FAMILY HISTORIES

FAMILY HISTORIES

 GORDON GUY GILES

My brother, Gordon, was born April 13, 1943, in Salt Lake City, Utah to Guy Franklin and Rhoda Ann Farmer Giles.  He was the first born of their children.  World War II was raging in Europe and the Pacific so our father joined the Air Force to become a fighter pilot.  He was assigned to Lawson Field in Ft. Benning, Georgia.  Mom and Dad rode a Greyhound bus all the way to Georgia, leaving their infant son, Gordon, with Dad’s mother and father.  Mom planned on returning to Utah when Dad shipped overseas, but things didn’t work out the way they planned.  Soon after they arrived in Georgia Mom discovered she was pregnant and Dad still hadn’t received his orders to leave.  She stayed with Dad and Gordon stayed with his grandparents.  On May 1, 1944, only one year and two weeks after Gordon was born,  I entered the family at the hospital in  Ft.  Benning, Georgia. 

   

Grandma Giles continued raising little Gordon through the rest of the war while our parents   and I lived in Georgia.  Dad trained many pilots who went overseas but, miraculously, he was never called to go.  Mom and Dad stayed in the South throughout the rest of the war.  In 1945 the war ended and they returned to Utah to resume their life with their two year old son, who they had missed very much and who was now very attached to his grandparents. 

  

We moved in the basement apartment of my grandparent’s apartment complex.  Everyday Gordon cried to go upstairs to live with our grandparents.  Mom was pregnant with another baby, our brother Doug.  It was hard for Gordon to be in this new family and he always loved and adored his grandmother!   It was a difficult time for my parents as well as my brother.  War brings into our lives many circumstances that are not easy!   

When Gordon was about five years old, Mom and her three young children were waiting at the bus stop when a car was speeding around the corner and hit Gordon and dragged his little body down the street.  It was a terrible accident that left him badly injured with a broken back.  He was put in a full body cast for many months.  Mom had all she could handle with her little ones so Grandma helped care for him.  One day everyone noticed an awful odor coming from Gordon’s cast.  The doctor found his back rotting under the cast with gangrene in his spine.  The cast was removed and the infection cut out leaving a hole in his back for the rest of his life. Later,  he came down with nephritis, inflammation of the kidney caused by infection, and was bedridden for many months.  Gordon stayed with Grandma and she nursed him back to health.  He loved her so much!  Our parents were now living in their own home on McClelland Street with one more child added, Bobby. 

Now, I was the only girl with three brothers, so our home was boy centered and wild.  I was a regular “tom boy” trying to keep up with the boys, who constantly teased me when I did girl things.  Vicki was born two years after Bob.   Mom and Dad were thrilled to have another girl but they were up to their ears raising five children under the age of eight.  Mom never had a mother to train and teach her because her mother was an invalid and disabled most of her life.  Despite these odds, Mom did her very best to be a good housekeeper and make good meals for her family.  With five active children she had more than she could cope with, especially since   Dad was gone a lot trying to support his family.   Mom was left with her very active children, trying to figure out how to be a mother and teach her children the things she never had in her childhood.  In those days parents were busy trying to put food on the table and rebuild their lives after years of war, as well as the great depression.  

Gordon, being the oldest, had much influence on the rest of us.  He always had a spirit of competition, especially with Doug and I, who were the closest in age to him.  The sixth child, Jen, was born when Gordon and I were teenagers.    Everyone welcomed her with much love, but Gordon and I adored her and helped raise her, always trying to be her favorite sibling.  This little girl was the joy of our home.   Our home was the most functional and favorite home on the block, where all the neighborhood children gathered.  While their mothers were working our mother was home every day.  Mom and Dad were loving and kind to everyone so our house was always full of people. 

