Victor Dean Ford

Born May 13, 1924 Died January, 2003

My dad was a frustrated genus trying to overcome trauma from incidents 

during his earlier childhood in addition to negative family examples. 

When he was about 4 years old, his younger sister had the index finger of her right hand severed in an accident in which he was involved. The daily visual reminder would have been enough, but without a thoughtful family to help him overcome such a traumatic incident, the painful scar on his soul lasted almost untill his death. His family never allowed him to forget that it had been an act on his part which led to this happening.

When he was about 9 years old, his family went to live on the farm of his mother's parents, whom he loved dearly. During the depression, there was one year in which the only thing to eat was one bowl of corn meal mush per day. For the rest of his life he had issues with anyone who over-ate. Also during his stay and many visits to his grandparents home, he observed his aunt teaching piano lessons to young girls. After the student and his aunt left the room, he sat down and perfectly played the piece which had just been taught. His aunt offered to teach him lessons, but he said that playing a the piano was only for girls. I wonder who gave him that idea.... All of his life he was concerned that nothing he ever did would make anyone think him less of a man. Playing any card game with him was a serious challenge. He could memorize ever play which everyone playing made, and know what was left in the deck. This allowed him to make his move accordingly and win almost ever time.

Being raised by an itinerant farmer, who went from farm to farm for his livelihood, caused my father to attend up to 3 different schools during any given year. This brought about a distaste for structured learning. Most likely his active, manipulative behavior ruffled many a teacher as well. In those days, most teachers had little tolerance for disruptions or disrespect of any kind. In-spite of this he read many books and taught himself about many subjects. His favorite saying when reading anything, especially the newspaper, was "you have to learn how to read between the lines". It took me a lifetime to understand what he meant, and he was so right. Sometimes I make a statement and realize that he was the one who taught me those words of wisdom. I will insert them as I remember them. Oh yes one was, "Sticks and stones may break by bones, but names will never hurt me." The words are not true, but he told me that by saying them, others would think that names do not hurt me and they would stop bullying me. He was right.

His mother tells of an incident, when he was about a young teenager, in which he tied a rope around the neck of a cat, which he was displeased with for some reason, threw the cat over the cloths line and hung the cat to death. This is a sample of  the difficult struggle with temper which he dealt with. As he got older, he learned to use a joking type of bullying to disguise his angry outbursts. After I grew up and left home, he began showing more feelings toward animals. Thus when my horse needed to be sold to a dog food company, he cried when they took her away.

On July 15, 1942 he entered the Navy to serve the USA during WW l l . There were three stories which he told of his service during the war.

The first was of helping a fellow sailor be tow-lined between the destroyer, which  they were serving on, to the hospital ship for an emergency appendectomy. Victor and his buddies accidentally, on purpose, allowed the tow-line to sink the man into the ocean for a brief moment. The man was never angry with them and quickly forgave them, which caused my father to feel guilty for doing it.

The second was of an incident after their ship had been bombed, but didn't sink. One of his friends had been badly burned, but could not feel anything. He was dieing but didn't realize it at the time. There was nothing anyone could do and it made my father's stomach churn to see the damage and feel so helpless to save his friend. Years later when the planes struck the Twin Towers in New York City, all of the horrible memories came flooding back.

The third incident happened when he and his buddies were on leave in Italy. They came across a very young woman, who had been injured and needed a doctor. They told her that they were doctors and proceeded to be disrespectful toward her body. Seeing the severity of the girl's injuries, my dad convinced his buddies to  take her to a hospital even though there was no remorse for his prior actions to the young lady. He had so many mixed emotions and conflicts of understanding, because of his family's unconventional background.

On September 30, 1946, he married his best friend's sister, Alice Louise Davenport also from Towanda, PA where he had lived before the war. They lived with his parents in Towanda until I was born. After that, they moved into an apartment in Elmira, NY with black, tar-paper covering the floors. When my sister was born, they moved into an apartment across the street from my father's parents in Towanda. When I was about 3 years old and my sister was about 2 years old, they purchased land in Horseheads to build their own house.

Helping my dad build the garage. 

I was four years old when we moved into the garage 

form the tar-paper shack, which we had been living in.

While digging by hand to put in a septic system and running water, my father slipped a disc in his back and had to have surgery.  Because of the weakness of his back, the house which he planned to build never got completed, so we remained living in the 2 car garage for 12 years.. It was never painted to keep the upkeep costs to a minimum and keep the property taxes low.

Between working on farm machinery and training in the Navy, my father became an excellent mechanic and machinist and worked in factories after the war. In  addition, by keeing his many used cars in good running condition he was able to provide a decent living for his family. The places where he worked the longest were Remington Rand, Switzer Aircraft and Modern Design. Modern Design was his favorite, because it gave him the opportunity to follow a project from design, to completion and transportation to the airport for delivery to the customer.

At the same time, being raised in poor conditions gave him a sense of necessity and a disdain for frivolous things, including food. He became paranoid about gaining weight and would vomit his supper out of guilt for eating so well when others had little, then blame his behavior on some infraction at the dinner table. Years later he developed an ulcer and had to have the bottom part of his stomach and upper intestines below the stomach removed due to the stress on his stomach.

He was a perfectionist in everything he set his mind to do, from machinery, to construction, to welding to his hair, to maneuvering a conversation around to his favor in order to control any situation. He was uncomfortable around anyone, whom he could not manipulate or dominate. At the same time, there seemed to be signs of respect  for anyone who showed strength of character and integrity as well as compassion toward him. He told me of a time at work when a younger man explained how to do something and he never felt belittled. He was amazed and felt kindly toward that young man, so-much-so that he tried to imitate the young man's action, only to have it backfire He did not understand the method the young man had used to help him feel empowered while being taught. He told me that he was bewildered and sad that he could not imitate this impressive young man. I wanted so badly to help him, but didn't have the skills to do so. If he had accepted the Gospel and learned to value others as Jesus did and does, how different his life would have been. He would have learned that skill and so many more.

Over his lifetime, my father served many people in humble ways, offering food, his bed, rides to work, fixing a car for someone, rescuing someone who was stranded, etc. His extended family was his first priority. We went to visit his parents every Sunday for years after moving to Horseheads. Holidays were the most important and were spent celebrating with his family. Sadly, as members of his family began to die, he struggled with understanding what life and death were all about, but did not have a testimony of the Savior and his mission. I testified that he would see his brother in the flesh again after he died, hoping that that would bring him some comfort. He rarely discussed religion with me after that, and not with anyone else that I know of.

Many incidents in a person's life shape who they become, depending upon their choices. After 9/11, my father went to a military clinic to receive the much needed help to put his mind at rest, not only from the war, but also from his upbringing. He was a very different man after that.... humble, reflective repentant. For the first time, he was able to tell me that he loved me, and thanked me for helping take care of him in-spite of how he had treated me. As he lay dying of cancer, I was finally able to see him as Heavenly Father saw him, a wounded child of God. For the first time I was able to love him, while still disliking his negative characteristics.