Lt. Col. Signal Corps U.S. Army
My father was born 1 Jul 1901 in Rushville, Illinois. He broke the record in Schuyler County at that time as the biggest baby (12 lb 9 oz) to be born there.
I don't know very much about his years growing up, and I never had much of a chance to ask him about his life story because he died when I was 12 years old.
My father was told by his mother that his father died when he was very little, but in truth, his parents had divorced in 1906. His mother never wanted the kids to know that their father was still alive (my Dad had a younger sister, Ruth). When my father was in his twenties, he was walking around Decatur, IL, and was hailed by his uncle, Earl White. Earl asked him if he ever got any news about his father, and my father replied, "Well, no. My father is dead" And his uncle said, "Well, he seemed fine when I saw him yesterday!" My father almost fainted. Turned out that his father, Clarence, owned a cafe not far from where he was standing. He went to the cafe and asked for Clarence and was told, "He's in the kitchen. Go on back." So my father walked into the kitchen, and at first, Clarence thought he was his nephew, Kevin. It took another beat before Clarence recognized his son. Well, Clarence was so happy to see his son, he dropped everything he was doing and escorted my father all over town and introduced him to everyone they met, including the mayor. My father was so happy to have found his dad. They continued to stay in touch until Clarence passed away in 1930. I never heard whether my father ever confronted his mother about the big lie he and his sister had been told for all those years.
For years and years, throughout my whole adult life and into my senior years, I have despaired of ever knowing how that long-ago meeting between my father and his dad panned out. One day, maybe about a year ago, my nephew (my brother Bud's son) was cleaning out a storage room at his house here in Tucson, and he found a letter that my Dad wrote to his aunt, Alice (White) Pendleton, (Clarence White's sister) describing that meeting in detail. (Dad was very Type A about keeping copies of letters he wrote.) It was from that copy that I got the information that I shared above. Out of all the family memorabilia that I've collected, this letter is the one I will treasure forever. It was like there was an angel on my shoulder who knew the exact thing that would ease my mind and made it happen. I truly believe that that letter found me instead of the other way around, and my nephew was the conduit.
I don't know exactly when my Dad joined the Army, but I heard he was underage when he joined up. Because he had been a telephone lineman in private life, he chose to sign up for the Signal Corps. In the early 1930s, he was stationed at Savanna Ordnance Depot, where he met a beautiful secretary with gorgeous legs who loved to dance. Her name was Bea. They married on 2 May 1932. Through all the ups and downs of the Great Depression and the war, they always loved dancing together, and, boy, could they cut a rug!
He was stationed for a long time (in Army years) at Fort Monmouth, NJ, where he was also the manager of the movie theater there. He was sent to India during WWII, from 1943 to 1944. He and my Mom had three children by then, my two brothers, Ray Jr. (Bud) and Greg, and my sister, Barb. I was born in 1946 and was apparently a big surprise. (Really??) While Dad was stationed overseas, my Mom and the three kids moved to Lanark to be near her parents, H.B. and Millie Rahn, so Mom wouldn't be all alone trying to raise three kids. H.B. and Millie treated my Dad like he was their own son.
In 1947, Dad was shipped out again, this time to Feudenheim, Germany. He sent for the family a year later, and we lived in Feudenheim for a while and then moved to Heidelberg. My Dad used to love road trips, and while we were in Germany, we took full advantage of being in Europe. We spent time in the Netherlands (which we called Holland back then), France, Luxembourg, and I don't remember where else. He'd always give running commentaries on what we were seeing, which added to our enjoyment of the trip. I learned German during the four years we lived there, and he'd always ask me to say something in German to him. He got such a kick out of it. We came back to the States in 1952, and his next assignments were at San Luis Obispo and then The Presidio at San Francisco, CA.
My Dad retired from the Army in 1954 at Fort Gordon, GA, as a Lt. Colonel. We were living in Augusta, GA at that time. We then moved back to New Jersey and lived in Little Silver. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer in about 1956, and it was determined that the bad bouts with dysentery that he endured in India were the root cause of the cancer. He passed away in 1958. The last time I saw him that he wasn't in a hospital was Christmas day, 1957, when he was taken away in an ambulance from our home. I was allowed to visit him once while he lay dying in the hospital at Fort Monmouth. Back then, they didn't let kids on the ward as a general rule, but they made an exception so I could say goodbye. Sometimes I feel as if I've never recovered from that day. After he died, my mother and I moved to Eatontown, NJ.
