Victor Davis Hanson // Private Papers
Part One
One of the problems of the modern world is our helicopter society of well-meant, but over-parentage. Or is it the belief that the more we shield and protect our children, the safer they become, as if a houseplant carefully tended can survive when thrust outside among weeds and thistles. Do orphaned doves who fall from the nest survive better (if at all) when we take them inside and nurse them for 3 months?
I was blessed to have grown up free-ranged on a farm in the quiet time of 1950s and early 1960s, and I think probably grew stronger even for the occasional scary brush up.
I remember that lost world as a cosmos of animals, everywhere as we ranged at five and six: Blue-belly lizards at our feet. Millions of tadpoles, pollywogs and frogs when the pond rose and flooded the canals. Hordes of June bugs we feared were poisonous during the Late Great June Bug Scare, and such. A white heron on the water, raccoons like hobbits staring out from the cottonwoods, even a slimy salamander on the pond’s edge.
My mother said when we were freed on Saturday mornings to explore the farm, “Ok, walk the alleyways to your grandmother’s. No bare feet. And don’t go near the paved road.” And she teased, “Wave to those weasels by the lower orchards. Don’t kill a snake.” (Rattlers were long ago exterminated in the 1880s and forced back into the Sierra foothills, by farmers who did the same with jack rabbits.)
We were well acquainted with pellet and BB-guns by six, and 22s by eight. I was a loud mouth at seven who drill-billed my poor father nonstop, “But dad, is the .22 Hornet better than the .22 Long Rifle, and which beats the .220 Swift? And what are centerfire bullets?” He smiled and said “Whoa, son, slow way down, and learn. Don’t talk when you can listen.”
Dad barked shooting rules and commands: “Don’t shoot anywhere but down or up.” (e.g., if the cotton tail rabbit is on a crest of a hill, let it be.) “And don’t even think of shooting that red-tail or mocking bird. Why would you ever shoot a finch or robin?” That left innocent blackbirds and harmless scrub jays.
Sometime he wrote his edicts in jest and, then again, not so much in jest, and posted them on the kitchen door:
“To the boys of the Tinian North Field 313 Bombing Wing, Orders from Staff Sgt William F Hanson, CFC gunner:
- Pvt. Victor: scrub bathroom floor, then windows, then clean toilet and sink.
- Pvt Alfred: sweep patio, squirt it down, prune bushes;
- CPL Nels: monitor your command and vacuum the rugs.
- All report to me in main mess for postop briefing.”
This is not a reply to your loving comments about family principles, and respect. It just kicked off a small burst of emotion about growing up. Looking forward to part2.
I’m 76 next month and lately have been thinking a lot about my parents and growing up in a military family. We travelled (and camped) all over our great country. Saw a lot of battlefields and forts. Each time, dad gave us a complete narrative including who was fighting, casualties, and impact on our history. I thought he was the smartest man alive on that stuff. On later trips as a teen, I realized, he spent a lot of time studying and preparing for his narrative. He wanted us to understand it all. It was important to him and it became that for his children and grandchildren.
My whole life he read aloud the Declaration of Independence on the 4th. I have done it several times but my sister, the youngest child, organized a neighborhood reading as soon as Dad passed away. It is a special event to honor all before us. He believed in it.
Dad died 12 years ago; Mom passed in a nursing home at 94 on May 4th last year. She was ill with a couple of things and too weak to fight off the COVID.
It’s sad to see the nonsense going on now. I have an 18 month old granddaughter. I’m afraid for her.
I am honored to read your opinions and see you on TV. Sorry if I strayed
from your theme.
David
Thank you for a reminder that God was good to me as well as He to you. We were five children and though not a farm family we worked the remnants of the WWII victory garden and husbanded our chickens, turkeys, ducks and rabbits. Life was work and play. Christmas was magic, Easter was wonderful. The living room in front of the radio was where our family gathered for entertainment. We learned arithmetic playing cards games with the folks. Chores were a fact of life which kept us busy before and after school and on week-ends.
Mirror image of my youth growing up in Long Beach at that time. I am the same age and remember the lizards and frogs in the canals and spending time outdoors. We also had the advantage of living within biking distance of the beach. Made skateboards out of roller-skates and wood. Made surfboard rickshaws for our bikes with 2 by 4’s to drag our heavy surfboards to the beach. Playing in the neighborhood streets until dark in the summer.
Didn’t have much money or cheap foreign products, dad took the one car to work. Mom loaded us on the bus in the morning to go to the beach when we were young in the summer. I know it wasn’t the same for everyone but
I wish young people could have the same joy of the simple pleasures that money doesn’t always buy.
