Uncle Bill
William Fowler, who I called Uncle Bill, passed away on May 27, 2016, not long after his 89th birthday. In his last few years, He lived in a casita with his wife. The casita sat on a hilltop and was located on his daughter's avocado farm. Every morning, he would get up, kiss his wife and go outside to sit on his back porch. He would greet the sunrise with a rendition of, "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning". Every morning.
Uncle Bill wasn't really my uncle. He was married for 58 years to a wonderful woman named Mary Anne. No, not the Mary Anne of Gilligan's Island fame. Morons. Uncle Bill and Mary Anne may have been the most in-love couple I ever met. They always spoke lovingly of each other. Mary Anne is the cousin of my step-mother. It was never really clear to me how people were related to each other in the Padilla clan, or even what their names were, because everyone had at least one nickname. So, based on our age difference, as a kid I just referred to him as my Uncle Bill and I never stopped.
Uncle Bill joined the L.A. County Sheriff's Department in about 1955. He was a sergeant, when I first remember meeting him in the '60's. I was probably five or six years old. He was assigned to San Dimas Station. He was the Disaster Coordinator and was also involved in a lot of search and rescue efforts while he was assigned there. As a result, he helped form the department's first Mountain Rescue Team. Eventually, he moved his family to the Las Vegas area and commuted to work in Los Angeles. Those of you who bitch about commuting from Riverside to L.A. County can now shut your pie holes. After a couple of years of that, he retired from the L.A. County Sheriff's Department with about 20 years on. He then became an investigator for the District Attorney's office in Las Vegas. After being a D.A. Investigator for 4 years, he retired and moved his family out to Florida. Not content with sitting on his butt fishing all day, he joined the Walton County Sheriff's Department as a lieutenant. After another 15 years, Uncle Bill finally called it quits and retired, retired. He was 68 years old. He and Mary Anne moved to Colorado, in about 2006. As the years went by, the cold winters were getting to them, so they would come out to California for the winter. They invited us out to visit them in Colorado many times, but we were always going somewhere else. I will always regret never visiting them in Colorado. In about 2014, Uncle Bill and Mary Anne moved to Ojai where they took up residence on their daughters avocado farm in a nice little casita. That's where Uncle Bill spent the rest of his days with Mary Anne, singing to the sunrise.
When I was a little kid, we would go visit the Fowlers and I always looked forward to these visits, because I really liked my new cousin Kelene. She wasn't like some of the more notorious kids in the Padilla clan (Steve and Joe). She was nice. There were no nails in flat tires, no firework ambushes of cars on Atlantic Avenue in Monterey Park, nobody accidentally stabbing themselves with a switchblade, no rocks to the face, no fighting cocks attacking you, and she didn't shove me into quicksand. None of that. Just a nice normal kid who played regular kid games. Kelene had an older brother named Brandon and an older sister named Randi, but they were practically adults to me, so Kelene was my pal. Uncle Bill and Mary Anne were always very nice to me. They were like T.V. show parents of the time. No fighting, no yelling, no weird behavior, no bull whips, no drama, just kindness. Completely unlike the rest of the Padilla clan who, frankly, always had me with my head on a swivel wondering what danger was coming next, or who was going to start yelling next.
I got two new uncles when my dad remarried, Steve and Joe Padilla. Steve is about a year older than me and Joe is about four years older. When I was about 17 and Steve was about 18, we took my truck on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had ever been there. On the way, we stopped off in Las Vegas to visit the Fowlers. At some point, Uncle Bill told us he had something very important to talk to us about. He put his arms around our shoulders, walked us outside, and once we were out of earshot of the house, and the women folk, Uncle Bill advised us that he thought it was time for us to learn about the birds and the bees! Steve and I reflexively tried to jerk away, but he was a pretty big guy and he had a good hold of us. We weren't going anywhere. It was possibly the most horrifying experience of my life. I don't think anything I saw, or did, during 32 years as a cop even came close to it. PTSD hadn't been coined yet, but I'm pretty sure Steve and I suffered from it for years. So much so, that I eventually completely erased this memory from my mind, for almost 40 year! At Uncle Bill's 89th birthday party, Steve felt compelled to remind me of, "THE TALK". I didn't sleep for three nights.
Once I joined the Sheriff's department, I would occasionally see, or hear from Uncle Bill. When I did, he would give me advice. Some of it I listened to, some of it (mostly promotional advice) I didn't. Every generation has to reinvent the wheel.
I saw Uncle Bill on his last birthday and I'm glad I did, because I hadn't seen him in a long time and he passed away not much later. He seemed glad to see me and he had the same big smile I always remembered. He also had dual colored eyes, blue, ringed by brown. I was surprised I never noticed that before. Maybe I just wasn't that observant as a kid, or maybe it was hard for me to make eye contact with him after that birds and the bees talk. In our last conversation, he said he was glad I was retiring and, as always, he spoke glowingly of Maryanne.