There were two funerals for my Dad in New Jersey, a Masonic and a military funeral. Then we accompanied his body to Lanark, Illinois, for burial, where there was a church service and another military funeral. It was an awful time for the whole family, going through four funerals.
My mother, of course, was devastated; she had lost the love of her life, and now she was trying to raise me by herself. (My three siblings were all grown and out of the house by then.) I soon became a terrible teenager, but my Mom kept her cool (for the most part).
My Dad was an amazing man. He never finished his formal schooling, yet he became a true leader among the soldiers he worked with and who would later serve under his command. There's a story that's told about him in which he was talking earnestly to some soldiers who were on bivouac with him, all sitting around a campfire. While my father was talking, they heard a soldier toward the back of the group, crying. When someone asked him why he was crying, he said, "Sgt. White sounds just like the deacon at our church." From that moment on, my Dad was referred to as "The Deacon," and it stuck with him for the rest of his life.
He didn't finish school, but he wrote the textbook for the Signal Corps at Fort Monmouth which they continued using for decades.
He didn't finish school, but he was a master of the English language. His speaking and writing skills (but not spelling) were legendary. He wrote the funniest letters to my Mom whenever he was stationed away from the family. I still have them, and I have the letters she wrote back to him. He was the most thoroughly self-educated man I'd ever met, and I haven't met another like him since. He was a student of history, philosophy, religion, and cultures. And he was a wicked good chess and cribbage player.
He didn't finish school, but he attained the rank of Lt. Colonel by coming up through the ranks and proving himself worthy time after time.
He was my hero, and he still is. I wish I had had the chance to know him after I became an adult. I sure could have used his wisdom, advice, and wit on a million different occasions.
Rest in peace, Dad. Hold Mom close and give my love to Bud, Greg, and Barb. I miss you all terribly.
My father was born 1 Jul 1901 in Rushville, Illinois. He broke the record in Schuyler County at that time as the biggest baby (12 lb 9 oz) to be born there.
I don't know very much about his years growing up, and I never had much of a chance to ask him about his life story because he died when I was 12 years old.
My father was told by his mother that his father died when he was very little, but in truth, his parents had divorced in 1906. His mother never wanted the kids to know that their father was still alive (my Dad had a younger sister, Ruth). When my father was in his twenties, he was walking around Decatur, IL, and was hailed by his uncle, Earl White. Earl asked him if he ever got any news about his father, and my father replied, "Well, no. My father is dead" And his uncle said, "Well, he seemed fine when I saw him yesterday!" My father almost fainted. Turned out that his father, Clarence, owned a cafe not far from where he was standing. He went to the cafe and asked for Clarence and was told, "He's in the kitchen. Go on back." So my father walked into the kitchen, and at first, Clarence thought he was his nephew, Kevin. It took another beat before Clarence recognized his son. Well, Clarence was so happy to see his son, he dropped everything he was doing and escorted my father all over town and introduced him to everyone they met, including the mayor. My father was so happy to have found his dad. They continued to stay in touch until Clarence passed away in 1930. I never heard whether my father ever confronted his mother about the big lie he and his sister had been told for all those years.
For years and years, throughout my whole adult life and into my senior years, I have despaired of ever knowing how that long-ago meeting between my father and his dad panned out. One day, maybe about a year ago, my nephew (my brother Bud's son) was cleaning out a storage room at his house here in Tucson, and he found a letter that my Dad wrote to his aunt, Alice (White) Pendleton, (Clarence White's sister) describing that meeting in detail. (Dad was very Type A about keeping copies of letters he wrote.) It was from that copy that I got the information that I shared above. Out of all the family memorabilia that I've collected, this letter is the one I will treasure forever. It was like there was an angel on my shoulder who knew the exact thing that would ease my mind and made it happen. I truly believe that that letter found me instead of the other way around, and my nephew was the conduit.
