Carl Frederick Martin was born March 27, 1944, at St Agnes Hospital in Fresno, California. He was the fifth and youngest of the children of Earl Stanley Martin; with older siblings being sister Kay Ann, 13, sister Nancy Gene, 10, brother John Thomson, or “Tommy”, 7, and brother Peter David, age 5. He had a special relationship with his mother, Mabel Thomson Martin, as he was the “baby” of the family by several years. The family had moved to Fresno in 1943 when Carl’s Dad had been assigned to Camp Pinedale. Carl Hatfield was a young enlisted carpenter on duty at camp Pinedale, and he and his wife Thelma (who was called “Butch” by all her friends) became dear friends of Mabel and Stanley Martin. The joke was that since the Martins claimed ancestry in the McCoy family, the old “Hatfields and McCoy’s” feud would always be a source of humor for them. It was Carl Hatfield for whom Carl Martin was named, and Thelma, or “Butch”, was the nurse in attendance at his birth.
In October of 1945 Carl’s Dad completed his military service and the family packed to move back to Terre Haute, Indiana. On the way back, they stopped in Colorado to visit relatives, and decided to rent a home and stay there a while. By February of 1946 the trip to Indiana was continued, and the family stayed with Carl’s grandmother, Mom Thomson. After a short time in the cold weather, the family was longing for California sunshine, and moved back to California, this time to a house in Vallejo and then one in Napa. The family was moving frequently, one rental home to another, and by 1949 were back in Vallejo, where Carl attended preschool and early elementary school, then to Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, where Carl continued his schooling, usually attending at or near the schools where his mother taught.
Like many little boys, Carl had his share of mishaps and illnesses, though in his case there were some pretty dramatic accidents. Before he was two, Carl picked up a bottle of ant poisoning and drank it, and got to explore the discomforts of a stomach pump. The next year , in Indiana, he ran out in front of his brothers’ “spear-throwing contest”- they were using bamboo fishing rods as spears- and one was embedded in Carl’s forehead about ½ inch; so Carl had to endure being stitched up by the doctor. In 1949 Carl was hit in the eye with a piece of walnut shell. It did enough damage that he was blind in that eye for 2 or 3 years, but then his eyesight gradually returned, and with the help of glasses was eventually completely corrected. And even more dramatic- when the family was driving back to Indiana on vacation in 1957, thirteen year old Carl was pulled out from underneath the car when it rolled down an embankment, and amazingly came out of it with many scrapes, cuts and bruises but no major injuries. He did get more than sixty stitches, some internal. His mother had a severe neck injury and spent the next 3 months in traction! It’s easy to see that from the start, Carl was a risk-taker and a survivor.
In those early years Carl had many opportunities to enjoy visits to parks and beaches, as many of the family outings were picnics to some of the beautiful places on the west coast, including such landmarks as Armstrong Redwoods, Bodega Bay, and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and Playland-at-the Beach. He traveled many times with the family on different routes across the country to visit relatives in the Midwest. He loved to read, and his mother brags in her memoirs that he tested at an eleventh grade level in reading and comprehension when he was only in the fourth grade. He took violin lessons, then decided he preferred accordion lessons, and though he did well with both, his interest drifted from music “performance” more into music “appreciation”. He enjoyed exploring how things worked, and liked to take things apart and hopefully reassemble them in working order. In his memoirs Carl’s dad talks about Carl’s great interest in electronics when he was in high school, which was later reflected in his accomplishments in the military. Many letters to his folks, from relatives back east who had met Carl on road trips, describe him as very polite, pleasant and helpful.
In 1961 Carl enlisted in the United States Navy. His training was at the San Diego Naval Training Center, then at the Electronics Prep School at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois; then at the Kirtland Air Force Base/Sandia Nuclear Weapons School in Albuquerque, where he became a Nuclear Weaponsman Seaman Apprentice. His first tour was as a Gunner’s Mate Technician on the USS Kittyhawk Aircraft Carrier. He also had assignments on the USS Bon Homme Richard, the USS Hancock, and the USS Oriskany. In between those assignments he spent a little more than a year working at the Torpedo Shop at Whidbey Island, and managed to get ten days’ leave to join all the family for an extended reunion of the Martins in the summer of 1966 in Terre Haute, Indiana. He completed his naval service in 1969.