My childhood experiences were similar. We roamed about 22 acres of woods and swamp adjacent to our family home. We had BB guns as kids and always treated weapons with the respect they required. “Shoot nothing you aren’t going to eat” were the words my Dad spoke to us. We had slingshots and made fantastic forts from fallen branches in order to provide a stage for our massive cowboy and Indian battles. We did not have cell phones or video games as we invented our own entertainment using found objects in the woods.
We never wore helmets when we rode our bikes. We climbed trees and built tree houses from scrap lumber. We make our own rope swings that we tied on a branch in order to propel ourselves into the lake with a huge splash.
You name it, we did it.
The parental instructions were simple:
1. Don’t cross any roads without looking both ways.
2. Don’t skate on thin ice or play on the railroad tracks.
3. Don’t swim alone or dive into unknown ares without checking for submerged rocks.
4. Don’t eat the yellow snow.
5. Respect elders and other’s property.
6. Don’t kill your siblings or other kids in the neighborhood
7. Don’t get into a stranger’s car.
8. Be home for dinner promptly when you hear your Mom’s whistle.
Life was good. We grew up to love America, our families and ourselves. We never felt that we had white privilege since we were all “poor”. However, we knew that if we worked hard, studied hard and focused on our goals we could achieve anything we desired. I never felt that as a woman, I had faced discrimination as I was smarter and more focused than most of my male peers. I excelled at work and was eventually promoted to Manager and then a VP in several organizations. I started my own business about 20 years ago so I could be my own boss. I only retired because my aging parents became terminally ill and I needed to make myself available to help them in their final years on earth.
Enjoying nature as a child made me appreciate our world. Family, friends and religion all provided a foundation for my moral compass. I am grateful for all those wonderful experiences and the love I have received over 7 plus decades of life.
What a Blessed childhood.
Yes, there are good old days. Raised up in the 1940s and 1950s.
What a fun childhood!
Dr Hanson,
This is one of your best. We live in a time of such clear Zersetzung that a warm reminiscence of innocent times is very welcome and restorative.
Thanks,
Darrin Walter, highschool teacher
Your Dad was a man after my own heart! As a Navy veteran (and homeschooling parent), I used to post the Order of the Day, and wrote a Standard Operating Procedure manual, with instructions for my kids to follow when discharging their “duties.” Many years later, when they were grown and didn’t need such things at home anymore, one of my sons confided, “Mom, I miss the SOP.”
Robert Louis Stephenson’s “A Child’s Garden of Verses” was my favorite book in 2nd grade. Sixty-seven years later, I still love his wonderful visions of childhood. I follow your columns and so appreciate your perspective of life in a kinder and gentler time. I am grieved to watch my grandchildren miss the peace and joy we knew. I pray every day for a return to decency and higher standards. Thank you for your efforts.
Dr. Hanson, Thank you for this special writing…it gave me pause with fond memories of my own life experiences. I look forward to your journalistic / guest-speaker endeavors.
My “Thank you” goes beyond this specific writing. Each evening, as a guest speaker…or reading your wealth of writings…I Thank You for taking up the mantle to help save our homeland “America”. I will be purchasing your new book.
Like you, I was mostly raised in California…Southern…L.A. and San Diego. Since I was a Navy brat I did my share of living in Navy towns, Long Beach, San Diego…born in New London…lived in Waukegan/Chicago…Charleston…almost got to Guam…but, last minute changes gave us other plans.
My mother a former WWII Army (Cpl) Pacific Theater Nurse with 4 kids in tow. Best stay at home Mom ever. Dad was an E-6…so money was tight. Occasionally had to hock Dad’s guns to get us through the month.
I read awhile back that a Military Senior Army Sergeant picked only “Deer Hunters” for point guards in the War Zone in Afghanistan. He was quoted as saying these men had a uncanny or second sense about dangers were ahead. My Dad started us deer hunting at about age 10…so I fully understood his motives.
My Dad was a top-side Gunners-mate Submariner during WWII…and was in charge of the guns on a Destroyer after the war until he retired in the 60s. In some years during his +20 year career he would have shore duty…and would be in charge of the Rifle Range…and Gun Armory or boot camp NCO. My brothers and I would go out to the range on the weekends to hunt rabbits and ducks…and shoot at the rifle range. My Dad would also bring home surplus camping gear and training rifles for us and the kids in the neighborhood. Neighbors were proud to have their kids take up a training rifle…we used to camp outside Chula Vista in the desert hills…this was the 50s…lots of cactus and various animals.
