Bill Crager: 1923-1975
Today, April 6th, 2004, would have been my father's 81st birthday. (Props to my brother for remembering it - which pisses me off somewhat, since I'm usually the one to remind him thereof. (sigh))
My father was what many of you would euphemistically call an "alcoholic". Being the anti-PC type that I am (grin), I call him what he was - a drunkard.
Bill Crager was the nicest guy on the face of the earth; he would give you the shirt off his back, anything he could do to help. When he was sober.
After tossing back a few, he was the last person anyone - yours truly included - wanted to be around.
It's small surprise, therefore, that my everlasting memory of him was one particular day after school when he'd obviously tipped a few. He became brash, very loudmouthed, very abusive - and I decided I didn't want to take any more. At the age of 11 years, I high-tailed it out of his apartment on Fort Worth's west side, and ran to my mother's place of business about a mile away.
Don't quite remember what happened after that, but I do remember it didn't help any. He continued to drink up until a few weeks before his death of a coronary at age 52.
I miss the sober Bill Crager. I miss him tremendously. What little bit I saw of him, that is.
I don't miss the Mr. Hyde portion of his personality when he was drunk. Not one damned bit. For what it's worth.
Happy birthday, Dad.