Gerald “Jerry” Hansen was born on December 19, 1943, and passed away on May 31, 2024, with family by his side. Known to many as “Billy Goat” he was the second of eight children, and the only son of Arnold “Budd” and Beverly (Beauchamp) Hansen. He was born in Fortuna while his parents lived with Aunt Annie Giacomini in Centerville. The family built a home on the Beauchamp homestead in Freshwater, and he started school at Garfield Elementary. They later moved back to Centerville where they resided on the dairy started by his grandfather, Carl Hansen. There he attended Ferndale Elementary and Ferndale High School.

As a sophomore at Ferndale High School, the first time he saw Gloria Silva get on the school bus he stated that he was going to marry her one day. They were married on April 18, 1962, and spent the next 62 years together.

While in high school, Jerry participated in FFA, the marching band, track, tumbling and football. As a senior, he was proud to receive the MVP award for football. After graduating from high school, he did relief milking and hay hauling for many local farmers and was a delivery driver for Ferndale Meats when it was owned by his uncle Wes Duncan. When his father died in a Coast Guard helicopter accident while serving as a volunteer spotter during the 1964 flood, Jerry took over the family dairy in Centerville. In 1973 he moved his family to Grizzly Bluff, where they downsized the dairy, and he started driving truck. He drove for Yancy Feed, hauled potatoes, drove for Whitchurch Hay, Don Nolan and Kelly Concrete, among others, while keeping the dairy going. In 1978 he purchased his own log truck and started “Hansen Truckin.” His old green Kenworth was well known in the timber industry, and Jerry was proud that the truck had over 1.8 million miles on it. He was a mentor for many aspiring truck drivers, including some of his grandsons. Jerry also really enjoyed old tractors, especially John Deere, and had a collection of vintage models. He enjoyed participating in Ferndale’s annual lighted tractor parade for many years.

He started racing go-carts with friends on a track built on the dairy in Centerville. He later joined the Six Rivers Racing Association and participated in stock car racing. He raced cars 97 and later 15, and was a big help to other drivers, including his close friend, Larry Pries. In 1969 he was presented with an award for helping other drivers.

Jerry was a member of the Farm Bureau, a lifetime member of Native Sons of the Golden West and a major blood donor, having donated over 10 gallons. He was also a big supporter of the Humboldt County Junior Livestock Auction, purchasing animals for many years.

Jerry was passionate about his family and worked incredibly hard to provide for them. When asked what was most important to him, Jerry quickly and emphatically replied that family was the only thing that mattered. He was so proud of his grandchildren, which they never doubted. He took every opportunity to get family together, whether it be a large family reunion, a holiday BBQ or a small family dinner. He led by example, instilling in all of us the importance of both hard work and good manners. He was very generous and will be remembered for joking and teasing, especially the kids. They were surprised with his teeth coming out and wet willies with his stubby finger. He was known for being opinionated, yet was always fully supportive and accepting of his family. Among his memorable advice was to never eat truck stop meatloaf.

He had an unwavering commitment to children and schools. He attended as many school and athletic events as possible. He was a member and President of the Grizzly Bluff school board until the school closed. Later he was elected to the Ferndale Unified School District board, where he served multiple terms. He supported all student activities, and was an avid athletic booster, traveling all around for competitions, even when his grandchildren weren’t participating. Additionally, each year he provided eggs to the elementary school for classes to hatch chicks.

Jerry is survived by his wife of 62 years, Gloria (Silva) Hansen. He is also survived by his sons Carl and Robert, along with his daughters, Linda (Bob) Anderson and Alice Rye. He was so proud of his grandchildren, Kristen (Mitch), Derek (Shelby) and Celia (Jessica) Hansen, Michael and Alyssa Anderson, Christopher (Kaitlyn) and Travis Rye, and Andrew and Mathew Hansen. He loved spending time with his great grandchildren Weston, Madison, Ivan and Brynn Beddow, Nora Hansen, Isaac and Marcus Rye. He was looking forward to welcoming the latest family additions, including Patrick Gerald Rye, who arrived shortly after his passing.