William Fowler, who I called Uncle Bill, passed away on May 27, 2016, not long after his 89th birthday. In his last few years, He lived in a casita with his wife. The casita sat on a hilltop and was located on his daughter's avocado farm. Every morning, he would get up, kiss his wife and go outside to sit on his back porch. He would greet the sunrise with a rendition of, "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning". Every morning.
Uncle Bill wasn't really my uncle. He was married for 58 years to a wonderful woman named Mary Anne. No, not the Mary Anne of Gilligan's Island fame. Morons. Uncle Bill and Mary Anne may have been the most in-love couple I ever met. They always spoke lovingly of each other. Mary Anne is the cousin of my step-mother. It was never really clear to me how people were related to each other in the Padilla clan, or even what their names were, because everyone had at least one nickname. So, based on our age difference, as a kid I just referred to him as my Uncle Bill and I never stopped.
Uncle Bill joined the L.A. County Sheriff's Department in about 1955. He was a sergeant, when I first remember meeting him in the '60's. I was probably five or six years old. He was assigned to San Dimas Station. He was the Disaster Coordinator and was also involved in a lot of search and rescue efforts while he was assigned there. As a result, he helped form the department's first Mountain Rescue Team. Eventually, he moved his family to the Las Vegas area and commuted to work in Los Angeles. Those of you who bitch about commuting from Riverside to L.A. County can now shut your pie holes. After a couple of years of that, he retired from the L.A. County Sheriff's Department with about 20 years on. He then became an investigator for the District Attorney's office in Las Vegas. After being a D.A. Investigator for 4 years, he retired and moved his family out to Florida. Not content with sitting on his butt fishing all day, he joined the Walton County Sheriff's Department as a lieutenant. After another 15 years, Uncle Bill finally called it quits and retired, retired. He was 68 years old. He and Mary Anne moved to Colorado, in about 2006. As the years went by, the cold winters were getting to them, so they would come out to California for the winter. They invited us out to visit them in Colorado many times, but we were always going somewhere else. I will always regret never visiting them in Colorado. In about 2014, Uncle Bill and Mary Anne moved to Ojai where they took up residence on their daughters avocado farm in a nice little casita. That's where Uncle Bill spent the rest of his days with Mary Anne, singing to the sunrise.
When I was a little kid, we would go visit the Fowlers and I always looked forward to these visits, because I really liked my new cousin Kelene. She wasn't like some of the more notorious kids in the Padilla clan (Steve and Joe). She was nice. There were no nails in flat tires, no firework ambushes of cars on Atlantic Avenue in Monterey Park, nobody accidentally stabbing themselves with a switchblade, no rocks to the face, no fighting cocks attacking you, and she didn't shove me into quicksand. None of that. Just a nice normal kid who played regular kid games. Kelene had an older brother named Brandon and an older sister named Randi, but they were practically adults to me, so Kelene was my pal. Uncle Bill and Mary Anne were always very nice to me. They were like T.V. show parents of the time. No fighting, no yelling, no weird behavior, no bull whips, no drama, just kindness. Completely unlike the rest of the Padilla clan who, frankly, always had me with my head on a swivel wondering what danger was coming next, or who was going to start yelling next.
I got two new uncles when my dad remarried, Steve and Joe Padilla. Steve is about a year older than me and Joe is about four years older. When I was about 17 and Steve was about 18, we took my truck on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had ever been there. On the way, we stopped off in Las Vegas to visit the Fowlers. At some point, Uncle Bill told us he had something very important to talk to us about. He put his arms around our shoulders, walked us outside, and once we were out of earshot of the house, and the women folk, Uncle Bill advised us that he thought it was time for us to learn about the birds and the bees! Steve and I reflexively tried to jerk away, but he was a pretty big guy and he had a good hold of us. We weren't going anywhere. It was possibly the most horrifying experience of my life. I don't think anything I saw, or did, during 32 years as a cop even came close to it. PTSD hadn't been coined yet, but I'm pretty sure Steve and I suffered from it for years. So much so, that I eventually completely erased this memory from my mind, for almost 40 year! At Uncle Bill's 89th birthday party, Steve felt compelled to remind me of, "THE TALK". I didn't sleep for three nights.
Once I joined the Sheriff's department, I would occasionally see, or hear from Uncle Bill. When I did, he would give me advice. Some of it I listened to, some of it (mostly promotional advice) I didn't. Every generation has to reinvent the wheel.
I saw Uncle Bill on his last birthday and I'm glad I did, because I hadn't seen him in a long time and he passed away not much later. He seemed glad to see me and he had the same big smile I always remembered. He also had dual colored eyes, blue, ringed by brown. I was surprised I never noticed that before. Maybe I just wasn't that observant as a kid, or maybe it was hard for me to make eye contact with him after that birds and the bees talk. In our last conversation, he said he was glad I was retiring and, as always, he spoke glowingly of Maryanne.
Comments
Post a Comment