For those who remember the sixties, we can see the “hippie” qualities that Carl seemed to continue through his life; he had a casual and comfortable lifestyle, and he lived gently and simply, with a smile. He enjoyed the beauty of nature, simple pleasures, and preferred quiet relationships to larger crowds or groups. He carried many good memories of his travels around this country and the world, and all the people he had met and visited. He had the pride of being a veteran of the United States Navy. Although his own family life began later in his life than with some people, still he was able to celebrate the joy of his 25th anniversary with Kathy in March of this year, and has shared precious time with his daughter Stephanie and seen her grow to be a sweet young woman of whom Carl was very proud.
In his poem “Sea Fever”, John Masefield said
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by;
And the wheel’s kick, and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
Carl will be sincerely missed and lovingly remembered by his family and friends.
In October of 1945 Carl’s Dad completed his military service and the family packed to move back to Terre Haute, Indiana. On the way back, they stopped in Colorado to visit relatives, and decided to rent a home and stay there a while. By February of 1946 the trip to Indiana was continued, and the family stayed with Carl’s grandmother, Mom Thomson. After a short time in the cold weather, the family was longing for California sunshine, and moved back to California, this time to a house in Vallejo and then one in Napa. The family was moving frequently, one rental home to another, and by 1949 were back in Vallejo, where Carl attended preschool and early elementary school, then to Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, where Carl continued his schooling, usually attending at or near the schools where his mother taught.
Like many little boys, Carl had his share of mishaps and illnesses, though in his case there were some pretty dramatic accidents. Before he was two, Carl picked up a bottle of ant poisoning and drank it, and got to explore the discomforts of a stomach pump. The next year , in Indiana, he ran out in front of his brothers’ “spear-throwing contest”- they were using bamboo fishing rods as spears- and one was embedded in Carl’s forehead about ½ inch; so Carl had to endure being stitched up by the doctor. In 1949 Carl was hit in the eye with a piece of walnut shell. It did enough damage that he was blind in that eye for 2 or 3 years, but then his eyesight gradually returned, and with the help of glasses was eventually completely corrected. And even more dramatic- when the family was driving back to Indiana on vacation in 1957, thirteen year old Carl was pulled out from underneath the car when it rolled down an embankment, and amazingly came out of it with many scrapes, cuts and bruises but no major injuries. He did get more than sixty stitches, some internal. His mother had a severe neck injury and spent the next 3 months in traction! It’s easy to see that from the start, Carl was a risk-taker and a survivor.
In those early years Carl had many opportunities to enjoy visits to parks and beaches, as many of the family outings were picnics to some of the beautiful places on the west coast, including such landmarks as Armstrong Redwoods, Bodega Bay, and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and Playland-at-the Beach. He traveled many times with the family on different routes across the country to visit relatives in the Midwest. He loved to read, and his mother brags in her memoirs that he tested at an eleventh grade level in reading and comprehension when he was only in the fourth grade. He took violin lessons, then decided he preferred accordion lessons, and though he did well with both, his interest drifted from music “performance” more into music “appreciation”. He enjoyed exploring how things worked, and liked to take things apart and hopefully reassemble them in working order. In his memoirs Carl’s dad talks about Carl’s great interest in electronics when he was in high school, which was later reflected in his accomplishments in the military. Many letters to his folks, from relatives back east who had met Carl on road trips, describe him as very polite, pleasant and helpful.
In 1961 Carl enlisted in the United States Navy. His training was at the San Diego Naval Training Center, then at the Electronics Prep School at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois; then at the Kirtland Air Force Base/Sandia Nuclear Weapons School in Albuquerque, where he became a Nuclear Weaponsman Seaman Apprentice. His first tour was as a Gunner’s Mate Technician on the USS Kittyhawk Aircraft Carrier. He also had assignments on the USS Bon Homme Richard, the USS Hancock, and the USS Oriskany. In between those assignments he spent a little more than a year working at the Torpedo Shop at Whidbey Island, and managed to get ten days’ leave to join all the family for an extended reunion of the Martins in the summer of 1966 in Terre Haute, Indiana. He completed his naval service in 1969.
For those who remember the sixties, we can see the “hippie” qualities that Carl seemed to continue through his life; he had a casual and comfortable lifestyle, and he lived gently and simply, with a smile. He enjoyed the beauty of nature, simple pleasures, and preferred quiet relationships to larger crowds or groups. He carried many good memories of his travels around this country and the world, and all the people he had met and visited. He had the pride of being a veteran of the United States Navy. Although his own family life began later in his life than with some people, still he was able to celebrate the joy of his 25th anniversary with Kathy in March of this year, and has shared precious time with his daughter Stephanie and seen her grow to be a sweet young woman of whom Carl was very proud.
In his poem “Sea Fever”, John Masefield said
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by;
And the wheel’s kick, and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
Carl will be sincerely missed and lovingly remembered by his family and friends.
