My Uncle Dave, David Crocket Winters, passed-away back in February. I may have mentioned his passing before, but I haven’t really written about it, because I’ve needed some time to pass. Just as you can’t see Pike’s Peak when you are too close to it, sometimes a separation from events by time is necessary.
Dave was my dad’s identical twin brother. They’d been inseparable until WWII when they were drafted and sent to different theaters. Dad spent the bulk of his time in the service in England, entering continental Europe through Normandy, while Dave travelled through North Africa, Italy, and Southern France.
Dad died back in 1986, but Dave survived another 23 years, giving up pieces of himself and the world only reluctantly. This man who’d fought the Fuhrer didn’t cede the joys of life without a fight, but, inevitably his world became smaller. Toward the end, it included only a bed and a chair and then only a bed.
One of the last times we visited him, he was in the hospital down in Ardmore, Okla. He was suffering from congestive heart disease with fluid gathering around his heart. As a consequence of this, the doctor was limiting his intake of water, so when he was thirsty he was only allowed ice chips in a foam plastic cup.
His wife, my Aunt Anne, brought him his ice chips and attempted to give them to him, but he batted her hands away insisting he was still capable of doing this thing for himself. When, after a small struggle, he got the chips into his mouth, an expression of pleasure crossed his face.
“Water,” he said. “It’s the best thing ever.”
This was the week of Thanksgiving and he was gone within three months, the length of a season.
Within that season, just a few weeks after that, as a matter of fact, I got a bug. It was a gastrointestinal malady whose symptoms I can describe vividly if provoked. Let me merely state that within a few hours time, there was not much excess liquid left in my body. My family fled my presence for their own protection, and I was left alone.
In the middle of the night, I rallied and felt it safe to take the tiniest sip of water my wife had left for me. I thought of Dave’s words then.
“It’s the best thing ever.”
In the Second World War, which was a watershed of Dave’s life, Dave had been in a maintenance battalion and had learn to fix what needed fixing with what was available. After the war, he took a job in the oil field and worked as a pumper where he was able to put his skills to work.
About 15 or more years ago, he began giving me pieces of writing which I typed into the word processor for him, putting together what was ultimately a 150-page book about his life. I credit editing that work, learning to preserve his voice, and capturing his native style to be one of the events that nudged me along into writing.
Dave’s writing is much like the repair work he did in the maintenance battalion and in the oil field. He used the materials he had on hand to get the job done. The end product might not look all that elegant, but if the tank can roll into battle or the oil gets pumped that is all that matters.
He broke down his life into three pieces. The first of these was living in the Forks of Boggy when he was just a boy, the second was following the Oklahoma Oil Field, and the third was WWII. His 150-page biography ended when he was about 30 years old. He lived to be 91, but that final 61 years was just the business of living to him.
Marrying his wife, raising his daughter, earning a living, and puttering around the yard were unremarkable to him, but like a sip from a glass of water, they are the best thing ever.
Bobby Winters is Assistant Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences and Professor of Mathematics at Pittsburg State University.
PITTSBURG —
