Dad stories

[Seahawk]

My Father was a West Point graduate, 1952. After Korea the Army sent him to MIT for graduate school in Nuke Physics and Civil Engineering.

He remains the smartest, most practical person I have ever met. He was not, however, a gifted story teller...good sense of humor, for sure, but he wasn't going to host The Tonight Show. Really fine man just not a raconteur.

While we were very different people, there was never any particular tension between us. As I have said before, I always knew I had great, supportive parents. My Mothers side of the family were the funny ones.

We became very good friends after my Mother died in 1990 - he loved my wife and thought it best to leave the house he had shared with my mother for so many years. I learned a lot in those years I had not be privy to, both personal issues and career issues. It was fascinating to hear.

He received two Bronze Stars, one in Korea and one for trying to rescue folks after the SL-1 Reactor outside of Idaho Falls had a core meltdown. I won't go into the details but the SL-1 story he told me was spellbinding and I have great admiration for his bravery.

SL-1



Ceremony. He is on the left.

[LWJ]

Stories. I got em.

Not my Dad, but my FIL.

He has a lovely car collection. A big healey was purchased and he was pleased. It was three days in his possession and I was over and asked for a ride. He had not yet even driven it.

We roar off around the mountain where he lives and are being a little careless.

Side note here: FIL is successful. He likes to be in control. He doesn't make many errors- ever.

Back to the story, we are zooming around and the steering wheel comes off in his hands!! He looks to me in a microsecond and the look says "Oh sheet! I didn't mean to kill you!!!"

I have had British cars and had an instinctive response. I slammed the wheel back down and we drove back slowly and with caution.

It was a simple extension piece that needed the screw clamped down. No big deal, but I got to see my FIL being VERY uncomfortable and out of character for a moment.

I'm telling this one at his service, whenever it should be. He is still very much alive.

[monoflo]

Like most guys in his era --he didn't talk much about himself --great listener and I guess my hero. Took care of us and anybody who needed help. WW2 Naval Aviator --Hellcats. never said much about the War except the ratio of women to men was outstanding before he went overseas.

So one day in the very early 80s -Dad and his buddy ED (WW2 tank driver ED) were working on Eds late 60s Impala. Seems they ran low on JD and after finishing headed out to restock the supply. I was invited to ride along as I had been helping out . Dad was shotgun -Ed drove -I was manning the rear bench.

We hit a light --and I guess a 1980? turbo Firebird pulled up -driven by a discoish lad of the era.
\The young guy took off rather aggressively from the light --- both gentlemen in the front seat grunted -made a note of it and as luck would have it caught him at the next light which entered a stretch of open road.

Ed stared straight ahead and as I recall my Dad sort of smirked at the guy next to us.
Light changed.
Turbo guy jumps out --from the back seat I could see what I think was his turbo light come on the in the dash or hood bulge.

Ed nails it and the old Impala reels the Bird in and my Dad waves at em.

Next light no eye contact and the bird is gone. The old guys are having a nice laugh. My Dad says to ED --I guess old guys rule !! and then says "old guys in Impala 427s at least".

[71T Targa]

No 'Dad' stories for me.

He was born in '20, a WWII and Korea Vet, had me at 48, I never remember him being at home, and he passed when I was 14.

My kids will have dad stories, I guarantee it!

[sammyg2]

Just a couple of many:

Originally Posted by sammyg2

I remember one time when I was young and was acting up at the dinner table. My mother told me to stop but I ignored her and continued. Dad said "that's enough".

For some reason, I decided to call his bluff and test the lines to see just how much I could get away with. IOW I continued my shenanigans in defiance.

Dad had a butter knife in his hand and flipped it around so the blade was in his hand, and gently reached over and thumped me on top of the head with the handle. He then calmly continued with his meal.

That got my attention to say the least (hurt like heck), and he never had to use physical discipline with me again.
That was a very valuable lesson that I am thankful for and a better person as a result.