I don't know exactly when my Dad joined the Army, but I heard he was underage when he joined up. Because he had been a telephone lineman in private life, he chose to sign up for the Signal Corps. In the early 1930s, he was stationed at Savanna Ordnance Depot, where he met a beautiful secretary with gorgeous legs who loved to dance. Her name was Bea. They married on 2 May 1932. Through all the ups and downs of the Great Depression and the war, they always loved dancing together, and, boy, could they cut a rug!
He was stationed for a long time (in Army years) at Fort Monmouth, NJ, where he was also the manager of the movie theater there. He was sent to India during WWII, from 1943 to 1944. He and my Mom had three children by then, my two brothers, Ray Jr. (Bud) and Greg, and my sister, Barb. I was born in 1946 and was apparently a big surprise. (Really??) While Dad was stationed overseas, my Mom and the three kids moved to Lanark to be near her parents, H.B. and Millie Rahn, so Mom wouldn't be all alone trying to raise three kids. H.B. and Millie treated my Dad like he was their own son.
In 1947, Dad was shipped out again, this time to Feudenheim, Germany. He sent for the family a year later, and we lived in Feudenheim for a while and then moved to Heidelberg. My Dad used to love road trips, and while we were in Germany, we took full advantage of being in Europe. We spent time in the Netherlands (which we called Holland back then), France, Luxembourg, and I don't remember where else. He'd always give running commentaries on what we were seeing, which added to our enjoyment of the trip. I learned German during the four years we lived there, and he'd always ask me to say something in German to him. He got such a kick out of it. We came back to the States in 1952, and his next assignments were at San Luis Obispo and then The Presidio at San Francisco, CA.
My Dad retired from the Army in 1954 at Fort Gordon, GA, as a Lt. Colonel. We were living in Augusta, GA at that time. We then moved back to New Jersey and lived in Little Silver. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer in about 1956, and it was determined that the bad bouts with dysentery that he endured in India were the root cause of the cancer. He passed away in 1958. The last time I saw him that he wasn't in a hospital was Christmas day, 1957, when he was taken away in an ambulance from our home. I was allowed to visit him once while he lay dying in the hospital at Fort Monmouth. Back then, they didn't let kids on the ward as a general rule, but they made an exception so I could say goodbye. Sometimes I feel as if I've never recovered from that day. After he died, my mother and I moved to Eatontown, NJ.
There were two funerals for my Dad in New Jersey, a Masonic and a military funeral. Then we accompanied his body to Lanark, Illinois, for burial, where there was a church service and another military funeral. It was an awful time for the whole family, going through four funerals.
My mother, of course, was devastated; she had lost the love of her life, and now she was trying to raise me by herself. (My three siblings were all grown and out of the house by then.) I soon became a terrible teenager, but my Mom kept her cool (for the most part).
My Dad was an amazing man. He never finished his formal schooling, yet he became a true leader among the soldiers he worked with and who would later serve under his command. There's a story that's told about him in which he was talking earnestly to some soldiers who were on bivouac with him, all sitting around a campfire. While my father was talking, they heard a soldier toward the back of the group, crying. When someone asked him why he was crying, he said, "Sgt. White sounds just like the deacon at our church." From that moment on, my Dad was referred to as "The Deacon," and it stuck with him for the rest of his life.
He didn't finish school, but he wrote the textbook for the Signal Corps at Fort Monmouth which they continued using for decades.
He didn't finish school, but he was a master of the English language. His speaking and writing skills (but not spelling) were legendary. He wrote the funniest letters to my Mom whenever he was stationed away from the family. I still have them, and I have the letters she wrote back to him. He was the most thoroughly self-educated man I'd ever met, and I haven't met another like him since. He was a student of history, philosophy, religion, and cultures. And he was a wicked good chess and cribbage player.
He didn't finish school, but he attained the rank of Lt. Colonel by coming up through the ranks and proving himself worthy time after time.
He was my hero, and he still is. I wish I had had the chance to know him after I became an adult. I sure could have used his wisdom, advice, and wit on a million different occasions.
Rest in peace, Dad. Hold Mom close and give my love to Bud, Greg, and Barb. I miss you all terribly.