He is also survived by his sisters, Judy Lynch, Becky (Craig) Hill and Julie (Dave) Alber, along with many nieces and nephews. In particular he really appreciated all of the help he received from his nephew, Russell Alber, who helped keep his truck and tractors running.

Jerry was preceded in death by his parents, Budd and Beverly Hansen, his son Larry, his sisters Bonnie Hill, Linda Hansen, Darlene Hamilton and Shirley Roby, his brothers-in-law Ivan Lynch, Bill Hill, Jack Roby, his nephews Gene Hill and Henry Alber, his great-nephew Colton Hamilton and his in-laws Henry and Angie Silva.

A memorial gathering will be held on Saturday, June 29 at the Ferndale Veterans Building from 2 to 5 p.m., where friends are invited to join the family in sharing memories.

“There may be benefits to evaluating non-economic makers of a country’s success, but not all researchers agree that happiness looks the same around the world.”

— Science News, April 20, 2024

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It’s official. We’re now ranked the 23rd happiest country in the world, down from 15th last year. Predictably (it usually is) Finland still ranks No. 1, followed (also predictably) by those blond-and-blue-eyed, swimming-in-ice-water-is-good-for-you, Nordic nations: Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, Norway. They’re all in the top ten (along with Israel, Netherlands, Norway and Luxembourg). The United States now ranks below Slovenia (21) and United Arab Emirates (22); but above Germany (24) and Mexico (25). Last in the 143 rankings is, unsurprisingly, Afghanistan.

Sez who? The 2024 World Happiness Report, issued last March 20 (United Nations International Day of Happiness). It’s a partnership of Gallup, the Oxford Wellbeing Research Centre, the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network and the WHR’s Editorial Board. There’s much more to the report than a simple ranking of countries, however, and it’s a fun read here. Particularly if you’re (how to put this delicately?) old: This year’s report focuses on the happiness of people at different points in their lives, especially the latter stages.

From the website: “The World Happiness Report reflects a worldwide demand for more attention to happiness and well-being as criteria for government policy. It reviews the state of happiness in the world today and shows how the science of happiness explains personal and national variations in happiness.”

A couple of caveats are in order, lest you think I’m too naïve for words. First, of course, is, Who decides who’s happy and who’s not? Well, you do, that is, it’s all based on respondent’s self-assessments. You’re asked which rung of the ladder you’re on, the bottommost rung (0) being “your worst possible life” and the topmost (10) “the best possible life for you.” Many non-Western cultures consider that you’ll jinx your life if you’re happy and you say so, thus depressing scores on the test. (Does anyone really say, “10”?) Second, happiness is such a vague term, especially to non-Westerners, who may think that happiness isn’t the best measure of a life well-lived. Other criteria of well-being might be peace and harmony; or having meaning in one’s life; or working to help your children have a better life than yours. A Canadian study a few years ago found that, for many cultures, having a calm life was more meaningful than being happy.

Another take on this comes from Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence (subsequently slightly amended by the “Committee of Five): “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” When I first read that (while preparing for my citizenship exam), I found it odd that Life and Liberty were given full measure, but that Happiness was qualified: the pursuit thereof.

Now, I’m all for setting goals in life, both realistic (10,000 steps a day) and possibly unrealistic (dying with more countries visited than my age — currently 82 for 81). But why water down Happiness? Do we only have the right to pursue happiness, but not to happiness itself? For that matter, I’ll bet that you and I might have trouble agreeing on what actually constitutes happiness. Is bliss (I’ll know it when I feel it!) happiness? Feeling good in the moment (I like how that sentence turned out)? Anticipation (I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!)? Contentment, that is, long term-happiness, with the usual daily and weekly ups and downs?

One thing I know is that, if I’m actually asked whether I’m happy, I’ll feel defensive, or boastful, or irritated, or embarrassed — anything other than happy. More like unhappy. I just hope I’m never asked to respond to someone from the World Happiness Report holding a clipboard.