Sleigh riding down the steep hills near our house,  building and racing go carts, and constructing a two story hut in our back yard were just a few of my brothers activities.   Gordon was very smart and had many talents, his natural wit kept everyone laughing and he had lots of friends.  With his long fingers he played the piano beautifully.  It seemed to come so easily for him,  but he practiced a lot, filling our house with loud music.  My parents were very proud of his talent and always asked him to play “Autumn Leaves” for everyone that came to our home.  Grandma and Grandpa Giles also loved to hear him play,  especially “Yellow Bird” which he   played  at Grandpa’s funeral.  

      

We belonged to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and were one of the more active “Mormon” families in the neighborhood.  When we were young children we were sealed as a family In the Salt Lake Temple for time and eternity.  I remember kneeling at the altar in the temple with Mom and Dad, Gordon, little Doug and I, all of us dressed in white,  and our baby brother, Bobby was placed on the altar and we were sealed together.   It was a happy day for our family!      

Gordon attended the University of Utah where he   decided he wanted no part in religion.  When he was nineteen years old he married Nancy, his first wife.  Even though she was only sixteen years old at the time she was a good wife and mother.  We all loved her very much.  I was married that same year so we had much in common as newlyweds until they moved to Rock Springs, Wyoming.   Four children were born to them, Debbie, Rick, Jennifer, and Michael.

Gordon was successful as a business man, starting up his own businesses with Nancy’s family.  He had a good business head and was very smart.   He was especially proud of the success he had bringing up his business, Tunex, from almost nothing.  He and Nancy eventually divorced.     

We supported and loved his second wife, Sherry.  She was a beautiful, ambitious and intelligent woman he met while racing his sailboat on the Great Salt Lake.  Eventually they moved to Long Beach, California and bought a beautiful sailboat. He soon found out that sailing on the ocean was much harder than sailing on the lakes in Utah, so they sold their boat.   They tried various business ventures and eventually moved to Beverly Hills where Sherry started her own business.  Sherry died a tragic death leaving Gordon devastated.    She was shot at her business by a teenage boy trying to rob her wedding ring. 

These were lonely days for my brother and everyone worried about him.  About this time he was diagnosed with kidney cancer and had one of his kidneys removed.  He fully recovered and had pretty good health after that except for his right arm.  The nerves were damaged during surgery and his right arm had very little feeling.  He wasn’t able to play the piano after that, a great loss to him and to us, but he liked to work out at the gym and eat healthy and he was proud of the good shape he was in. 

We were all very happy when Gordon met and married Virginia.  We were thrilled that he wouldn’t be alone any longer.  He was happy and proud of his pretty young wife and especially happy when they were able to have a child together.  Even though Nicki was born when he was fifty seven years old, he was proud and thrilled with his little daughter.   He was always so cute and tender with little children, just like he was with our baby sister, Jen.  He loved his children and his grandchildren and was very proud of them.  

When his marriage to Virginia broke up it was another blow.  There were many sad things happening in his life, but he was a strong man.  An African Proverb says,  “Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.”  He was a strong and a skillful sailor.  I always loved my brother and looked up to him, hoping for his approval, and I tried to support him in his trials.     

When I went to California for Thanksgiving last year Wilf and I took Gordon to lunch. It was good to spend time with him at the ocean that he loved so much.   He was so happy telling us about Nicki, his eleven year old daughter.  She was his pride and joy, as well as his reason to stay alive.  He loved telling us how smart she is and he showed us the snazzy red car he bought for the two of them!  She was the bright spot in his later life!

I never knew the extent of his drinking until recently when he was admitted to rehab several times.   He almost died from end stage alcoholism as his liver was beginning to fail.  The last year he struggled to stop drinking.  He believed with enough will power he could quit, just like he had done other things in his life, but this “ocean” was also bigger than he thought it would be.  His addiction to alcohol was worse than any of us knew.    After he almost died he said he could never take another drink.  I know he tried but it was harder than he could handle.     

