I was five years old when Jay entered my life. Little did I realize what the next 84 years would bring.
The first six years of our lives together were uneventful. My fault—I was engrossed in reading history books and following the fortunes of the Chicago White Sox and the Chicago Cardinals.
When I was eleven years of age and Jay was six, our parents went for a walk. I was anointed to be head of the household. Jay wanted to play a game with me. I preferred to bring my stamp book up to date. Jay resolved the impasse by snatching three or four pages of stamps and started to rip them. Our folks returned when I was chasing Jay. I was chastised by our mother because Jay was still young.
Time passed and Myron was born eight years after Jay and thirteen years after my birth. We were a family of five with one bathroom and one bedroom. Eventually we were joined by an uncle and a cousin.
One night we were having dinner, but we did not have bread. Jay was given money to purchase a loaf of bread at the grocery store in front of our building. After a half hour elapsed we became worried. Two of us were sent out to search for Jay—and the bread. We discovered Jay shooting dice. I voted to finish the meal and permit Jay to spend the night with his friends. I was outvoted—another crisis resolved.
December 7, 1941 changed our relationship. I enlisted in the Marine Corps approximately five months later. Contact with the family was every Sunday morning via telephone at 6am California time. Jay shocked me with his statement that he was going to enlist in the Marine Corps. I asked him how he convinced our parents to sign for him. He said he threatened to run away from home. Oddly, our parents signed our enlistment papers about three years apart. Dad convinced Mom that I would never pass the physical, and Jay threatened to leave home.
Little did I realize that a future event would result in our bonding for the rest of our lives. Jay asked me the branch of the service he should select. I told him that if he wanted a clean bed and good food he should join the navy, otherwise I would be proud for him to join me as a Marine.
November, 1945—organized resistance on Okinawa has ceased. I return to our tent to find Jay! His ship had pulled into the harbor for the day!! All ships left the harbor to escape a typhoon. Jay had to stay with us. The winds hit at night and destroyed most of the tents. Our tent was nestled in the trees. Jay and I volunteered to nail the tent to a wooden frame. Two hours later we hugged each other—we had survived!!
The next day I drove Jay to his ship. Jay talked to his Captain and I returned to camp with a Jeep loaded with cartons of food.
I was discharged Sunday, December 1, 1945. Jay followed shortly thereafter. He told me that he was afraid to sleep in the same bedroom with me. The first night he entered the bedroom I jumped out of bed and threatened him with death. I was surprised that becoming a civilian again was not so easy.
About three weeks before Jay’s demise we, Stuart, Linda, Murial and myself visited with Jay and his family. I gave him some current postal stamps to let him know that I never cared for the stamps he destroyed more than eighty years ago.
So much left unsaid but the circle of life has closed.
Love,
Orville