World War II
Because he passed away in 1953 at the young age of just 43 years. I never had the opportunity to know my Great Uncle Cliff. My mom tells me that he was well liked. She said he liked to make people laugh, and always had a good joke to tell. That made him someone people liked to be around. He loved stopping by his brother’s house after work. He would leave a few snacks in his lunch pail for all the little kids to raid. Of course, that made him a big hit with my mom and her siblings.
Uncle Cliff was quite a character. He loved to pick on his mom some. When he was younger, and still living at home. He had a job, and his job required that he work a half day on Saturday. Sometimes he would not come right home after work, because he knew his mother would think he was out drinking. Grandma was mad, and indeed thought he was drinking. She decided to write a big “D” on calendar…for drunk. I guess she was hoping to shame him into not doing such things. He did it to tease her, because he wasn’t drinking at all, and the big “D” on the calendar only served as a source of humor for him.
Uncle Cliff married Marie Settell on July 28, 1940, and on their wedding night, the family gave them a real Shivaree. Now for those of you who don’t know, a Shivaree is a mock serenade with kettles, pans, horns, and other noisemakers given for a newly married couple. As sometimes happens in these event, things can get out of hand, resulting in the bride being stolen from the groom for a time, and Uncle Cliff was very worried that they would steal his bride. I suppose that once he realized they weren’t going to do that, he might have thought it was a sweet thing to do, but by that time the Shivaree was over, so he couldn’t relax and enjoy it.
When the United States joined World War II, Uncle Cliff was drafted into the Navy on August 18, 1945, at the age of 36 years. He had only been married five years at that time, and they had already had some sadness in the loss of their first child, Clifford Jr in 1941. I can only imagine how hard it would be to send your husband into war, when you had only been married for five years. But then, many woman have had to do this over the years. They and their marriage would survive the war, and they would have three surviving children, Joy, Gordon, and Judy and a number of grandchildren, but unfortunately, Uncle Cliff would never get to meet them.
Coming home from the war would not bring the best of news. I’m not sure just how long after coming home, but Uncle Cliff had some health issues, and he unfortunately put off taking care of them, In the end, it would be cancer that would take his life at the far too young age of 43. Uncle Cliff has always seemed to be a bit of a mystery to me…like an great uncle who I knew should have known, but somehow didn’t. He was a missing part of the family. He was my Grandpa Byer’s youngest sibling, and since I knew my grandpa, who was the third from the oldest of the nine children, why wouldn’t I know his youngest brother. Oh, I know that isn’t such an oddity, because a lot of people die at a young age, but it seemed strange to me at the time.
Five years after Uncle Cliff’s passing, Marie would again find love, even though I’m sure she thought it would never happen. She married Walter Oddsey (Johnny) Skaggs. Marie and Johnny were both well liked by the Byer family, and while they moved to California, they kept in touch with them through the years.
Eight years ago, Bob and I took a trip to Texas, during which we visited Galveston. Like my Dad, who visited Galveston during his Rest and Relaxation period during World War II, I found that I absolutely loved Galveston. For Dad and for me, the Galveston area was like taking a step back in time, to when life was much less hurried. People fished before going to work, and it almost seemed like the time to get to work was even a little flexible. That is almost like the old west…basically unheard of for the most part, these days. And, maybe it wasn’t really like that, but nobody seemed stressed!! How could that be? For whatever reason, they all seemed to have an attitude of gratitude that they were still here on this earth. It was amazing.
I don’t imagine that Galveston was always that way, but maybe it was. Nevertheless, I have to wonder if that attitude of gratitude came to Galveston after the 1900 hurricane that practically destroyed the city and killed between 6,000 and 12,000 people, with most official reports listing it at 8,000. The hurricane made landfall in Galveston on September 8, 1900 with winds estimated at 145 miles per hour…a Category 4 hurricane. It was the deadliest hurricane in US history and second only to Hurricane Katrina in total cost. The city of Galveston was all but destroyed by this hurricane, which occurred before names were assigned to hurricanes.
It was after the 1900 hurricane that it was decided that Galveston must have a seawall to better protect it from these devastating hurricanes. At the time of that hurricane, the highest point in the city of Galveston was only 8.7 feet above sea level. The storm surge was 15 feet, and it washed over the entire island. Over 3,600 homes were destroyed. Only a few buildings survived…mostly the solidly build mansion and houses along the Strand District. Those are tourist attractions today, and I am here to say that they are beautiful.
