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Glenn Wallin can still hear his father's voice calling out through the summer sky on those late nights. Glenn was playing on the lighted tennis courts next to St. Patrick's church, on 7th street in Dixon, in the late 1950s and 60s. The hollow bounce of the ball on the court, the grunts of effort and the swish of rackets interrupted, then gone. All with one warning from Norman Wallin telling Glenn, his older brother, John, and whomever else had congregated to play that night to wrap it up. It's one of a million bits of life that float around his mind and drift from time to time to the forefront of his thoughts when a certain smell tickles his nose or sound reaches his ear. Like the way pollen sticks to the air and conjures up a fragrance specific to his garden. Reminds him that it's time to pull weeds. Tells him to enjoy watching his granddaughters frolicking in the playhouse he built. The playhouse that sits in his backyard, surrounded by flowers of every color. Inscribed above the playhouse door is a Swedish saying that translates to "little girls laughing." Or the moldy tarp he dragged out to set up for his Navy Seabees reunion. It had that stale combination of dust and dirt and plastic as he unfolded it from storage. Unfurled with it was the smell of war. It took only a second to take him back to Vietnam. Hunkering in a cot as sirens went off. The nights he hid for cover to save his life. The other nights he rolled over, accepting whatever fate may come his way. Odors and vapors, screams and terror, glory and sorrow. One year filled with moments when he wondered if he'd see tomorrow, and a few when he was sure he would. Yet he did. And one day led to another and another. Years passed, he left the military. He moved back to Dixon with his wife, Opal. They had children. He labored at Commonwealth Edison for 33 years. He retired. His children had children. Time rushed by the like the Rock River under the Peoria Avenue bridge. Then, at 60 years old, he landed at the resurfaced tennis courts at Page Park, in front of Emma Hubbs on Fourth of July weekend. That's sort of where his story begins. - Fifty years ago, Hubbs enticed the sometimes-petulant Wallin onto the tennis court. Wallin was 10 years old and one of many Dixon youngsters being guided by Hubbs and the game that demands discipline and decorum. Wallin played tennis from then on, until a neck surgery and four shoulder surgeries put his competitive career to an end about 15 years ago. Before that, he played for years with Pat Lee, a neighbor and Dixon resident, on a highly successful doubles team. The duo was a top-ranked team in Illinois in the 35-and-older bracket for a couple of years and represented the state at a national amateur tournament in Lansing, Mich., on one occasion. But the battery of injuries cut his run short - at least until his niece, Mindy Wallin, convinced him to play doubles in the tournament held during this year's Petunia Festival. "The first thing he said to me that day was that it was our 50th anniversary," Hubbs said. "It means a lot that he remembers something like that. There's been so many kids over the years." "She's amazing to me," Wallin said. "All the things she did for me and all the kids back then. She'd take a whole busload of kids every weekend to Chicago or somewhere for tournaments. It'd be her and all those kids, but she did it. She's done a lot for the sport in Dixon." Growing up, Wallin was very good during a time when Dixon tennis was great. Chill Fichter was the top of the food chain on the Dixon tennis courts. But other greats, like future St. Ambrose tennis hall of famer and Sterling tennis coach John Underwood, roamed the courts. Wallin had competition. "I remember a couple of things about Glenn," Hubbs said. "He loved the competition. He always wanted to win. That's what really worried me when he came and played now. He hadn't played in a while but he was still so competitive. I didn't want to see him get hurt." Wallin and his niece didn't win any trophies, but they competed to the end. - Tennis wasn't all Wallin could do. After he finished high school, he was offered a scholarship to play football at Western Illinois University. He also was offered a free ride to play tennis at St. Ambrose. He followed Underwood and his brother John, both 2 years his senior, to St. Ambrose. "I went to Western and I was in the locker room on the visit," Wallin said. "Then all these huge guys started to walk in and that was all I had to see. I thought I'd be safer on the tennis court." Turned out St. Ambrose and Wallin didn't mesh really well, either. After a year, Wallin dropped out. A week later, a card came in the mail. The United States Army informed Wallin that without a college deferment he was eligible for the Vietnam draft. With military service virtually inevitable, he decided rather than waiting for his notice to arrive that he'd enlist in the Navy. His plan was to become a crew member on airships to avoid battle in Vietnam. After going through basic training, he was informed that the Navy wasn't looking for any more crew members. The navy needed Seabees, which were the Naval Construction Battalions. As the Vietnam conflict increased during the 1960s, Seabee recruitment and deployment rapidly grew. The Seabees were highly trained, 13-man crews that built anything and everything needed in the war-torn area. Each member was trained in 13 different trades so that they were capable and of assisting in nearly anything. A major reason the Navy needed new Seabees was that units sent into rural areas to build roads, landing zones and other infrastructure often were favorite targets of the Viet Cong. In August 1969, Wallin was set to leave Mississippi for Vietnam. He was on the last plane to make it out before Hurricane Camille made air travel impossible and ravaged the area. His flight took him to Anchorage, Alaska, where there was a blizzard. From there, he went to Japan, then to Da Nang, where the airstrip was mortared, forcing Wallin and his