A Trip to Canada
September 3, 1944
On the above date, two brothers, Jay and Win Schofield, briefly crossed the Canadian border from New York to gather a few documents then return to America. Why? Each needed naturalized citizen status to join the U. S. Army. Jay, at twenty-five, and Win ten years older, were both drafted and eager to serve their country in what would be World War II. Two other brothers, Llew and Brent, had already become eligible. The required documentation for Jay and Win were requisites to prove they were born in the province of Nova Scotia, Canada, some twenty years earlier. It would have been a simple matter of simply asking for their respective birth certificates, getting sworn in, and packing for boot camp. It got complicated. In Halifax, there had been a fire around the time of their family’s migration to America destroying their birth records. Jay and Win got their desired status and entered the military.
My Life Went On
That story was related to me back in the 1950s but, in typical fashion of a self-absorbed teen rebel, I saw little value in the story. Like most boys that age, my immediate focal points were What’s for supper? or Did the Red Sox win last night? or Who’ll be my date for Fridays record hop? I mean Really ... that war happened when I was a few months old, What value could it have to me? How wrong I was.
The years went by including college, marriage, family, and work. Buried in the background of my thinking, lingered the question about the brothers Canadian visit and what changes the family had undergone before and after that point.
It became even more of a topic considering todays Americas red-hot immigration issue with the Mexican border. What would compel family members back then to fight for their adopted country? Today, Canada has become Americas forgotten northern border while our southern Mexican border captures most of the national interest. We hear of both electronic and structural fences, our National Guards involvement, a drug war with Mexican cartels, and wanton illegal crossings bringing murders of Americas border states citizens.
Regrets? For Sure!
In 1980, the urgency to ask my dad family questions became more critical following his cancer diagnosis. Hoping to make up for lost time I suggested, nine years later, I write his life story. An endless barrage of questions while he was undergoing the ravages of invasive cancer treatment would prove tiresome. Despite repeated chemical invasions, he persevered.
For the first time, I witnessed him crying as he related his mother’s undying dedication while she helped him memorize his lines before his high school performance, The Mikado. Even today, I can hear my dad’s tears on that tape, as he confirmed he never missed a line.
Dad shared his family’s work ethic: getting to the job despite sickness or hard times. They toiled at multiple, often menial, jobs providing for their four sons and daughter. He spoke lovingly of his parents including his dad dying in 1951 and then losing his mom nine years later. Those tapes provided me long-lasting insights and inspiration.
I learned elders are eager to share their lives if someone asked the right questions. Thrilled to tip over that first domino, I knew the interviews had built his story’s foundation. Although he was a rookie at dying; I was a rookie at writing; yet we both persisted like veterans.
In a few months, his life story formed. I transcribed the interview, did parallel research, and crafted his memoirs the best an emerging author could. The process and the result brought us unparalleled joy.
Upon completion, he read, and re-read, the story then gushed on about how much he appreciated my effort. He died knowing his life story would be saved and passed down. Infected with a Memoirs / Schofield history bug, I vowed to carry on.