Carl Frederick Martin was born March 27, 1944, at St Agnes Hospital in Fresno, California. He was the fifth and youngest of the children of Earl Stanley Martin; with older siblings being sister Kay Ann, 13, sister Nancy Gene, 10, brother John Thomson, or “Tommy”, 7, and brother Peter David, age 5. He had a special relationship with his mother, Mabel Thomson Martin, as he was the “baby” of the family by several years. The family had moved to Fresno in 1943 when Carl’s Dad had been assigned to Camp Pinedale. Carl Hatfield was a young enlisted carpenter on duty at camp Pinedale, and he and his wife Thelma (who was called “Butch” by all her friends) became dear friends of Mabel and Stanley Martin. The joke was that since the Martins claimed ancestry in the McCoy family, the old “Hatfields and McCoy’s” feud would always be a source of humor for them. It was Carl Hatfield for whom Carl Martin was named, and Thelma, or “Butch”, was the nurse in attendance at his birth.
In October of 1945 Carl’s Dad completed his military service and the family packed to move back to Terre Haute, Indiana. On the way back, they stopped in Colorado to visit relatives, and decided to rent a home and stay there a while. By February of 1946 the trip to Indiana was continued, and the family stayed with Carl’s grandmother, Mom Thomson. After a short time in the cold weather, the family was longing for California sunshine, and moved back to California, this time to a house in Vallejo and then one in Napa. The family was moving frequently, one rental home to another, and by 1949 were back in Vallejo, where Carl attended preschool and early elementary school, then to Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, where Carl continued his schooling, usually attending at or near the schools where his mother taught.
Like many little boys, Carl had his share of mishaps and illnesses, though in his case there were some pretty dramatic accidents. Before he was two, Carl picked up a bottle of ant poisoning and drank it, and got to explore the discomforts of a stomach pump. The next year , in Indiana, he ran out in front of his brothers’ “spear-throwing contest”- they were using bamboo fishing rods as spears- and one was embedded in Carl’s forehead about ½ inch; so Carl had to endure being stitched up by the doctor. In 1949 Carl was hit in the eye with a piece of walnut shell. It did enough damage that he was blind in that eye for 2 or 3 years, but then his eyesight gradually returned, and with the help of glasses was eventually completely corrected. And even more dramatic- when the family was driving back to Indiana on vacation in 1957, thirteen year old Carl was pulled out from underneath the car when it rolled down an embankment, and amazingly came out of it with many scrapes, cuts and bruises but no major injuries. He did get more than sixty stitches, some internal. His mother had a severe neck injury and spent the next 3 months in traction! It’s easy to see that from the start, Carl was a risk-taker and a survivor.
In those early years Carl had many opportunities to enjoy visits to parks and beaches, as many of the family outings were picnics to some of the beautiful places on the west coast, including such landmarks as Armstrong Redwoods, Bodega Bay, and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and Playland-at-the Beach. He traveled many times with the family on different routes across the country to visit relatives in the Midwest. He loved to read, and his mother brags in her memoirs that he tested at an eleventh grade level in reading and comprehension when he was only in the fourth grade. He took violin lessons, then decided he preferred accordion lessons, and though he did well with both, his interest drifted from music “performance” more into music “appreciation”. He enjoyed exploring how things worked, and liked to take things apart and hopefully reassemble them in working order. In his memoirs Carl’s dad talks about Carl’s great interest in electronics when he was in high school, which was later reflected in his accomplishments in the military. Many letters to his folks, from relatives back east who had met Carl on road trips, describe him as very polite, pleasant and helpful.
In 1961 Carl enlisted in the United States Navy. His training was at the San Diego Naval Training Center, then at the Electronics Prep School at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois; then at the Kirtland Air Force Base/Sandia Nuclear Weapons School in Albuquerque, where he became a Nuclear Weaponsman Seaman Apprentice. His first tour was as a Gunner’s Mate Technician on the USS Kittyhawk Aircraft Carrier. He also had assignments on the USS Bon Homme Richard, the USS Hancock, and the USS Oriskany. In between those assignments he spent a little more than a year working at the Torpedo Shop at Whidbey Island, and managed to get ten days’ leave to join all the family for an extended reunion of the Martins in the summer of 1966 in Terre Haute, Indiana. He completed his naval service in 1969.