Gordon was diagnosed with throat cancer a few weeks later, but he kept it to himself.   I wonder if he told the doctors about his alcohol problem when they decided to give him that aggressive chemo treatment.  In his frail condition he probably should never have had the chemo medication.  It ravaged his body, killing the very cells he needed to stay alive and fight the cancer.  It was too much for his body to handle in his condition.    He passed away on October 17, 2011.  He was only sixty eight years of age, too young to die!  I know he didn’t want to leave his beautiful eleven year old daughter and his family.   He was cremated and his ashes were scattered over the beautiful Pacific Ocean that he loved.

Gordon was a powerful influence in my life and I feel a great loss at his passing.   Surprising gifts came out of my relationship with him!  I chose a different path, embracing religion with greater intensity.  I am grateful for my  big brother, Gordon,  who helped me see what I wanted my life to be,   and for these gifts that made me who I am today.  I wish he had found some of those gifts in his life, but I take comfort knowing that Heavenly Father took him home so he could be free from his suffering.   I look forward to the reunion with my brother whom I grew up with and loved.  I know I will see him again in a much better and happier place than this!  Bless you on   your journey, dear brother!                                                      

                                                                                  Suzanne Giles Stagg

WAR and COMBAT: A personal account.

By Doug Giles

Salt Lake City was my home town for the first 19 years of life, where I grew up in an average and close LDS family. My parents were above average in their compassion and understanding. Because of such things, I had a happy and pleasant childhood. Among the many interests and activities of my youth, achieving the rank of Eagle Scout and building a photographic dark room were some of my favorites. Upon returning from an LDS mission in late 1967, I enrolled in the University of Utah where I completed two quarters before being drafted into the U.S. Army. Before I could fully keep pace with the rapid changing events, I found myself graduating from Fort Ord's Infantry AIT and heading for Vietnam.

The behavior and the language of the Vietnam Army environment was the complete opposite of the missionary and home environment. My first experience with real fear was during my temporary assignment at Long Binh, early 1969 when incoming mortar rounds destroyed part of the outdoor seating area of our mess shelter. But little did I know when I got my First Air Cavalry reassignment orders for the field that the fear I experienced in Long Binh could not be compared to the fear and panic of combat, and that I would hope (and many times pray) for the day to return to the safety of a place like Long Binh.

As combat soldiers with the 1st Air Cav division, it was our job to engage the enemy via "search & destroy" missions for purposes of exposing and flushing out the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). Huey helicopters would air lift our company into triple canopy jungle locations. The method used to seek and engage the enemy was to "hump" (leg it) and hack our way through the dense jungle plant life. The point men led the way by cutting new trails with machetes. The worst and most fearful moments were when the NVA would catch us off guard before we reached our night defensive position and before we had a chance to "dig in." In such cases, nightfall would set in before we had a chance to eat or administer any foot care.             It would start with easily recognizable sounds of mortars being launched from their tubes, followed by screams of "incoming." My only option was to hit the ground and I recall driving my head and my chest into the jungle floor. The fear and panic of waiting for the first mortar rounds to land and detonate cannot be described by words. Not knowing where the first mortar shells would land, or who would be hit or killed first, I would belly crawl to the nearest tree or bamboo cluster. Once there, I pushed my face into the base of a tree trunk, with the back of my head deep into my steel pot (helmet). The fear and panic increased when I heard the first screams and moans of those impacted and torn-up by shrapnel. A graphic description of the flesh wounds and injuries will not to be described here. In one of my first mortar attack experiences, I remember the loud screams of a line member in a sister squad. It was only with an injection of morphine that his screams became silenced. The news of his quick death was even more frightening, as the reality of my situation and helplessness began to sink in.         

After the mortar attack, the NVA quickly moved in for the fire fight by spraying us with AK-47 rounds. A fire fight could be as short as 10 minutes, or as long as 8 or 9 hours. After the fire fight, steady levels of fear and high anxiety would linger as long as the NVA remained in position. As the medivac choppers (med helicopters) continued to remove the wounded and the dead (when they were able to do so) and as the company grew smaller and smaller, the fear of being the last and lone survivor was as great, if not greater than the fear of being killed. Often during combat, I found myself envying many of those who were removed from the battlefield due to wounds and injuries. I was wounded by shrapnel twice, and I was awarded a Purple Heart for the back wound on June 6, 1969.     

