Robert F. Petch

I buried a friend today.  Under penetrating blue skies, sunlight danced on stone as cotton clouds floated on gentle breezes.  A haunting bugle sent to the winds the mesmerizing notes of “Taps” that reached every corner of the little cemetery, as trees still in late summer green swayed in rhythm with the sound.  No “plein air” artist could have captured a more perfect scene.  No photographer could have captured a more perfect light.  There are places the brush and the lens simply cannot go.

“Day is done, gone the sun

From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky.

All is well, safely rest.

God is nigh.”

It was such a fitting finale to a long life, well lived.  My friend was 87.  He was of the “Greatest Generation.”  That generation. He joined the Army in his 18^th year, which by the hand of history and the joining of years, placed him in battle uniform in August of 1943…an 18 year old kid, freshly graduated from high school. 

“Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,

May the soldier or sailor,

God keep.

On the land or the deep,

Safe in sleep.”

Less than one year later, he found himself at the confluence of the greatest war in history, and the largest military invasion the world has ever produced.  His assignment:  Utah Beach, Normandy, France.  His unit’s orders:  to go ashore the night before the actual invasion.  The details of that mission he never shared with me.  But he did share other details, the nature of which would have provided me with a lifetime of nightmares. 

He often said the movie “The Longest Day” was the most accurate, overall rendition of what happened that day...to an 18 yr. old kid, freshly graduated from high school. 

Love, good night, must thou go,

When the day, and the night

Need thee so?

All is well.  Speedeth all

To their rest.”

But he was lucky.  He lived.  And like many of his comrades, he carried that burden with him all his years.  Why did he live, and others not?  It was always about the other guy being more worthy.  I think the opening scenes of “Saving Private Ryan,” where Pvt. Ryan visits Normandy as an older man, best describes what many veterans felt to their bones. 

And somewhere along the way, he kind of adopted me.  I was proud to know him, and honored to eulogize him…an 18 year old kid, freshly graduated from high school.

For this life thus spent, Bob Petch has earned our everlasting gratitude and admiration, for he was one of those incomparable men and women who literally helped save our world.

So, rest easy now soldier.  Your duty is well and faithfully done.  You are dismissed.  Enjoy your eternity.

“Thanks and praise, for our days,

‘Neath the sun,‘neath the stars,

‘Neath the sky,

As we go, this we know,

God is nigh.

William Ward Crossett

Doesn’t that name just grab you? Strong, powerful, rhythmic, it is a man’s name.  It is a name made for a movie marquee, or for the protagonist in a best selling novel.  I do love that name.

And alas, it sits on the other side of my family.  My grandfather, William Ward Jr. had two sons, first born William Ward III, and Donald, my father.  So close, oh so very close.

Now, all this means that the very first William Ward, the “Sr.” of the line, was my great grandfather.   Much of what I’ve learned about him can be reduced to the usual cold statistics that accompany one through life, the numbers that define and confine us.

Born - 1855 - moved to Syracuse in 1862 - married at 23 in 1879 - 6 children (2 sons-4 daughters).  Worked for a stationer before opening his own store in 1893.  This he operated for 15 years.  Was an Alderman for the city of Syracuse from 1899 to 1908, serving the 13^th Ward (Bellevue section of Syracuse).  Then went to work for the city as Supt. of construction in the Bureau of Water (as was his father, William L – see previous post).  Died - 1923, in the performance of his duties. 

Thankfully, I was able to learn more about this unique man I am proud to have as an ancestor. Obituaries are made mostly of the aforementioned statistics, but his life was lived so that others were inclined to write more about him.

James (brother) and William Ward (on right) c. 1880

From newspaper accounts at the time of his passing, was written:

 “Will Crossett’s sudden death is a real loss to the community.  Father and son, the Crossetts were the men who actually built the great system of waterworks which is the city’s pride, and their name – perpetuated now in the beautiful street that passes their early home on Reservoir Hill – is inseparably connected with it.  They both served Syracuse well.”

And this:

“Will Crossett was a gentle, kindly, likeable man, who made friends without trying.  Thousands will recall him as proprietor of a little stationer’s shop on West Washington Street, as alderman of the Thirteenth Ward and virile force in the Common Council, or as a capable, courteous official in the Bureau of Water.  He died, as he probably would have wished to do, in harness, stricken while working – without rest or sleep – on two breaks that threatened the conduit system he cared for so well.  The city will miss him, as public servant and citizen, as keenly as will the neighbors in the Bellevue section he worked so hard and successfully to build up.”

William Ward c. 1890

 And finally:

“Will Crossett enjoyed a large circle of friends and acquaintances in all sections of the city. At city hall, his reputation for quiet efficiency and loyalty to duty was exceeded by that of no person in the city’s employ in the last decade.  Always kindly and courteous, he was the type of executive that subordinates strive hardest to please, and as superintendent of construction, he handled an enormous amount of work without the least sign of friction or trouble of any kind.”

Kind words indeed, honorably earned, they brought my great grandfather to life for me, revealing as no statistic could, his character and personality.  Lord knows there’s no one living today that could do that.

There was a conversation “enhancer”  that used to be popular awhile ago that usually went something like this– if you had your choice of  having dinner with any 3 persons you could, living or dead, whom would you choose?  The popular answers, without fail, gravitated toward:  Jesus, Lincoln, Jefferson, Washington, JFK, Einstein, Grant, da Vinci, Edison, Clemens, Dickens….you get the idea. (aside-I wonder what choices  people would make today)

They all come to mind, of course, but for me, I would take dinner with my great grandfather, thank you.  Oh, if you wanted to, you could throw in Samuel Clemens for good measure, but that wouldn’t be necessary, and there’s no need for a third.  William Ward would do just fine. It would be my privilege. I would love to meet him. 

Mark Twain Quote:  “Honor knows no statute of limitations.”