Kyle Steven Wear, a beloved son, brother, husband and father whose life’s work was dedicated to protecting the rare and endangered plants of his adopted North Coast home, died April 29 with his wife and stepfather at his side after battling heart issues caused by a virus he contracted six years earlier. He was 54.

Born to Mary and Bob Wear in San Diego on March 16, 1970, Kyle grew up surrounded by extended family, including both sets of grandparents and numerous aunts and uncles, during a quintessential Southern California childhood spent camping in the region’s inland valleys and swimming, spearfishing and surfing along the coast, the latter sometimes when he was supposed to be in class.

He would often take his adored dog Pepper down to Ocean Beach where she would patiently wait on the shore while Kyle went out, except for the time Pepper decided to jump off the jetty and he had to come home early.

At the age of 8, he gained a second father in Mike Klose, who played a formative role in helping raise Kyle and his younger sister Keely after marrying their late mother and remained a steadfast and guiding presence throughout his life.

Kyle graduated from Point Loma High School in 1988 and attended San Diego State University with an eye on a degree in engineering before transferring to Humboldt State University, where he took a botany course and never looked back.

Not that his college years were all about academics. Among his favorite stories from that time was how Sublime played twice in the living room of the house he lived in on Fern Street, much to the consternation of neighbors who called police, because some of the band members were friends with his roommate.

After receiving his bachelor’s and master’s in biology, Kyle went on to become one of the North Coast’s foremost biological consultants, known for aptly walking the delicate line of advocating for his clients while strictly adhering to regulatory guidelines.

During a visit home to San Diego in December of 2002, Kyle was introduced to his wife, Kimberly, at the party of a high school friend — who happens to be her cousin and married to her best friend — in a not-so-discrete group effort to set the two up. One year later, they were engaged, with Kimberly’s family often joking that he came pre-approved. They married in September of 2004 and settled into their life in Arcata.

The proudest moment of Kyle’s life arrived three years later when their daughter Averie was born on a bitterly cold January day that began with Kyle spraying down the car to de-ice it before they were told there was no need to rush to the hospital. By the time they were ready to go, the doors were frozen shut and an ice slick covered the driveway, leaving Kyle, Kimberly and her mom laughing hysterically in those early morning hours as they gingerly navigated getting into the car while trying not to fall — or wake up the neighbors.

His love for Averie was without bounds and Kyle spent many years taking her on hikes, bike rides and morning trips to Los Bagels. He was the dad who hand-made empanadas for bake sales, attended every school performance, cheered from the sidelines at cross country and BMX races and helped out on science fair projects that often centered around him teaching her about the basic tenets of his field, like using the 50-20 rule to determine plant coverage and how to define a wetland.

More recently, anyone who knows Kyle well enough was probably regaled with videos featuring Averie that were produced by her high school leadership class. Just before he died, Kyle was so proud of her for pursuing and receiving a seal of biliteracy in Spanish and making it to the state History Day competition in Sacramento.

Kyle was profoundly impacted by the loss of his mother Mary, whose outer beauty was outshined by her fierce love for and pride in her children before her life — like Kyle’s — was unfairly cut short at almost the same age. After her death in March of 2002, every major milestone — from his wedding to Averie’s birth — was tinged with sadness that she was not there to share the moment. Kyle often told Kimberly how Mary would have swooped Averie up as soon as they arrived for a visit and they would have been hard pressed to lift a finger to take care of her during their regular trips to San Diego. From Mary, Kyle inherited his artistic talent, which she inherited from her mother, and he, in turn, passed on to Averie.

Like his dad, Kyle loved to tinker on projects around the house, from making the polished concrete countertops in his and Kimberly’s kitchen to installing their home’s hardwood floors, although those sometimes resulted in shouts of “this is a disaster” before, as always, working out in the end.

Bob and Kyle spoke almost daily, often just chatting about the latest Padres game or Kyle’s most recent fishing excursion, with the answering machine regularly ringing out with the message, “Grandad, checking in.”

