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With the World War II generation dying at
a rate of over 1,000 per day, we are losing
our heroes far to quickly to give proper honor
to each passing. William L. Morrow, Jr. was
my father, and a veteran of World War II. He
was the fleet-leading Signalman aboard the flagship
of the landing craft fleet which carried the 1st
Infantry Division ashore at Normandy Beach, France,
on D-Day. Before the war actually started, he
volunteered for the US Navy; turning down his
first of two opportunities to play college
basketball.
After the war, he returned home to Jefferson
City, Missouri, and met my mother, Alice Kathryn
Hunter. Starting a new family, he forsook his
second opportunity to take a basketball scholarship
to Missouri University and hired out on the Missouri
Pacific Railroad.
I am the fifth of their six children. My parents
truly dedicated their lives to raising a family.
During my childhood, my father passed on an
opportunity to pursue yet another of his
dreams - becoming an NFL referee.
As an adult, my father quit smoking and forsook
hunting after his best friend was killed in a
turkey hunting accident in an effort to make
sure he was around for his children. As a boy,
he and his father took to commercial fishing on
the Missouri River during the Great Depression.
To Dad, fishing was work. And hunting was too
dangerous for a father of six. Yet, he is the
man responsible for teaching me to hunt and fish,
and his instruction was expert. Of course, he also
taught us to play baseball, basketball, golf, and
tennis. And he taught us many important life skills
and lessons. He was strict...even stern. But he
loved his family ferociously with all his heart and
soul.
Battling bipolar disorder all his life, my father
managed a feat not many of us afflicted by this
disease can: he retired after more than 30 years
of continuous service from the Union Pacific Railroad
as a company officer my senior year of high school,
1983. He was 60 years old.
The changes in the world these heroes of our
"greatest generation" witnessed, absorbed, and
adapted to has been staggering. This point was
brought home to me with crystal clarity by the
following incident...and one of my fondest
memories of my father.
During Desert Storm, I called home from Japan
during a brief stopover while I was serving in
the US Navy. My father answered the phone,
which was unusual in my parents' household. I
identified myself and there was silence. I
identified myself again and asked if he could
hear me. He replied, "I can hear you, son."
And I could tell he was crying. I said, "Dad,
I'm OK. I'm fine."
He said, "I'm glad to hear it, but that's not the
problem, son." I asked what was wrong. His answer
struck me like a bolt of lightning and I was charged
with the sudden realization of just how much he had
witnessed, endured, and overcome.
"You sound like you're calling from down the street,"
he said, choking back the tears. It just hit me that
I never got a chance to call home from Europe during
the war, and if I had the connection would have been
very poor. But my parents didn't have a telephone
in their home and we didn't have access to one as
sailors in those days either. I just caught myself
wishing I could have called them and told them I was
OK, too. And I realized how much things have changed
in my lifetime."
Change...the one constant in the Universe. Dad has
made his final change. He has witnessed, endured,
and overcome his final change. Last night, in a
manner befitting this great American hero, he passed
away in his sleep at the age of 81 after spending the
day working in the yard with his wife of nearly six
decades.
William L. Morrow, Jr. is survived by his wife, six
children, twelve grandchildren, and four great
grandchildren. His legacy lives on in the contributions
he made to the two things he loved the most: his family
and his country. Rest in peace noble warrior, father,
husband, grandpa, and mentor. ~ Ken
About Ken:
Ken graduated from Southern Methodist University
in 1988, and spent the next several years serving
in the United States Navy as an intelligence analyst
and Russian Language translator. He is a veteran
of Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Leaving the
nation's service in 1993.
Ken is also a published outdoor writer and historian,
having penned articles and stories that have appeared
in several national hunting publications like North
American Hunter magazine, on GunMuse.com, in regional
and local newspapers, and historical and literary
journals. He also provides hunting and dog training
seminars for Bass Pro Shops and other sporting goods
retailers nationwide and works with other outdoors
businesses and conservation organizations in the
fields of public relations, promotional marketing,
fund-raising, and advertising. He also is a partner
in Silver Mallard Properties, LLC. He currently
resides with his wife, Wilma, their Weimaraner,
Smoky Joe, and their Labrador Retriever, Jake, in
Branson, Missouri, where he founded the
Branson/Tri-Lakes Chapter of Ducks Unlimited in 1998.
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