Priscilla Richardson

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How many 93-year-old men do you know who play nine holes of golf twice a week? I didn't know any until I met Cloverdale's Orville Ruid. As of last year, he switched over to using a cart instead of walking. He's not about to give up his game, however.

Since his birth in 1913, Ruid has covered a lot of ground. He grew up in Wisconsin, the son of a postmistress and a crack railroad telegrapher. After earning a degree in accounting from the University of Wisconsin, Ruid thought he'd become a certified public accountant. But the first job he found was checking over expense accounts. "Not interesting," he said. "I got out of that as soon as I could."

After being hired in Wisconsin by Sentry Insurance, he was sent to San Francisco as an audit manager, dealing with workers' compensation policies purchased by businesses. Amazingly, he stayed with that company in different locations until he retired at 61.

But in the meantime, history intervened in the form of World War II. In 1942, he enlisted in the Navy, "trying to stay out of the draft." He celebrated his enlistment year by getting married in Boston.

His first job with the Navy was in New York City. "But then the WAVES [women in the Navy] came in and took all the office jobs. They put you out to sea." He served on a destroyer escort in the Pacific.

"Most of our work was escorting merchant and troop ships." But he did see action in antisubmarine work. "We were sure of two submarines; we saw some debris that came to the surface. But when you hit a whale sometimes nothing ever comes up." He explained that their firepower was aimed using sonar, so they never actually saw their targets.

When the war started, our Navy had no ships in the destroyer escort class, so a shipbuilding rush started. According to Ruid, the new ones were built very well but were not as rigid as old ships. As a result, they would make noise in the hulls when the depth charges went off.

"We were No. 7, the Griswold. The first five went directly to England; they were in desperate need of help. No. 6 on were used by the U.S. Navy. It was kind of fun -- when people knew we were coming into port, we would be met by a crowd that wanted to see the new kind of ship. In Bora Bora we had a nice reception with some of the girls dressed in grass skirts."

On rotation after a year and a half at sea, he was assigned to serve as an instructor at a college in Indiana. He spent about a year there. "It was the end of the war and of the Navy for me. My daughter is a Navy girl; she was born there." Navy doctors were accustomed to treating men, not delivering babies, Ruid said, so his wife, Fanny, was "not too keen about it, but it worked out just fine." And it did not keep her from later having two sons.

After the war Ruid worked as an underwriter for casualty insurance, "making sure the company didn't get into something that's not profitable." Then he sold insurance, ending his career in New York. His wife worked as a teacher. "We didn't make a lot of money, but we didn't spend a lot of money."

After both Ruids retired they started traveling. They loved camping and also traveled to Canada and Bermuda. At first, they kept a house in Florida and the former home in New York so they could spend the summers up north and winters down south.

About nine years ago, they gave those up and moved here to be close to their daughter Jane Bastiani, a pharmacist, and her husband, Ted. Fanny passed away after 64 years of marriage, but Ruid continues to live in his own house, with frozen dinners and good meals with his daughter every week. He stays active in his church, serving on many committees.

And he never misses his nine holes of golf, twice a week.