A talented cook who somehow seemed to use nearly every dish in the kitchen, Kyle loved to experiment with culinary creations, often taking his latest bread baking or wood-fired pizza endeavors to share with the many friends he made at Six Rivers Brewery and the Bigfoot Taproom, where he liked to “network” over a beer after a long day of working at his home office.

While on the quiet side in general, Kyle still made friends effortlessly with his easy-going nature, great laugh and a broad, sometimes silly, smile — one that shone brightest when he was with his daughter.

Preceded in death by his mother Mary, his grandparents, father-in-law Bob, Aunts Sharon and Linda and cousin Ryan, Kyle is survived by his wife Kimberly, daughter Averie, father Bob, stepfather Mike and wife Bev, his sister Keely, mother-in-law Nann and sisters-in-law Katherine (Tom) and Karen, as well as numerous aunts, uncles and cousins, his nieces Katie and Genevieve (Ryan) and nephews Robert, Tom (Nicole) and James (Emily) and their children.

Kyle fought hard after receiving news of his diagnosis, bouncing back time and time again to return to the field work he so loved, often confounding his doctors by his ability to still climb mountains, crawl under whitethorn thickets and trudge through slash to survey for rare plants and delineate wetlands.

Still, he was private about his health struggles, never wanting to worry even his closest friends and family members. In the end, the damage caused by the virus proved too much.

Kyle loved his family, his adopted North Coast home and the many friends he made before and during his more than 30 years here. In his honor, please raise a glass of whatever makes you happy. He would want you to remember him that way.

In the words of our wedding song, Kyle, in my life, I love you more.

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The obituary above was submitted on behalf of Kyle Wear’s loved ones. The Lost Coast Outpost runs obituaries of Humboldt County residents at no charge. See guidelines here.

PREVIOUSLY:

•  (VIDEO) There are Bears in the Tree By Pierson’s

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Bears in town are not a good omen for all sorts of reasons. Not a good sign for the bears and kind of a headache for people, too.

But there sure seems to be a spate of them lately, and the one upside to this troubling trend is that we get some good pictures of bears trying to navigate the urban landscape.

This evening, a mama bear and her cub kicked it in downtown Arcata for a bit.  They were spotted climbing over the fence at Pho Hoang and beating feet down G Street. Daniel Pacheco Browning (age 13) reports, through his mom, Anjali, that police were on the scene at Pho Hoang, and the Department of Fish and Wildlife had been notified.

In the third episode of Humboldt Waterkeeper’s special series on communities at risk from sea level rise, we hear from long-time residents and relative newcomers who share their thoughts and concerns about sea level rise.

We are also joined by Laurie Richmond of the Cal Poly Humboldt Sea Level Rise Institute, which is a network of academics, tribes, government agencies, NGOs, private consultants, and civic and community groups working to envision the future of our region. How will we adapt to increased flooding and rising groundwater in low-lying areas? Whether we decide to protect certain areas, relocate critical facilities, or figure out how to live with rising water levels, major changes are on the horizon. The good news is that we have time to plan, and a lot of people are thinking deeply about these issues.

Many thanks to Hilanea Wilkinson, Maurice Viand, Lia Stoffers, Weeramon Sudkrathok (“Cake”), Laurie Richmond and to Jessie Eden, who produced this episode with funding provided by the California Coastal Commission Whale Tail Grant Program. For more info:

• Cal Poly Humboldt Sea Level Rise Institute‘s Digital Commons (reports and publications on sea level rise)
• California’s new Sea Level Rise Guidance
• Wiyot Tribe’s Climate Adaptation Plan
• Episode 1: Is Humboldt Bay the Canary in the Coal Mine for Sea Level Rise?
• Episode 2: Can We Clean Up Humboldt Bay Before the Sea Rises?