I don't recall ever swatting either of my kids, but certainly would have if it were deemed necessary. Usually just a glance was enough. A few times I may have raised my voice.

Originally Posted by sammyg2

When I was a kid I was always in my dad's tools and ended up scattering or loosing many of them. He tried to be patient and teach me to be careful and put things away but I wasn't good at that back then.
Same with my younger brother. that's how I learned to cuss, listening to dad trying to find one of his tools.

By the time we moved out, his tools were in somewhat of a shambles. He could still manage to get the odd job completed but had to improvise sometimes.
So as I got older I decided to correct that.
I started buying him tools. Good tools, complete sets, tool boxes, more than he would ever need. Many thousands of dollars worth. Christmas, birthdays, whenever I saw something on sale. That went on for a long time.

He passed on last year and when I was there I saw the tools, many of them still in the original packaging having never never used.
I noticed that i had lost track and doubled-up on a lot of them and he had many duplicates. But he kept every one.

Hopefully one of my brothers will want the tools or mom will sell them for what she can get.
I don't think I'd feel good having them. I'd prolly have to donate them.

[mattdavis11]

Originally Posted by livi

Oh yes. And in hindsight those stories were probably as embellished and excessive as my stories are for my kids. They picture my younger me as this bad boy super lover.

Oh, I knew not the parameters for posting in this thread. I didn't hear the story from my dad, but was by one taken over by the wake.

[Jolly Amaranto]

Before WWII, my dad have various jobs from working in a leather jacket factory. He operated a band saw used to cut out pieces to be sewn together with other pieces. A stack of leather sheets with a pattern on top would be placed on the saw table where he would cut all around the pattern. One of his first big jobs after high school was for Allis Chalmers. One of his first assignments was operating a large drill press used for drilling out the center hole in castings for bogie wheels for tracked vehicles. After he punched in for his shift he would check out a freshly sharpened bit at the tool cage and mount it in his machine. Then wrestle a bogie wheel blank into a jig on the press and clamp it down. There was a cast hole in the blank that would be drilled to machine tolerances with the bit. After he was finished the blank went to a guy on a lathe who mounted it in a jig using the new hole. After a while it all became very monotonous. One time he forgot to clamp the blank down so it just spun around. The power feed on the drill press pushed the drill through the cast hole like a big screw. There was no way he could extract the bit. He removed it all from the machine and took it back to the tool pusher. "Something wrong with this drill bit sir!"

[Bob Kontak]

Dad took Emir and me to the drive-in to see Night of the living Dead in probably 1972.

Emir and I had seen it a million times and for whatever reason we pulled up stakes before the movie finished. Was probably the back half of a double feature.

As we were leaving we (the two kids) yelled out the window repeatedly "The guy upstairs gets shot".

Any of us would want to strangle a smart ass kid who did that but my Dad re-told that story 50 times. He was 35-ish and still a kid himself. It tickled him.

[Zeke]

Originally Posted by unclebilly

My dad was a gear head and got his first car when he was 13. It was a 38 Ford sedan. He fixed it all up and used to go out driving around - this would have been 1955. When my grandfather found out, he took off the wheels so dad and his buddies used to go sit in the car and listen to the radio. Then something happened and my grandfather sold the car. My dad was so pissed off that he moved out of the house (he only told me this recently). When things simmered down, he moved back home (maybe a month or so).

Dad then built 2 dragsters with a friend. The first was a model T with a Chrysler 392 he built they didn’t like the high speed stability of the flat windshield. The second had a Messerschmidt body and was the first car in western Canada to run a supercharger at NHRA sanctioned events. Dad was 16 when they started racing the Messerschmitt that he and a friend built.

Here are some early photos of the Messerschmidt (no blower yet).

Taken behind my grandfather’s garage in Edmonton and has been posted all over the interwebs, notably by jalopnik.



Another taken behind my grandfather’s place.