For those who remember the sixties, we can see the “hippie” qualities that Carl seemed to continue through his life; he had a casual and comfortable lifestyle, and he lived gently and simply, with a smile. He enjoyed the beauty of nature, simple pleasures, and preferred quiet relationships to larger crowds or groups. He carried many good memories of his travels around this country and the world, and all the people he had met and visited. He had the pride of being a veteran of the United States Navy. Although his own family life began later in his life than with some people, still he was able to celebrate the joy of his 25th anniversary with Kathy in March of this year, and has shared precious time with his daughter Stephanie and seen her grow to be a sweet young woman of whom Carl was very proud.
In his poem “Sea Fever”, John Masefield said
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by;
And the wheel’s kick, and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
Carl will be sincerely missed and lovingly remembered by his family and friends.
In October of 1945 Carl’s Dad completed his military service and the family packed to move back to Terre Haute, Indiana. On the way back, they stopped in Colorado to visit relatives, and decided to rent a home and stay there a while. By February of 1946 the trip to Indiana was continued, and the family stayed with Carl’s grandmother, Mom Thomson. After a short time in the cold weather, the family was longing for California sunshine, and moved back to California, this time to a house in Vallejo and then one in Napa. The family was moving frequently, one rental home to another, and by 1949 were back in Vallejo, where Carl attended preschool and early elementary school, then to Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, where Carl continued his schooling, usually attending at or near the schools where his mother taught.
Like many little boys, Carl had his share of mishaps and illnesses, though in his case there were some pretty dramatic accidents. Before he was two, Carl picked up a bottle of ant poisoning and drank it, and got to explore the discomforts of a stomach pump. The next year , in Indiana, he ran out in front of his brothers’ “spear-throwing contest”- they were using bamboo fishing rods as spears- and one was embedded in Carl’s forehead about ½ inch; so Carl had to endure being stitched up by the doctor. In 1949 Carl was hit in the eye with a piece of walnut shell. It did enough damage that he was blind in that eye for 2 or 3 years, but then his eyesight gradually returned, and with the help of glasses was eventually completely corrected. And even more dramatic- when the family was driving back to Indiana on vacation in 1957, thirteen year old Carl was pulled out from underneath the car when it rolled down an embankment, and amazingly came out of it with many scrapes, cuts and bruises but no major injuries. He did get more than sixty stitches, some internal. His mother had a severe neck injury and spent the next 3 months in traction! It’s easy to see that from the start, Carl was a risk-taker and a survivor.
In those early years Carl had many opportunities to enjoy visits to parks and beaches, as many of the family outings were picnics to some of the beautiful places on the west coast, including such landmarks as Armstrong Redwoods, Bodega Bay, and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and Playland-at-the Beach. He traveled many times with the family on different routes across the country to visit relatives in the Midwest. He loved to read, and his mother brags in her memoirs that he tested at an eleventh grade level in reading and comprehension when he was only in the fourth grade. He took violin lessons, then decided he preferred accordion lessons, and though he did well with both, his interest drifted from music “performance” more into music “appreciation”. He enjoyed exploring how things worked, and liked to take things apart and hopefully reassemble them in working order. In his memoirs Carl’s dad talks about Carl’s great interest in electronics when he was in high school, which was later reflected in his accomplishments in the military. Many letters to his folks, from relatives back east who had met Carl on road trips, describe him as very polite, pleasant and helpful.
In 1961 Carl enlisted in the United States Navy. His training was at the San Diego Naval Training Center, then at the Electronics Prep School at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois; then at the Kirtland Air Force Base/Sandia Nuclear Weapons School in Albuquerque, where he became a Nuclear Weaponsman Seaman Apprentice. His first tour was as a Gunner’s Mate Technician on the USS Kittyhawk Aircraft Carrier. He also had assignments on the USS Bon Homme Richard, the USS Hancock, and the USS Oriskany. In between those assignments he spent a little more than a year working at the Torpedo Shop at Whidbey Island, and managed to get ten days’ leave to join all the family for an extended reunion of the Martins in the summer of 1966 in Terre Haute, Indiana. He completed his naval service in 1969.
For those who remember the sixties, we can see the “hippie” qualities that Carl seemed to continue through his life; he had a casual and comfortable lifestyle, and he lived gently and simply, with a smile. He enjoyed the beauty of nature, simple pleasures, and preferred quiet relationships to larger crowds or groups. He carried many good memories of his travels around this country and the world, and all the people he had met and visited. He had the pride of being a veteran of the United States Navy. Although his own family life began later in his life than with some people, still he was able to celebrate the joy of his 25th anniversary with Kathy in March of this year, and has shared precious time with his daughter Stephanie and seen her grow to be a sweet young woman of whom Carl was very proud.
In his poem “Sea Fever”, John Masefield said
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by;
And the wheel’s kick, and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
Carl will be sincerely missed and lovingly remembered by his family and friends.
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