This Father’s Day I would like to tell you a story of a man and his family whom I have known for many years.
The man, born in 1920, was one of five children in a broken home. Growing up during the depression, he was forced to quit school after the sixth grade to help support the family. In those days there was little time for personal goals. The need to help one’s family survive the harsh economic times was more important than an individuals own personal dreams back then. From the age of twelve until his death in 1983, the man’s life revolved around nothing but work.
After serving in World War II, the man came back to the states and took a job as a grease monkey for the largest ice company in the Midwest. His job was simple; to keep the fleet of some fifty odd junker trucks running. Workers at the plant told many stories of how this man could get an old truck operational when no one else could. In later years, the workers would often tell the oldest son, who had begun working at the plant, that his father was the best mechanic they had ever seen. The comments never surprised the son. His father seemed to have the knack of doing anything he set his mind on better than anyone else.
As the years went by, the man had married and began to grow a family that would total five children over eighteen years. Needing a higher salary to sustain his ever growing family, the man took a home study course on how to be a heating and cooling engineer.
The man passed the test easily and became a refrigeration engineer for the same ice company. In the following years, men told the oldest son that his father was the best engineer the company ever had.
For thirty seven years, this man gave all he had to make the company thrive and prosper. He worked afternoon shifts as well as nights. Holidays, including Christmas, almost always found him on the job earning overtime pay to give more to his children.
The oldest son recalls how for many years his father worked seven days a week to provide a solid middle class life for his family. All of the children from time to time have told me that they wish their father had been home more often. Somehow the man had been caught up in the struggle to give his family all they needed. He never realized that what his family could have used the most was just his being home with them. The man had determined he was in charge of supporting the family. It was left to his wife to raise them.
The man who was quick to temper but just as quick to laugh loved to talk. His favorite hobby in the world, it seemed, was to argue with someone. On more than one occasion the sons have told how their father, when seeing the other person starting to agree with him, would change sides just to keep the argument going. The sons always laugh when they tell stories of his more famous debates.
Although the man loved to talk, he was not one to sit down and give sermons on life to his children. His fatherly advice came instead in little vignettes of recollections by his children.
Two of my favorite stories come from the oldest son who worked for a few years at the ice factory with his father.
It seems the son could really play baseball. At lunch each day the son would stand in the middle of the yard and challenge all the workers to try and hit one of his fastballs. Many a worker grabbed a bat. None of them could come close to hitting the tennis ball as it blazed past them, bouncing off the icehouse wall. Always the young man berated the workers, bragging incessantly that there wasn’t anyone who could get a hit off of him.
One day, as worker after worker went down swinging, the son’s bragging became too much for the father. Putting down his sandwich, the man ignored the bat, grabbed a janitor’s broom and unscrewed the handle. Stepping up to the mock plate, the father didn’t say a word. The man just stood there. His eyes telling his son to deliver the best he had to the plate.
The son recalls how with everything he had in his strong arm he fired the ball at his father. The son also recalls the solid sound of the broom handle meeting the ball true and square as it soared over the fence and adjoining factory’s roof.
The old man looked at his son and said; “too much mouth" and walked back to continue eating his lunch. As the work crew howled with glee at big Mike showing up little Mike, the son sheepishly went over and sat down next to his father. His dad immediately started talking about an idea he had to get more air pressure out of the factory’s compressors. Nothing more needed to be said about his son’s arrogance. The lesson had been given. The lesson had been learned.
The son also tells of the day his father had dropped a 400 pound cake of ice on his foot.
That evening, in the locker room as they cleaned up to go home, the son remembers his father’s foot was discolored and so badly swollen that the toes were hardly distinguishable from one another. The father gave that look to his son. The man never did tell his wife. The son never told his mother. For two months the man hobbled around the plant. For two months he never took a day off work.
The man, who never lectured, gave all his children their own lessons in life. All the lessons carried the same basic tenets. You don’t steal, you don’t cheat and you don’t lie. You always take seriously what you are doing, and you do it as best as you can.
The man who loved to grumble about the world never could be remembered as grumbling about his lot in life. The oldest son wishes he knew what his father thought of his life. He wishes he had asked just once what his dad had once dreamed of becoming before he got caught up in the tide of raising five children.
As the father approached the age when many begin to think of retirement, he was struck with Alzheimer’s. His last two years on Earth were sad memories to a family who remembered the man with the most powerful of minds being mentally laid to waste. The man’s last year of life was spent in bed. His mind was completely gone. His tougher than nails body refusing to give in.
Finally in December of 1983, the man’s body gave up. After 63 hard years the man could finally rest.
The oldest son recalls after his father’s death of going through some of his father’s papers. Included was the military DD214 form of his father’s service record. Under campaigns: were listed North Africa, Sicily, Normandy and the Battle of The Bulge. The father had never bragged about his military status. Once again the father was telling his son how to be humble.
At the father’s funeral, the son remarked how frail the once 6 ft, 190 lb man had become. A sad reflection on his father’s last worldly appearance, the son thought of what the funeral directors must have done to that gnarled old body for it to lay peacefully in the casket. For months the dad had been locked in a fetal position, his hands clenched into fists. One last tough thing for his dad to have to do, the son thought.
As the wake went on, family and friends as well as co-workers came to pay their respects. All that the son could focus on were the flowers displayed around his father’s bier. A dozen magnificent floral wreaths adorned the parlor, giving off that strange sweet smell that we have all come to associate with a wake. In the corner sat a small rubber plant in a clay vase. It was distinctive for its lack of elegance when compared to the more beautiful and obviously more expensive arrays.
The little plant carried a tag saying it was from the owners of the company the old man had given the best thirty-seven years of his life to. It was the only respect the man would receive from his employer. No one representing the company had enough time to say “goodbye" and “thank you" to a man who had given them almost four decades of selfless effort.
The son vowed to always remember that little plant and always understand that everyone who ever would work for him would always receive the dignities of respect and appreciation. Even in death, the father had one last lesson to teach his son.
This Father’s Day, it is a given that the five children will tell stories about their dad. There no longer is a need or a purpose in remembering the man’s faults. It is to the point that recalling the best essence of what he was is all that is required. The oldest son will have his own thoughts on his father.
“Happy Father’s Day", dad. I will always miss you.
