Saturday, September 1, 2012

My father's life

At my father's memorial service this morning, these words were read. My brother (Jim), sister (Judy), and I wrote them together, as a way to try to capture some of my father's life.


Our Father grew up in a different time, and so much of who he was was defined by the times.

Dad grew up in Homewood, Alabama, a suburb of Birmingham before it was a suburb, the youngest of three boys.  His grandfather came over from Wales to work in the coal mines.  Our father grew up roaming the hills around his home freely, hills that are now developed subdivisions. When he and his friends at age 16 decided to take off in their cars on a trip, the chief of police gave them a note that said, “These are good boys from good families.” They travelled around, showing the note when they arrived in each town and sleeping in fields.  These times were not idyllic, of course. Dad had adventures and a few misadventures. He was in a car accident at a young age and left for dead. Thankfully, he wasn’t, or none of us children would be here.

It also meant that he grew up in Bull Connor’s Birmingham in the nascent days of the civil rights movement.  Those days had an impact on him, and he was always a positive force for desegregation in the South.  

His first career was as a journalist for the Atlanta Journal. He won awards for his writing on city issues in the late 50’s and early 60’s. He shone a light on civil rights issues in the city.  He researched the slums of Atlanta, by walking and talking to the residents. He even named names of slumlords, which was a risky thing at the time.  He interviewed Martin Luther King, Jr. the night he was in the Atlanta jail. 

Dad moved to the Georgia Safety Council. For us kids, that was the most exciting career ever, because he brought the Safety Bug to our house!  The Safety Bug was a Volkswagon Bus decorated like a lady bug that could talk and teach children about safety. We never noticed that the voice sounded strangely like our father’s. While there, he also worked with then-Governor Jimmy Carter on seatbelt legislation. During these years, Dad also continued his involvement in civic and civil rights.  Among other things, he worked with Andrew Young and others to ensure a peaceful desegregation of the Atlanta swimming pools. 

He worked for the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, and then as Vice President for Urban Affairs of Georgia State University.  While there, he earned his PhD in Education, a huge accomplishment!  He also did most of the work to enable Georgia State to start a law school.

Dad was a wonderful father. Dad enjoyed being with his children. When he got home, we’d all yell “Dad’s home!” and go running. He would pick us up, with a big smile. He was always happy to see us.  If you called him at his office, he would drop what he was doing and pick up the phone immediately.

He took Jim to Indian Guides, where Jim was Quick Rabbit and Dad was Slow Turtle. In Boy Scouts, on a father/son hiking trip, Dad was always one of the few fathers that actually showed up.  Dad decided on the spur of the moment that he and Jim would learn to scuba dive together.  “We’ll never do it if we don’t do it now,” and so they did.  There were times of throwing a baseball in the back yard. Dad would tell wonderful stories. He would read Nancy Drew, Jerry Todd, Poppy Ott, and Hardy Boys books out loud to the children, buying the latest Nancy Drew book whenever it came out.  Dad shared his interest in models and stamp collecting with his children. Dad was an avid birdwatcher, and it was a gift he shared with his children and grandchildren. When he and Jim, and later his grandson Winston, went birdwatching early in the morning, it wasn’t so much looking at the birds as it was being together.

Every Christmas, he would be the first one to go in to light the fire in the fireplace and turn on the Christmas tree lights.  He would sit by the tree and distribute the presents. One year, he even assembled an entire swingset in our living room, so that we would be surprised when we walked in on Christmas morning!

Many memories of Dad as a father have to do with our family vacations to Florida.  Each morning, Dad would be the one to get up early with the squirmy, excited kids. We would go on a long beach walk, picking up shells. Then we would go for a swim in the ocean, always in water just beyond where we could touch.  Then afterwards, we would swim in the pool.  After dark, we would go hunt ghost crabs on the beach. 
He worked hard and long hours, but he still took the time to be a good father. In fact, in an age nowadays of so many absentee fathers, Jim has known that he would never be one, because of the example that Dad set. 

In the same way that he loved his children, Dad loved his grandchildren dearly:  Tori, Mary, Winn, Robert, Caroline, Vera, and Betsie. He kept up with their lives and was very proud of them.  The grandkids always enjoyed seeing Vee-Vee and Grandaddy.

Mom and Dad moved to KC in the early 1980’s. After as stint in Kansas City as President of American Humanics, they left for Belize and then Jamaica with the Peace Corps.  Being Country Director of the Peace Corps is actually a presidential appointment. Dad was not the same flavor of politician as the President at the time, so he wasn’t sure that he would get the appointment. However, the Peace Corps in Belize needed some work, and so they chose my father for his abilities as a problem solver. After three years in Belize, he had done such a good job cleaning up things there that they sent him to Jamaica for three more years to do the same thing. 

Mom and Dad were able to spend 13 good years of retirement travelling around the world.  They loved their travels and have many photo albums to bear witness to their journeys. When Mom got breast cancer, Dad cared for her.  Here’s the thing about that. Before Mom’s illness, Dad was a typical man of his generation.  He didn’t do the cooking or the housework. For him, gourmet cooking was opening a jar of Cheez-Whiz, a can of deviled ham, and a sleeve of Premium saltines.  Once Mom got sick, though, Dad started cooking!  True, he brought in a wide variety of foods many nights, but he also sought out cooking advice from the kids.  

You see, most of all, Dad loved our mother. They met at a high school house party in Florida. Mom thought he was terribly skinny, and he was sporting an ice-pick injury from a frat house game.  But their love was true and deep and extended until the present. When going through Dad’s papers, we discovered that he kept a love letter on his desk that he wrote to Mom before they got married. It is beautiful.  In one part, as he is describing their marriage, he says, “Darling, I wish you knew how much I am anticipating us spending quiet evenings at home. We’re going to have to get a t.v. set so you can sit on my lap and watch it.  I find myself daydreaming about it more and more. Let’s spend about 90% of the time being lovey dovey and the other 10% being serious.”  He closed the letter with “My darling, we are going to be the happiest, most in love couple that ever got married.  Good night my darling, I love you.”

For Dad, being with Mom was the most important thing. Whether he was moving across the country or to another country entirely, he needed Mom by his side.  In fact, Mom was an important part of his work as Country Director of the Peace Corps, and he loved having her by his side as they worked with the Peace Corps volunteers together.

One more story: Once we were going camping on the Sewanee River with his brother Winn’s family.  So, we loaded up the big old station wagon and set off, getting terribly lost while taking a shortcut.  As they were trying to find their way to the campsite, Mom and Dad finally saw the other family in the distance. Dad turned onto a tiny trail – not the right way- that got smaller and smaller until it dead ended at a rickety wooden bridge with a big sign that said “condemned.” There was no way to turn around; the only option was to drive over this terrible bridge towing a pop-up trailer. So Mom and the kids got out of the car, carrying as much as we could. We waited and watched, because the bridge looked too flimsy to even walk over.  And Dad drove the car slowly and carefully over that tiny bridge while they watched, and he made it over.

That’s what it feels like now. Dad has crossed over to the other side of death while we have watched him go first. Once again, he is leading the way, showing us how to get there safely.