He died suddenly, with a massive heart attack, on July 11, 1977, and I wasn't there. My not being there was not surprising... because I was busy trying to make a name for myself (just as he had done). Besides, the unpredictability of either one of my parent's moods kept me on edge, and dad and I never talked much anyway. It never seemed as if we had much to talk about. He loved hunting, but I loved golf. He worked with steel, but I pushed a pencil. He was a combat veteran, and I had not served at all. He loved to make things work, whereas I loved to think about them. He was a Tea Party member before its time, and I was a child of the 60's. I didn't know what to say to him and when we were growing up, he was seldom around the house anyway. He always seemed to be at "the plant," and when he did come home, he would often be very difficult to live with. When he entered the house, my brothers and I made ourselves scarce, and between his work schedule and his moods, I never felt entirely comfortable when I was around him. I often wished that I would've had a dad to play catch with, or one who would've listened to my worries and my dreams, but things just never turned out that way.
Therefore, we didn't talk much, and as the years passed, and we went our separate ways after Sherry and I moved to Omaha. Yet, I wish we would have spent more time with him and the rest of my family. I wish that things could have been different because I loved my father dearly... and I admired him in many ways. Like many of his peers, he only had an 8th grade education... but he was very bright. He had a quick wit, a wonderful sense of humor (he absolutely loved Red Skelton), a legendary work ethic, and a well-earned reputation of being a man people could trust. He also had an immense amount of courage...and almost frightening perseverance. In short, he was a man's man. He filled a room... and the record shows that he accomplished a lot, rising to the rank of VP and Co-Owner in the field that he chose.
He lived, it seems to me, in three worlds at the same time. At home, he seemed unhappy and at odds with my mother much of the time. At work, he was somebody important, who played a big role and cast a big shadow, and within himself, he carried the memories of the depression, the War, and any number of regrets, hopes, and wishes. Of course dad was somebody's child himself. He grew up in what seems to have been a stern and volatile household, and he was definitely affected by what he experienced in WWII (which he seldom mentioned at all.) He had seen too much death, experienced too much pain, and pushed himself to be more than he was able to handle at times. He played the cards that had been dealt to him with strength and courage, and he never complained about not being dealt the very best hand. This is the same thing I've tried to do in my life and in many ways, I am much like my dad... except that, when I hit bottom... I was blessed with a transforming grace... and he never had that experience. Grace. A second-chance. That's the only difference between us. Otherwise, I am pretty much a chip off the old block. Indeed, in many ways I wish I was even more like my dad. With a better hand and a moment of grace, dad could've done great things. There is not a doubt in my mind, but (like me) he needed an "unconditional hug." He needed to be known... and loved anyway.
This man... who once put his fist through a picture window, wrapped his own arm with his shirt, and then drove himself to the doctor... who lost a co-pilot and many of his buddies in the war... who loved to fill his house with laughter and friends- who had lost siblings and parents- who loved to play with his grandchildren and grill food for the whole family- who prayed to God when he picked up enemy fire during the War- who gave us everything he had to give... was my father... and I love him. His body is now resting next to my mother's, in the Masonic section of Highland Memory Gardens, grace 4, lot 170... which is not far from either one of the plants he used to run. I won't get there in person this year, so I will say it now: "Hello, dad. I hope you are at peace. I know you did the best you could. Happy Father's Day."
Your son,
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