The Passing of a Great Man

My father died last night.

That's a hard thing to write and looks strange when I typed it. The journalist in me wrote that in the terse style we are taught in Reporting I classes. There, you are told not to use a lot of flowery language like "passing away," "passing on," or any of the other euphemisms most people say when they talk about dying. "A person dies," my teacher said. "There's no better or easier way to say it." Perhaps that's why I've always eschewed the platitudes about death. I just say somebody died.

Like most children, I would tell you my dad was a great guy. But he really was. Strong, responsible, loving, funny, fascinating. Those are all words to describe this man.

Dad was born in a coal mining camp in West Virginia in 1926. His 81 years spanned virtually all the great inventions and innovations of the 20th Century. When he was born, horses were still common in the Appalachian Mountains and doctors were scarce. Dad's only brother died as an infant because of this lack of medical support, but he and his five sisters survived.

Life in the hills was harsh, but Dad always talked about it lovingly. Food was scarce; Dad told stories of hunting squirrels and possums so there would be meat for the family. How much meat does the average squirrel give to a family of eight, anyway?

My aunts frequently told us of the tricks my father pulled on them. He, like my grandfather, enjoyed a good practical joke and this trait would follow him throughout his life. He teased his sisters mercilessly as every brother is obliged to do, and they, in turn, got him in trouble for it. It seems sibling rivalry never changed much.

In 1944, when the U.S. decided to enter World War II, the government needed soldiers and it wasn't terribly picky about the conditions of those soldiers when they joined up. That's the only explanation I have for the fact that my father, malnourished and weighing just 119 pounds at 5'10", was a good recruit. But, in truth, Dad was a good recruit. Disciplined and intelligent, he was a great soldier, and like so many of his generation, the U.S. Army gave him the opportunity to escape poverty and degradation.

I've spoken before about the blessed life my father lead in the military. He was in three wars, yet was never in direct combat. Twice in World War II, he was scheduled to go to the front lines--first in Belgium, then in Okinawa. The day before he was to begin his dangerous duties in Belgium, the war ended. He and other soldiers were then put on a ship headed for Japan, but on the way, the Enola Gay dropped her atomic bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima and the war in the Pacific ended, as well. Later, Dad served in Japan during the Korean War and was in Thailand during Vietnam for two tours. Life in the military was dangerous, but I believe God was watching out for my father.

After World War II, Dad went back to West Virginia and worked in the coal mines along side my grandfather (yes, I'm a coal miner's daughter). He also spent time following Bill Monroe up and down the mountains. Dad was a lifelong bluegrass fan and we grew up hearing all Bill Monroe's songs on Sunday afternoons.



Perhaps it was Bill Monroe that made my dad learn to play guitar and mandolin, but regardless of the reason, he played for us regularly throughout my childhood.

Dad joined the Air Force in 1950, and travelled the world with the military. For a West Virginia hillbilly, Dad saw places many of us only dream about. From France to Belgium, Germany, Japan and England, military life agreed with my father. Over the last few days, I've thought about all the stories my father told us about his adventures on three continents...and then I thought of all the things he didn't tell us. Everyone has stories they never tell their children. I wonder what his were?

My father met my mother in England in 1955. They dated and married two years later and started their life together, having three children and a wonderful time. In the 38 years my parents were married, they loved and made memories that lasted the rest of my father's life. I can honestly say he loved my mother dearly all his life, and knowing they are together again makes my grief more bearable.

Many people will tell you their fathers were great men, but I know my father was. He exemplified all the best qualities we associate with manhood: strength, courage, discipline, love, tenacity, and humor (not that humor is only a male thing). After leaving the military, my father took an assortment of jobs to give his family the best life could offer. He wound up working as a feed line operator for animal feed mills in the area and spent the majority of his post-military life in that endeavor. Bud Kennedy once told me to never be embarrassed about what my father did for a living because it afforded me the privilege of college and a better life. I appreciated those words then (I was a know-it-all college kid at the time), and those words are even more true to me today. My father's hard work and willingness to put his family first gave my siblings and I the opportunities of better, easier lives which included college (and doctoral work for me). He was proud of the fact two of his three children graduated from college, even though he never quite knew what to make of his youngest child, the one who still chases butterflies. He will be missed in ways I can't begin to describe.