Don Robert Underwood

Rob | Joe Rangus | Elliot

Mark Underwood

Man with the Green Truck

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The man with the green truck didn’t talk about the truck much. It was obedient, functional, and didn’t deserve much conversation, unless it was acting up.

Credit 1956 GMC Truck via American Dream Cars http://bit.ly/2avF8isTrue, sometimes it wouldn’t start, but that was a problem most vehicles from the 50’s and 60’s experienced (carburetion improvements were yet to come).  The bench seat wasn’t comfortable, but not terribly uncomfortable. By the standards of my future commutes (think San Diego to Canoga Park, Leucadia to National City, Port Washington to Stamford,  Santee to Point Loma) it was ridiculously short (3 miles), even walkable. Maybe nine minutes; more when we had to pause to defrost the windows in January.

Thinking about it now,  I’m struck by how different the riding experience is from today’s:

  • If there was a radio, it’s been forgotten. Most radios were AM only and tended be unreliable.
  • The hand-cranked windows didn’t seal very well, and rain would ooze down the inside of the windows.
  • There may have been a defrost feature, but it didn’t work very well. Best you brought a cloth to remove the moisture so you could see out.
  • Not only was there no air conditioning, but I don’t remember a fan, either. Or perhaps it just didn’t work well. The heater wasn’t too bad, but it didn’t do much after drop-off time.
  • If there was an interior dome light, it certainly wasn’t tied to an opening door.
  • Unlike our VW Microbus, it did have a fuel gauge.
  • Seatbelts? Airbags?  You’re kidding, right?  Sometimes the doors would close the first time.

I didn’t ride with him to school every day. Sometimes I carpooled with a friend’s Dad in his VW Beetle, or another adult (typically Mom) drive. What I took for granted at the time his readiness and steadiness. Taking my children to school or day care entailed a more of a battle: first, getting myself ready, getting them ready. Being late wasn’t a steady problem, but it happened often enough.

This model was used. It had been an appliance dealer’s delivery vehicle, and the logo was still visible through the secondary paint job. On weekends or (his) vacation days, the truck served workhorse duty carrying this or that product: lumber, or trash runs to the dump. Imagine how hot that metal liner got during the Tucson summer. You’d want gloves to touch the liner — never mind somehow sit down in the back keeping the load from flying out onto the asphalt.

Truck liner pattern - metal, not rubber

  1. What did he do with his vacation days? We didn’t have the usual outings, yet he probably got three weeks of vacation.
  2. What did he think about during those silent trips?
  3. What did he say when he dropped us off?  “Goodbye?” “Have a nice day?” “Don’t be late next time?”
  4. Did he worry about what was going to happen at work that day?
  5. Was he fretting over what might have been seen as a fraying marriage, her sharp words reaching their intended target?

In retrospect, during that phase of his life, fifteen years into marriage with six kids and a one-employer career with a large utility, his commutes were about duty.

What could one say about duty?

We didn’t talk about breakfast, or favorite foods, pick up a latte at Starbucks, crank the stereo, plan upcoming holidays, or even discuss politics.

Or perhaps we did discuss something, but in the tunnel vision of adolescence, I listened with only half an ear.

Of course, the experience of siblings probably varies from this. Their mileage may vary.

These memories about the man with the green truck are demonstrably imperfect. Yet this caveat, four decades later, hardly dulls the desire to remember. There are only the unasked questions of an imperfect questioner. They swirl like still-unsettled ashes.

Image of 1956 GMC 100 truck credit: American Dream Car

Military-Industrial Service

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Eisenhower Farewell Address - TV via Wikipedia
Eisenhower Farewell Address

As Eisenhower noted in his farewell speech cautioning the nation about the rising power of the military-industrial complex (MIC), Americans are touched in many ways by the U.S. military. In the draft era, some were called to serve directly. In the voluntary service era, some chose to serve. Many more were affected by working as civil servants on military bases or defense laboratories, developed personnel or weapons systems, worked in VA hospitals and clinics. Still more were indirectly affected by the toll that war takes on a family.

In this sense, our family is no different.  In World War I, DRU’s mother Ellen was a volunteer in the Navy nursing corps. Don Robert and his brothers John, Bill and Allan Underwood all served in World War II.  Bill became a career officer in the Air Force. DRU’s first wife Billie was an Army nurse, and the two met when DRU was convalescing at a Van Nuys hospital from what was then called shell shock. Billie’s brother John served in the Navy during World War II, and brother Jay served as an officer in the Army, working in electronics. Mark’s first wife Kathleen worked in a Navy Personnel laboratory where Mark also later worked, and she continued to help military wives and family members when she became a clinical psychologist. Mark’s business ventures often entailed work that was sponsored by DARPA, Air Force or Army research initiatives, and he worked at several defense contract outfits (Visicom Labs, Applied Visions).

This is just a sampling of the military-industrial reach. Many family members have been omitted from this brief list. How families have been affected by such service is perhaps less well understood than the conversation about PTSD would indicate. For those who survive — and of course most do — it can be a steady, sometimes even rewarding career choice. For others, the frequent relocations can put a burden on families, especially women. The goal of military work — to deter and in necessary defeat by destroying what is today’s enemy — contains many paradoxes that not everyone has worked through.

There is little doubt that what became the MIC had a major impact on DRU and his family.