The story of the 1900 hurricane has left me in a bit of a state of wonder, especially when I think of the seawall that I saw. It didn’t look like something that could stop the surge of a hurricane, but over the years, Galveston 
has been mostly protected from the hurricanes that have come through. I have thought of the people of Galveston, and what a virtually stress free place it is, and it occurs to me that when so many of the people a town housed are gone in an instant, it would leave you with a different perspective on what is important and what isn’t. You would also think twice about getting upset about things that really don’t make any difference in the long run. Maybe that is what gives the people of Galveston an attitude if gratitude, and maybe it is what makes it such a peaceful place to visit.
When something earth shattering happens, people tend to talk about that moment a lot. They seem always to remember where they were, and what they were doing. September 11, 2001 found me at home because my girls would be bringing their children over before school. I was getting ready for work, and I would drop the kids off at school before I went to work. My daughters had to be to work an hour earlier than I did. When my daughter, Corrie Petersen came in, she was on the phone with her husband, Kevin and she said, “The World Trade Center is on fire…and so is the Pentagon!” My mind couldn’t comprehend how that could be. I said, “How can that be…they are nowhere near each other?” It was just like finding out that President Kennedy had been shot on the street outside our home, when a friend told us as we went outside to play. These kinds of events and what we were doing when…are almost seared into our brains.
That was the way it was for my great aunt, Bertha Schumacher and her sister, Elsa. Bertha writes that she and Elsa were ironing clothes when the news came over the radio that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. She writes that they were dumb-founded because the ambassador from Japan had just visited FDR…talking peace! It was a moment that should have taught our nation that it is unwise to trust human beings without reservation…but we are 
slow to learn that, and so things have happened again and again. For people like my great aunts and me, I think it is disheartening that these things happen within our own borders. For Aunt Bertha, it became a time to be chronicled. She believed that it was important for people to be able to read “simple, unvarnished accounts” of how people felt when these earth shattering events took place.
For my dad, World War II became a life changing event. He went from being a 20 year old young man, to a Top Turret Gunner and Flight Engineer in a matter of months. He had never kept big secrets from his family, and didn’t later on either, but during the war his letters had to be guarded. He couldn’t say too much because the security of their squadron and many others depended on absolute secrecy. He also had to be guarded because he didn’t want to worry his mother. He felt such a need to protect her from worry, and she, knowing what war really was all about tried to keep him from knowing that she was indeed worrying. No matter how hard we try not to be, we were affected by the events surrounding our lives, whether they are personal or environmental.
I know that for me, that sense of security that existed pre-September 11th, is missing. I know 
that an attack is possible, and that there are within our borders, people who want to destroy this nation. The United States of America is too amazing to think that events like these could take it down, but if freedom and security aren’t protected, they could do just that. When I think of Aunt Bertha and Aunt Elsa hearing about the war on television on December 7, 1941, and how frightening that must have seemed…how anguished they must have felt, I find myself thinking how awful that must have been. I have lived through several wars in my lifetime, but not a world war…although I think it is coming. I wish there could be less earth shattering moments, but I don’t think we have seen the last of them.
I’m not really sure what the draw is, to getting down and dirty, but there are certainly a lot of people who like to take part in the muddy things of life…like mud trucks, mud wrestling, and muddy 4-wheeling. Maybe it is just the uninhibited, totally down and dirty experience they like, and maybe once you try it, it becomes easy to get hooked on, but I simply can’t imagine it. There are, however, several people in my family, and possibly lots more that I don’t know about, who really love to get in the mud and get dirty.
My son-in-law, Kevin Petersen and my grandsons, Chris and Josh Petersen, loved it when he had a mud truck. They would enter it in the local and even some in other areas of the state, mud truck competitions. The idea here, as you probably know, is to try to drive your truck as far through a mucky mud hole as you can. Obviously, the truck that goes the furthest is deemed the winner. Kevin loved doing that. Winning the competition here isn’t the whole idea, although it is a big part. Nevertheless, even if he didn’t win, he had a great muddy time trying. You see…to me that simply meant having to bring your truck home and wash all that mud off again, but that didn’t matter to Kevin. It was all about the mud and getting down and dirty. If your truck wasn’t covered in mud when you were done, you didn’t try hard enough.