Repeated mortar attacks, ambushes and fire fights began to take an emotional and mental toll on us. Night after night of insufficient and interrupted sleep, caused by the sudden pop of a trip flare, sudden scream from an AK-47 burst and fear of NVA sappers slipping under our trip wire was beginning to affect my physical health. Living with fear and anxiety changed my appetite to where I became quite thin. During times of long and drawn-out fire fights, the chaos, the panic, the helplessness, the screams and moans, the dismembered bodies, the sight of death and the fear of death would cause moments of depression, with feelings of pessimism, hopelessness and uncontrolled fear. At times I would end up with numbness and feelings of detachment, with thoughts that life had lost all meaning. One specific memory that lingers in my thoughts, is the sight of a fellow squad member who had just started to eat his fruit cocktail C-rations when he was killed by a sudden burst while we were taking a short break. The sight of his dead body with the fruit cocktail partially scattered on his bare chest and the spoon near his hand has left a permanent imprint on my mind. Another long-lasting memory that has replayed in my thoughts and dreams, is the brutal killing of our squad leader -Sergeant "D." The details of his death needs no repeating here.  

All the above emotions were present when I experienced my lowest point in Vietnam, the point of witnessing the needless and senseless death of a close friend. Willie Ortega and I had become close for purposes of protection, survival and friendship. The sight and sound of his death, coupled with the knowledge of the senseless and insane circumstances, triggered feelings of extreme anger, guilt and numbness. The sight of his lifeless corpse and the overwhelming fear was more than I could cope with. Before his body was removed, feelings of anger, numbness and detachment were taking over my mind. 

The mosquitoes, the termite bites, the ant stings, the scorpions, the slugs & leaches, the mud, the heat, the foot blisters, the jungle rot and the rain-drenched fatigues all added to the madness and insanity of combat. Before I left Vietnam, I had jungle rot on my legs, ringworm on my chest and had become infected with the lesser type of Malaria.

The relief and excitement of leaving Vietnam left me unprepared for life back home. In every combat situation, I found myself building expectations for the day I would leave the hell of that country. The first 4 or 5 years at home, I re-lived many combat experiences through realistic dreams. Helicopter sounds, sudden popping sounds and scenes of wooded or forest areas would trigger a replay of combat panic situations. By the mid 1970's, after a series of bad dreams, increasing insomnia and anxiety, I found myself re-experiencing the combat moments of depression, panic episodes, hopelessness and feelings of loss of meaning. Images continue to replay in my memory, including the lifeless corpse of Willie and the shattered and extremely fragmented skull of an NVA Regular. All the above, including feelings of anger and distrust have characterized much of my post combat life. The repeated news and disclosures that the Vietnam war was not much more than a  series of smoke and mirrors and "all for nothing," has enhanced my anger and rage. My philosophy and outlook on life was severely impacted by my combat experience.

The relatives and the children of the war advocates in the State and Defense departments rarely, if ever see combat. If they or their offspring could spend a single day in combat, perhaps war would be the last option.

SUZANNE GILES 

STAGG

1944-

My father is one half English, and the other half Dutch with some French.  My mother is mostly English but has some German ancestors.  Every one of my ancestors on both sides joined the Mormon Church when they heard it preached in their country and came to America. They crossed the plains with the first Mormon pioneers.  

I was born during World War II at the Air Force Hospital in Ft. Benning Georgia.  My father was a pilot training other pilots to go overseas.  He trained many pilots who were shot down by the Japanese.  He was very blessed because he was able to stay in the United States throughout the entire war.  After the war was over my mom and dad brought me to Salt Lake City, Utah where I lived until I got married. 

