Ira Warren Shattuck III was born November 19, 1921, to Ira Warren Jr. and Daisy Evans Shattuck, and he was their only child. His tombstone doesn't mention it, but he fought in World War II with the Army Air Corp. He was a tail gunner, and he was involved with seven bombing missions over Germany before his plane was shot down. The pilot managed to land the plane in Switzerland, and so he escaped the POW camps in Germany. He somehow snuck out of the Swiss hotel where he was "a guest," and with the help of the underground, he walked across war-torn Europe. He made it back to the States, where he traveled the country training new recruits who were slated to deploy to Europe. He had just received his orders to transfer to the Pacific theater when the bombs were dropped on Japan.
After the war he went to college on the GI bill, and that's where he met Francis Bernadine "Bernie" Vinson, who hailed from Kentucky. They were married on September 6, 1950, and they waited 11 long years for their first son to arrive. The story goes that when the doctor placed this new baby in Bernie's arms he told her, "Congratulations, you have your miracle baby. Don't expect to have any more."
Ira Warren Shattuck III went by "Warren," since his dad went by "Ira." When his son was born, Warren didn't want to saddle his son with being the IV, so a compromise was made. Warren and Bernie decided to each take a name from their respective families, and that's how Baird's name came to be. According to family lore, Ira was pretty upset that Baird wasn't Ira Warren IV, but he eventually got over it.
Sixteen short months later, Baird's sister was born. Warren and Bernie wanted to call her Missy but couldn't figure out what the "proper" name was for that, so they named her Amelia Ann Shattuck. She still goes by Missy to this day, and pretty much never uses her given name.
Warren and Bernie were living in New Jersey when the kids were born. At that point, Warren was working as a fundraiser. He would help an organization raise funds for several weeks, then take a few days off before heading out for the next project. There are several Boys and Girls Clubs out on the East Coast that are there because of the money Warren raised.
While the work was rewarding, Warren realized at one point that his kids were growing up quickly, and he felt like he barely knew them. He moved the family to Colorado when Baird was 12, and he took a job that didn't require so much travel. When Baird was ready to start high school the family moved again, this time to Winfield, IL. Warren took a job in the development department of Elmhurst Hospital, where three of his five grandchildren would eventually be born. Warren's biggest contribution to the Elmhurst community was coordinating efforts for an overpass to be built for the trains that pass thru the city. It was important to him that people not have to wait for a train to pass when they were on their way to the hospital.
By the time I met Baird, Bernie had already passed away, and Warren had remarried, retired, and moved Up North to a small spot called Arbor Vitae, WI. When his dad came down for a visit after Baird and I started dating, Baird invited me to join them for dinner. We went to Stevens Steak House in Elmhurst. I was charmed by this wonderful Southern gentlemen who clearly loved life. He was fond of Broadway musicals, supper clubs, and dancing after dinner. He had a friendly, confident manner about him, and he made friends wherever he went. He and Baird had a great relationship.
In the early winter of 1991, Warren began to struggle with a cough he couldn't quite shake. He finally went to the doctor, who ordered some tests. Easter weekend he made a trip down to our neck of the woods to give us the news: he had lung and liver cancer. Almost 50 years of smoking was catching up with him. He bravely underwent a couple of rounds of experimental chemo treatment, and there were some good days mixed with tough ones. One of those good days was a dinner dance that he and Jonah attended in October. That night, as they got ready to leave, I remember thinking that he looked healthy again, if not quite strong. They danced the night away and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Baird and I spent as many weekends as we possibly could visiting Warren in the fall of 1991. He told us we should come up as often as we wanted and needed to. He made it a point to prepare us for his death. "No regrets," he used to say.
In early November, Warren was admitted to the hospital. We were planning to spend Thanksgiving weekend with him, even tho we knew he was in the hospital. By the time we got up to see him, Warren had been transferred to the hospice unit. He died Thanksgiving Day, just a few days after his 70th birthday.
The only regret I have is that Warren did not live to see four of his five grandchildren. I know he would have been so proud.
It felt good to remember.
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