For some like my grand nephew, Brian Kountz, it was all about 4-wheeling. If there was a mud puddle in his way, he didn’t go around it, although when 4-wheeling, he could have. No, he had to go through it, and if he got stuck, then it was time to get out and dig through the mud in an effort the free the very stuck truck. Brian never backed down from that battle. It was man against mud, and while the mud often won, it was not for a lack of fighting it on Brian’s part. That is probably why his Bronco didn’t really stand a chance in life. Broncos were made for 4-wheeling and mudding, as far as Brian was concerned, and that was how he intended to use his. My husband, Bob used to say, “That kid is gonna kill that Bronco someday.” And Brian did, in the end, but he had an awesome time doing so.
As for my Uncle Bill Spencer…well, who needed a car or truck to get down and dirty? One time during World War II, he and some friends were taking a break from the shipyard war work they did, to go on a picnic and do a little swimming. Needless to say, that picnic turned into a mud fight…boys and girls too. No one was safe in that battle either. If the girls thought they weren’t going to be pulled into the mud, they were real wrong. Uncle Bill says that by the time they were done, they were covered in black, slimy mud from head to toe. He wanted to get a picture of everyone, but most of them decided that they didn’t really want to save that moment, only to be haunted by their childishness every time those pictures were brought out. Uncle Bill didn’t care. The rest washed off, and got in the picture with a muddy Uncle Bill, so he could at least document the players.
I guess getting down and dirty isn’t such an odd thing to do. In reality, everyone needs a good way to de-stress sometimes, and something as unconventional as a mud fight or even a food fight might just do the trick…provided I don’t have to clean it up. For many people, it is a way of letting off steam, and doing something that is totally hilarious and even a little crazy. To those people, I say “more power to ya.” I’m not sure I would ever like dong that, but then I haven’t done everything in life yet, so…who knows, maybe I’d like it too. Time will tell, I guess.
As Bob and I were on our walk on the Mickelson Trail last week, we came across an informational sign on the Homestake Mine. I was really quite surprised as some of the information it contained. Of course, I had read about the discovery of gold in the Black Hills of South Dakota…who hadn’t. The exact date of the discovery is unknown, but the discovery brought many people to the Black Hills…which was in direct violation of the treaty with the Lakota and Cheyenne Sioux Indians. That discovery also brought about the Great Sioux War of 1876…also known as the Black Hills War. Most people will remember that it was during this war, that George Armstrong Custer made his last stand at The Battle of The Little Big Horn.
The Homestake Mine, near Lead, South Dakota, was founded in 1876 and while it changed hands several times, it was in operation until all the gold mines were mandatorily shut down to encourage the miners to work in more important fields to help with the war effort in World War II. The thing that surprised me the most was that most of the gold mines did not reopen after the war was over. Gold is such a valuable metal, so why would the mines not reopen? One thought comes to mind. Gold was mined underground, sometimes deep underground, as in the case of the Homestake Mine. Underground mining is dangerous as we have seen over the years, with cave-ins and blasts from the gases that can be found there. I have to wonder if the men decided that the new skills they had learned during World War II were a better way to make money and maybe, stay alive.
Nevertheless, the Homestake mine was one that reopened after the war, and then went on to continue to be a successful mine until their last production of ore in 2001. The Homestake Mine ceased production at the end of 2001, due to low gold prices, poor ore quality, and high costs. The Homestake Mine Company had merged with The Barrick Gold Corporation and they were dewatering the mine as DUSEL negotiations continued. This was a slow process and very expensive at $250,000 per month. The mining company was having great difficulty justifying the cost, and the process ceased on June 10, 2003 and the mine was closed completely.