My home was a two story brick home on an old street in the center of Salt Lake City.  It was built around 1900 and we moved into it in 1946.  We had all of the modern conveniences but there was no heat in the attic.  When our family grew my father finished the basement for my brothers and the attic for my bedroom, but there was no connection to the furnace so it was very cold in the winter and very hot in the summer.   

I remember when television was invented.  I was about 8 years old when we got our first television set.  It was black and white and there were only a few programs to watch.  We had just one bathroom in a house with 8 people.  Many times I remember waiting in line to have my turn in the bathroom. 

When I was a child the girls always wore dresses.  Pants were not appropriate except for outdoor recreation.  In the winter I walked a long way to school with leggings on to keep my legs warm.  Leggings were warm woolen pants that were similar to the snow pants worn today.  My mother never learned how to drive so we walked everywhere.  Everybody owned only one car per family.  

We did chores around the house because our family was large.  In those days children were a lot more respectful and worked hard to help their parents.  There were no dishwashers so we washed the dishes after every meal and cleaned the kitchen.  There wasn’t enough money for recreation, so we created our own.  We went sledding in the winter and played yard games in the summer. “No Bears Are Out Tonight” and “Red Rover, Red Rover” were favorites.  All the neighborhood children gathered in our yard and played games on warm summer nights.  We often slept outside in tents and went prowling around the neighborhood raiding the neighbor’s fruit trees in the middle of the night.  We played board games with our brothers and sisters, such as Monopoly and Checkers and we played “Fox and Geese” in the snow.  We loved to play with jacks and marbles.

At school we loved to jump rope at recess and lunch time.  We played   on the monkey bars and swings.  We made clubhouses in the bushes and trees and doll houses and furniture out of cards.  It was a happy simple time to be a child.  There were no violent movies or T V programs.   To be a child in the 40's and 50's was to live in a world of innocence and make believe. 

                Suzanne with brothers, Gordon, Doug and Bob Giles. 

Most of our fun came from doing simple things that didn’t cost money.   We rode  the bus to Salt Lake City and spent the day walking around town.  We bought  candy bars for 5 cents and ice cream cones for a dime.  I earned my own money babysitting when I turned eleven years old.  Every summer I tended children of  working mothers and earned enough money for all of my school clothes.    I was a good worker as well as  babysitter, and I always cleaned up the house and washed the dishes after the children were in bed. 

Teen age years were exciting.  When we began driving we went cruising State Street to meet boys.    Rock and Roll was becoming popular and we listened to all the latest rock and roll songs.  Elvis Presley and Pat Boon were the teenage idols, and all the girls were madly in love with them.  I didn’t care for Elvis Presley.  I thought he was disgusting but my friends loved him.

I married my high school sweetheart, Wilford Stagg, one year after graduation and we raised our seven children in Salt Lake City, Taylorsville, Sandy and Grantsville, Utah.  I was blessed to be a stay at home Mom, teaching and training my children, growing gardens and orchards, taking independent study courses from BYU, serving in my church and my children’s school, managing the Stagg Swim School, traveling with my husband and children, and serving four LDS missions with my husband – a stake mission in Grantsville, an Inner City mission to Rose Park, a proselyting mission to Cambodia and the Utah Provo Mission in Lehi.  Writing is my passion.  I love gardening, playing the piano, natural healing, herbal medicine and my beautiful family.

                                                   My family in 2013

When I was a brand new bride the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, was shot and killed.  That was a horrible day for our country.   For weeks we cried and mourned the loss of our wonderful young president.  Americans lost more than the President that day, they lost innocence and hope in their government.  More and more the voice of the people was no longer important.  It was the beginning of more violent times for America. 