Dad prevented me from getting into racing when I was younger. He always said that all you get is a bunch of trophies that your kids wreck, they promise to fix them but never do.

I just had the wrong dad. I would have slept in that car every night. After every race when I was 14 I cleaned my kart with a toothbrush and my mom would let me drag it into my room. I will never understand that. I think I slept in it several times.

My dad never once drove me to a race. I always had a friend who had a kart take me and my kart with them while he played golf. Later in life I took other kids to the track. with their karts while their dads played golf.

[unclebilly]

^^^ what is amazing is that my dad has never once come to see my kids race go-karts. He was going to come watch my son at the endurance race last fall but it was postponed a week due to snow. It would have been great as my son won that race (2nd year in a row).

Dad has come to a couple of my races and participated in a HPDE that I ran 10 years ago, in my 911. He *****ed about the 915 tranny all day to his instructor.

[TimBer]

A couple years before my dad passed away I recorded some of his stories. My brother and I used to argue about the stories and get them confused with each other, so one Thanksgiving I got out my handheld recorder and we asked him to tell us. After he died, I transcribed the audio and put it in a little booklet. This is him talking about his first car:

A 1951 Ford was my very first car that I bought when I was 14 with money I saved from mowing lawns and I paid $50 for it. It was nice except for it didn’t run because it had an engine problem. It made a really loud noise. It was going to throw a rod. So, I had been looking for a long time and my Dad knew it was going to happen and he was all for it. He used to take me to look at cars on Sunday. I would go through the paper and look for cars I could afford and he would take me out to look at them. This was the nicest one we had seen anywhere. It had a nice paint job. I was 14 so this was 1962. Since I was born in ’48 that would work out. ’62 I was still in junior high school. I hadn’t graduated yet. I was in the ninth grade. We went to get it and of course it didn’t run so we towed it home with a chain, which my Dad and I used to do a lot. That was probably the first time. One of our cars would break down and we would always tow each other and we got real good at it. I remember my Dad towing us home. I was in the old Ford and I’ve got the window down and my arm up, steering with one hand and the radio was on. I was listening to Monster Mash. I thought I was pretty cool because I was driving. Even though my Dad was towing me I felt like I was driving. So we took that car home and took the engine out. My Uncle Vic did all the work on it, rebuilt it and made it real nice. I used to wash it even though I didn’t drive it. My Dad let me put it in the garage. I would roll it out and wash it then put it back in the garage. A couple weeks later it would be all dusty so I’d roll it out and wash it again. I had to keep mowing lawns and I would funnel money to Vic and he would buy parts. Pretty soon we had a whole engine to put back in it. Since I didn’t have money for insurance, I made a deal with my Dad that he could drive it, actually my Mom drove it. They retired their car and started driving my car. That way it would be on the road and I could ride in it. It wasn’t long – another six months or so until I would actually drive it. The day of my birthday I was at the DMV getting my license right after I got out of school.

[Ayles]

This is a tough one, my dad was just diagnosed with stage 4 cancer throughout his body.

Like others mention he doesn’t talk about himself much and definitely does not talk about his service in Vietnam. So much so that I am having a hard time getting him to even leverage his VA benefits. I have my little sister looking for his separation papers so we can find out what he is eligible for.

[Crowbob]

My brother was always breaking down in various POS cars he could afford. One time he broke down just down the street from the house but the starter was shot so he couldn’t start it. Well dad wakes me up and says we gotta push a car home.

Well while we’re pushing a cop drives up and acts all like he’s busting a stolen car chop shop gang or whatever. So we’re all leaning up against the car and the cop is looking through it with his flashlight and he reaches in to open the glovebox and dad says calm as heck, ‘Don’t open that.’ The cops expression was like, ‘Says who?’ and pushes the latch.

So the glovebox door falls off and of course there’s nothing in it.

Dad says, ‘I told you not to open it!’ So we’re all laughing including the cop who says where ya going? And believe it or not he helps push.

