Happy 100th Birthday Wilbur - July 19th 2012

July 19, 1912, Wilbur Hodges Dornin was born in Norfolk, Virginia. He was my father and preferred to be called Bill. I don’t know what kind of childhood he had. He lost both of his parents before he reached adulthood. This is the only picture I have of him in his youth. He looks happy. Perhaps, this is before the bout of pneumonia that he survived .

Bill’s early life was successful enough that, by the age of twenty-one, he was able to choose between chief photographer for a prestigious portrait and advertising studio and joining the third expedition that Admiral Richard E. Byrd took to the Antarctic. I believe he was on his way to becoming an influential advertising photographer when he chose the expedition with the hope that the unusual conditions would offer him the perfect shot. Bill boarded The Bear of Oakland in October of 1933 and changed the course of his life.

Bill’s journal didn’t have any dates, but it appeared to have been written about thirteen months into the expedition where he vowed to improve his attitude and focus on his photography. I am sad to report that he did not finish the journal. I would like to think he was too busy working his craft to have time.

Something I read in his unfinished journal has stuck with me through most of my life. He talked about the dream of doing something big and important on that journey. After a time on the ship, he felt like he had become just another unhappy coal pusher. All through our childhoods we have dreams of the great people we will become; architect, designer, doctor, or politician. Few of us realize our dreams.

Bill also served during World War II. I assume that he was a photographer. We saw many pictures in the attic that included airfields filled with planes that displayed a swastika on each wing. I’m inclined to believe that whatever he witnessed during that war had a major influence on his decision to become an advocate for peace.

Bill wrote many articles and commentaries, mostly during the sixties and early seventies when the political and social arena was in turmoil. With the definition of freedom having a different meaning to each American, I suppose that it always has and always will be unsettled. Like most of his photography, only a few of those writings survived a fire that burned our home after he died.

Many of his writings survived because a group of young adults wanted to continue his dream of an underground newspaper where people had a voice without the influence of politics or money. The paper was printed once and distributed to one hundred people near Quakertown, Pennsylvania including our family.

Also during the same time, he wanted to create a place for learning that did not follow the typical school curriculum of shoving learning materials down children’s throats to have them throw it back up on the occasional test. This was the description he often used when we discussed the educational system. He maintained that children naturally wanted to learn and resisted knowledge being forced on them. His idea was to have children of all ages and intellect learn together to teach each other.

Bill married twice. He had a daughter with the first wife. I am number six of eight children from the second marriage. We never knew our half sister. I guess they tried different child rearing techniques before they decided to create a mini-democracy. Everyone in the family had a voice.

As long as I could remember, Bill would wake during the night for a smoke and coffee. I often woke to the smell of his tobacco and joined him at the kitchen table where a conversation would unroll. Regardless of my age, the discussions would include whatever topic was on his mind at the time. I understood much more when I was older.

Bill passed from this existence on October 23, 1973. His teachings and influences came from his lifetime of learning. There were many times after that I felt he was watching me. I hope he approved of the person I became; he had a big part in it.

Happy 100^th Birthday Wilbur and Thank You for my life.