When the Vietnam war broke out it almost divided our nation.  My brother went to war and many of my friends.  It was a useless war, more useless than we were told, and we lost many wonderful young Americans, and it totally changed my brother.  Our country also changed during those troubled times.  Prayer was taken out of the schools and abortion became legal.  Violence increased in movies and television, and many Americans no longer kept the Sabbath Day a holy day.  Stores opened and Sunday became just another day to work and play.  We began to see many more acts of violence and immorality in movies and in our country.

I have seen many changes.  There are many good things we have now that we didn’t have when I was a child, like computers and air travel.  But there are some things that were better then, like decency, modesty, and spirituality.

I love America and I’m grateful for the freedoms we still have.   A nation that is not good and righteous will lose their freedoms.  I hope the rising generation will be wise and turn things around.  I know my grandchildren will be good, kind, and strong, and help make our country a better place to live.   

I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease when I was 67 years old.  Brain trauma can be a factor in Parkinson’s.   When I was a teenager, hiking in the mountains, I was hit on the head by a rock, the size of a cantaloupe, during a rock slide.   I had a brain concussion and a fractured skull.  It’s possible that this accident set the stage for Parkinson’s; plus it’s possible there is a DNA marker for Parkinson’s in my family.  It could have been triggered by the brain concussion I had, as well as the heavy metals I was tested for.   Now, I have become a shaking grandmother and I understand just a little of what my Grandmother Hattie went through!

We celebrated fifty  years of marriage in 2013,  it hardly seems possible!  I'm grateful that Wilf didn't give up on me!  He is my sweetheart and best friend!

I am grateful for my heritage of hope,   my hope in Jesus Christ our Savior.  His Atonement made it possible for all us to return and live with our Heavenly Parents and our remarkable ancestors and loved ones who’ve left this earth.  Because of Jesus Christ we will all be resurrected to our perfect condition.  I know that He is the Savior and redeemer of the world.  I am happy to be a witness  for him! 

MY BROTHER DOUG, A GENTLE WARRIOR

Douglas Lee Giles was born March 22, 1946 in Salt Lake City, to Guy and Ann Giles.  He was their third child and second son.  There were six children born to them, three sons and three daughters, Gordon, Suzanne, Doug, Bob, Vicki and Jeanette.  Doug was the sweetest little boy, it was easy to see why our parents adored him.   His Aunt Ruth always called him her ‘sunshine boy.’

Our home on McClelland Street was the most functional and favorite home on the block, where all the neighborhood children gathered.  While their mothers were working our mother was home every day.  Mom and Dad were loving and kind to everyone so our house was always full of people.  With three boys and one girl,   our home was full of boy energy, boy toys and boy activities.   We were all thrilled when two more girls came along.

Sleigh riding down the steep hills near our house,  building and racing go carts, and constructing a two story hut in our back yard were just a few of their  activities.   Doug was creative and smart.  He followed Gordon in everything, but he had many friends and ideas of his own.  Everyone wanted to be with him because of his kind and gentle spirit.  Our home was bustling with friends and he was always happy and friendly to everyone.  He loved cars, working on them and fixing them up.  He shoveled out a huge pit in our garage where he worked on his cars.

Our family was one of the more active Mormon families in the neighborhood.  When we were young children we were sealed as a family In the Salt Lake Temple for time and eternity.  I remember kneeling at the altar in the temple with Mom and Dad, Gordon, little Doug and I, all of us dressed in white, and our baby brother, Bobby was placed on the altar and we were sealed together.   It was an important day for our family!   Dad was raised in a home without prayer or religion so he wanted his children to have those experiences.  We prayed over every meal and we attended church every Sunday, and alcohol and tobacco were never in our home.  Mom was happy and fun and supportive of her husband.    

Doug attended Emerson Elementary, Roosevelt Jr. High and East High School.   He worked hard earning his Eagle Scout Award.  Our parents were always proud of their ‘golden son’ Doug, who  was loved and admired in the neighborhood and in their  church.  He had many friends in high school, including me, his sister.  I loved seeing his happy smiling face as he waved at me in the halls. We worked together at the Utah Theater where he was always friendly, happy and fun to be around. 