My side story is I missed shooting “Expert” by one hit-score on my rifle qualification day while in Army basic training. I turned to the target counter when he yelled out my score…”Hey, I hit every target”. He said, sorry you never shot at the targets 10 yards in front of you.” He was right…I had my gaze on the horizon…that’s where the deer are. I came home from Vietnam in 1968. My son is a former Marine…Iraq Veteran…and deer hunter.
I will keep it short…and just say one more…Thank you.
I have a lot to be thankful for…
I attribute much of my success to my parents. Not because I was coddled, far from it. The both grew up dirt poor in Ireland cutting the peat for heat, and raising pigs and sheep for food and sale.
When they came to the US, in steerage, my Dad joined the Army and my Mom cleaned houses. The highest grade completed was Grade 8.
I was raised without platitudes, or much help at all – and I am grateful for that. I learned how to teach myself. I started working at 14 delivering papers, bought my own clothes, car, etc. Along the way, I taught myself how the system and society works. I did not expect my parents to teach me about this technologically adept society. I got into computers and networking in the early 80’s. Today, I architect cybersecurity for industrial infrastructure and have made a very comfortable live.
I remember my humble parents and I work to honor their memory by helping others through volunteering, counseling and financial help. The things they did, and I witnessed, with their more meager means.
Young adults today are too coddled, and they will be the worse for it.
Ah yes, those were carefree childhood days! We went outside after breakfast and mother didn’t see us again until dinnertime, unless we were within hearing distance at lunch hour. Compared to the way my grandchildren are being raised we learned what freedom and responsibility actually were. My grandsons are city kids, and when they come to visit here in the country they are either frightened of everything, or so careless about things they should notice that it takes my breath away. I’m sure they would learn after a while, but they are never here long enough to teach them enough so it sinks in. It’s a different world! But I suppose my mother and father said the same thing about their childhood worlds when compared to mine. My grandmother was never even in a car until we came to America. Her speed was horse and buggy, and when my father drove over 25 m.p.h. on a completely empty highway, she was in complete panic, and we children used to laugh at her. She never did get used to the speed. But I do feel that the more urban the population becomes the more the children lose touch with nature and nature’s laws, and it makes me sad.
Would you let a six year old go today where you were allowed to go back then?
I’m about your age (b1950) and grew up in the Santa Clara valley when it was prunes and cherries and apricots. I lived right smack where the Apple spaceship is nowadays. I went everywhere at 5 &6 (The creeks and fields and orchards) but had to be home before the streetlights came on in the winter and 5:00 in the summer which was dinner time for the whole neighborhood.
I used to cut the lawn of a neighbor who was really old (at least 60). He’d been in the big war (WWI). I’ve always loved to hear old people talk about anything and everything. After a long story that old guy always said what I’ll say to you Vic:
“Those days are gone…..thats for sure”
You’re tappin’ a good vein now, Doc! Lots of gold there.
Your Dad had a great sense of humor.
As do you, stressed as it is by your enlistment as the lone Scout on the ridgeline.
Thank you for your Service, Sir. How I appreciate your work.
Robert
Robert & Sandy Kennett
Boise, Idaho
I am 67 now, I didn’t grow up on a ranch/farm, but I did grow up on a relatively rural Long Island in NY and in a rural area of central Florida in my childhood … Both geographical areas were much slower paced, uncrowded and relatively safe environments to have grown up in.
We are blessed with the constant chattered of a Mockingbird and the shrill song of pepper frogs and I would not trade for anything.
Dad barked shooting rules and commands: “Don’t shoot anywhere but down or up” (e.g., if the cotton tail rabbit is on a crest of a hill, let it be.). “And don’t even think of shooting that red-tail or mocking bird. Why would you ever shoot a finch or robin?” That left innocent blackbirds and harmless scrub jays.
When squirrel hunting with my dad when I was 12, I saw a gray squirrel playing at the base of a tree. I excitedly whispered to my dad that he should shoot it. My father nudged my chin and said, “Look beyond the tree. Look at the tree just yonder.” And there was a man sitting at the base of the tree with a shotgun in his lap, oblivious to us or the squirrel.
“What would have happened if I shot and missed?” I reddened. He smiled at me. “It’s a lesson. Don’t shoot unless it’s up or down. Never shoot straight across the woods. Don’t be so excited to shoot something that you forget about safety. You could kill someone or something if your judgment is bad. Don’t kill to brag to your friends. Don’t kill to make your ego feel good.”
The more I read your writing, the more I feel connected to like experiences. Thank you.