My Dad

Some of you may recall that in the past I was the chief cook and bottle washer of a small group of our church members which we lovingly call “The Twig”. Why? Because its smaller than a Branch. I suspect only other members of my faith will understand those titles but suffice it to say it is only a means of reference. Although I am no longer the head liaison to our local body of church members I had volunteered to speak at the weekly service of this “Twig” and inasmuch as it was Fathers day Sunday, I decided to speak about my Father. In most, if not all, of my meanderings through my history, I don’t remember ever saying much about this man and it now seems like a good time to extol his characteristics-good or, possibly, bad.

My early remembrances of my Dad were only a few: first he was funny, made faces and tap danced for his two small sons, Jack, my older brother and me. I also vaguely recall driving down a street that was to become my home for several years. Warwick Avenue was, at that time, a mass of mud ruts and I suspect I was no more than three but the ruts were sufficient to make them remembered. I only mention this because it was one of my first impressions of my Father. It was the late twenties and the Great Depression had not yet arrived with a vengeance. It was several years later that Dad began to make an impression on me and these impressions are brighter now than they were then but only because nostalgia has a way of brightening and elaborating that which is past.



I learned later Dad was an Eagle scout, won a bugler contest in the city of Buffalo N.Y.--our home town. He also had started driving a motorcycle when he was 15 and living in Rochester N.Y. although he was courting my Mom who lived in Syracuse. I never did know how they got together considering the distance apart, but get together they did and Dad became “Wonder Dad”. Why? Because he could do anything---anything! In our new home, he became an electrician, a carpenter, plumber, seamstress, yes, seamstress, musician and of course the wage earner. I came to appreciate some of the above when I purchased my first home and therein lies another recollection of Dad. My new home required a storm door on the side and I went to the lumber yard, bought a door, planed it to fit, added the paint and hinges and voila a job well done--I thought. Mom and Dad came over the next day and in my pride of doing this work, I asked for Dad’s opinion--a mistake. He said I should have had the door open into the prevailing winds. When I explained I had done so we couldn’t agree on which was East and which was West. When I pointed out that the sun was setting, which should have been sufficient to convince my Father, he stated, with authority, “I don’t care what the sun is doing, that’s the West”. Thus a look at my Dad’s stubbornness!




I was the despair of my father. Here was a man that could do anything and a son who could do nothing. Thus he dubbed me with the sobriquet “Handy Andy” because I wasn’t! There was very little I could do to impress Dad and during those early years I became aware of my lack of talent. I played a little piano, clarinet and fife, none of which were sufficient to make an impression. I did find that I could sing a little but at a Boy Scout evening, I unfortunately, butchered a song, to the dismay of my Dad, who had managed to attend one of the few things in which he had ever witnessed me take part. Another disappointment! The Depression had now become serious in our lives and Dad was striving to keep our financial heads above water. Kids weren’t aware of things like that but I remember losing our home on Warwick Avenue. This had a big affect on my life. I never understood why we lost our house. Dad had a job as an automobile mechanic, shop manager and an occasional gig with a dance band in which he played. This was substantially more than many others had and I was always mystified why this took place but we got along in a three bedroom “flat” with Burt and I sharing a bed.



I began High School at age 12 and took 5 years to graduate. The News carried a lot about the war which had begun in Europe. Jobs were more available. I was going from one job to another. As I had said, I never did anything to impress Dad. I never heard him say I love you and I say this without grievance. I loved my Father and knew he loved me. He just didn’t know how to make the words and this is a failure I have had in my life. However, he became very proud as I entered the Navy. The war was peaking and America had become a hot bed of munitions work. It was then that Dad had a very serious heart attack. I was away and never knew how debilitating his condition became. I learned in later years, he rarely left his bedroom and while he had previously had a good social life with my Mom, now would not speak to or see any of his old friends. He took up photography as a hobby and that helped with his daily activities. He no longer could work outside the home and for a while even lived in the basement of my in-laws nearby. I don’t know how they survived with no income and no friends. During the war, he bought a motorcycle to use for transportation and he and Mom got along, with her riding in back and in winter months in a sidecar. He managed to take many pictures of me in uniform and again, nothing was ever mentioned about his pride in me because I had now become an officer. That wasn’t part of Dad’s make up. But, I knew he was greatly impressed with me being a pilot, Jack working for the government in war related jobs and my younger brother, Burt, now also in the Navy. They now had two stars to display in our windows. I recall, at a base in Schenectady, a group of us were hanging out when someone mentioned an old couple coming down the street on a motorcycle. I looked and replied, ”That’s no old couple that’s my Mom and Pop.” They had driven from Buffalo to my Naval base to see me- a distance of some 200 miles and I was very happy to see them. I also remember, with great clarity, coming home on leave late one night, entering my parents room and speaking quietly to my Mom when Dad awoke, instinctively grabbing and hugging me fiercely. It was the only act of love from my Father I can ever recall. Again this is not mentioned with any form of grievance but I have often become very emotional with this remembrance.




Soon, life began to return to normal. All three of his boys were now home safe and sound. Dad had purchased an old 1928 junker for Louise and I to have wheels while he continued with the cycle. Some of his personality returned with the arrival of my two daughters and he loved spending time with them and, again, using his hobby to take pictures of my kids and then Burt’s kids. I was attending school, although my job in the department store began to demand more of my time, and I became, first, an assistant buyer and then soon after a buyer. I know Dad’s life had become more full with the knowledge his family was surviving and growing. I had taken a new job in Wisconsin when the news came that Dad passed away. He had suffered an aneurism on the aorta and quickly bled to death. I was in shock. Here was a man of whom I had relatively little knowledge and I would never learn much about him. The Depression years, school activities, my years in the Navy and those when I became very involved with my own family and my career had deprived me of that knowledge. But still, my recall, in retrospect of Dad leaves me with a warm feeling that although I wish I had been more involved with knowing who he was, what he did, where and what his activities were about, I knew my Father was a good man, one who loved his family and even more, a man who loved my Mom. I know there will be a time when he and I will recall the memories that were a part of our former years and I’m looking forward to seeing Dad and the rest of my family in that life to come.