Some 30-plus years ago I was employed by what was then known as the Greenfield News, we now know it as one of the triune Salinas Valley Tribune editions, which include the once Gonzales Tribune and Soledad Bee. The title Editor included citywide reportorial and op-ed writing, snapping copious photographs of events, individuals and anything pertinent to a story and on occasion, at someone’s behest, the writing of obituaries.
Over the years, both for newspapers and for individuals, I suppose I have written a dozen final words for publication, but the other day I was asked to write a real hard one. Last week my daughter Jenny called from Florida asking if I would write one for Weston, her son and my grandson who died in an automobile accident in Oklahoma a few days prior. He was 18 years old.
Needless to say, writing the hard facts of a person’s life, date of birth, family members, date of death, is not an easy writing task even when the person is a close friend, as in the case of my life-long buddy Earl, but when it is someone you share a bloodline with, someone who is part of you, and someone who is so young, then the task becomes a word-by-word undertaking that in my case was often interrupted when I could not see the words I was typing through the tears. But because my daughter asked, and because I was not able to be with her and the other six grandkids and other family and friends in Oklahoma, then that would be my contribution, it was what I could do from here.
Some readers may recall I wrote a paragraph or two about Weston in my Aug. 14 column, about how while visiting family in Marina he made his way over here on the same evening of National Night Out, where he met many of the people I have had the pleasure of working with in one way or the other here in King City. Because the names are many, and surely I would forget some, I will not make the attempt, but Weston was greeted by the folks of King City in Bloom and an intern for the Monterey County Agricultural and Rural Life Museum, a fellow planning commissioner, head of city maintenance, the chief of police and volunteers of the Monterey County Dance Studio. Also, two young ladies with 4-H who also are dancers I had worked with for years in ballets, after which we made a quick visit to the studio.
After a nice meal at a local eatery, we talked about his future, he had graduated from high school in April, and one idea tossed around was the military. When time for him to get back over to the peninsula, we hugged, said “I love you” to each other, and he was off. A little shy of a month later he called to tell me his Army recruitment test scores were such that the recruiter told him the Army was wide open to him with an offer of $6,000 to sign up and notification that he would do well in avionics or psychological operations among other fields. He talked like psy-ops would be his choice, where he would need to learn a couple foreign languages (no doubt at the Defense Language Institute in his native Monterey County) and then someday venture toward a position with one of the alphabet soup of government: CIA, FBI, NSA, etc. He was a young man just starting a new and exciting phase of life when it all came to a crashing end. I am familiar with the scenario; as are many of us here in the Valley.
I could not have been more that 10 or 11 years of age when two teens from Greenfield, Marvin and Johnny, died in a car wreck. I was around 14 when Tish was lost the same way, auto crash. In the years since, most of us long-timers have come to know mothers who had to bury a child, whether at a young age or later in life, it is generally accepted that one of the worst blows in life is when parents outlive their children or grandchildren.
After my family left Greenfield in 1972, my mother often said how grateful she was that her three sons, who had all either been drivers or passengers of car crashes, had made it out of the Salinas Valley alive; such was the fear of many parents. Fathers, too, bury their children, but let us be honest, it is the one who carried the child and gave birth to the child that most mourns the loss, and here in the Valley the list of mothers who have lost a child, in some cases more than one, is heartbreakingly long.
And now, no matter my fervent hope not to be, my family is one of those who are counted among ones who have suffered such heartache and will suffer it for a long time to come. Such is death, such is life.
I will remember my grandson with great love and fondness as a tall, slim, handsome, quick to smile young man; a man I loved very much and will miss utterly. And I will always remember those here in King City who were gracious to him on that last special evening we had together.
Take care. Peace.