Earlobedus (aer-lobe-dus) was a malady that seemed unique to first-year campers at Boy Scout Camp Tish Tang on Highway 96 just south of the Hoopa reservation. It was said to be a fungus that grew only in the ears of those scouts at camp for the first time. The treatment called for painting the ears and surrounding skin with Mercurochrome, thus giving the patient bright reddish-orange ears. As camp first-aid orderly in 1952, I treated several such cases.

Ray Oliver at the start of the 1951 Explorer Scout week-long wilderness backpacking hike into the Marble Mountains. Photos via the Humboldt Historian.

Earlobedus was the most successful of the usually crude and sometimes cruel jokes visited on the gullible or unwary. Another was to arrange several guys around a nest of big, black ants and trick the victim into standing on the nest while engaged, he thought, in friendly chatter.

Evening campfires on the Trinity River beach across from Tish Tang a Tang Creek provided another trick opportunity. The beach was about half a mile through the woods from camp. When a boy fell asleep, the rest of us would quietly slip away a few yards. We would then throw dirt clods at the sleeper so he would wake up to find himself apparently alone in the dark.

The camp namesake, Tish Tang a Tang Creek, flowed out of the Hoopa reservation across the Trinity River from the camp. The creek name supposedly meant a hook or curve because the creek flowed southward into the northward flowing river, thus causing the creek water to curve northwards.

The more famous camp tricks seldom if ever seemed to work. Among these were dipping a sleeper’s hand in warm water, snipe hunts, and Ex-Lax in somebody’s food — we didn’t dare eat chocolate pudding. One dark night we sent a kid out with the bag and flashlight lo catch snipe while the rest of us went off to chase the elusive creatures to him. We worked our way back to the campfire to find the kid sitting there roasting marshmallows. He made a few profanity laced comments to the effect that we must be pretty dumb to think he would fall for such a stupid trick.

The camp was organized into villages. Three villages — Riverside, Rockefeller Center and Sherwood Forest — consisted of Army surplus, eight-boy squad tents that featured center poles. The poles were constant targets since upon removal, usually late at night, the tent would collapse on the sleepers. To protect the poles, we tried nailing them to wooden floors, tying them to the beds or placing barricades around them. These efforts required inventiveness by pole removers. One tactic called for several “friendly” guys to walk into a tent and stand around the pole talking while one of their number knelt down, apparently to tie a shoelace. That miscreant would remove the nail or cut the rope protecting the pole, then the whole group would run out taking the pole with them. Sometimes the pole would be removed during the daytime when we were all gone swimming or at lunch and carried off into the woods and poison oak, thus forcing us to search for it. One night the inevitable happened; a falling tent pole hit and injured a kid. The camp director, Scout Executive Levi Young, decreed that the pole-stealing would no longer be tolerated.

Tish Tang Camp staff, 1953. From left to right: (back row) unknown, Tom Hill, Jerry Hasz, Rod Trogo, Dan McLellan, unknown, Pete Vallerga, Levi Yonng. (front row) John Burger, Wes Martin, Adelee Hasz, Nile Henderson, Rich Sloma, Zay Jorlano, unknown, unknown.

Sometimes the intended victim outsmarted the trickster. In 1951. we had to put up with a particularly disliked junior staffer I shall call “O” for obnoxious. He seemed to relish alienating people. We ate at long tables in the mess hall — not dining “facility” but “mess hall” — with a staff member at each table. At each meal, an inspector would choose the neatest and sloppiest table. The neatest got a cutout of Marilyn Monroe and the sloppiest, a ceramic pig. These stayed on the tables until the next meal or until other tables earned them.

Marlin Brady, the cook, also disliked O. One lunch, Brady hollowed out half a hot dog and filled it with pepper. We used the table waiter system in which one kid would get the food for the whole table. Brady put the re-closed, pepper-filled hot dog on top of the plate of dogs going to O’s table, and told the waiter to give the plate to O first. O took the pepper dog, bit off the good end and saw the pepper. He put the now half-hot dog on the plate coming to my table. As the plate arrived, a lad from Crescent City grabbed the really hot hot dog, stuffed it into his mouth, and immediately grabbed the pitcher of the bug juice (bug juice was a Kool-Aid type drink in which the dregs of the powder resembled bugs when it settled to the bottom of the pitcher), spilling it, water and food, all over the table. We got the pig that day.

