April 16, 1912

My father was born on this date a century ago, a couple of days after the Titanic sank to the bottom of the sea. I remember Daddy celebrating his 50th birthday, going off into the wilderness with his best friend, my godfather, Chesley Pinkham, to ride motorbikes borrowed from Ches's sons. The day did not end well. My father crashed and badly broke his leg. By the time Ches got him to the hospital, Daddy had lost a lot of blood and spent most of the night in surgery to save his leg and receiving blood transfusions to save his life.

It took too long for his leg to heal, but Daddy pushed to return to work because he was the sole financial provider for his wife and six children, the youngest of whom was a little boy named for his father's father. When Daddy did go back to work, he could not make it past noon, so he came home, exhausted, went to bed, and slept for the next 3 days. Mom knew something was wrong, but had no idea that 2 months after the accident, Daddy would be diagnosed (June 14, 1962) with leukemia, a blood disease about which little was known. The doctor originally assured the family that, with treatment, Daddy could live another 25 years -- or the disease could be more virulent and the prognosis not so optimistic.

Daddy died July 14, 1962 from the more virulent form of leukemia. My Mom always believed that Daddy got the leukemia along with the blood transfusions because, had he been terminally ill prior to his injury, he never would have survived the accident and the surgeries. Back then, blood was not tested, just used when it was needed to save a life; in this case, it probably also took a life.

Happy birthday, Daddy. Thinking about you today.