Death has taken my last sibling. On Saturday, September 28,
2013, my oldest brother, Merle aged 92 passed from this life. Someone giving
their condolences commented that I am now the oldest. I’m not sure how I want
to take that. He had fallen and subsequently in rehab suffered a stroke; ironically
a story parallel to our father’s last days in 1988.
This brother was one I saw very little of during my
lifetime. He was a tease when he came around me. He liked to pinch me and give
me a knuckle rub on my head. He favored cigars or cigarillos as best I can
recall. He was a grocer most of his
life.
I knew very little of his personal life because he didn’t
talk about it much. He was a two time Purple Heart recipient as a WWII veteran.
He had recently got to visit the WWII memorial in Washington, D.C. , travelled
to Hawaii and Alaska where he had served in the Seventh Infantry. Information
on his war time service came through other inquisitive family members. I have
the telegram sent to mom and dad explaining that he was wounded in action. He
was 25 years my senior.
There was apparently some competition between him and our
other brother, Lester, who passed in July at age 90. They would have brief
exchanges and bantering about the two different units they were assigned to. It
was good to know he was always checking on Les the last few years.
I do remember the times one of my nephews and I would spent
the night with him and his wife back in the 50’s. One time I went with him to
his grocery store in Fresno and he sat me at a desk with a cigar box full of
short pencils and crayons and I began my “career” of sitting at a desk and
doing paperwork.
I recall the one time he lived in Salinas and he had
purchased a new small car; yep, a Mercury Comet. His wife, Frances, commented
that it would bounce all over if it ran over a pea in the road.
He worked and lived in Santa Cruz County as a candy and cigarette
salesman for a while. The company provided him with a Morris Minor to drive and
he served Santa Cruz and Monterey Counties.
One Christmas all the immediate family celebrated in Santa
Cruz at my sister’s house and packages were opened and the front room was full
of crumpled wrapping paper. My dad helped pick it all up and take it to an
incinerator in the back yard where the next day it was burned. This was before
the EPA. They scoured the house for one of his gifts that was missing, a very
expensive pair of Florsheim shoes. The shoes were discovered burnt to a crisp
in the backyard incinerator. I think there was an 8mm film clip in the family
archives showing the charred remains. The family had a good laugh at the
expense of my dad, especially all us younger ones.
He came to our house once after the passing of an aunt or
uncle, and after the funeral he went out with the uncles, our mom’s younger
brothers, to a bar and ended up in a scuffle resulting in a broken jaw. He was
stuck for about three days staying with us because he could only drink fluid
through a straw. I was ecstatic because my older brother finally stayed
overnight in our house.
Merle was at the height of his glory when Frances and he
were able to finally bring Julie into their family. This was a real moment of
becoming a father for him. Julie has served him so well in his last years. I am
proud of her and glad she is one of my nieces.
Several years ago, Merle drove himself to the hospital
feeling he was having a heart attack. It shook him up a bit. Shortly afterward
he voluntarily surrendered his driver’s license. He used buses and motorized
scooter to get around until it was determined the scooter wasn’t safe. He was
active and high energy right to the end, living alone in his single-wide
trailer.
I didn’t have much contact with him in the latter years
except for occasional phone calls. He had begun to suffer from dementia. But he
did know who I was, little Larry.
I know I have written much of his story here because there
are 92 years of history. But at this time this is what comes to mind. Rest in
Peace, Merle.
Your Little Brother misses you.
