Speaking of birthdays, numbers have a way of creeping up on us. Friday, April 3, was my father’s birthday; born in 1925, he would have been 101. Born and raised in North Carolina, he met my mother at Duke University. He graduated with a degree in civil engineering in just three years after enlisting in the Navy’s accelerated commissioned officers program during WWII. He served as a captain of a converted PT boat assigned to rescue downed pilots in the Pacific Theater.

After the war, my dad and my uncle, who was a navigator on a B-25 (his plane was shot down along the Burma Road, and they hid from the Japanese for a month before making their way to allied lines), moved to Mobile, where they married sisters and began working for my grandfather at DeVan Inspection Company on the State Docks. They call this the Greatest Generation, and I agree. They didn’t speak much about their wartime experiences, but were solid citizens and wonderful people. He was 30 years old when I was born. 

While drinking coffee on Dad’s birthday, Friday morning, I thought, “It’s hard to believe he’s been gone so long.” He passed away three months before his 70th birthday in January 1990 from an aggressive form of cancer. He didn’t get to experience Y2K or 9/11, but he did get to see a white Ford Bronco traveling the speed limit on an LA Freeway without getting killed or caught (nod to Jerry Jeff). And he did get to see us land on the moon. 

Dad was always present for his three sons… then four sons when younger brother John arrived nine years after I was born (surprise, surprise!). Growing up, we fished out of Dauphin Island with mom on warm, sunny days and hunted throughout the fall and winter. Not having grown up hunting and fishing, he acclimated quite well after moving to Mobile and taught us boys to appreciate the great outdoors.

When I was 9 years old, he bought Mom a bay house in Pt. Clear, and that’s where we spent our summers. There wasn’t much in Fairhope in those days, but we filled the time swimming, fishing, crabbing, floundering, water skiing, sailing, jumping off Middle Bay Lighthouse, and the Pt. Clear Range Beacon, and sneaking over to Dog River to visit friends like Gina Lanaux in our 14’ Stauder-built wooden boat with an 18 hp Johnson outboard. Those were idyllic times.

With cots on a sleeping porch, no A/C or TV, and an occasional jubilee to keep us occupied, Mom and Dad enjoyed raising a family of boys without being too overbearing. My friends felt welcome to come and share the experience of “Bay Life” and rode  the Greyhound bus from Mobile to visit. 

I distinctly remember when Yolande Betbeze Fox rented the house next door for the summer. She was the Mobilian crowned Miss America in 1951 at age 21. A few years later, she and her 8-year-old daughter would spend lots of time going back and forth to the end of the wharf in their bathing suits, and dad would find “yard work” to do to watch the proceedings. These were exciting times, and Dad wasn’t going to miss a second of it. It didn’t go unnoticed by any of us, including Mom.

My fondest memory of my dad was not one of my best moments. I was a sophomore student in the business school at the University of Alabama. It was the spring semester, and let’s just say I was majoring in fun, and things kind of just slipped away. I pretty much had quit going to class, and I knew I was in store for my day of reckoning. As finals approached, a dim lightbulb lit in my brain and I realized that if I studied a bit, I might be able to pass one final and “earn” a D for 3 credit hours. 

It worked! I ended up with three Fs and a D. Buckshot GPA. In those days, grades were sent to the parents, and I was at home when my grades arrived. Not knowing what was in store, I anticipated the worst. As Dad opened the envelope and read the report, he paused a second and then said, “Well, Zeb. This D is encouraging.” I immediately said, “I think I’ll work on the State Docks this summer and Fall semester and try to get my act together.” “I think that would be a good idea,” he replied. 

I loved him for being so loving, calm, kind, and he always served  as a good example.. He was a great storyteller, and got tickled at himself telling a story, which just made it more fun. I think he is the reason I like telling stories about people, places, and experiences. He taught me a lot.

Dad has been gone now for as many years as he was here in my lifetime. Those numbers are hard to comprehend. He was a good man, and a better father, and I do miss him. Whenever I think of him, my mind is flooded with good thoughts. I feel lucky about that.

Happy birthday, Dad!