Dem
47
GOP
53
Today, we hear from D.M. in Lexington, NC:
100 years ago this week my maternal grandfather was born. I knew him as "Papa," and he knew me as "Toady," or just "Toad." His real first name was Lowell, but most knew him as "Bud" or "Mr. Bud". To honor him today, I thought I'd tell you a little bit about his life.
He was born on June 17, 1926, in a tiny town in south central Illinois called DeLand, which is in Piatt County. He was the last of five children and was the "accident," in that his next-youngest sibling was born 9 years earlier. As far as I know, he was born at home. They moved to Pontiac, MI, when he was just a couple years old.
In his childhood, he suffered from terrible scoliosis and had to endure months in traction to get it corrected. A very handsome, bespectacled young man, he had an amazing talent for drawing, and for music, playing the accordion long into adulthood.
He was just old enough to be drafted for World War II, joining at just 18 years old at the end of 1944 as an entry level "Seamen 2nd Class." He was assigned to the 36th Naval Construction Battalion (NCB, though they were more commonly known as "Seabees"), and after staging at Saipan, landed on the east coast of Okinawa in April of 1945, in the early stages of the Battle of Okinawa, the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific War. His battalion was tasked with constructing Awase Airfield, through torrential downpours of rain, bullets, bombs, and kamikaze attacks.
Following V-J Day in August 1945, Papa was deployed to the Wakayama and Kobe areas of Honshu, near Osaka, Japan, where they helped build military installations—many still in use today. By the time he began demobilization in early 1946, he had been promoted to Seaman 1st Class. He was reassigned to the U.S.S. Cebu, a Luzon-class repair ship, where he briefly returned to Okinawa. He remained aboard the Cebu until April 4, 1946, where, in Pearl Harbor, he transferred to the U.S.S. ATR-62, which he'd ride back to San Francisco for separation. He was still only 19 years old.
All of that was information I gathered on my own. Papa, like so many World War II Veterans, did not like to talk about his time in the War. The only stories he ever told me were that he was in Okinawa, he talked about the horrible rains, and how they would throw grenades into caves they hoped to use as shelter to ensure there were no wild animals or enemy soldiers. He also hated the water, and gladly took remedial duties like scrubbing tiles with a toothbrush to avoid any activities that took him too close to it.
Following the war, he married and had a child. Her name is Judy, and I've never met her, for Papa divorced in the late 1940s before meeting and marrying my grandma, Joan, who was also a divorcee, in the mid 1950s. They went on to have two kids: my Uncle Mark, born in 1956, who just celebrated his 70th birthday, and my mom, Ruth, who was born in 1958, but sadly passed away in 2021. They bought a house in Rochester, MI, during this time, which is right next to the First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ in Rochester, MI, where he became an active member for the rest of his life. He served as lead usher, and was always on hand to help out with rummage sales, and a constant presence on community softball and basketball teams. He was also an avid bowler and golfer.
When Papa retired at 55 (lucky!) as a draftsman with General Motors, right after I was born, he did not slow down. He still played sports, mentored countless youth in the community, and also began mowing grass for senior citizens around Rochester. Maybe for something to do, maybe for the cash... maybe a bit of both. He continued mowing lawns throughout town until he was 80 years old, by then with the help of my mom. His 1978 green F-150 was a common sight around Rochester, as were his daily visits to the local Dairy Queen—where he went in for a hot dog and a Pepsi every single day he mowed lawns—and his decades-long Monday night tradition of going to the local Pizza Hut with his "harem." During the winters, he loved to do crossword puzzles.
After the passing of my grandma, Papa sold his house and moved in with another local widow from his church in 1996. Both of them in their early 70s, it was a perfect logistical, financial, and emotional match. While they never married, they were constant companions for the next nearly 20 years. Her family became our family, and our family became theirs. Chosen family. Those bonds of affection exist to this day.
By the mid 2000s, Papa started slowing down. With both he and his companion in their 80s, he made the agonizing decision to move from her home to stay with my mom, who helped tirelessly with his care until the final 18 months of his life. While watching him grow frail of mind and body was extremely difficult for all of us, it also gave me time to "pre-grieve" his actual, physical passing, which was on October 4, 2012, at age 86.
I won't claim that he was THE best Papa ever, because many of us are fortunate to have people they consider heroes, but he definitely was mine. I miss him, but he still exists in my memory, and that of countless others. For that reason, he lives on.
Gravestones show a birth and death year, with nothing but a hyphen in between. This is my feeble attempt to help fill in the hyphen for Bud Mathews. Happy 100th birthday, Papa. Love ya. Have some extra heavenly DQ, Pepsi, and Pizza Hut today.
Thank you, D.M. (Z)