![Homestake Mine, South Dakota, 1900]("Homestake Mine, South Dakota, 1900" by Detroit Publishing Co. - This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID ppmsca.18063.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing for more information.??????? | ?eština | Deutsch | English | español | ????? | suomi | français | magyar | italiano | ?????????? | ?????? | Nederlands | polski | português | ??????? | sloven?ina | slovenš?ina | Türkçe | ?? | ??????? | ??????? | +/?Restoration by trialsanderrors: Homestake Mine, South Dakota, 1900. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Homestake_Mine,_South_Dakota,_1900.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Homestake_Mine,_South_Dakota,_1900.jpg."<a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Homestake_Mine,_South_Dakota,_1900.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Homestake_Mine,_South_Dakota,_1900.jpg">Homestake Mine, South Dakota, 1900</a>" by Detroit Publishing Co. - <span class="description en" lang="en">This image is available from the United States <a title="Library of Congress" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Library_of_Congress">Library of Congress</a>'s Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID <a class="external text" href="http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsca.18063" rel="nofollow">ppmsca.18063</a>.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See <a title="Commons:Licensing" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Commons:Licensing">Commons:Licensing</a> for more information.</span><span class="plainlinks noprint" style="line-height: 140%; font-size: x-small;"><a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/ar">???????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/cs">?eština</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/de">Deutsch</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/en">English</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/es">español</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/fa">?????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/fi">suomi</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/fr">français</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/hu">magyar</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/it">italiano</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/mk">??????????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/ml">??????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/nl">Nederlands</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/pl">polski</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/pt">português</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/ru">???????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/sk">sloven?ina</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/sl">slovenš?ina</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/tr">Türkçe</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/zh">??</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/zh-hans">???????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:LOC-meta/zh-hant">???????</a> | <a class="external text" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=Template:LOC-meta/lang&action=edit">+/?</a></span>Restoration by <a title="User:Trialsanderrors" href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Trialsanderrors">trialsanderrors</a>: <a class="external text" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/trialsanderrors/3035840221/" rel="nofollow">Homestake Mine, South Dakota, 1900</a>. Licensed under Public domain via <a href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/">Wikimedia Commons</a>.)
These days, there are a number of operating gold mines around the country, but the state with the largest production of gold is Nevada. The need and desire for gold did not cease after World War II, it was probably just more that a lot of mines didn’t produce the quality or quantity that was really needed to be successful. It almost seems as if the closure of the mines in World War II had a greater impact than anyone would have ever expected. Whatever her end was, the Homestake was not a casualty of the World Wars, and went on to become the longest continuously operating gold mine in the world.
My children and grandchildren have always known that my dad fought in World War II, but I find that maybe they don’t fully know what his part was, or how I feel about it. That is not surprising when you think about the fact that my children, grandchildren, and indeed, even my sisters and I, were not even born when all that took place seventy years ago today. I am pleased that my grandchildren know that their great grandpa fought in World War II, because that tells me that we who are older and at least know about that time in history, have done our jobs, in teaching this youngest generation of our family about the history their family was involved in…pretty well anyway. I was also very proud of my grandson, Chris, because he was interested enough to ask the questions he did about his great grandpa’s service years.
This morning, my grandson Chris sent me a text, tip toeing a bit, because he didn’t know how I 
would feel talking about this part of me Dad’s life, and asked me if my dad was involved in the D-Day maneuvers. I immediately told him that I was very proud of the part my Dad had played in World War II, and that his squadron had provided air cover as the troops stormed the beaches of Normandy. I sent him the links to other stories I had written about my Dad’s World War II service years, and he was amazed at all his great grandpa had done. I know how he feels. The first time I was told about all the things my dad had done, I was amazed too…and very proud.
There are a number of men, and maybe even women, in our family who served their country in World War II, and were involved in D-Day maneuvers, and each one is a hero in my eyes. This was such an important day in our history, as was the war it was a part of, and I would hate to think that our grandchildren and great grandchildren would never know of the sacrifice those brave men 
made. I would hate to think that the heroes of this and other wars would be forgotten by a nation too busy with their own lives and interests to take the time to look back in history and see for themselves exactly what took place. I know many people find history to be dull, dry, and boring in school, but as we age, and experience a few wars, weather events, earthquakes, and other changes in our nation, we realize that maybe we really need to take a look back and see just how we came to be the great nation we are…and remember the sacrifices made by so many to get us where we are today. I want to thank all the men and women who took part in D-Day, World War II, and all the other wars our nation has been a part of. We are great because of God and you!!
My dad, Aunt Laura, Uncle Bill, and Aunt Ruth had a half brother, of whom I was barely aware until recent years. I think I had heard about him, but somehow it really didn’t register in my mind, but rather seemed like someone who was somehow connected to someone else. While going through my dad’s pictures, we came across a picture of a man named Norman. We were pretty sure this was Dad’s half brother, and then when I was looking through my Uncle Bill’s family history books, our suspicions were confirmed. He looks like a very nice man, and I became very curious about him. I began researching him on Ancestry.com, and found that there was relatively little information, or at least that I could be sure of by documentation. I knew that he was born on May 25, 1906 in Flambeau, Wisconsin, and that he passed away on October 26, 1977 in Richmond, Virginia. Since his birthday was coming up, I decided that I wanted to showcase him for his birthday…but, it was looking like it was going to be a very short story. I decided to ask some of the people on the Spencer Historical and Genealogical Society’s Facebook page to see if they could help. What an amazing idea that turned out to be. I quickly got a response from David Lawrence, and he had a wealth of information to give me.
