My Uncle Bill

Sunday, February 2, 2014

My Uncle Bill

If looks were all its about, he could be in his late seventies, but his birthday is the 27th of January and he will be ninety three.  He is a member, in good standing, of The Greatest Generation and would wrinkle his brow while some one tried to explain why he was the greatest of anything.  In the end, his boundless humility would allow him to issue a statement on the discussion, which would be, "Bunk".

William J. Babcock is my mother's younger brother.  He is the father of nine children and has heard all the jokes relative to fathering a large family.  He is all these things but he is also my Uncle Bill.

My Uncle Bill has lived in the Pittsford, NY area for most of his adult life and from all outward signs, less his terrible hearing, he is still very independent  and protective of that independence.

I have driven from Aiken, SC to Pittsford, NY to help celebrate his 93rd Birthday.  While I was driving to Pittsford, I had plenty of time to reflect on my relationship with my uncle.  In truth, compared to most of my peers, there is little resemblance to the times I spent with my Uncle Bill and the times other children enjoyed with their immediate family.  I have not kept a record, but my guess is I have spent less than a half a dozen times with Uncle Bill when our presence together was 24 hours or more and we had the time and place to speak for more than an hour.  This recollection spans a period of more than sixty years and the separation of over 900 miles.

It is hard, when you are a child, to understand just how hectic a household can be when there are nine children living under the same roof.  There are nine unique personalities, each with its own set of needs, emotional dispositions and willingness to sacrifice a portion of its desires for the benefit of the household.

To survive, it is clear that patience and unqualified love are required in abundance.  I am far too separated from the Babcock family of my mother to snatch a glimmer of the interactions of my Uncle Bill and my Aunt Teed and the rest of the children and pretend that I understand their lives.  For the most part, my Uncle appeared to be calm and resigned to the constant chaos that surrounded his life.

Given the above, you would guess that our relationship is thin and perhaps weak.  But you would be wrong.  What we have is not possessed by most of his closest relatives.  We served, of our own free will, our nation in war and combat.  Those experiences, whether in WW II or Vietnam possess common threads of experience that are difficult to describe and in some cases, painful.  But in this one case, in part, I believe, due to my interest in history, we are able to talk tactics, strategy and most importantly, our relationships with fellow warriors that for some period of time were more trusting and committed to mutual self preservation than any feelings we may have held for any member of our family.  I do not understand this version of love but I have felt it and know it to be true.  It is the glue that adheres men to one another in ugly times and is what makes a universal Band of Brothers.

In 1968, so the story goes, a Marine Lance Corporal, Tim Craft, dug in at Khe San for 77 days, is credited with the following..."For those who have fought for it, Freedom, has a flavor the protected shall never know."  Just in case you never heard of Khe San, during the 77-day siege, the base received approximately 1,600 rounds of mixed artillery ever single day, all day.  This translates to one shell every 30 seconds 24/7 for 77 days.

I am in one thought pattern, proud of my Uncle Bill.  Not just for his military experiences, but for the discipline it takes to be a father of nine for decades.  Secondly, I am sad that our opportunities to spend time with each other approaches the limits of age.  I will visit when I can.

Were that our nation was 100% William J. Babcock's.