Uncle Ivar’s BB Gun

This is Uncle Ivar’s BB gun on the wall at my home.

Ivan Gregory George

This gun was on its way to the dump when maintenance crew supervisor Bob Carpenter decided to grab it for me. He wasn’t interested in keeping it, but he knew a certain incurable collector back at the office who would.

I never knew Uncle Ivar, but I’d heard enough to want the gun.

Kelly Sullivan was especially fond of Uncle Ivar back in the day. She would regale me with his stories. Funny how I can’t remember how we ever got on the subject of Uncle Ivar, but the stories stuck with me. Her eyes would light up. It was like she was channeling him when she talked about him, and after a while, I felt like I knew Uncle Ivar myself.

And that’s the beauty of keepsakes. Sometimes you can feel the presence of a soul in an object. And I swear I could feel Uncle Ivar’s presence when Bob handed that old BB gun to me.

It’s always been clear to me that Uncle Ivar was an extraordinary man. A war hero. An Uncle to all.

But what got me most was that he didn’t seem to have a dark side. Perhaps God blessed him on Omaha Beach.

Don’t know Omaha Beach?

It is a stretch of beach that Spielberg tried to capture in the movie Saving Private Ryan. But Hollywood is a long way from the French coastline, and while the movie did justice to the horrors of war, no movie set is a substitute for being there.

Uncle Ivar was there. He showed up when America, and his Tribe needed him most.

They called him “Chief” after he took out a German pillbox. He wore the promotion with pride because he knew his brothers in arms sincerely meant it. They called him Chief because he was Chief and they weren’t.

His obituary is filled with things he enjoyed. But my favorite is:

“(Uncle Ivar) loved the Mariners, hot fires and sitting in his easy chair.”

“Thanks” doesn’t seem like enough. But it’s all I got. Thanks, Uncle Ivar. I never met you, but I can see the wonderful legacy you left behind. And I hope it’s okay if I kept your BB gun.