Happy Father's Day
Notes on My Dad.
My father, Norman Dudley Schipske, passed away from lung cancer in 1992 at the age of 62. He worked his entire life as a machinist but at home he was an incredible carpenter. After my mother died of Alzheimer's disease in 1999 (at 68), I found a box of letters my father had written my mother when they dated, married and during my mom's pregnancy with me.
They met at the Long Beach Pike in 1947 or to be more precise at the Chatterbox -- a place young people went to dance. My father was 18 -- having enlisted in the US Marines at barely 17 years of age. My mother was 17 -- a transplant from Pennsylvania. My grandparents had left the coal mining town of Dickson City (outside of Scranton) with 10 of their 11 children, so that my jack-of-all-trades grandfather could find work near the Long Beach Naval Shipyards and my grandmother could work as a nurses' aide at the Long Beach Naval Hospital (which is now the VA Hospital).
When my parents met in 1947, my father was a private first class in the Marines and stationed aboard the USS Topeka which was berthed at the US Naval Station. He and his two brothers had been raised by their grandparents on a farm in Maryland and then by their uncle in New Jersey. He tried to enlist at 16 but apparently didn't get into the Marines until he was 17 -- just one year shy of finishing high school.
Mom and Dad married in 1949 at St. Lucy's Catholic church over on the westside of Long Beach. They held their reception at Silverado Park nearby. Unfortunately, Dad was reassigned from Long Beach to Lakehurst, New Jersey, and he and his new bride took a bus across country. Several months later, Mom was pregnant with me and she returned to Long Beach to be near her family. Dad returned shortly before I was born at the Long Beach Naval Hospital and was discharged a couple of months later. We moved into Truman Boyd housing until my parents purchased their first home in the newly formed Lakewood.
The letters are sweet and gave me insights into both my parents. I discovered facts about my Dad that I never knew while he was alive: he earned his GED while he was in the Marines and used some of his scanty pay as a private to buy "Great Books" -- classic literature that he enjoyed to read and wanted to pass along to his new family. He desperately wanted to become a writer and planned on going to college after the Marines, but then met my Mom and then I came along...and well, life got in the way.
He kept those facts a secret. But made no secret about the importance of getting a college education..all three of his kids went to college..and he did for a semester or two in his 30's. He also passed along a passsion for finishing what you start..which probably came from his sadness of never having finished his schooling or trying a writing career. Most importantly for me, he told me I could do anything I wanted to do if I just worked hard enough. When I complained in high school about having problems with calculus, hoping for a shred of sympathy from my Dad, he remarked: "That's because you are not trying hard enough." He was right of course, but I didn't tell him that because I was having too much fun concentrating on being Student Body President.
I miss him and so do his grand kids.
My father, Norman Dudley Schipske, passed away from lung cancer in 1992 at the age of 62. He worked his entire life as a machinist but at home he was an incredible carpenter. After my mother died of Alzheimer's disease in 1999 (at 68), I found a box of letters my father had written my mother when they dated, married and during my mom's pregnancy with me.
They met at the Long Beach Pike in 1947 or to be more precise at the Chatterbox -- a place young people went to dance. My father was 18 -- having enlisted in the US Marines at barely 17 years of age. My mother was 17 -- a transplant from Pennsylvania. My grandparents had left the coal mining town of Dickson City (outside of Scranton) with 10 of their 11 children, so that my jack-of-all-trades grandfather could find work near the Long Beach Naval Shipyards and my grandmother could work as a nurses' aide at the Long Beach Naval Hospital (which is now the VA Hospital).
When my parents met in 1947, my father was a private first class in the Marines and stationed aboard the USS Topeka which was berthed at the US Naval Station. He and his two brothers had been raised by their grandparents on a farm in Maryland and then by their uncle in New Jersey. He tried to enlist at 16 but apparently didn't get into the Marines until he was 17 -- just one year shy of finishing high school.
Mom and Dad married in 1949 at St. Lucy's Catholic church over on the westside of Long Beach. They held their reception at Silverado Park nearby. Unfortunately, Dad was reassigned from Long Beach to Lakehurst, New Jersey, and he and his new bride took a bus across country. Several months later, Mom was pregnant with me and she returned to Long Beach to be near her family. Dad returned shortly before I was born at the Long Beach Naval Hospital and was discharged a couple of months later. We moved into Truman Boyd housing until my parents purchased their first home in the newly formed Lakewood.
The letters are sweet and gave me insights into both my parents. I discovered facts about my Dad that I never knew while he was alive: he earned his GED while he was in the Marines and used some of his scanty pay as a private to buy "Great Books" -- classic literature that he enjoyed to read and wanted to pass along to his new family. He desperately wanted to become a writer and planned on going to college after the Marines, but then met my Mom and then I came along...and well, life got in the way.
He kept those facts a secret. But made no secret about the importance of getting a college education..all three of his kids went to college..and he did for a semester or two in his 30's. He also passed along a passsion for finishing what you start..which probably came from his sadness of never having finished his schooling or trying a writing career. Most importantly for me, he told me I could do anything I wanted to do if I just worked hard enough. When I complained in high school about having problems with calculus, hoping for a shred of sympathy from my Dad, he remarked: "That's because you are not trying hard enough." He was right of course, but I didn't tell him that because I was having too much fun concentrating on being Student Body President.
I miss him and so do his grand kids.
posted by Gerrie Schipske for Council | 10:44 AM
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