Douglas Edward Schwartz

Memories with Granddad

We have fond memories of visiting Michael’s granddad, Douglas Schwartz and Ramona in California. We could always count on yummy food, daily walks, and visits to Chinatown. Douglas always took us to his favorite Mexican restaurant, Celia’s. The mariachi band always came right up to our table just as Doug would predict. Doug and Ramona would drive us down highway 1, purchase fresh artichokes and cook them for us. He was quite the cook! We loved our daily walks with Douglas and Ramona. One of our favorite places to walk was a nearby lagoon. The breeze coming from the direction of the bay was so rejuvenating and the discussions stimulating. When Douglas and Ramona learned that I spoke Cantonese, they made sure we took a day trip to Chinatown to a favorite Chinese imports shop and wanted me to have a chance to speak with their Chinese friends. We had similar interests in Chinese pottery and jade décor. After Ramona’s death, Douglas moved to Utah to be closer to family. This gave our children more opportunities to get to know their great Granddad. He loved watching our kids grow. There are two memories that our family cherishes. Once we snuck into his apartment dressed like ninjas and “heart attacked” his bedroom by placing hearts all around his room. He was shocked that we’d gotten past him without him knowing. Another time we visited him on Veterans Day dressed up like marines. We thanked him for his service, and he shared some tender memories he had from his time serving in World War II. We also sang a few of his favorite songs with him, one being “Sentimental Journey”. We cannot hear the song without thinking of Granddad Schwartz. We love and miss you Douglas, very much. Love, Danielle and family

Spencer Harmon Family · 1w

Soldier, Husband, Father, Grandfather and the greatest Storyteller.

I grew up the second of six boys from my grandfather's oldest daughter, Karen. Mom told us a lot of stories about her dad that included him standing his ground when needed, showing kindness with a stern hand to his daughters, and his Portuguese descent being the reason we are such good storytellers and have "the gift of gab." When she talked about him her eyes lit up; he was her hero and she wanted us to "feel" her memories so we could share in her adoration. He and Grandma (Ramona) lived in Burlingame, California while we were growing up. Because they lived two states away, we didn't get to see them as often as we would have liked. But they made a lot of effort to be involved in our lives, including multiple trips to Utah and flying each one of us out to spend some quality time with them. I distinctly remember on my trip to California as a 10- to 12-year-old (I think), we were having dinner at a local spaghetti spot. Some friends came up to the table to introduce themselves to his grandsons. I don't remember what was said, but I remember how he made me feel like I was part of the pride that contributed to his happiness. Grandpa faced the intensity of Peleliu during World War II, answering a call that required immense courage and sacrifice. When I joined the service at 18, I don't remember him expressing much of an opinion about me joining. It wasn't until over a decade later, after coming home from a tough deployment, that he and I sat and talked about our service stories. He understood the weight of those stories, and it's the only time I ever remember his storytelling being minimized to poignant details. Grandpa was defined by a quiet, effortless charm. I'll never forget how quickly he made my wife feel accepted when she felt like an outsider. That was the essence of him—a combination of wit, a warm smile, and an intangible spark that drew people in. That isn't to say that he couldn't throw a few words together and put you in your place where you stood. It was all part of that clever wit, and you knew to respect it. He stood on a platform of integrity. In fact, he always claimed to be 6 feet tall, but it would have taken at least a few inches of that platform to get him there. Our family made several summer trips to California to visit. On one of those trips, I remember him telling us as we entered his home that there wasn't any candy allowed in the house. When we were getting ready to drive back home to Utah at the end of this visit, I got the bright idea to go to a local market and buy a bunch of candy for the trip. As we were packing up to leave, he walked in, saw that I had the candy, took it away from me, and threw it away. Of course, as an immature boy, I was very upset, but this was an opportunity for him to teach me that rules weren't open to interpretation. He could have bent the rules because we didn't see him very often, and I'm sure he knew this would leave a lasting impression on our relationship. Of course, it took some growing up for me to understand, but the lesson on integrity stuck with me. If you read the rest of these contributions to his story, you'll find that he had plenty of reasons to get down on his circumstances during his lifetime. I can't remember the exact words, but he frequently spoke about earning your place. Education and loyalty were very important to him. He was exemplary, and he knew his actions would leave an impression that was more valuable than the current situation. Grandpa's 37 years with United Airlines weren't just a career; his decades in the airline industry gave him a global perspective, and I see that same wanderlust in myself. I have lived my life with that same compass, always looking for the next place to explore. It's a wonderful realization to know that the sense of adventure I feel isn't just mine—it's inherited.

