George “Red” Stahley – born 12/20/24

It was 99 years ago on December 20th that my father was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to George F. Stahley (my grandfather seen here holding his son) and my grandmother, Mary Agnes Young Stahley. He was the only child of his adoring parents. Like so many young men of his generation, he eagerly enlisted in the United States Armed Forces to fight the forces of fascism that were already on the march in Europe and Asia the day this photograph was snapped in 1925.

Upon entering the US Navy in 1943, he volunteered for service on the PT boats which, like service on submarines, was considered to be highly dangerous and involved risks that went far beyond that of other assignments. Every sailor on a submarine or a PT boat was there because they freely opted to be there, fully aware of the level of risk for which they signed up. 

From my years of research on my father’s service and the fortuitous opportunity to speak with other PT veterans who served with him during 1944 and 1945, what I’ve learned represents only a minute fraction of what he experienced during his days in the Mediterranean and the South Pacific. The accounts provided by those vets and declassified WWII documents (thanks again, Dave!) have filled in some of the gaps, for which I am deeply grateful. Still, those gaps in knowledge feel as deep as the Grand Canyon. 

When my father passed away on November 13, 1999, a few weeks before his 75th birthday, I was only beginning to scratch the surface of the more harrowing events that marked his fraught, harrowing days on the PT boats as well as the PT bases where enemy planes routinely strafed. In one of our final conversations before his death, I told him–again–how proud of him I was and that I would write about his valiant service in the Mediterranean and the South Pacific. With a faint smile and a nod, he let me know that he understood. At that point, he was very near the end; I can only hope that I eased my father’s passage from this life to the next.

On the anniversary of his death, I remember him with bottomless gratitude, love, and an admiration that grows more immense with each passing year. So I will raise a glass and salute his memory and remind myself of all that I received from him. It feels almost impossible to believe the coming year of 2024 will mark the 100th anniversary of his birth.