Dad was like that. He could turn a situation around like nobody’s business.

[Seahawk]

Originally Posted by Ayles

So much so that I am having a hard time getting him to even leverage his VA benefits. I have my little sister looking for his separation papers so we can find out what he is eligible for.

Let me know if I can help. The form is called a DD-214 and should be fairly easy to get a copy of...that form is key to getting started.

What branch of service? Where is he located, which State? Makes a huge difference. I do know some folks at the VA so let me know.

My Father died of cancer five years ago and my recommendation is you guys get everything buttoned up as soon as possible.

[Ayles]

Originally Posted by Seahawk

Let me know if I can help. The form is called a DD-214 and should be fairly easy to get a copy of...that form is key to getting started.

What branch of service? Where is he located, which State? Makes a huge difference. I do know some folks at the VA so let me know.

My Father died of cancer five years ago and my recommendation is you guys get everything buttoned up as soon as possible.

He was in the Navy out of Washington State. He can be found on the public facing records site where you can see his bronze star with valor. But that’s all I can get at the moment. Will have to order a copy if she can’t find it.

Shoot me a pm if you would like. I certainly appreciate it, feels like it’s all moving very fast.

[Seahawk]

PM sent.. The fact that he is Navy will make it easier. Is he still in Washington State?

My best to your Pops.

[gsxrken]

My dad has end stage prostate cancer and can’t have much time left with us. This thread has made me rather reflective... my sisters remember so much more than me but I certainly feel for all of you who have lost yours. I should make an effort to catalog his responsible, wonderful life.

[TimBer]

Another from my dad:
"It was the bean fields in Oxnard. [My GTO] had a full synchro 4 speed that would go in first gear. At 20-30 miles per hour you could put it in first gear, all the time without even thinking about it. It had good synchro’s. I didn’t see a reason why it wouldn’t go into first gear at any speed. For some reason that topic came up and I made a bet that I could put it in first gear at 80 or something like that. Maybe it was 65. My friend Terry Stevens in the Navy – I was at Point Magu – bet me I couldn’t do it. I was sure I could. In fact I did do it. We left the base and went down these deserted farm roads. He was right next to me and we got up to speed and he gave me the signal and I put it in first gear. It went right in. I heard like a little thump noise. I didn’t think anything of it. I took it out of first gear and put it back in fourth gear and let the clutch out because I had done it. We were going to pull over and he was going to pay me whatever it was. Except when I let the clutch out it didn’t drive anymore. It didn’t pull the car. It was like everything was disconnected. All I could assume was that the centrifugal force of that clutch spinning so fast which it had to spin in first gear at 60 miles per hour – you wouldn’t be able to drive it or ever get it that fast in first gear – that the clutch, this is what happened and when we took it apart the clutch facing disintegrated and flew off. Luckily, clutches do come apart like that in race cars and they can come right through the floor of the car. Luckily, nothing like that happened. So, I had to call my Dad and come and tow me. He was in his old tired 6 cylinder Plymouth Valiant with the chain. From Point Magu, there is a big grade between there and my Dad’s house. We got on the freeway and we were driving at freeway speeds with the chain. We were really good at this. We had about six feet between us. The idea with towing somebody like that is that the person behind has to do the breaking for the person in front too to keep the chain tight. So, you’re watching for a red light or anything ahead and you slow down. Its hard on the car behind’s breaks. Obviously the person in front can’t stop because the car behind will hit him. You want to keep that chain tight otherwise it bangs back and forth. At freeway speeds probably no more than six feet between us – that’s like real tailgating. The big grade was coming so my Dad started going faster and faster. We were probably going 75 when we hit the bottom of the grade – pretty fast for being that close to each other – hoping we would have enough speed to get over the top of the grade. And we did, that little Plymouth pulled us right to the top and over the other side. As I think of it now that my Dad would do that, I don’t visualize him as being that adventurous, but you do what you have to do and I guess he was at heart. He trusted me and figured it was no big deal."