Genevieve Sanchez 2w

Grandad made me feel special

The older I get, the more I get to know my Great Grandpa. Like details of his career, his family, his time in the military, his charm and generosity. But when I look back at my time with him I didn’t need to know those details. I knew his heart. I knew that as a little girl I felt safe in his arms. I could sit on his lap all evening and he would let me. He made me feel seen despite having so many grandkids and great grandkids he made me feel like the only one in the room. Hearing stories about him now, I know he had a gift of making everyone feel that way. I was recently given an old letter from him to me by my Grandma (Karen). I’ll cherish it forever. He spoke to a 5 yr old as if my problems were just as serious as his. I think of him often. I love you Great Grandpa!

Kristen Harmon 2w

Classy. Bright. Charming. Doug.

I had the pleasure of knowing and loving Granddad Schwartz when his grandson, Glenn Harmon, and I married in 2004. That first year of marriage while Glenn was in school, I would sit on Glenn's office floor while he did homework and read aloud Doug's memoirs. We both loved it. To us, Granddad was larger than life. When we would see him in person- he seemed to float a little and just have a certain charm. He was always kind to me, and generous in praise. He was also immensely generous in sharing flight tickets with us poor college kids with a baby. We got to fly up to Sacramento on his buddy passes one year that were part of his retirement package. I remember we were to dress up because we would be representing United Airlines as we flew. Each Christmas, Granddad would send a Christmas check. It was HUGE ($1000 or $500 depending on the pension year). We were young, financially strapped college kids with a baby and his check paid for our whole Christmas. I would like to say he had no idea how much it helped, but I bet he did. He just had that generous heart that was happy to do it. I remember him in Legacy Retirement home, spry and clever and lively. His brief marriage to his third wife Rayma turned more to a friendship with lots of Family History and geneaology work together. He joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was about 85 years old, his first wife's faith and the faith of his two daughters, Karen and Christin. Two sister missionaries taught him, and we should have known he would have a soft spot for the girls after years of efforts from others to teach and share with him. Towards the end of his life, he would tease "I'll come back and let you know if it was all true." Others will no doubt cover the stories of his memoirs, but things I remember him teaching in it: Make your boss look good and it will be good for you too. He will look for ways to promote you. Don't take 'no' for an answer. As a widower with two young girls, he answered a 'Room for Rent' ad for an elderly woman who was looking for a female tenant. He told her about his situation, proposed she could help with the girls a bit, and he could pay the rent. She said no. He said something about 'Let's meet up', and soon he was on her doorstep to have her meet his two darling daughters and the rest was history. They lived several happy years with her and she adored Karen and Chris. Really, don't take 'no' for an answer. After losing his first wife, Nancy, when the girls were young, Doug eventually set eyes on a beautiful flight stewardess names Ramona. I hear it took many years of dating and many proposals before getting a final 'yes' to start their happy marriage of 30+ years. At the end of her life, she was tragically hit with Lou Gehrig's disease. From what I have been told, Doug was a loving and faithful caretaker to her throughout the difficult decline. He loved her deeply. You can't keep a good man down. When I knew Doug, he had lost two wives to tragic passings, raised two young girls without a spouse while advancing his career, was beginning to age himself (you couldn't tell), and even eventually moved in with Karen for respite care as he dealt with the lung cancer that eventually took his life. But to talk with Doug, he was just the luckiest man alive and had the most blessed life. He let the bad melt away and put a spotlight and halo on all the good parts. I watch this trait carry out in his genes with my mother-in-law, Karen, and my husband, Glenn- and it makes me both smile and tear up. We miss Granddad Doug. We're looking forward to seeing him again with that charming smile and sparkle in his eye that told you this was going to be good. -Kristen Harmon, Granddaughter-in-law

Glenn Harmon 5w

Cousins trip to Burlingame.

One of my favorite memories of Grandad is that he and Grandma lived far enough away from their grandchildren that they didn’t get to have many one-on-one experiences with us while we were growing up. Because of that, they made it a priority to bring one or two grandchildren at a time out to visit and spend some good time with them. I remember visiting their house in Burlingame, California, with my cousin Greg Watson, and loving absolutely every minute of it. I knew that Grandad was an accomplished artist—or at least, in my mind, he was—and I wanted to be like him. Today, I’m a working artist, and I attribute part of that to the confidence I gained from seeing an artist in my own family. I knew that because Grandad was an artist, I could be an artist too. I remember going downstairs into his basement, where he would paint his portraits. He would set up easels for Greg and me so we could paint right alongside him. The smell of oils and paint thinner, mixed with the musty air of a seventy-year-old house, is still easy for me to recall. We would work together in his “studio,” taking breaks for meals and episodes of Where in the World Is Carmen San Diego? None of the paintings or projects I worked on there have stood the test of time. But the memory has. More importantly, the confidence that came from those experiences is still with me today. Grandad didn’t just let me spend time in his studio. In a small but lasting way, he showed me that I could become an artist too.

Epitome of the greatest generation

I am one of 10 grandsons (and no granddaughters) of Douglas Schwartz. Born 3rd to his oldest daughter, I knew him for 40 years before his passing and have many wonderful memories of this businessman, family man, and big tease. A few minutes reflecting and the memories start flooding in, beginning with my trip as an 8-year-old to California with cousin Don, all the way to our most recent visit with our 4 children to Grandpa and his 4th wife Rayma at Legacy retirement complex in South Jordan, Utah. But a few choice experiences neither of us will forget...these have got to be made available to the Schwartz progeny, because the humor of one and importance of others really illustrates the mark he made on us all. Grandpa Schwartz took a long road trip with Mom and Dad to visit us while we were working in Boise for a semiconductor company. Our first home was tiny and older, but it was shiny to us, and we were so excited to show him. It was a hot summer, and I planned to put up a fan above the dining table in the kitchen that weekend. Dad was excited to help, and I knew I needed him to install it. Dad and I started the installation the Friday afternoon after Grandpa arrived. In preparation for this, I had already been to the store and bought the fan and a brace to fit between studs for reinforcement. One look at the brace and Dad said we didn't need it. To secure the brace, we'd have to make a considerable cut in the ceiling drywall and do a lot of patchwork afterward. I looked at Grandpa Schwartz, hoping for some rebuttal that would get my Dad to reconsider the brace so I wouldn't have this fan dropping on my kitchen table someday in the middle of a fine meal. All I got from my trusty Grandpa was a shrug that said, "I won't have to eat under it very often, I'm staying out of this one!" Installation was simple because we didn't use the brace. But I found myself bracing to catch the contraption throughout the procedure. Dad reminded me of the many fans he'd installed over the years, still hanging in his family room and bedroom. I suspected he invented a few other locations to bolster his case. Each quick glance at my grandpa was a plea for interjection. But Grandpa seemed as confident in Dad's idea as Dad was. Then it was breakfast time the next morning and Danielle was putting the food on the table...underneath a freshly installed, heavy looking fan. Dad didn't even hesitate, eating his breakfast in confidence. But my Grandpa kept cracking jokes about my lack of confidence! "Hey Mike, want some fan in your pancakes?" "Danielle, it’s getting hot in here, any way to get a breeze flowing through the kitchen?" Those jokes didn't end for months after his visit, but I also remember him taking a few quick glances up at the fan to make sure he saw it falling, if it ever did while he was under it! Last report on my way out of the house to getting into the moving van and get my family to our new home in American Fork, the fan was still hanging without the brace! There has always been this thing about being a Schwartz. Having ancestry from a small island in the Atlantic, our family changed their Portuguese surname from Suarez to Schwartz upon entering America, and the charisma with which our Grandpa conducted himself, it brought me pride to think of myself as 1/8th Portuguese. Mom would often comment on physical features that were telltale signs of the passing of the mythical Suarez blood from generation to generation. At first, pointing out my daughter Megan's dark hair, her resemblance to her grandmother, and the characteristic skin on the back of her arms was simply a fun way of tracing the family's Azorean genes. But as Megan grew older, a friendship developed between great grandfather and great granddaughter I could only hope for. When Grandpa decided to be baptized as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, Megan and I started talking about the possibility of asking him to baptize her when she reached 8 years old. No convincing was needed. She could think of no better way to remember accepting the gospel of Jesus Christ than to have her Grandfather Schwartz perform the ordinance. This moment in Megan's life has become a highlight she won't forget. She feels she has a special bond with her grandfather. Seeing the star power Megan's baptism produced, Jordan told us he was still thinking about which celebrity he would choose to baptize him! I have had to do some fancy footwork to get him to consider his dad! But probably the most memorable event I have ever had with my grandpa, Douglas Edward Schwartz comes within the walls of the House of the Lord (temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints). I was given the honor of kneeling in proxy for his deceased son Douglas Mark while Grandpa's daughters and deceased first wife Nancy were sealed to him for time and all eternity. In my own marriage, the sealing ordinance was viewed more as a marriage than an eternal institution any future children would benefit from. But seeing this great man with his two daughters and his 4th wife Rayma also participating as proxy for first wife Nancy, the importance of the sealing of a family pierced my heart. I felt the gravity of the situation needed to find its way into my journal. He was one of my heroes. I admire those who served in World War Il, but his business savvy, deep love for our family, and his very active post-retirement lifestyle have always been something for me to shoot for in my life. I cherished our friendship and that he spent his final years near us in Utah. He always treated my wife and children with approval and delight. Near the end of his life my wife, 5 children and I visited him as he lived with my parents. By this time, he was thinning and often tired. But we dressed in sailor clothes and serenaded him like he'd told us Gertrude Niesen sang to him and the other GIs returning from World War II. His eyes lit up, took each great grandchild onto his lap and asked for a picture with each in costume, then retold the story of that marvelous return to the US, with pride in his heart for his beloved country and family. He truly was the epitome of the greatest generation.

Ty Harmon 6w

Bacon for Ol' Tippecanoe

Grandad was easy to admire. He was charismatic, well-spoken, and always seemed so put-together. He had a debonair confidence about him that seemed like an artifact of having grown up in the age of crooners, cufflinks, and fedoras that silently followed him around. Grandad had a way with words and a wickedly versatile eyebrow that could perfectly accentuate a piercing stare of interrogation or punctuate a clever line with charming vibrato. Grandad always seemed dressed to impress. Everything he wore seemed like it either came directly from a Brooks Brothers catalog or fresh from the dry cleaners that morning - clean, pressed, and sharp. He was always clean-shaven, always had his hair combed, and always seemed ready with a smart or witty thing to say. Even with all of that, Grandad was playful and loving. Before I was a teenager, I remember him visiting our house one weekend with Grandma. They’d flown in the night before and had stayed in some hotel close to our house. I remember waking up that Saturday morning to the blissful aroma of sizzling bacon and being excited to discover they'd already arrived. Grandad was the one standing in the kitchen with his shirt sleeves rolled perfectly up to his elbows, and sporting silly “kiss the cook” apron, and tending to a griddle full of browning pancakes. “Good Mornin’, Ol’ Tippecanoe!” That was me. For as long as I could remember, I was Grandad’s “Ol’ Tippecanoe and Tyler too.” I didn’t even understand the reference until I’d moved out of the house years later, but I loved it when he called me that anyway. It was his name for me. It was just his and my thing. Because I have five brothers, breakfast food always seemed like it was in short supply. It didn’t matter whether it was marshmallow-ladened cereal, toaster strudels, or pop tarts. Everyone loved it, so it always went fast. You either grabbed yours fast or went without. As I was settling into my chair at the kitchen table and started helping myself to the stack of warm pancakes, I did a quick scan of the table’s surface for bacon. I could smell it, but I hadn’t seen it yet. As I buttered and drenched my pancakes in maple syrup, I suddenly occurred to me that I had probably gotten out of bed too late. It looked very likely that all the bacon had already been eaten. “You snooze, you lose,” I heard my older brothers tease in my head. I didn’t want to look like this bothered me, so I just kept my eyes down as they welled with tears. The pancakes were good, of course. They’d been warm, filling, and covered in sugary goodness, and yet somehow, the mere prospect of having been deprived of bacon left a subtle sting that threatened to ruin the morning. Looking back, I can see what an ungrateful brat I was being, but in that moment, it mattered and I was just hurt. As everyone else started clearing the table and getting ready to clean the kitchen before getting ready for the rest of the day’s activities, I looked over and saw a glint in Grandad’s eye. He raised that signature eyebrow at me and coyly mused, “You didn’t think I’d forget YOUR bacon, did you, Ol' Tippecanoe?” As if by magic, he produced 3 strips of perfectly cooked bacon on a plate covered in grease-spotted paper towels. At Grandad's funeral, I shared a poem I wrote that helped me process our relationship: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NwyX28Q3SjqB2YY97MOPbbABqNnY2Fw7LYYs8zpVifA/edit?usp=sharing