On April 17, 2023, Oliver F. Gallion, Jr., went to be with his Lord. He is the son of the late Mary Norah (nee Buhlmann) and Oliver F. Gallion, Sr., husband of Wilma Gallion, father of Tommy and Bobby Gallion, also survived by 5 grandchildren and 6 greatgrandchildren.
Visitation will be held on Friday, April, 21, 2023, from 2-4 and 6-8 PM at the HUBBARD FUNERAL HOME, INC., 4107 Wilkens Avenue, Baltimore, MD 21229. Funeral Services will be held on Saturday, April 22, 2023, at 11:00 AM at the Funeral Home. Interment to follow at Loudon Park Cemetery.

This is the story of a son of southwest Baltimore. My father, Oliver Francis Gallion, Jr., was born at 8:00 a.m. in Saint Agnes Hospital June 29, 1934, the son of a barber and a housewife. Oliver Sr. was then 37 and his wife, Mary Norah (nee Buhlman) was then 30. They resided at 1915 Frederick Avenue. At that point in history our nation was struggling through recovery of the Great Depression. Oliver Sr., who I call Pop, opened a barber shop at 162 South Calverton Road. Mary died soon after, from pneumonia at age 33. Dad was but 3. Pop's mother, who was over 70 years old at that time, stepped in and raised Dad through to his high school graduation. I lift up great thanks and admiration to Esstellia Elizabeth (nee Griest) who passed away at the age of 89, having spent the final years of her life raising her grandson, my father. Dad suffered with polio as a child of about 6. He battled through the pain, the therapy, and the rehabilitation exercises, which he continued for decades. Dad graduated from Polytechnic, and was very proud to be a Poly Grad.
As a teen, he and his friends would hot rod scooters and race them from the city to the county line, long before there was a multi-lane beltway. Dad's first car was a midnight purple 1949 Ford Coupe, which he mildly customized. His second car was a Ford Woodie wagon; which sells today for a fortune. He would remain an automobile enthusiast throughout his life. I especially remember the metallic green 1968 Ford Torino GT fastback that he purchased new. It was beautiful. I have seen examples of each of these cars in nationally famous auto museums – Dad could pick'em.
Dad met the love of his life while in high school – Wilma Lee (nee Rider) was a Mergenthaler girl. They went to the prom at the ballroom of the Hotel Belvedere. They got married when he was 22 and she was 18. It was 1957 and they got hitched on January 14th, at All Saints Episcopal Church, on the corner of Baltimore and Monroe streets. The very next day, Dad began his service with the U.S. Army. After basic training he was stationed in South Korea, where at the time, it was a very hot "cold war". Men were dying on both sides of the DMZ. My brother, Tommy, was born August 29, 1957 – the product of good love and inconvenient math. Dad was discharged December 16, 1958. He was trained in radio communications, the signal corps. He received a good conduct medal, and an honorable discharge. He was happy to go home. So happy in fact, that on September 30, 1959, I was born. The love was greatly wanted, and this time the math worked.
Dad had started building his career path. He had worked the Broening GM plant on the east side, building Chevy Impalas, then a short time at Alcoa Aluminum making raw goods, and then the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, moving bacon in Halethorpe. I remember smelling his hands when he came home. Just as Dad was beginning to get his path organized, he was called up for service a second time. The Kennedy administration summoned armed forces back into service. It may have been related to the Khrushchev-Castro issue in Cuba, but in any case he spent until August of 1962 in Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
1966 was a tough year for everybody in the family. Divorce is painful. Dad was alone. The newly constructed home in Centennial Columbia was sold, and Dad moved back in with Pop at his new barber shop at 400 South Pulaski Street.
Dad spent the next 3 years in self-study of veterinary anatomy and disease. He joined the U.S. Department of Agriculture in February 1970 and began service as a meat, poultry, and processing food safety inspector. He wore a federal badge, number 1909 and worked slaughter and processing plants at Esskay, Mash's, Gwaltney, Smithfield, Rapa, ConAgra, Purdue, Chesapeake, J.W. Treuth, McAllister and many more. He assisted plant engineers in the design of facilities to aid in production efficiency and product safety. I am proud of my father.
In 1976, Dad & Pop purchased 10 acres of tillable earth from a local farmer just outside of Centreville. It represented a fresh start, a new beginning. In 1977 he laid 12 inch rock boulders by hand in line across the field to support a stone gravel driveway. And in 1978 he built a rancher style cabin, laying every brick by hand. This was to serve as a retreat, and with the great hope that someday he would again host his family. Dad was not a perfectionist, close enough, was close enough, it was a retreat after all, a place to relax. Dad moved into the Centreville home in 1984, after Pop died at the age of 87, and after I graduated from college. Dad retired from the USDA at the age of 67, just before New Year's Day 2002. He then spent his time making his home match his vision. He built a tool shed, a swimming pool, and a garage as big as the cabin. He planted fruit trees, flowering trees, and shrubbery, but wanted no fences, so that the wildlife could easily pass by and nest for a while. We've seen eagle (both bald and golden), wild turkey, ring neck pheasant, red fox, white tail deer, Canada geese, sika deer, and plenty of small critters like rabbit, opossum, raccoon, and the always undesirable ground hog.
I was fortunate to have lived with Dad, at Pop's barber shop on Pulaski Street, during my 6 years at college. And again at the Centreville cabin for 10 years while saving up for my own home. I appreciate the often repeated stories he shared, and the debates, and even our disagreements. We did not see eye to eye on several occasions. But he taught me much. I suspect fathers and sons in everyplace and in every age, share challenges, frustrations, respect, love and concern.
I recall when as a child of about 6, Dad took Tommy and me to Washington, D.C., so to visit the memorials and museums. When we entered the ground floor of the Washington Monument, he asked us if we wanted to take the elevator or the stairs. We choose the stairs, and about a third of the way up, we got too tired to climb any further. Dad put Tommy on one shoulder and me on the other, and he stepped up those stairs to the very top. People were amazed! This was a man who suffered polio as a child, and here he was ascending as three, while climbing one of the tallest structures in Washington. I am proud of my father.
Dad did not like to fly; consistently avoided it; drove to Florida, drove to Texas. When the Army sent him to Korea in 1957, it was onboard a ship. When they sent him home two years later, he was strapped in on a propeller driven military cargo plane, surrounded with equipment of many sizes, and functions. It was a very rough and loud ride! In the autumn of 2010, I took Dad to Detroit via round trip passenger jet, to see the international auto show - the big one. It was his first flight since 1958. He was excited and anxious. It was a much smoother ride. He liked the jet, but did not like the airports. I again flew him to Detroit in December 2012, and we visited the Henry Ford and Walter Chrysler museums. Those trips to Detroit were my thank you gifts to Dad for sharing so very much with me: cars shoes, race tracks, theme parks, caverns, landscapes, surf fishing, culture, history, and art. A month later, January 2013, Dad suffered a massive stroke. He spent three days on the floor before he was able to reach for the phone on the coffee table to summon help. He called for the love of his life, and she came running. Mom is a healer of broken wings. Mom has helped Dad every day since the stroke. They had been divorced for nearly 47 years – his first call – she came. Only God could manage it.
On the weekends I visit our Centreville home. My Dad is reading the paper, Mom is cooking a pot of soup, Tommy is cutting the grass, and I am doing chores. Dad's vision is realized, his hope fulfilled. I am proud to be my father's son.


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