 

At nineteen years of age he was called to serve a mission for his church, and he spent two years in the East Central States Mission, serving honorably and faithfully, making his parents even more proud of him.  He returned home ready for life just when the Vietnam war was escalating.  The military was already taking many bright young men away to fight on foreign shores in a conflict that no one really understood.  We were all heartsick when he received his draft notice, but like other dutiful and patriotic Americans we obeyed the call when it came.  The brightest and best were shipped out to be trained to fight in this war, so far from home.  Our entire family spent the next twelve months praying and crying over his letters.  Our mom studied every battle and position of her precious son and thought of nothing else but Doug during those fearful months.

 

Doug was the brightest and the best and very innocent, truly a gentle warrior.  He loved the Vietnamese people and they loved him.  They were drawn to his kind gentle nature and followed him everywhere, just like the kids in our neighborhood had.  They called him “Number One G I” because of their love for him.  Other American soldiers were arrogant and haughty but Doug loved and honored these gentle Asian people.   It broke his heart when he saw his good friend, Willy, shot and killed, and his faith was shattered when he saw so many horrific things in that terrible war.   

He was wounded and received a Purple Heart Award.  We were ecstatic when his general cut his service one month short because of the pleas and prayers of our desperate mother.  He returned home one month after Christmas to find the Christmas tree still decorated and his grateful family waiting for his return.  He was not the same innocent boy who left us one year earlier.  He had changed from a carefree and happy young man to a serious and seasoned soldier, but still very much the gentle warrior.

He never returned to the innocence of those days before the war, but he dived into life with even greater passion.  He wanted to make things fair and just.  After the horrors he experienced in Vietnam he never returned to his faith in God.  He sought answers to life’s questions at the University of Utah where he graduated.     

His heart was forever changed by the gentle humble spirits of the Asian people he loved in Vietnam.   His attraction led him to find and marry Gloria Lorenzo, a girl from the Philippines who was working in California.  She had a young daughter, Wendy, in the Philippines.  After they were married Christian, their only son, was born.  They eventually brought their sweet daughter, Wendy, to America and Doug adopted her.  They raised their family in Midvale, where they built their home almost completely by themselves. 

Doug had a brilliant mind.  He loved to read and studied everything he could find about President Kennedy’s assassination until he became an expert on that subject.  He was a great fan of JFK and his brother Robert.  He was well known on KTKK radio where he was known as JFK David.  He was a great patriot and an expert on the cover up of the assassination and the lies told in our government.   He believed in truth and honesty and was highly disappointed with this government and the corrupt wars that others have given their precious lives for.  He was a brave and sensitive soul who wanted all things to be upright and honest.     

Doug was diagnosed with Myeloma, a type of bone cancer, possibly from his exposure to Agent Orange, a chemical used in the Vietnam war.   The doctors didn’t know he had cancer until it almost took his life in 2007.  His kidneys shut down when he was so very ill.  He had been on dialysis since then.    For the last five years he valiantly suffered and endured the painful side effects of dialysis and the harshness of Chemo therapy. 

Gloria learned to love the great American General, Douglas MacArthur, who was a hero in the Philippines after World War II.  She was happy to be married to an American named Douglas, so she nicknamed him Mac after General MacArthur.  He became her Mac for the rest of his life.   She was his beloved nurse and faithful companion throughout their marriage and especially in his battle with cancer.  She cared for him with all tenderness and love to his final breath.  I believe his life was extended because of her good care. 

 

Doug was always worried about everybody else but himself and wanted everyone to find happiness.  He was a devoted husband, father, son, brother, uncle and friend.   He was brave,   kind, sensitive, and loving even as he suffered so much at the end of his life.  He was truly a gentle warrior!  

At last he’s in a place where all things are upright and honest!   May you rest in heavenly peace, my dear brother!   
                                                                       Written by Suzanne Giles Stagg