Camp Tish-Tang was the Boy Scout Redwood Area Council’s summer camp from 1948 to 1964. When Trinity River floods damaged the area camp, it had to be abandoned. It is now a Forest Service camping area. On my last visit some twenty years ago, I was saddened to see that only a very few of the structures — some that I helped build — remained. Much of the building work was done by work parties on the weekends in the Spring. A few days before camp opened in June, a small advance guard would go to set up the camp and get things ready for the camp period, usually three to four weeks. After the camp period, a rear guard would stay for a few days to close up and do other jobs on the road, structures and waterfront area.

Cooking staff at Tish Tang, 1953. left to right: Pete Vallerga, Adelee Hasz (camp cook), and Wes Martin.

The late 1940s and early ‘50s were, of course, shortly after World War II and during the Korean War. Many of the adult staffers had recently served in the military, so that might account for the use of military terms: advance guard, rear guard, mess hall, K.P., first aid orderly, canteen, retreat formation, troops, patrols, latrines, officer of the day and others. We also used quite a bit of military surplus, especially the food. Who could forget the powdered eggs and dried potato cubes? There was also a flat, disc-shaped chocolate candy that had been made in the tropics. The stuff did not melt or get soft in the hand or mouth. We had to break off a piece and chew it for awhile to soften it up. Another favorite was a kind of rubbery cheese that came in big hunks. We had to break off chunks and chew them for a while as well. After a few times, we rather liked the stuff. Perhaps the favorite was the bug juice Kool-aid. The camp was in a valley that got very warm during the day so we all looked forward to the bug juice.

The warmth and humidity seemed to make poison oak grow into big bushes and even small trees. We heard that urine would kill the poison oak. We did our best, but the stuff thrived. Our efforts created another problem — for example, junior staffers had to regularly bring around hoses and water down around the tents and other sleeping areas. Along with the squad tent villages, we had sleeping areas of open-front Adirondack cabins, kiosks and various shelters. It seldom rained during the June camping period.

Sleeping could be a problem when there was a snorer. Don Raffaelli of Eureka told me how his group solved the problem once in 1948. They picked the snorer’s bed — we used military steel cots so many would come to know in later years — and carried it and the apparently very sound sleeper to the river and placed them in the water.

Bugler Nile Henderson at the Camp Dining Hall, 1953.

Then the group waited for the victim to wake up. The bugler put some extra wind into his morning call to make sure the snorer woke to cheers of his tentmates. Camp Director Levi Young failed to see the humor in the situation and put Raffaelli and his co-conspirators to work cleaning toilets. Despite this and innumerable other transgressions, Raffaelli eventually became the Humboldt County Director of Public Works.

Toilets were a major area of attention, as might be expected of the gang of teenage boys. We had a daily health and safety detail to clean them. The smallest boy on the detail would be told by the detail leader — whose title was “the outhouse mouse” — that he. the smallest boy, would have to “go down the hole” in the twofor privies. That meant, he was told, a rope would be tied about his waist and he would be lowered through the hole in the seat to clean the wooden supports inside. After several such threats and even showing the small boy the rope, the outhouse mouse would decide the job was not necessary “this time.”

The privies did not have names as did those at a camp I attended in Wisconsin. There, they were named Coca-Cola for the pause that refreshes, First National for making deposits, and Little Egypt for building pyramids.

When the camping period ended, we had several days when a few of the staff stayed to fold the tents, close the waterfront area, put things away and do various repair jobs. On the last day of the rear guard in 1951, Levi Young decided to take a hike across the river to a box canyon he wanted to look at as a site for future overnight hikes. It was a pleasant hike along a small creek. Coming back later that day. we followed the same trail we had taken in the morning. In the trail, we saw cougar tracks on top of the tracks we had made that morning. The cougar tracks were going the same direction we had. We wondered if the cougar had been thinking of joining the Scouts for lunch. Maybe we smelled too bad.

