My dad died Sunday at the age of 89. He had been in a nursing home for a while and had been slowly declining for the last few months.
He was a plank owner on the USS Chicago and, as he put it, was seasick the whole way from Philadelphia, where the ship was built, clear to Japan. He had never seen the ocean until he was on the ship. The Chicago was close enough to the USS Missouri in Tokyo bay, that he was able to watch the surrender through binoculars.
He started teaching me to shoot as soon as I was big enough to hold a gun. He got me started to help reload for shotgun about the time I was in first grade. Those days were before plastic wads and wad stacks were a combination of cardboard, felt or cork wads. He would set me on the bench, make up whatever wad stack he needed, and then said build whatever number more stacks he needed, just like that one. That was enough to get me hooked. I have only shot factory ammunition, other than 22RF, a few times in my life.
We had a lot of years hunting together, until he had to quit due to arthritis.
He died a year and six days after my mom. They were married 67 years.