THE DAD I KNEW

The dad I knew was a good provider for his family and a hard worker.

Dad at age 3

He was born in North Dakota in 1909 and at age eight became a cowboy, looking after the stock for his dad. My dad, Walter John Buller would brag the rest of his life about being a cowboy on the plains of N. Dakota.

By age 12 the Buller family had moved to California and he became a fruit picker. He never told us if that meant picking enough fruit for the breakfast meal or for the market.

Between the ages of 14-15 he would help patrol the water ditches of the Merced Irrigation District with his father looking for gopher holes that could wash the banks away. Oop's, there goes another gopher to oblivion.

He wanted to become a lawyer but his mother wouldn’t allow it– “that’s a sinful job” she opined. He was forced to stop school after eight years and go to work.

In the summers the Buller family would journey to San Jose, California, a growing city 50 miles south of San Francisco, to work in the canneries. OSHA wasn’t around in those days so my dad got a job in a fruit cannery stacking empty cans for the American Can company at age 16. After the canning season was over the family remained in San Jose and dad got a job for Hales Department store as a soda jerk.

Wanting to settle down and marry my mother, he got a full time job at a local bakery baking doughnuts and bread at age 17 to 20. The job started daily at 4 am.

Courting mom

He married my mother in 1927 at age 18 and continued working at the bakery.

But, at heart, dad was always a farmer and that is all he wanted to do. So, after my sister was born the dad I would come to know, packed mom and me and little sister up and off we went to Livingston, California where dad rented 25 acres of vineyard.

Money was tight so he always raised animals to eat, beef, pork, etc. Butchering day would bring the relatives together to help out.

Butchering on the Sims Ranch in 1936

Moving from farm to farm and share crop farming didn’t pay off so in 1940 he moved his family, which now included a little brother, back to San Jose and became an apprentice carpenter working for my mother’s father, Ben Schultz, building houses.

World War II came along and dad went to work in the shipyards in the bay area and later for the Permanente firm as a journeyman carpenter, until the end of the war.

I can remember when he smashed his thumb on a job and was laid up for months. The cries of pain and anguish disturbed me very much but he prevailed and went right back to work, stiff thumb and all.

The war ended in 1945 and the lure of the farm called him back to the San Joaquin valley. So, with a saving of $3000 he and a friend purchased 180 acres of fruit, picked up my uncles semi-truck and announced to his family that we were moving back to the farm again.

For the next five years dad would farm in Winton and later Livingston, California. He worked hard, day and night. When the Irrigation district told him the water was available he had to irrigate around the clock until it was done.

I remember offering to help at night so he could get some rest but he wouldn’t allow me because he said school the next day was too important for me to miss.

In the summers he would work me from sun to sun. Mom would complain that the work was too hard for me and he would laugh and say it will make a man out of him. Those experiences taught me the value and importance of work.

Every farm we lived on dad purchased a cow for milk and butter and cottage cheese. Brother Ken on "bossy" with dad

Farming never made much money for dad so at times he would try and make income from other sources. One year he purchased two combines on credit and together we hit the trail up to Oregon to do custom grain harvesting. I learned how to work for other people and helped my dad build the sides on an army surplus truck we used to haul grain.

He taught me how to drive truck before I drove a car. He taught me how to milk a cow, kill a chicken, drive a tractor, prune grapes, prune peach trees, operate a combine, build things and a host of other things. That’s the dad I knew.

Farming didn’t pay, dad hurt his back so he moved to Fresno for a year. I had already left for college. Dad sold roof shingles as an outside salesman for one year for the Insoseal company.

The dad I knew moved back to San Jose, California, in 1951 and became a carpet layer and sold carrot juicers on the side. Then he worked in the S and H Green Stamp Store for awhile as a warehouse manager and stock clerk.

That job ended and he then went back to carpenter work until he retired in 1973.

In retirement he collected used soap from motels for shipment to third world countries.

He also went to Mexico and helped build a church.

The dad I knew was a hard worker, never quit but kept on going. He could improvise and figure things out with his eighth grade education. I was amazed at the things he could do, all self taught. He didn’t have enough money at times and when he needed to he would invent something to solve a problem.


Mom couldn’t stand the valley heat so he invented an air conditioner. He build a frame of “gunny” sacks, hooked up a hose to keep them wet and “presto” as the wind would blow across the wet “gunny” sack covered frame the enclosure mom was sitting in would cool down.

He never had a lot of money but he found enough to give my sister and me music lessons and purchase instruments for us.

He had a goal that we should go to Bible School, if only for a year. Sis and I went. He sent me off with $50.00 in my pocket and said “get a part time job but call me if you need help”.

I wanted a car, had some money saved but he wisely steered me from it, allowing me to use the family car whenever I wanted. I waited until I was on my own in college to get a car.

When I had an accident one time because of carelessness, he asked if I had learned my lesson. Answering “yes” he never said another word about the damage and that was the end of it.

My dad always liked to own big cars. Cadillac's, Oldsmobile's, Buick's, etc. The picture above shows three generations of Buller’s with their “big” cars.
Three generations- Brian, me and my dad



Dad loved his family. He would tell each one he loved them. Every family member knew he cared for them. He and mom arranged family get to-gathers often.
The dad I knew was always there for me, guided me, taught me the work ethic and demonstrated his love for me. Best of all, he and mom took me to church every Sunday and they lived an example for me to follow.

THAT’S THE DAD I KNEW




by Don Buller, April 2008