Lt. Col. Signal Corps U.S. Army
My father was born 1 Jul 1901 in Rushville, Illinois. He broke the record in Schuyler County at that time as the biggest baby (12 lb 9 oz) to be born there.
I don't know very much about his years growing up, and I never had much of a chance to ask him about his life story because he died when I was 12 years old.
My father was told by his mother that his father died when he was very little, but in truth, his parents had divorced in 1906. His mother never wanted the kids to know that their father was still alive (my Dad had a younger sister, Ruth). When my father was in his twenties, he was walking around Decatur, IL, and was hailed by his uncle, Earl White. Earl asked him if he ever got any news about his father, and my father replied, "Well, no. My father is dead" And his uncle said, "Well, he seemed fine when I saw him yesterday!" My father almost fainted. Turned out that his father, Clarence, owned a cafe not far from where he was standing. He went to the cafe and asked for Clarence and was told, "He's in the kitchen. Go on back." So my father walked into the kitchen, and at first, Clarence thought he was his nephew, Kevin. It took another beat before Clarence recognized his son. Well, Clarence was so happy to see his son, he dropped everything he was doing and escorted my father all over town and introduced him to everyone they met, including the mayor. My father was so happy to have found his dad. They continued to stay in touch until Clarence passed away in 1930. I never heard whether my father ever confronted his mother about the big lie he and his sister had been told for all those years.
For years and years, throughout my whole adult life and into my senior years, I have despaired of ever knowing how that long-ago meeting between my father and his dad panned out. One day, maybe about a year ago, my nephew (my brother Bud's son) was cleaning out a storage room at his house here in Tucson, and he found a letter that my Dad wrote to his aunt, Alice (White) Pendleton, (Clarence White's sister) describing that meeting in detail. (Dad was very Type A about keeping copies of letters he wrote.) It was from that copy that I got the information that I shared above. Out of all the family memorabilia that I've collected, this letter is the one I will treasure forever. It was like there was an angel on my shoulder who knew the exact thing that would ease my mind and made it happen. I truly believe that that letter found me instead of the other way around, and my nephew was the conduit.
I don't know exactly when my Dad joined the Army, but I heard he was underage when he joined up. Because he had been a telephone lineman in private life, he chose to sign up for the Signal Corps. In the early 1930s, he was stationed at Savanna Ordnance Depot, where he met a beautiful secretary with gorgeous legs who loved to dance. Her name was Bea. They married on 2 May 1932. Through all the ups and downs of the Great Depression and the war, they always loved dancing together, and, boy, could they cut a rug!
He was stationed for a long time (in Army years) at Fort Monmouth, NJ, where he was also the manager of the movie theater there. He was sent to India during WWII, from 1943 to 1944. He and my Mom had three children by then, my two brothers, Ray Jr. (Bud) and Greg, and my sister, Barb. I was born in 1946 and was apparently a big surprise. (Really??) While Dad was stationed overseas, my Mom and the three kids moved to Lanark to be near her parents, H.B. and Millie Rahn, so Mom wouldn't be all alone trying to raise three kids. H.B. and Millie treated my Dad like he was their own son.
In 1947, Dad was shipped out again, this time to Feudenheim, Germany. He sent for the family a year later, and we lived in Feudenheim for a while and then moved to Heidelberg. My Dad used to love road trips, and while we were in Germany, we took full advantage of being in Europe. We spent time in the Netherlands (which we called Holland back then), France, Luxembourg, and I don't remember where else. He'd always give running commentaries on what we were seeing, which added to our enjoyment of the trip. I learned German during the four years we lived there, and he'd always ask me to say something in German to him. He got such a kick out of it. We came back to the States in 1952, and his next assignments were at San Luis Obispo and then The Presidio at San Francisco, CA.
My Dad retired from the Army in 1954 at Fort Gordon, GA, as a Lt. Colonel. We were living in Augusta, GA at that time. We then moved back to New Jersey and lived in Little Silver. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer in about 1956, and it was determined that the bad bouts with dysentery that he endured in India were the root cause of the cancer. He passed away in 1958. The last time I saw him that he wasn't in a hospital was Christmas day, 1957, when he was taken away in an ambulance from our home. I was allowed to visit him once while he lay dying in the hospital at Fort Monmouth. Back then, they didn't let kids on the ward as a general rule, but they made an exception so I could say goodbye. Sometimes I feel as if I've never recovered from that day. After he died, my mother and I moved to Eatontown, NJ.
