My grandfather passed away today. He was 91. His name was John Perry Underhill.
He fought in the navy during World War II, and his Destroyer (DD-538 - it was always his license plate) sank a Japanese submarine. After the war he got his degree in agriculture from the University of California, Davis, and the University of California system sent him around the world as an ambassador and agriculture expert. He helped dozens of countries get their farming industries off the ground, and a few days ago he still could have told you whether this year's asparagus crop in California was going to be any good. He and my grandmother lived in Oman for years while he worked abroad, and the couch in their living room is from there.
Eventually my grandfather became the farm advisor for San Joaquin county in California; he and my grandmother bought a modest house, had four children, and became the very definition of traditional American grandparents. Even into their 60s and 70s they were amazingly active, traveling for both business and pleasure to Egypt, Sudan, New Zealand, and all kinds of other places. I have a scrapbook full of post cards from them, all written in my grandmother's perfect cursive, from when I was very little all the way until when I was in high school.
My grandfather was one of the only male role models I had growing up. He taught me how to play baseball, how to steer a wheelbarrow, how to plant a tree, and how to drive a car. He taught me how to fish, how to start a fire, how to play Cribbage, and how to eat a BLT. He also taught me humility, patience, respect, and the value of silence. He was a wonderful, charismatic, and loving human being.
I am now out of grandfathers.
He fought in the navy during World War II, and his Destroyer (DD-538 - it was always his license plate) sank a Japanese submarine. After the war he got his degree in agriculture from the University of California, Davis, and the University of California system sent him around the world as an ambassador and agriculture expert. He helped dozens of countries get their farming industries off the ground, and a few days ago he still could have told you whether this year's asparagus crop in California was going to be any good. He and my grandmother lived in Oman for years while he worked abroad, and the couch in their living room is from there.
Eventually my grandfather became the farm advisor for San Joaquin county in California; he and my grandmother bought a modest house, had four children, and became the very definition of traditional American grandparents. Even into their 60s and 70s they were amazingly active, traveling for both business and pleasure to Egypt, Sudan, New Zealand, and all kinds of other places. I have a scrapbook full of post cards from them, all written in my grandmother's perfect cursive, from when I was very little all the way until when I was in high school.
My grandfather was one of the only male role models I had growing up. He taught me how to play baseball, how to steer a wheelbarrow, how to plant a tree, and how to drive a car. He taught me how to fish, how to start a fire, how to play Cribbage, and how to eat a BLT. He also taught me humility, patience, respect, and the value of silence. He was a wonderful, charismatic, and loving human being.
I am now out of grandfathers.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
meatpieboy:
Hey man, I'm really sorry to hear that. He sounds like one of those amazing people (and in fact reminds me much of my grandpa).
apriloneil:
So sorry about your loss. It sounds like he lived a wonderful, long life. :hug: