On April 3rd, 2019, after
years of contemplating, I went down to the St. Johns County Court House and
appeared before Judge John M. Alexander to restore my legal name. When I was born,
my name was Richard Mark Allison and on April 3rd, I restored it
back to that name. My mother, Donna and my father, Billy Joe Allison were
married at very young ages. He was 21 and she was only 19 years old. A year
later, I was born. Shortly thereafter, they divorced.
My
mother quickly remarried a man from Sardis, Mississippi named Hillman Johnson.
They were married when I was only two years old, so as you can imagine, Hillman
was the father that I grew up with and the only father that I knew. Hillman and
my mother went on to have three children together named Sharri, David and Gary.
Unfortunately, my brother David was killed in a car wreck at age 32 back in
1993. Hillman passed away a few years later in 1996 at the age 57 of cancer. I
miss them both dearly.
I
can vividly remember my first day of school at Meadowcliff Elementary School
when my mother pulled me aside and told me that she had changed my name to
Richard Allison Johnson. I also remember crying about it. I didn’t like it at
all. I knew my name to be Richard Mark Allison and I didn’t want my name to
change. Truth be told, I have been mad about it ever since. I always had a
problem with my name being changed. Looking back, I had a hard time believing
that my father Bill signed off on an adoption when I was six years old. I was
told on more than one occasion that I was adopted by Hillman Johnson. I never
really thought to ask Hillman about it. I just took my mother’s word for it.
A
few years ago, I looked into the process for legally changing my name. In St.
Johns County, the court’s instructions said that I had to get the original
court order of any previous name change if I was wanting to restore a former
name. A few years ago, I decided to contact the State of Arkansas and get a
copy of the court order for what I thought would be my adoption papers where my
name was changed. When I got the court order, I was stunned by what I found. I
was never adopted. My mother simply had changed my name. All this time, I had
thought that I was adopted. My mother didn’t change it when I was in the first
grade, either. She changed it when I was about to go into Catholic High School
for Boys when I was almost 15 years old! Everything that I had been told about
when my name was changed, the fact that I was adopted, how Bill Allison had
signed off on the adoption, all of these statements were simply not true. Even
my sister Tami Allison thought that I was adopted. Tami had told me how upset
my father was when my name was changed. He had just moved to Arkansas around
this time, too. I’m not sure if that was a factor, or whether my mother had to
change it to get me into Catholic High. My elementary and junior high records
were under Richard Allison Johnson and I needed to have that name in order to
gain admittance into Catholic High. That is my best guess.
Quite
simply, I was flabbergasted by what I had discovered. Of course, my first
thoughts were the universe needs to be restored and that meant that my birth
name needed to be restored. However, I did not want to hurt the feelings of my
mother. I am sure she thought she was doing the best thing for me. Plus, I did
not want to hurt my Johnson siblings by them jumping to conclusions that I was
favoring my Allison siblings over them. So, I gave it all very thoughtful
deliberation. I spent a couple of years thinking about it, in fact. I finally
came to the conclusion that it has nothing to do with my mother, or my Johnson
or Allison siblings. My first son’s name was Reese Cannon Johnson and he died
of SIDS in 1989 and I certainly gave a lot of thought to restoring my former
name, because of him, too. After, all I could not change Reese’s last name, or
rightfully expect my wife Natalie, son Marshall and daughter Rudi to change
their names, because of what at first glance may seem like a “hair brained
idea” to most people. In the end, my reason for changing my name is out of
respect for my father Billy Joe Allison. Pure and simple. He was a true
American hero and I think most anyone would agree with me learning the facts
about his life.
My
father Bill joined the Army in February of 1950 when he was only 15 years old. He
joined the Army and quickly went off to fight in the Korean War. Imagine
serving in the Korean War as a teenager! All Korean War Veterans received
medals and decorations not only from the U.S., but also from the Republic of
Korea (South Korea) and the United Nations. Bill served eleven months and eighteen
days in Korea. I am still trying to piece together his Korean War Army record,
because as some of you may be aware, there was a fire in St. Louis that
destroyed almost all the Army records prior to 1973. As a result, I am on a
scavenger hunt looking for clues.
My
father was born in Cabot, Arkansas and after serving six years and six months in
the Army, he decided to join the Air Force as his marriage with my mother was
ending. I am still investigating this fact, but I believe that he literally
walked out of the Army right into the Air Force without much time in between on
September 10, 1956. I was born about two weeks after he joined the Air Force. Bill
was awarded several medals and decorations during his time in the military. He spent a total of ten years, six months and six days
serving his country which amounted to a significant portion of his life as you
will see later.
There
were a lot of family dynamics in place in September of 1956 that kind of forced
Bill and Donna towards divorce. About all my mother would ever tell me about it
was there was some infidelity involved and that was her reason for getting a
divorce. However, I do believe my grandfather was a major influence too. He was
the domineering type. I am sure that he did not want his 20-year-old and only daughter
to leave Arkansas and her family with a new born baby.
Bill
Allison, like my mother, remarried right away. He married his second wife Margaret
also when I was two years old. This was not exactly the activity of a
womanizing philanderer. If he was that kind of individual, he would have never
jumped into another marriage. Instead, he would have spent his 20’s chasing
women, don’t you think? This did not happen. I am sure my mother was
heartbroken at the time that her marriage to Bill didn’t work out, but in
retrospect, there are a whole lot of people in both the Johnson and Allison
families that would have never existed
if they did not get divorced. Children and grandchildren specifically. Think
about that for a moment. Sometimes things happen for a reason. A lot of very good
people came into being as a result of Bill and Donna’s divorce, so their
divorce turned out to be a blessing! It was all part of God’s plan.
When
Bill was in the Air Force, he was an aircraft electrician and mechanic. I am still researching
this fact, but I believe that he was stationed at Big Springs Air Force Base
which was later renamed to Webb Air Force Base in Big Springs, Texas. Bill met
Margaret while in Big Springs and they had their first child, Tami. After a
short stint in Midland, Texas, they moved to Arroyo Grande, California to be
with the rest of Bill’s family. Bill and Margaret went on to have a son named
Jon and another daughter named Kelly who were both born in California. After
moving to Arroyo Grande, Bill became a police officer. After several years, the
Chief of Police position became available in a nearby city, Grover Beach and my
father applied for it and was awarded the job. Now you and I both know that not
just anyone gets a Chief of Police position. There has to be a lot of good
qualities to get a job like that. Leadership, respect among peers and others,
not to mention the politics involved. Obviously, Bill Allison fit those requirements
and knew how to navigate the political aspect of it.
As
I was growing up in the Johnson family, I never had any contact with Bill
Allison. I suspect it was because my mother, in her mind, was protecting me in
some way. I can understand that, but how I wish it was not that way. Her relationship
with him was so short, so I always wondered, what did she really know about
him? After all, they were not even married for two years. Her knowledge of him had
to be very limited. My mother was not the source of information that I needed.
When
I was starting high school, Bill Allison accepted the Chief of Police job in
Camden, Arkansas. I was told later by my sister Tami that he wanted to have a
relationship with me when I turned eighteen years of age. His wife Margaret also verified this fact to me. At that point, I
would be free to make my own decisions. Of course, I would have loved to have
met my father and gotten to know him. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He passed away when I was finishing my senior
year of high school. I was 17 years old at the time. Bill was only 39 years old
when he died. I will never forget his funeral. If you have never seen a police
officer’s funeral in person, let me tell you it is quite a spectacle. The thing
that made such an impression on me at the time was the local police and
especially, the Arkansas State Police in attendance. It was quite an impressive
turnout. It was like all of the Arkansas State Police was at his funeral.
This
was the only time that I was able to see my father. My first encounter with him
was when he was lying in that casket with his Chief of Police uniform on. I touched
him and immediately began to cry. I cried for what was lost between us. The
missed opportunity. We were both in the State of Arkansas. So close, yet so far
away. Bill did not get a chance to meet me as he had hoped and planned on. Tami
had told me one time that whenever they had talked about the three kids in the
Allison family, he would always correct them and remind them that there was one
more Allison kid, …Ricky.
Being born in 1934, a soldier in Korea in the
early 1950’s, and a paratrooper, these Army guys tended to smoke cigarettes. A
lot of cigarettes in fact. Of course, cigarettes back then were not very good
for you as we all know today. He smoked as a teenager until his death at age 39
when he died from atherosclerosis. He was having chest pains while at Oaklawn
Park in Hot Springs, Arkansas and they took him to the hospital. The doctors at
the hospital told him that he had a heart attack and he was going to have to
change his diet, quit smoking and reduce stress. When they came back into his hospital
room later to check on him, he had died. His parents requested an autopsy,
because they could not believe it. After all, 39-year old men do not drop dead
ordinarily. That kind of thing that had not happened before in the Allison
family tree. I got a copy of the autopsy report myself, because I wanted to see
it, too. If this would have happened to him today, they would have put a few stents
in him, or done bypass surgery and he still would have been around, but it was
1974. Things were different back then. The sad reality.
Imagine
if you will, growing up wanting to know your father, but never having the
opportunity. Let me tell you. It is an awful feeling. All I ever got out of my
mother was the infidelity story. I have never been swayed that he was a bad
person. His actions prove otherwise. I knew in my heart that he was not a bad
person. In my mind, he was instead the opposite of that, an American hero. The
fact that I never knew or met my father has always been a black hole in my
life. I’ve always called it “the black hole”, because there is so much
information that I would love to know. In an attempt to try and fill this black
hole, I went about trying to piece things together on my own. It first started well
over twenty years ago when I reached out to my Aunt Betty. I wrote her a letter
and said that I would like to meet my sisters, Tami, Kelly and brother Jon
Allison. We ended up meeting and it was kind of like the show Long Lost Family, if you have ever watched
it.
Like
any family, the Allison side of my family has had our share of tragedies. Tami
died at age 53 of Lupus and other complications and in March of 2019, my 54-year-old
brother Jon died of a heart attack. Jon was a smoker and I cannot tell you how
many times that I told him to quit smoking, but to no avail. It is hard to quit
those cigarettes. They killed my father and now my brother Jon. About four
years ago, Jon had major bypass surgery, but shortly thereafter, resumed his
smoking. Jon was such a sweet soul and loved golfing, fishing and his little
dog Whoopi. I probably have 500 pictures of that stinking dog in my phone. I went
to California with my sister Kelly the first week of May for his Celebration of
Life ceremony. Jon was so happy to have a big brother and I was so happy to be
his big brother. The last time that I texted Jon was on the anniversary of our
dad’s death. I had sent him a picture of our dad that I had edited with Adobe
Photoshop. How’s that for goosebumps? Perhaps, our
dad wanted to bring him home.
His
Celebration of Life was sad at first but ended well as I got to meet his close
friends and hear a lot of stories about Jon’s life in California. He had some
good friends, a lot of whom were British guys. He used to work at some British
Auto shops there in San Luis Obispo and those guys came over to Dena’s house
(Jon’s wife) and told some stories and shared some laughs. I wish I could have
visited Jon more often. The miles between us made it difficult.
Now,
let me ask you something. What if your father wanted to serve his country and
joined the Army at the age of 15? What if he knew a war was going on yet joined
the Army anyway? What if you knew he was a brave-as-they-come paratrooper who
jumped out of those airplanes probably built in the 1940’s? What if he was a
decorated Korean War Veteran with a 10 plus year military career? What if your
father spent the rest of his life in law enforcement and he was the Chief of
Police in not one, but two different cities? Finally, what if you knew he was a
dedicated family man and loved his children, even a son that he never knew?
Let
me ask you. If you were his son, wouldn’t you be proud to bear his surname of
Allison? I have a Bachelor of Arts in Criminal Justice that I earned at age 60 in
honor of him and his dedication to his career in law enforcement. Today, I have
the honor and privilege of bearing his last name once again. I am the son of an
American hero. Why shouldn’t I be proud of that? Now you know why I changed my
name back to Richard Mark Allison. The universe has been restored to its former
glory.
Richard Mark
Allison
Proud son of Billy Joe Allison
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