[Seahawk]

Originally Posted by TimBer

From Point Magu, there is a big grade between there and my Dad’s house. We got on the freeway and we were driving at freeway speeds with the chain. We were really good at this. We had about six feet between us. The idea with towing somebody like that is that the person behind has to do the breaking for the person in front too to keep the chain tight.

The big grade was coming so my Dad started going faster and faster. We were probably going 75 when we hit the bottom of the grade – pretty fast for being that close to each other – hoping we would have enough speed to get over the top of the grade. And we did, that little Plymouth pulled us right to the top and over the other side. As I think of it now that my Dad would do that, I don’t visualize him as being that adventurous, but you do what you have to do and I guess he was at heart. He trusted me and figured it was no big deal."

Great stuff, great Dad.

That would be the Conejo Grade, btw...driven it a million times. My girlfriend was from Camarillo

[RSBob]

My dad grew up in Germany during WWII. He was just a kid during the war and is going to be 89 in August, a US citizen when he turned 21. He is currently writing his bio. Here is an excerpt when he was 8. There are many more similar to this.

We had rolled along in the train all night
Then we slowed down to enter a station. MESCHEDE said the sign.
It seemed like a small town. We stopped. A few people got off, a few people got on the train.
We were sitting there for maybe 10 minutes. Why are we not moving on?
I was sitting by the window, looking out. Suddenly I noticed a commotion outside. The uniformed station master who at departure time usually raises his green pedal signaling the train engineer to leave the station, acted strangely.
He was running back and forth on the pier, shouting something and waiving his pedal in the air.
He finally dashed forward yelling at the engineer. The train then started to move forward slowly. But I was not gaining speed. It just crawled along at walking speed.
We finally got to the outskirts of town, passing a few last houses, and then the train stopped. We were sitting on an about six foot high earthen dam above green soggy wet looking flat pasture land.
A two meter high cyclone fence ran parallel to the dam at ground level.
After a few minutes of nervous silence a deep humming sound began to fill the air, getting stronger by the second. Allied fighter planes!
Then we saw them. A whole swarm of single engined planes heading for our train broadside at low altitude.
All hell broke loose. Bullets were hitting the train like a hail storm. People were dropping to the floor screaming. Glass from windows was flying. I slid to the floor next to my mother. Close by a girl was screaming “My leg, my leg!’
The planes passed over us, disappearing in the distance.
Several of the soldiers on board yelled “Everybody off the train, fast ,fast. They will be back”
I don’t know how I got out. I found myself sliding down the embankment on my back, my mother already ahead of me on the ground. In an instant the cyclone fence was bent flat to the ground by the sheer weight of the fleeing people.
I suddenly realized that the cap I had been wearing was gone. I looked back up to the train. I saw the cap lying there. As fast as I could I crawled back up. I grabbed it and slid back down the embankment.
I heard my mother yelling ‘Werner, Werner’. She was running across the wet meadow toward the houses. I caught up with her.
We could hear plane engines again. They were returning.
We ran towards the house closest to us. The front door was wide open, and people were running inside. Mother was ahead of me. She made it through the door. As I was about three or four feet from the door, I saw dust and wood splinters falling in front of me. I looked up. Two large caliber bullets stuck in the door frame just above my head.
I made it through the door into the house and jumped down some stairs into the basement where several people had taken refuge already. Mother was there, breathless but alright. We hugged each other and cried.
We sat there for about an hour listening to the noise outside. There were explosions, close and distant, and much yelling and screaming. Then things got quiet.
When we got outside we looked around, stunned. Several of the homes were burning. People were running in all directions. Some were yelling at us, that all this was our fault because our train had attracted the planes.
Finally Mother said, “let’s get back to the train”
As we rounded a corner, we saw our train in the open field. The train engine was sitting on its haunches, the front of the engine pointing straight into the sky.