Charles J. Williams (III) b. December 15, 1910

     Many of you knew my father. Charles Joseph Williams would have been 100 years old this year. He died at 83 years and 4 months. He was born in Brooklyn, New York as was his father Charles (II) and, me, his son.

With his Dad, age 2, 1912, Coney Island.

In his lifetime he saw Halley's Comet twice, the christening of the battleship Arizona (in the Brooklyn Navy Yard on his father's shoulders in 1915), attended Columbia University, Fordham 

and the University of Iowa, worked for two newspapers and owned his own (Essex County Gazette in Summit, New Jersey), interviewed Joseph Goebbels in 1938 for the Brooklyn Eagle, and covered the New Jersey Lindbergh kidnapping for his paper, fought in two wars, survived the kamikaze attack and sinking of the carrier Hornet (broke both shinbones), was a drill inspector while recuperating at South Weymouth naval boot camp, lost the hearing in his right ear during a kamikaze attack on the carrier Bunker Hill,

Hornet, Battle of Santa Cruz, Oct. 1942

About to disembark to Japan    8/15/45

served on the first cruise of the battleship Wisconsin BB-64 (Okinawa), and was in the first landing of mainland Japan on August 15, 1945. After the Second World War he became the Public Printer for the Department of Navy, he outlived two wives, and retired and moved to Prescott, Arizona. He loved his dog too and was proud of his grandchildren.

      Beyond this milestone on December 15th, no one will likely ever again remember him save for my children and very few others whom still survive. So in that vein this is a tribute to him… an exceptional, kind, powerful, educated, traveled, humorous, honest and interesting man. 

      I called him “the Old Man” to others (as did all of my friends as to their fathers in the 50’s) and “Pop” to his face. He referred to himself (to me) as “your Old Man.” He was strict and yet fair with me. He was honorable always to my mother whom he loved. In our household there was selective democracy. It was a benevolent dictatorship with shared leadership between my mother and father in unspoken yet defined areas. My job was to do well in school, do my chores and to be respectful.

As to spirituality and religion, my father taught me the framework of how my life tries to be today. My mother, a good woman, was “religious” insofar as she said her daily prayers for an hour, was into the Sunday Mass, and all of the rituals. My father, however, was “spiritual” in his take on Christianity. He would arise at 5 AM and shovel the snow off of the walks of the old folks on our block. It was dark at that hour except for the streetlights and I would hear the scraping of the shovel. Once I asked him about it and he hushed me up as he didn’t want any acknowledgment to be given. He taught me the yin and the yang of the belief thing. When at Iowa he minored in eastern religion and philosophy. He cautioned me not to reject or discount other peoples’ religious beliefs such as, for one example, Hindu miracles and reincarnation. He would say, “Don’t believe or disbelieve, keep an open mind. They have many more miracles than we do and they’re more recent.” He believed that the similarity between the sacred books of the Bhagavad Gita and St. Matthew’s version of the eight Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount was too uncanny to be disregarded. He was forever curious about where the man, Jesus of Nazareth, went during the most formative time in someone’s life, between twelve and thirty, and that possibly He travelled east.

      My Old Man liked to travel, to read books (constantly), to cook, to talk to almost anyone and to listen to semi-classical music. He played violin in his younger days. He loved history and compiled a library of well over a thousand volumes that now I hold for the family. He was also an athlete, playing varsity for University of Iowa in boxing (light heavyweight) and track (sprinter). He also fought as a pro for eighteen fights, two of which were in Madison Square Garden.

      My father taught me many things. In troubled times he was always in my corner. I could count on him and there never was a doubt. Of all of the fathers in the neighborhood, to my mind he was the kindest and among the most tolerant… he only knocked me out (literally) two times, and I deserved it. Fathers did that in those days. I had spoken back to my mother. Others had it worse. There never was a time that I didn’t feel that he loved me, but he never said those words. He was also self critical. When he was wrong, he admitted it and apologized. He said there are but three things that make a “stand up man” …to never lie, when you give your word you keep it, and never rat (say or do anything against the interests) of a friend. It was his highest compliment. 

In his 'spin cycle' @80

Humorously, he said once that I must never to lend my toothbrush, my automobile or my wife to anyone. He also said when I asked him why we are here (born), “…as far as I can figure, it’s to procreate the species as every other plant and animal, and while we are here to attempt to raise the dignity of the species a little.” And finally, when I found myself betrayed by someone I had thought to be a friend he said, “Buddy boy, there are but two types of people in this world... the one that believes that ‘to have a friend I must be a friend,’ and the type that believe ‘screw them before they screw me.’ One important task in this life for you to learn is to tell them apart before you get too hurt in the process.” 

     On the Twenty Sixth day of March, 1994, twenty one days after his dog died and seventeen days after his second spouse past away as a result of grieving over their dog of nineteen years, my father put his affairs together, said goodbye to his friends, and then telephoned me. He said that he was stopping his daily diabetes pill the next morning and that would give him about three days. He rarely gave me an order but he did that day. He said, “I have had a good life, have had a lot of fun and seen many places. Do not instruct the doctors at the VA to resuscitate me, do you understand?” I said, “Yeah Pop, I do.” He did not want the last thoughts of him to be ones of progressive debilitation. It was his time. Nearly all of his lifelong friends had died in the years preceding. 

      I am half the man my father was. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of the Old Man. I am so proud and blessed that he was my father.