There were two funerals for my Dad in New Jersey, a Masonic and a military funeral. Then we accompanied his body to Lanark, Illinois, for burial, where there was a church service and another military funeral. It was an awful time for the whole family, going through four funerals.
My mother, of course, was devastated; she had lost the love of her life, and now she was trying to raise me by herself. (My three siblings were all grown and out of the house by then.) I soon became a terrible teenager, but my Mom kept her cool (for the most part).
My Dad was an amazing man. He never finished his formal schooling, yet he became a true leader among the soldiers he worked with and who would later serve under his command. There's a story that's told about him in which he was talking earnestly to some soldiers who were on bivouac with him, all sitting around a campfire. While my father was talking, they heard a soldier toward the back of the group, crying. When someone asked him why he was crying, he said, "Sgt. White sounds just like the deacon at our church." From that moment on, my Dad was referred to as "The Deacon," and it stuck with him for the rest of his life.
He didn't finish school, but he wrote the textbook for the Signal Corps at Fort Monmouth which they continued using for decades.
He didn't finish school, but he was a master of the English language. His speaking and writing skills (but not spelling) were legendary. He wrote the funniest letters to my Mom whenever he was stationed away from the family. I still have them, and I have the letters she wrote back to him. He was the most thoroughly self-educated man I'd ever met, and I haven't met another like him since. He was a student of history, philosophy, religion, and cultures. And he was a wicked good chess and cribbage player.
He didn't finish school, but he attained the rank of Lt. Colonel by coming up through the ranks and proving himself worthy time after time.
He was my hero, and he still is. I wish I had had the chance to know him after I became an adult. I sure could have used his wisdom, advice, and wit on a million different occasions.
Rest in peace, Dad. Hold Mom close and give my love to Bud, Greg, and Barb. I miss you all terribly.
My father was born 1 Jul 1901 in Rushville, Illinois. He broke the record in Schuyler County at that time as the biggest baby (12 lb 9 oz) to be born there.
I don't know very much about his years growing up, and I never had much of a chance to ask him about his life story because he died when I was 12 years old.
My father was told by his mother that his father died when he was very little, but in truth, his parents had divorced in 1906. His mother never wanted the kids to know that their father was still alive (my Dad had a younger sister, Ruth). When my father was in his twenties, he was walking around Decatur, IL, and was hailed by his uncle, Earl White. Earl asked him if he ever got any news about his father, and my father replied, "Well, no. My father is dead" And his uncle said, "Well, he seemed fine when I saw him yesterday!" My father almost fainted. Turned out that his father, Clarence, owned a cafe not far from where he was standing. He went to the cafe and asked for Clarence and was told, "He's in the kitchen. Go on back." So my father walked into the kitchen, and at first, Clarence thought he was his nephew, Kevin. It took another beat before Clarence recognized his son. Well, Clarence was so happy to see his son, he dropped everything he was doing and escorted my father all over town and introduced him to everyone they met, including the mayor. My father was so happy to have found his dad. They continued to stay in touch until Clarence passed away in 1930. I never heard whether my father ever confronted his mother about the big lie he and his sister had been told for all those years.
For years and years, throughout my whole adult life and into my senior years, I have despaired of ever knowing how that long-ago meeting between my father and his dad panned out. One day, maybe about a year ago, my nephew (my brother Bud's son) was cleaning out a storage room at his house here in Tucson, and he found a letter that my Dad wrote to his aunt, Alice (White) Pendleton, (Clarence White's sister) describing that meeting in detail. (Dad was very Type A about keeping copies of letters he wrote.) It was from that copy that I got the information that I shared above. Out of all the family memorabilia that I've collected, this letter is the one I will treasure forever. It was like there was an angel on my shoulder who knew the exact thing that would ease my mind and made it happen. I truly believe that that letter found me instead of the other way around, and my nephew was the conduit.
