Good and Evil

I've written some unkind things about my father, most recently about how I think my father has always drawn power from, in Star Wars terminology, the Dark Side. Today, however, I'll share one of my few stories that just reminds me that people aren't all bad.

I've always known my father was a boxer when he was in the army in World War II - he told me as much on many, many occasions. One must know that he was 48 years old when I was born. My memories of him start when he was well into his fifties, his potbelly well evolved, so these stories of his glory days really didn't hold much weight with the boy who was hearing them.

One day a couple of years ago, my daughter returned from a friends' house and said, "I think Molly's grandfather knew your dad." This wasn't a shock to me - this has happened to me my whole life. My father worked at the only open window in the Albert Lea post office for over 30 years. Anyone who used the post office for 3 decades in Albert Lea, or all of Freeborn county, knew my father.

A few weeks later I was sitting at a school event when Molly's father sidled up next to me. "Megan told me you're from Albert Lea. Are you related to Eli?" And he said it with reverence - almost as if he was going to ask for an autograph. I confirmed that I was and that he was my father. "Man, he was like a god in our house."

Whaaaa? My father? Revered in someone else's house? Huh?

"My father watched your dad box. He was a huge fan. We heard about him all the time." It seems there was some regional champion in my father's weight division who had nearly a perfect record - except against my father. He could not beat my father.

The story does not end here.

The next week I was delivering Girl Scout cookies to my aunt (my father's younger sister) and conveyed this story. She knew who Molly's grandfather was - he was one of a few doctors in Albert Lea. Then she added, "Your father was considered a defender to a lot of people. He was admired by a lot of people in Albert Lea."

I guess I had always thought that people knew him from the Post Office and liked him and that was the basis for the admiration. I never thought much past that. My aunt then shared the following, which I will paraphrase:

This was shortly after the end of WWII, in small town rural America. My father's family was a "first generation assimilation" family. That is, they moved to Minnesota from Mexico and were determined to shed old Mexican traditions and "blend" into the American lifestyle. They modified their names - Salvador became Sam, Pedro became Peter, etc. Despite all these efforts, they were still known as immigrants.

My aunt was sexually assaulted by one of the locals. Given their position in the community she didn't feel that she could do anything about it. However, the guy who did it was known throughout the town as a real SOB. So my father tracked him down and beat the hell out of him. To this day she still feels gratitude for that.

I later asked my father about the incident. Apparently, the guy he beat up was huge. My father is 5'4" and weighed, at the time, maybe 125 pounds. (We are not big people in my family.) There was a crowd surrounding them when they fought. No one stopped the fight. My dad commented - "I beat him for quite a while. He just kept taking it. I beat him until my hands hurt." And then the police showed up. According to my father, even the police knew how much of an SOB this guy was, so they watched until it looked like my dad was punched out, then said, "Eli - are you about done?" My dad said, "Yeah," and sighed. The police sent everyone home.

The police didn't do anything!? I asked my dad. "Nope. Just sent us all home. I think they gave the big guy a ride."

My dad later went on to say that this wasn't the only time he'd "had to set someone straight". In fact, when he said that it triggered a whole bunch of memories of stories where he'd had to "set someone straight" and I finally understood what that really meant.

My father has done some things in his life that are unforgivable. But these stories show me that no one, my father included, is all bad. There is good in us all. And that makes me feel better.