By 1939 the depression had dragged on for nearly ten years, leaving millions without jobs and without hope. Overseas things were equally grim; the Nazis had invaded Czechoslovakia and begun their march across Western Europe. But Americans, focused on their own problems, had no desire to be embroiled in another war.

For the Sanders family life at home continued to be a struggle. Through the WPA Jim had found work as a carpenter, on a crew constructing public buildings, but once again the job was temporary, lasting only three months. Susan continued to work part time as a seamstress, but they were living day to day, and Josh was only too happy to be away from their cramped, run-down apartment.

As a sign of independence, he let his hair grow out; a mop of jet-black hair hung down around his ears and over his forehead. The whisper of a mustache appeared, and he often unbuttoned the top of his shirt, something his mother disapproved of.

At school Josh had become a top athlete. In the final game of the 1939 season, as his parents, brimming with pride, watched from the bleachers, Josh broke the scoring record for his high school football team. That night he caught seven touchdown passes, scoring over forty points, to lead his team to victory over their cross-town rivals.

To Josh, football had become more than a game; it was a way out. He wanted a better life, for himself and for his parents. Strong and confident, he thought football would be the answer. He’d make it to the pros someday; as a star receiver he’d be well paid; his parents would have a house up on the hill; during games they would be in the box seats, cheering him on. It would be a good life, one to be thankful for, one to be blessed.

For Josh it was a boyhood dream…but one that would soon be shattered.

His father came home elated one day. “I ran into Earl Haines.” Susan and Josh looked at each other; the name didn’t sound familiar. “He’s the new cop on the beat in our neighborhood. We were in the same unit over in France during the war. He told me the precinct is hiring more officers…and they’re more inclined to hire veterans. He said the pay is good, and there’s good benefits as well.”

Susan made no comment at first. Josh also remained silent as his father continued to make the case. “They’ll want to hire me if they know about my service during The Great War.”

“You’d have to carry a gun,” said Susan. “Didn’t you have enough of that during the war?”

“War is different,” he replied. “It’s kill or be killed. I may not have to use a gun.”

She remained skeptical. “Jim, there’s more crime than there used to be.”

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“I haven’t had a job for five months. Roosevelt wants to save the country, but it’s up to me to save the family. This could be our chance.”

Sometime later, after his father left the apartment, Josh went into his room and sat on the bed, tossing the football to himself as he thought about what his father said. His mother came in, wanting to talk.

“I think your father went to apply for that job.”

“I hope he doesn’t get it. Most people don’t like cops.”

“Until they need one. Josh, your father hasn’t had a good steady job for five years. A week here, a month there…we can’t survive on that much longer. No one knows when this depression will end.”

Josh knew she was right, but he had his own plan. “Mom, I’ll make it to the pros someday. I’ll have money…you won’t have to live in this dumpy apartment…Dad won’t have to carry a gun.”

She put her arm around Josh’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring embrace. “That would be wonderful Josh. But we have to think about today and tomorrow. If your father gets that job it will be a blessing.”

In fact, he did get the job. Two days before Christmas Jim received a call from the local precinct. “You won’t be cooking today,” he told Susan. “We’re going out to dinner!”

Before they left the apartment that night Josh turned on the radio and watched his parents dance across the living room floor to the soaring clarinet of Benny Goodman. His father, being in good spirits, brought a smile to his mother, one he hadn’t seen for some time. She let down her hair that night and enjoyed herself.

“Tonight, we’re Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers,” quipped his father.

As he watched them dance together Josh felt reassured. They were going to be all right.

Along the coast, across from highway one, and around the peninsula from the Golden Gate, a good stretch of white sandy beach runs through the Sunset district and looks out across the Pacific Ocean. It was an area Josh knew well; he often jogged along the beach to stay in shape for football season.

On a brisk, windy afternoon Josh brought his father to the beach to help him prepare for his new job. Patrolling the streets would mean a lot of walking, and Jim was determined to strengthen his legs.

For over an hour they ran barefoot along the shore, racing the seagulls, watching the sunset, until they fell on the sand out of breath.

Josh gave his father a pat on the back. “You did great Dad! How do you feel?”

Jim caught his breath and reflected, “The last time I ran that far I was chasing Germans through the Argonne Forest.”

Determined to give his father encouragement, Josh brushed aside the reference to the Great War. “After this training is over you’ll be able to catch anyone, if you need to.”

For the next week Josh and his father returned to the beach every day, running for miles, until Jim’s legs and lungs were strong enough.

On the last day they stopped by the corner grocery on their way home, then they walked over to a nearby park and sat on a bench. From the grocery bag Jim took out two bottles of beer.

“Don’t tell your mother about this.”

Josh didn’t reply at first. He remembered the night his father came home drunk. But it was a new day; a day to celebrate. “I won’t tell mom…I promise.”

His father opened the beer bottles and handed one to Josh.

“A toast,” said Jim, holding up his bottle of beer, “to a good son, a good trainer….and a heck of a football player!”

Josh grinned, took a swig of beer, and returned the compliment. “Dad…you’ll be a darn good cop.”