Overcome by Nostalgia Once Again

With the recent threads about old OTC blends memories from my childhood consume my mind and emotions. So many events and occurrences involving my Dad and myself flow through my mind like a soft warm rain on a Summer night. 

Unlike most boys my age living in my neighborhood, whose hero’s were Superman, Elliot Ness, Sgt. Friday, and etc., my hero was my Dad. There was nothing he couldn’t build, fix, or do. He fought in the Battle of the Bulge and won a Bronze Star while serving in the 2nd Calvary, XII Corps of Patton’s Third Army. Dad, along with his Company, rescued the world famous Lipizzaner Horses from the threat of being eaten by the Russian Army in Czechoslovakia. He spent the most of his life working in Paper Mill. As Superintendent of one of the machines he was responsible for the most production in a day ever achieved, not only that machine owned by the company he worked for, but it was a world record for that type of machine. Dad spent nearly fifty years working a job that gave him a lot of satisfaction. But it was when Dad was at home that we shared our time together.

Dad was a master carpenter, pipe fitter, and one of the best shade tree mechanics ever. Whenever he was working on some project I was right there with him while he explained everything thing he did. As a young boy the doors of our car never opened for him to go somewhere that I didn’t jump in and stand on the seat beside him with my left arm wrapped around his shoulder or neck holding on and “going with Daddy”. One of Dad’s favorite destinations was the scrap yard. He so enjoyed finding an old worn out lawnmower engine, a base made for some other type of lawnmower, getting them for hardly any money, taking them home, and making a completely like new mower. He would sell them for $10.00 and turn to me and wink. Dad was man of wisdom and knew how to make a point without seemly to be angry, impatient, or upset. I remember as a teenager there was a fad that kids were wearing Nazi Soldier Helmets. Dad was loading something in the trunk of the car and I approached him and told him I wanted one of those helmets. He turned slowly toward me and said, “Son I fought a war so you wouldn’t ever have to wear that helmet.” It was like I had been struck. Dad had never mentioned the war to me. But now with a few words I realized how much the war had affected him and I believe my words had stung. I was ashamed of my thoughtlessness. Needless to say I never entertained anymore thoughts about wearing or identifying anything Nazi.

My Dad smoked cigarettes (Chesterfield and Camels) and a pipe for over 70 years. It was his pipe that I first used to experiment and eventually learned to enjoy the art of pipe smoking. He always smoked Half and Half, as did his Dad, until American Tobacco sold out to Pinkerton. The first bowl of Pinkerton’s Half and Half resulted in him throwing his pipe across the room cursing about the awful taste. He never smoked Half and Half again. He smoked Sir Walter Raleigh, Grainger, Edgeworth, and even some Captain Black. I’ve seen him load his pipe with Bull Durham and seem to enjoy it. Over the years we shared many bowls together while sitting in the swing of his back porch. Those were good times and he taught me so many things about all aspects of life and being a real man. A man dedicated to family, honesty, having a good work ethic, and never being afraid of hard work. I spent my life trying to make him proud of me. I’m pretty sure I was successful because he was a great teacher.

I never light my pipe that I don’t remember my hero and thank him for the life he prepared me for along with teaching me about the wonders and pleasures a man can get from a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

Yesterday my Dad would have turned 94 years of age. Sadly I lost him in January of 2008. I was right beside him with my arm wrapped around his shoulder and neck.

AJ