Hero

My mother grew up on a farm in Minnesota during the Depression. There were eight children ~ two girls and six boys. My mom was the youngest. Uncle Bob, not quite two years older, was her best friend and ally against their older twin brothers, who conspired to make their lives absolutely frightful. The twins taught Bob to steer a car when he was five, and my mother, in the back seat, was three. On Christmas Eve the twins sat outside with their air rifles, threatening to shoot Santa out of the sky, while my mother and Bob clutched each other and cried. Bob consoled my mother from a very young age and spent the rest of his life taking care of people. He was a hero.

Uncle Bob was one of the few young men who didn’t serve in WWII. He desperately wanted to enlist but my grandfather wouldn’t allow it. Grandpa wrote a letter saying that all his other sons were married with children. Bob was the only one left to help him run the farm. Without Bob’s help, my grandfather wrote, he would lose the farm.

According to my mother, Bob was devastated. He wanted to go to war, like his friends. He was determined to leave the farm as soon as he could. Eventually my grandparents sold the farm and moved into town. Bob went to work as a mechanic at Thornton Motors, a local Chrysler/Plymouth dealer, one block away from the North St. Paul fire station.

During the war, Uncle Bob continued to help his family. Because my father was in the Navy when my brother was born in 1944, Uncle Bob drove my mother to the hospital. He was still her main confident and friend as she raised my brother and I alone until the war was over and Dad came home again. 

As he watched the other young men return home, Uncle Bob didn’t feel like a hero. Because he wasn’t a veteran, he wasn’t allowed to join the American Legion or the VFW, although he was always welcome to come inside and drink with his friends.

Until he met my Aunt Leslie, the fire station was Bob’s life. He drove the fire truck and made sure it was in good working order.

Because he worked just one block away, Uncle Bob was always the first person to arrive at the station when the siren sounded. He jumped into the truck  and took off. If another firefighter happened get there in time, he would hang onto the back of the truck for dear life as Bob raced to the fire. Other volunteers called the town telephone operator to find out where the emergency was. By the time the other volunteers drove themselves to the fire, Bob was already there, taking care of everything until they arrived.

Later, when the fire call was over, the men met back in the station, drank beer and rehashed what they had just seen. Bob always had a great sense of humor and a huge circle of friends. He was handsome and charming. He was hard-working and kind. He was the guy who drove the fire truck. He was the town hero. 

Eventually North St. Paul hired a paid chief of police. Uncle Bob wanted that position, but he didn’t get it. My family believed that Bob was the most qualified, but didn’t get the job because he wasn’t a veteran.

Unlike my mother’s other brothers who married young, Uncle Bob waited until he was in the late 20’s to get married. When he met Leslie Webster, the whole small town was buzzing. Leslie was the granddaughter of  the town doctor, Dr. Cowan, and the daughter of Bud Webster, the president of the school board. They lived in a big house near Silver Lake. Leslie was young and beautiful. Bob finally found the girl he wanted to marry. 

My brother and I were in Bob’s wedding. I was five years old and my brother was four. The reception was held in a big barn-like building. My only memory of the wedding was the shivaree, performed by Bob’s friends at midnight. Suddenly, in the midst of the celebration, there was a horrible racket outside. There were whoops and yelling like I had never heard before. Bob’s drunken friends were banging on pots and pans with spoons and other utensils in some sort of  mock serenade. My brother and I were terrified. Uncle Bob laughed as he comforted us and warned that we needed to keep his friends outside. If they came inside they might steal the pretty bride. 

Bob and Leslie had four children and lived in a big, beautiful home near Leslie’s parents. Uncle Bob was a devoted husband and father. He loved Aunt Leslie and very much enjoyed spending time with his children. Mom and Leslie were good friends. Dad and Uncle Bob had great times together. 

In 1963, Bob was promoted to branch manager of LP gas sales for Skelly Oil. The job was based in Barron, Wisconsin, near the Minnesota border. Bob accepted the job, but wasn’t happy about leaving North St. Paul. My grandmother was very ill and being cared for in the town nursing home. Bob drove his family back to North St. Paul most weekends to visit her.  It was hard for all of us to see Grandma dying in that small bedroom. I think it must have broken Bob’s heart. 

In 1967, Bob was transferred to Berlin, Wisconsin, a town much further from North St. Paul than his previous assignment. Bob’s job was stressful and he dreamed of returning to North St. Paul when he retired.  But that never happened. In 1977, at the age of 57, Uncle Bob had a massive heart attack. Everyone was devastated. We lost a hero.