By Carl Davidson
Father’s Day, 2024
I like this picture of my Dad, shown here along with my grandson Oscar and me. He’s sitting on his porch on Heights Road, Hopewell, Beaver County, PA, watching the comings and goings of his neighbors, along with the deer and wild turkeys that walked across his lawn from time to time. He carved that lawn out of the woods and, together with his brother John, a carpenter, built most of the house and porch himself. It was one of his favorite pastimes.
Most people knew my Dad as 'Dutch,' an excellent car and truck mechanic who did quality work at reasonable prices and never cheated. This meant he never had to search for customers. A good number also knew him as a championship bowler in the PA Hall of Fame. A smaller number knew him as an excellent handicapper of the horses racing anywhere within a 500-mile radius. He might have a bad day at the track, but he never had a losing season.
But there were some lesser-known things about him. First, he hated the nickname 'Dutch.' He got it when he was young, with a slight speech impediment he outgrew, and his family on his mother's side often spoke in German or German-accented English. Later in life, he got those close to him to call him 'Carl,' although many stuck to 'Dutch' out of long habit.
He also had exquisite cursive handwriting despite never getting past the 8th grade. The Great Depression and his father's early death meant he was taken from school to work in 'the garage' to help keep the family afloat in hard times. He studied some in the Navy on a repair ship, fighting in all the battles against fascism in the Pacific. He already knew how to work with diesel engines—it’s why they drafted him into the Navy—but he had to read the manuals on all the types of diesel engines of the damaged ships they would pull up alongside for repairs. It was important and dangerous work. He saw the death and torn-up body parts of too many friends. He survived the war and mustered out after Okinawa. Back home, he secretly longed for more education, and it showed up in his never-falling-back-to-sloppy handwriting.
He would have done well in school for another quality, a near-photographic memory. It was a reason he did so well at the track. He carefully read the racing forms, and committed them to memory. Name any horse in his circuit, and he could rattle off its entire history, including how it ran in varying weather, and that of its jockeys as well. I once asked him why he didn’t put apply this skill to the stock market. He laughed: ‘Oh no! Too many variables. I’ll stick with the ponies.’
He loved baseball as a kid, and he polished one shortstop skill, catching a ball and throwing it to the proper baseman in one smooth motion. It was a wonder to behold. Love of the game made him fast friends with his greatgrandson Oscar, and they would immediately fall into discussions that left the rest of us far behind.
I often quarreled with my Dad over a zillion things, from ‘pegged’ pants to haircuts to politics, often fiercely. I even rebelled by running away from home at 16, making my way to California for a few weeks. But the thing I remember most was the times I was truly in deep trouble (not very often) when he did the reverse and treated me kindly, quietly, and with some respect. I knew from those times that he truly loved me, and in the most important ways. He did the same with my two brothers and my sister. Now, in my 80s, I've come to know him more, even as he's gone. He made it to 92, so maybe those genes will be helpful. But his love for us was his greatest gift.
Carl,
Today can be hard on those of us whose fathers are no longer living, but what a wonderful tribute to your late father.
Now I need to go and send greetings to the various dads in my family. Thanks for the reminder about today!
Lovely recollections, Carl. I too appreciate my parents more as I get older. It’s also interesting that though we disagree with our parents on many issue, we admire and emulate parts of their character. Thanks, Joy