My biological father (Walt) and my Mom had split by the time I was born 90 years ago. She remarried when I was about 3 but because Chuck spanked me unnecessarily for wetting the bed and playing in the city dump my Mom divorced him when I was 5. During the war my Mom married George who was in the Army. After he came home from being stationed in Pennsylvania, he proved to be a selfish bum who shoved my Mom against the basement wall causing her to drop the groceries she had brought home after work. So, he, too, was history. I was 12.
My father-substitutes were my Granddad and several of my Mom’s cooks in her various restaurants, Art Smith and Bob Wilcox especially. My coaches also served as my guides and role models during Junior and Senior High School. In particular Pinky Erickson and Bob Dorre guided me a lot during the tough years. Sports stars, both national and local, inspired me to always do my best. Some school teachers, but only some, were also helpful when I was at odds with school.
My biological father, Walt, got in touch with me just after I was married for the first time during my college years. We had a number of good times together during those years and got to know each pretty well. We liked each other a lot. And, I guess we were a lot alike. One year he had been the top appliance salesman for Sears Roebuck, nation-wide. While I was in theological school in NYC Walt died (at 57), and his widow asked me to come back to California to officiate at his funeral, which I did. He had asked me to change my name from “Gill” to “Gauthier”, which was his name. I told him that at this stage of things it would be too complicated to do. He was my original and best father prior to the others all of whom proved to be pretty worthless.
During my college years at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California a man named Rathburn Shelton became my surrogate, and thus my fifth, father. He was the Alumni Director for the college, as well as Alumni Director and Baseball Coach (it was a very small college). Rath and his wife Peggy had four sons, Ron, David, Steve, and Jeff all of whom I got to watch grow up over the years.
Even though I never really lived near them, I visited the college often and was in a way considered a member of the family. I always stopped to see Rath (and Peggy until she died early) whenever I came bye the college, especially after he became quite ill. Often he would play his trumpet for his guests. He had been a first-class trumpeter in Army Bands during World War Two.
Over my four years at Westmont and for many years thereafter I always sought Rath out for advice and encouragement. He had a marvelous way of spreading warmth and humor amongst all those who came into his presence. His sons have all grown up to be outstanding, creative and joyful people. Over the years I watched Rath grow from his early fundamentalist view of things into a quiet but strong person of rich and deep religious faith.
So, now I wish to send a Happy Father’s Day message to all five of these “Fathers” of mine. They each in one way or another helped make me who and whatever I have become. Thanks to all my Pops!!