one, which looked impressive and served its purpose well.

Another Incident

Though generally cautious, Dad became even more vigilant after that accident. However, age caught up with him one day while he was cutting down a large tree; a miscalculation caused it to kick back and injure his knee.

Post-accident, he experienced persistent pain and found it difficult to walk, ultimately leading to his retirement from timber work—a sad moment for him.

Final Memories

I don’t have many photographs of my Dad, but one from his visit to Minnesota in 1981 remains cherished. It features my daughter, who was 11 at the time, alongside my son Bob (not pictured), who was 8. Dad adored his grandkids.

Conclusion

The inactivity and stress stemming from his inability to work affected Dad’s heart condition, leading to a decline in his health. After numerous hospital visits at the VA hospital in Reno, he passed away on April 23, 1983.

Mom scattered Dad's ashes in Soldier's Meadow in northeastern Nevada, close to the Black Rock Desert, a place he loved dearly. We feel his presence every time we visit that cherished area.