He told me that Norman was married to a woman named Elizabeth, but it didn’t appear that they ever had children. He mentioned that he had been stationed in Oahu, Hawaii in World War II. Then he said that he had worked for the Virginia State Police as a radio technician in 1850. I had found Uncle Norman’s grave on FindaGrave.com a while back, and a reference to Elizabeth that I couldn’t confirm on Ancestry.com. This all gave me new motivation to find out more. I first went to FindaGrave.com and found Elizabeth’s grave, but all it said was Elizabeth H…no last name, and called her, simply his wife. I found that a bit odd, but then I started thinking about the Virginia State Police, and decided that maybe I could get more information by calling them. This also turned out to be an amazing idea. I was quickly connected to the Human Resource Records Department, and within just a few minutes they read me all of the information on my uncle’s employment card…and there was more that just his employments history. His parents names, which I already knew, were listed, but also Elizabeth’s last name, which was Hoover. They had his service years, August 25, 1925 to March 31, 1950, when he retired at the rank of captain. They also had, of course, his employment years, August 17, 1953 to June 1, 1971, when he retired at the age of 65. I couldn’t believe all this information had come my way, by simply reaching out to two key sources. It was an exciting day indeed.
I was curious as to what Uncle Norman might have done as a radio technician, so I did some research on that occupation and found that they design, set up, operate and maintain equipment and radios used for transmitting. This tells me that he probably worked on s
ystems for broadcasting information to and from the police officers of the Virginia State Police. I’m quite sure that the equipment he worked on back then would almost seem like a home built ham radio these days, compared to the equipment the police departments use today, and in todays world, his job might be a mix of those old radio technicians, and the work my cousin, Tim Fredrick, who is a half grand nephew of Uncle Norman’s, if I have my terminology right. I’ll bet he saw a lot of changes in that industry over his years of being involved in it. I wish I could have talked to him about it, but that was not to be. Today would have been my Uncle Norman’s 108th birthday. I’m really sorry I never got to know him, but happy birthday in Heaven Uncle Norman.
My Uncle Larry was well known to his family and his friends for being a real joker. He loved to tell jokes and make people laugh. He was also very handy with tools. He loved working on all kinds of things, from cars to carpentry. One time he was looking for one of his tools…specifically, his hammer, and couldn’t find it. He looked everywhere, and finally, when he could think of no other way to find it, he sat down on the floor by the cat, and asked, “Kitty…Whar’s the Hommer?” It was said in a joking way, but apparently, the kitty knew more than Uncle Larry expected. Of course, the kitty didn’t really know anything, but when Uncle Larry looked down…there beneath in a crack in the floorboards, was the hammer. I’m sure it was a surprise to Uncle Larry, because he didn’t think he would find it, but in a moment of resignation, he found it because of a silly question.
Uncle Larry was my mom’s best friend as a child. Just two years older than she was, they did a lot of things together. One time, Uncle Larry bought an old car…a junker. He 
worked on the car, fixing it up, with great plans for it in the future. That morning, he decided to take the car to school, and give his sister, Collene, my mother a ride while he was at it. They figured out pretty quickly that the brakes on the car probably needed more help than the engine had needed. Now they were driving down the road, had no way to stop. For me, this story brought visions of Fred Flintstone putting his heels to the pavement in an effort to stop quickly. Of course, reality is much different. According to my mom, her brother pulled off an amazing feat…swerving around every obstacle until he could finally get the car slowed down enough to coast to a stop. I can imagine that Uncle Larry was extremely relieved that he and his sister were not going to be in an accident. Accidents can be so scary, and it doesn’t take much of an impact to cause injury. I’m sure that my Uncle Larry was very thankful, but my mom was very proud of him. His driving was amazing according to her.
When Uncle Larry was older, he decided to go to work in Bemidji, Minnesota in a mine there. With World War II going on at the same time, the family found out that he had been drafted. They had no way to contact him, so it was decided that my mom, and her fiancé, my dad, and Dad’s
sister, Ruth would drive up to Bemidji to let him know that he had to come home, and prepare to go to fight in the war. They went up there, but couldn’t find him right away. He had gone into town. Eventually they found him and headed back home to Casper, so that he could go and fight for his country. I’m sure that was a bittersweet trip for my mom, who was now unsure of his future. Thankfully, Uncle Larry came home from the war, and went on to become the wonderful husband, father, grandfather, and uncle that he was to us, as well as the great brother and son he had always been. Today Uncle Larry would have been 80 years old. Happy birthday in Heaven, Uncle Larry. We love and miss you very much.
