Vietnam

George "Tim" Akins was one of the greatest men I ever knew.  He was my foster brother, older than me by 20 years.  Tim was the only son of my foster mother, Dorothy Leonard, and he grew up in Villa Park, IL. just like I did.  He went to my high school, Willowbrook HS, 20 years before I did.  By the time I came onto the scene he was already back from Vietnam and married, living first in Maywood and later in West Chicago.

Tim was a true Renaissance Man.  Self taught on a broad array of instruments including guitar, banjo, and harmonica, he played football in high school and was an Eagle scout, the highest possible rank.  He trained as a mechanical engineer and architect, even starting his own computer consulting business in the early 80s before ultimately becoming business manager of District 303 public schools in St Charles.  Tim wasn't drafted.  He volunteered and served with honor in the USMC as a radio operator, enduring many hardships in Vietnam including rocket attacks and nearly being overrun at Da Nang during the Tet Offensive in 1968.  He even took liberty in Tokyo, where I would later live most of my life.  We both got a kick out of that.  Beyond just being a warrior, Tim was a kind and gentle man.  He was a loving husband and father, and the best big brother anyone could ever hope for.  He knew everything I wish I knew.

When my foster dad retired and took my foster mom away from Chicago to live in the milder climate of Reno, NV, she tasked Tim to look after me, which he did with great care and concern.  He always had a place for me at his table and good advice from his vast knowledge and life experience.  He was the father I always wished I could have had.  I could listen to him for hours and I learned something whenever he spoke.

After I graduated from college in 1992, I lived on his screened back porch for a summer, spending my days lost among the many books in his vast collection and enjoying long, cool evenings listening to him play his folk guitar and harmonica.  In January 1993 I was back in Japan, this time for good.  After my oldest son, George, was born (and named after him), he used to say "The Georges" in our family were all "destined for greatness" and list up all the many things he was planning to teach his nephew once he retired and moved further west to a farm he was planning to buy.  It never happened.

One day in 2007 as he shaved and got ready for work he had a massive stroke, followed by several heart attacks that were finally more than he could bear.  He never woke up.  By the time I got to Chicago he was already gone.  He died far too young at only 61 years old.  Several hundred people attended his funeral from the school district, VFW, bowling league, folk music club and so on,  a testament to his far-reaching positive impact in so many peoples' lives.  He is buried near his home in West Chicago.  I was devastated.  I still am.

Tim used to say sometimes, "what are they gonna do, send me back to Vietnam?" meaning that the worst that could ever happen would have been trivial compared to what he had to go through in war as a marine.  It was many years before he was public about his service, ultimately marching in VFW parades and for POW MIA support with other veterans.  I hope he finally found peace and forgave our country for not honoring him the way they had our relatives who fought in WW2 and in Korea.  He deserved better but never complained.

Day by day we all face our challenges.  We struggle at work and school, we worry about our relationships and our bank accounts.  It's a seemingly never-ending battle to get ahead in this tough world.  Tim's words always ring true for me.  I think about the hardest challenges I've ever faced - trying for 10 years to get to Japan; working full-time while going to college full-time trying to get my education; setting up my life in a new country with a new language and culture; my wife's battle with cancer; losing my foster parents.  Truth be told, nothing could ever hurt worse than losing Tim, my guiding light.

It's been 12 years since you left, but I hope you will never stop being my guardian angel.  I miss you Big Brother.