My recent post, “I’m a Graduate of Blum’s Café School of Hard Knocks,” focused on the lessons in life I learned from my hard-working father, Julius Blum. That post generated a heart-warming reaction from many of my readers. Although my dad’s been gone for 21 years, he’s very much alive in my heart.
I wrote of the hard-knocks world at Blum’s Café, nestled in Fort Worth’s smelly and sweaty meat packing district. One response summed it up and meant a lot to me: “The Blum family was an important piece of the packing house fabric in the stockyards. A sweet, hard-working family.” I chuckled at another line in his message: “Marvin was smart and got out of there ASAP.” True, but I took the lessons of that world with me.
My dear friend Lisa Mikus asked if my dad was part of “The Greatest Generation from the WWII era—I’m so in awe of that generation.” That swelled up my admiration for my dad’s service in the U.S. Army during World War II. As was typical of these men, he rarely spoke of it. He finally opened up during our nightly visits during his final year, dying of pancreatic cancer at age 77.
Julius Blum was a true patriot, pro-America all-the-way. I only knew him as strong and brave, but a letter we found after he died revealed the fear he masked as he was going off to war. In the letter, he confided to his sister Sophia the trepidation and home-sickness he felt as he was about to be shipped off overseas. I never saw that side of him. That was a powerful revelation.
As patriotic as my dad was, he didn’t want to see my brother Irwin or me shipped off to Vietnam. That was a different kind of war. When President Johnson called for a surge in troops, every young man (including Irwin and me) received a draft number. The higher the number, the better the odds for avoiding the draft.
I remember it like yesterday—December 1, 1969, the day draft numbers were chosen by lottery. A large glass vessel held 366 blue capsules, each containing a birth date from January 1 through December 31 (including one for February 29). We were all glued to the television to discover, day by day, the number corresponding to our birthday. Irwin (who was three years older) got a high draft number—big relief! I wasn’t so lucky—the number corresponding to August 8 was low.
This quote summed up my feelings: “The draft deepened the rift that already existed in our country; the divide, expressed in bumper stickers. America, Love It or Leave It was one; Hell No, We Won’t Go was another. I loved America, but I didn’t want to end up in a body bag. I didn’t want to leave the country, either, dodging the draft by fleeing to Canada. And I had no interest in burning things, whether it was the flag or my draft card.” Those are the eloquent words of Byron Gossett in his outstanding book, Expand the Frame.
My father, the patriot, shared my feelings. We sweated out the next few years until it was my time to be drafted, and then at the eleventh hour came the announcement that the draft was ending, just as they got to my turn. Once again, big relief!
The country survived the turbulence of Vietnam—And now, here we are again in turbulent political times. As we wrestle with political discord, I’ll share one more lesson from my dad. We can disagree, but let’s do so civilly. Harvard professor Arthur Brooks disclosed in a speech I attended that one in six families don’t talk to each other because of politics. That was April 27, 2023. It’s likely worse today. My father would never allow political views to tear apart a family. He was a role model for civility.
I’ll close with a simple illustration from my early memories. My dad was politically conservative. On the other hand, I was a youthful liberal, largely influenced by our staunch Democrat housekeeper, Nelsie, whom I adored. I vocally supported JFK to my Nixon-voting dad. It got more potent in the next election. I made a poster promoting LBJ and proudly displayed it in our front yard. To my dismay, my dad supported Goldwater. But whether it was JFK vs. Tricky Dick or LBJ vs. Au-H2O, it never affected our relationship and love for each other. And he never asked me to remove that poster from our yard!
In my quest to help families stay connected and build a meaningful family legacy, may the lessons of Julius Blum inspire us. Inevitably, we will disagree, mightily at times. But let’s discover and celebrate our commonalities, fighting the temptation to let discord tear us apart. It’s not worth it.
Marvin Blum’s father Julius Blum as a young soldier, a role model for patriotism and civility. May we learn from his example.