When Paul Jobs w上海乌托邦品茶微信as mustered out of the Coast Guard after World War II, he made a wager with his crewmates. They had arrived in San Francisco, where their ship was

decommissioned, and Paul bet that he would find himself a wife within two weeks. He was a taut, tattooed engine mechanic, six feet tall, with a passing resemblance to James Dean. But it wasn’t his looks that got him a date with Clara Hagopian,

a sweet-humored daughter of Armenian immigrants. It was the fact that he and his friends had a car, unli

ke the group she had originally planned to go out with that evening. Ten days later, in March 1946, Paul got engaged to Clara and won his

wager. It would turn out to be a happy marriage, one that lasted until death parted them more than forty years later.

Paul Reinhold Jobs had been raised on a dairy farm in Germantown, Wisconsin. Even though his father

was an alcoholic and sometimes abusive, Paul ended up with a gentle and calm disposition under his l

eathery exterior. After dropping out of high school, he wandered through the Midwest picking up work as a mechanic until,

at age nineteen, he joined the Coast Guard, even though he didn’t know how to swim. He was deployed on the USS General M

. C. Meigs and spent much of the war ferrying troops to Italy for General Patton. His talent as a machinist and fireman

earned him commendations, but he occasionally found himself in minor trouble and never rose above the rank of seaman.

Clara was born in New Jersey, where her parents had landed after fleeing the Turks in Armenia, and they moved to the Mission District

of San Francisco when she was a child. She had a secret that she rarely mentioned to anyone: She had been

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