peers to flee to bunkers. Finally, he made it to his destination, Quang Tri in Vietnam, where he was greeted by a typhoon named Annie. "I just remember thinking to myself, 'What the heck have I got myself into?' " Wallin said. "All of that in about a week and a half. And that was before my tour really started in the war." The year that followed was no less dull or ripe of peril. Wallin specifically remembers a night when 150 men were gathered around a makeshift outdoor movie theater. The show was cut short a by Chinese missile that ripped through the front of the screen and landed with a thud behind. He and the men around him were lucky. "I remember I looked up just in time to see it coming over our heads," Wallin said. "I thought right then that that was it. I'd seen those go off and the damage they did. None of us would have survived if it hadn't been a dud. "You think about things like that. How you would get used to mortars going off near you. How just one moment and that would be it and everything would be different. No kids. No grandkids. No standing here." After his tour, he came back to the states before receiving order that his unit was slated for another tour in Vietnam. A week before his was to sent out, new orders sent Wallin and his Seabee unit to Ponape Island in the Federated States of Micronesia. On Ponape, Wallin was away from war. Away from guns. Away from the threat of losing his life. It was an amazing year during which he helped build a school, a road and taught locals how to use heavy equipment. Instead of destruction, his life in Ponape was all about construction. "It's an experience that I'll never forget," Wallin said. "The people there were the friendliest people in the world, and we were there only to help." - Virginia Weaver, 81 of Dixon, couldn't get over the moment when age and health forced her from her home to an apartment. She saw it as a step leading in one direction. There were days when getting out of bed was a major task. Other days, she was resigned to roll over and accept her fate. Then one day came a knock on the door. It was Dixon Pharmacy's delivery man. He looked familiar. It was Glenn Wallin, son of an old friend, Doris Wallin. The medicine he brought was insignificant compared to the companionship she craved. "I was just in such a depression about the whole thing," Weaver said. "He'd stop by with the medicine, but he'd sit down and talk for 15 minutes or something. He'd bring jokes or CDs because he knew I liked music. He's been such a dear person. I call him my second son." Wallin started at the pharmacy part-time after retiring from ComEd. Weaver's tale is just one of many along the route. He stops and talks with most of his customers. He does small chores for some, including taking out the garbage. Most of all, he's there for a kind word and an eager ear. "I wouldn't have to do it," Wallin said. "The money isn't anything to me. I don't know. It's just something that keeps me busy. I just take a few minutes to talk with them. Some of them don't have anybody else." When Wallin decided to play in the July 4 tennis tournament, Weaver made one of her first trips out of her apartment to watch. Hubbs volunteered to bring her. "I thought she'd come and want to leave right away," Hubbs said. "Once she got here though, she stayed like 3 hours, and I don't think she really wanted to leave then." - All the bits of life in his mind have seeped out into a bright, varied visual at his home on Pheasant Run in Dixon. Wallin pretty much built the dwelling himself, a few years ago. Inside the front door there is the wall covered in pictures of his family. In the study is a montage of photos and memorabilia from war, from reunions, from tennis glory. There's a picture of his buddy in Packers garb at Lambeau Field, taken on a day when the Bears won. On the other side of the photo for that one is Wallin, in full Bears regalia. "We were sitting about 20 rows up on the 50-yard line and all game people were giving it to me, wondering how a Bears fan got those tickets," Wallin said. "When the Bears won, I just stood up and asked who wanted to give me a high five. You can imagine the reaction that got." There is the American flag from his best friend and Seabee teammate Thomas "Mick" Millar's funeral. Millar died a few years ago after spending his postwar life in Maryland as a steel worker. Outside there is a tree with a wooden marker with "Mick" inscribed on it, chained around a branch. He has a tree for each of his grandaughters as well. There are 11 left of the 13 in Wallin's Seabee unit. "It's a hard thing in life when you reach that age and people around you start passing away," Wallin said. "It's different when your parents are gone, and then your friends. You appreciate things more." There also is a watch framed with his picture and a picture of his son, Glenn Jr., on each side of it. The watch brought both Wallins home from war. Glenn Jr. is a Desert Storm veteran. Glenn builds constantly. He built 14 poker tables last year, a pirate ship playhouse for a friend's grandchild, and recently finished a tree house, which has two levels, the top reaching 28 feet high, for his neighbor. "It's my therapy," Wallin said simply of his building habit. Outside, his lawn is immaculate. No weeds. No strand of grass out of place, each cut short and even - similar to a military crewcut. The garden flows around the house, with trees and bushes, fruits and vegetables, and flowers (more than 70 different kinds covering the entire color spectrum), making an awesome sight. His garden recently was one of nine featured on the Dixon Garden Walk. He spends at least an hour a day picking weeds and monitoring for bugs. It all builds upon itself. Everything that Glenn Wallin does to fill his time. To make each moment count. FYI: Served in Vietnam as a member of the Navy Seabees. ... Spent a year as a jungle warfare instructor. ... Worked at Commonwealth Edison for 33 years before retiring. ... Works part-time for the Dixon Pharmacy. ... longtime member of the Dixon tennis community.