My father, Emanuel Davidson, whose birthday is today, passed away 46 years ago, long before ubiquitous smart phone and video recorders. Like many children, I often recall my overall memory of him, while not reflecting on the specifics of what made him, him.
As time passes, it is all too comforting to fixate on a general notion of how a loved one was, but recalling the habits, personality tidbits, and other idiosyncrasies that made the person unique, is more endearing and enduring.
My father was a member of the generation that had experienced the Great Depression, won World War II, and, by the late 1940s, fueled an ever-expanding economy. He was from the generation that expected to, and indeed proceeded to, exceed the educational level and material wealth of their parents and, in turn, expected the same for their children.
He bought his first house, in Hartford, on Cambridge Street in 1949, and two years following the birth of his twin son and daughter in 1953, made the decision with my mother to move to Bloomfield, Connecticut to a four-bedroom, two-bathroom house in the up-and-coming suburb of Hartford.
Always Striving
My father had long been a teacher in English and history, and when needed, he also taught math. After many years, he became vice principal at the Dominic Burns Junior High School. Like so many parents, he wanted more for his children, and his teacher’s salary simply wasn’t enough. So, for the duration of his adult life, he worked at least one additional job, often a second, and sometimes a third.
Emanuel Davidson, my father, graduated from Weaver High School in 1934 and then Connecticut Teacher’s College, later known as Central Connecticut State University in 1938. At Central, he was their first baseman in varsity baseball for three years, and their starting offensive varsity guard in football for two years. He went on to get a master’s in education at Columbia University and, after WWII, a 6th year degree at University of Connecticut , with one year to go for a Ph.D. which he did not pursue.
My father was a veteran of World War II. He served in Germany, France, and the Netherlands. As a soldier, he first trained in Paris TX where he also married my mother. He also took math and physics courses as part of his U.S. Army assignments at VMI. He was shipped to and stationed in France, primarily in logistics, rising to the level of sergeant. He was involved in some limited combat and suffered a partial loss of hearing in his left ear from a grenade explosion. Yet, remarkably, he would sometimes hear a whisper when he didn’t otherwise hear anything. He recalled, and somewhat regretted, having to kill a German soldier in close combat.
After the war, he worked some more in carpentry with his father for a brief time while advancing his education and then started teaching at Canton High. For most of his career, he taught English and history at Northeast Junior High in Hartford.
If you’ve read this far, the rest of the story (6 pages!) is here. Some say that one of the wisest things you can do in life is to choose your parents well. In my case, I hit the jackpot.
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