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The story above was originally printed in the Summer 2006 issue of the Humboldt Historian, a journal of the Humboldt County Historical Society. It is reprinted here with permission. The Humboldt County Historical Society is a nonprofit organization devoted to archiving, preserving and sharing Humboldt County’s rich history. You can become a member and receive a year’s worth of new issues of The Humboldt Historian at this link.

On Friday morning, retired U.S. Army Private First-Class Jacob Williams and his wife Meredith unlocked their new – free – home in Fortuna for the first time. 

Holding one of his two young sons on his hip, Williams said the house marked a “monumental moment” that would change the course of the family’s life. 

The home was gifted to Williams through the Military Warriors Support Foundation’s (MWSF) Home4WoundedHeroes program in collaboration with Wells Fargo, a partnership that has provided more than 400 “mortgage-free” homes to wounded veterans across all 50 states. MWSF has donated 500 more homes through other partnerships – providing each recipient with three years of financial mentoring after move-in to help them manage the property taxes, insurance and maintenance that homeownership entails.

The Williamses learned that they were selected for a home on former Arkansas Governor and two-time presidential candidate Mike Huckabee’s TV show (Huckabee) in February.

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“It was like a burden had been lifted,” Williams told the Outpost, explaining that the family had been attempting California homeownership through other avenues and programs, but kept running up against “closed doors.”

Williams joined the military in 2006, serving as an airborne infantryman with the 4th Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division at Ft. Richardson, Alaska. Less than a year later, in Iraq, a roadside bomb went off next to his convoy, injuring his neck and leading to the loss of his right hand. It was his 20th birthday. 

Williams, who has received a Purple Heart, the National Defense Service Medal and the Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, among other honors, said he has no regrets.

“Losing a hand was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me,” he said, adding that he uses the two degrees he has received in theology since to counsel other veterans, first responders and families.

The steady increase of home prices since the 1960s has added to the unique set of challenges that veterans – and especially wounded vets – face in securing housing upon returning from service. 

“Homeownership and affordability is such a critical factor right now; it’s really difficult for wounded military veterans given some of their circumstances,” said Kären Woodruff, senior vice president of community relations at Wells Fargo, explaining that many experience periods during which they are unable to work.  

Home prices on the North Coast have fallen since reaching record highs in 2020 and 2021 (Fortuna, Arcata, Eureka and McKinleyville were all included in a survey of California cities “where home prices are dropping significantly” last month), but only six of the 37 homes for sale in Fortuna this week were listed at or below $400,000, according to Fortuna Community Development Director Shari Meads.

“While these prices are significantly below what is found in other parts of California, the Humboldt County economy still makes them unattainable for many,” Meads wrote the Outpost via email.

The Williamses first visited Humboldt from their Redlands, Calif., home in April, and the move-in on Friday was the family’s second time seeing the city they now call home.

Woodruff explained that the Homes4Heroes program works by matching the needs of vets and their families with communities in which bank-owned homes (foreclosures) become available.

“We really want the veteran and their family to be successful in that community,” she said.

Speaking to the crowd assembled to welcome the family, which included Second District Humboldt County Supervisor Michelle Bushnell and Field Representative in Congressman Jared Huffman’s Eureka office Andrew Cairns, Williams said that he and his wife are not only here because of the home they were given, but also because of what they can give.

“There’s work to be done in this community,” he said, “Our lives have been changed, and we hope to impact and change other people’s lives.”

Williams was one of two veterans to receive a mortgage-free home from MWSF and Wells Fargo this Flag Day, the other provided in Littleton, NC.

The Military Warriors Support Foundation Homes4WoundedHeroes program is open to veterans wounded in either combat or training and unmarried Gold Star spouses whose partner was killed in action. Applicants must be honorably retired (or separated) from the military, must not have a current mortgage, and must intend to use the home as a primary residence.