During World War II, when many of the men were involved in the fighting over seas, a group of women stepped up and filled the gap as welders working in the bomber plants. They became known as Rosie the Riveter, and there were thousands of them. It really became a movement of female empowerment, and I don’t know how the war would have gone without them. It was a movement of solidarity. They worked to keep the American Army Air Forces in much needed bombers. There were men who were riveters too, including my Uncle Bill Spencer, who was turned down for the service because of flat feet and a hernia, but most of them were women, and they 
included my Aunt Laura Spencer and my Aunt Ruth Spencer. It was a time when it was all hands on deck…our fighting airmen needed our help and support. One of those fighting airmen was my dad, Allen Spencer, brother to Laura, Bill, and Ruth. I’m sure it seemed to them, the best way they could help their brother, and all the other airmen.
The other day, I came across an article in the paper about the Willow Run bomber plant in Willow Run, Michigan. It would seem that this little slice of history is set to go on the chopping block. I suppose that not every historic landmark can be saved, but it seems such a horrible shame to tear down a building that marked such a heroic effort by so many people, to stand behind a nation at war, by meeting such an enormous need. Between 1942 and 1945, crews numbering tens of thousands built roughly one B-24 Liberator an hour…8,685 in all. There were women all over the country performing the work that had always been done by men, but at the Willow Run plant, one Rose Will Monroe worked alongside 40,000 other workers…mostly women…and soon she became the trademark…Rosie the Riveter. Before long, 
all those women were known as Rosie the Riveters…and they considered it an honor to bear the title.
Now, the Willow Run bomber plant is in peril. Those who remember the trademark Rosies, want to keep their history alive, but in order to do so, they need 8 million dollars. They don’t have much time to raise the money. They are at a remarkable 7.23 million dollars right now. To me it would be a horrible shame to let this little slice of history be destroyed. I feel like it is so uncharacteristic of this nation to forget the efforts of our heroes in any area of American life. It is my hope that this historic landmark can be saved, so that our children, and our children’s children can see what can be accomplished when we work together. More information on this can be found at Save The Willow Run Bomber Plant.
My dad was a hard working man, really from the time he was a kid. He helped out on the farm when he was a young man, then when he moved to California at 17 years of age, he did the work of a grown man, while he was still the age of a boy. That work ethic was something he learned growing up and it never left him. Through World War II and beyond as he moved around the country, while deciding where he wanted to live, he always had a job. He believed that work, any kind of work was a noble undertaking, and he did every job to the best of his ability.
When I was a little girl, he was working at a job that took him out of town sometimes. I really hated that particular job. I didn’t want my daddy to leave to go out of town all the time. It wasn’t that I was so young that I didn’t remember him when he got back, because I did, it was that I missed him so much that I could hardly stand it. I just didn’t think daddies should go out of town. He was supposed to be at home, with his family. I can’t say that the years have changed my opinion on that idea either, although I do understand that sometimes men have to go out of town for work. That is just the way things are sometimes. I just didn’t understand that as a child.
One time after Dad left to go out of town, I got sick. My stomach ached, and I just didn’t feel well, in general. Mom put me to bed and took care of me, as you would expect a mommy to do, and since it was nothing serious, there was no need to go to the doctor. We figured it was just a flu bug, and it would go away in a couple of days…and so it did, but not in the way you would expect. It was the strangest thing, but the minute my daddy got home, everything was fine, and I had not been faking illness either. This was similar, I suppose to being homesick, 
only in reverse. I wanted my daddy home so badly that I felt homesick for him. I was so happy when he came home. Everything was right again. Our family was all together again.
Dad was always the hero to his daughters. We knew that no matter what happened, Dad could fix it. That was just the way it always was. Dad was a problem solver, and his presence in our lives always made us feel stable and complete. We were always Daddy’s Girls…all of us, including Mom. And he always made us feel like we were his princesses. I guess that was why having him gone, out of town for work, or now, in Heaven, makes this world feel like something just isn’t right. And it isn’t, because my daddy isn’t here, and I miss him terribly. Today, my dad would have been 90 years old. Happy birthday in Heaven Dad. We love and miss you very much, and we can’t wait to see you again.