I don't know exactly when my Dad joined the Army, but I heard he was underage when he joined up. Because he had been a telephone lineman in private life, he chose to sign up for the Signal Corps. In the early 1930s, he was stationed at Savanna Ordnance Depot, where he met a beautiful secretary with gorgeous legs who loved to dance. Her name was Bea. They married on 2 May 1932. Through all the ups and downs of the Great Depression and the war, they always loved dancing together, and, boy, could they cut a rug!
He was stationed for a long time (in Army years) at Fort Monmouth, NJ, where he was also the manager of the movie theater there. He was sent to India during WWII, from 1943 to 1944. He and my Mom had three children by then, my two brothers, Ray Jr. (Bud) and Greg, and my sister, Barb. I was born in 1946 and was apparently a big surprise. (Really??) While Dad was stationed overseas, my Mom and the three kids moved to Lanark to be near her parents, H.B. and Millie Rahn, so Mom wouldn't be all alone trying to raise three kids. H.B. and Millie treated my Dad like he was their own son.
In 1947, Dad was shipped out again, this time to Feudenheim, Germany. He sent for the family a year later, and we lived in Feudenheim for a while and then moved to Heidelberg. My Dad used to love road trips, and while we were in Germany, we took full advantage of being in Europe. We spent time in the Netherlands (which we called Holland back then), France, Luxembourg, and I don't remember where else. He'd always give running commentaries on what we were seeing, which added to our enjoyment of the trip. I learned German during the four years we lived there, and he'd always ask me to say something in German to him. He got such a kick out of it. We came back to the States in 1952, and his next assignments were at San Luis Obispo and then The Presidio at San Francisco, CA.
My Dad retired from the Army in 1954 at Fort Gordon, GA, as a Lt. Colonel. We were living in Augusta, GA at that time. We then moved back to New Jersey and lived in Little Silver. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer in about 1956, and it was determined that the bad bouts with dysentery that he endured in India were the root cause of the cancer. He passed away in 1958. The last time I saw him that he wasn't in a hospital was Christmas day, 1957, when he was taken away in an ambulance from our home. I was allowed to visit him once while he lay dying in the hospital at Fort Monmouth. Back then, they didn't let kids on the ward as a general rule, but they made an exception so I could say goodbye. Sometimes I feel as if I've never recovered from that day. After he died, my mother and I moved to Eatontown, NJ.
There were two funerals for my Dad in New Jersey, a Masonic and a military funeral. Then we accompanied his body to Lanark, Illinois, for burial, where there was a church service and another military funeral. It was an awful time for the whole family, going through four funerals.
My mother, of course, was devastated; she had lost the love of her life, and now she was trying to raise me by herself. (My three siblings were all grown and out of the house by then.) I soon became a terrible teenager, but my Mom kept her cool (for the most part).
My Dad was an amazing man. He never finished his formal schooling, yet he became a true leader among the soldiers he worked with and who would later serve under his command. There's a story that's told about him in which he was talking earnestly to some soldiers who were on bivouac with him, all sitting around a campfire. While my father was talking, they heard a soldier toward the back of the group, crying. When someone asked him why he was crying, he said, "Sgt. White sounds just like the deacon at our church." From that moment on, my Dad was referred to as "The Deacon," and it stuck with him for the rest of his life.
He didn't finish school, but he wrote the textbook for the Signal Corps at Fort Monmouth which they continued using for decades.
He didn't finish school, but he was a master of the English language. His speaking and writing skills (but not spelling) were legendary. He wrote the funniest letters to my Mom whenever he was stationed away from the family. I still have them, and I have the letters she wrote back to him. He was the most thoroughly self-educated man I'd ever met, and I haven't met another like him since. He was a student of history, philosophy, religion, and cultures. And he was a wicked good chess and cribbage player.
He didn't finish school, but he attained the rank of Lt. Colonel by coming up through the ranks and proving himself worthy time after time.
He was my hero, and he still is. I wish I had had the chance to know him after I became an adult. I sure could have used his wisdom, advice, and wit on a million different occasions.
Rest in peace, Dad. Hold Mom close and give my love to Bud, Greg, and Barb. I miss you all terribly.
