Dad

  Dad and me, 1955

Today we honor fathers’ contributions to our lives. My Dad has been gone for twelve years. He had an outsized impact on my life. 

I always had the greatest respect for Dad. When I was a youngster, I thought he should be President of the United States. Recently I came across a quote that reminded me of him. 

“When I hear the doomsaying about our democracy, about civilization, about the planet, something feels off to me: a sense of responsibility.” -Amanda Knox, former prisoner wrongfully accused of murder 

Dad held himself and those around him accountable. Conversations with him were never casual. He wasn’t the kind of guy you would go out and have a beer with, but his advice and opinions were widely sought. 

As a parent, Dad wasn’t as much a buddy as a respected coach you never wanted to disappoint.

Dad grew up in Southern Indiana on a small family farm without running water or electricity. His family grew, raised, or hunted everything they ate. Their primary cash crop was strawberries. Dad told stories of looking forward all year to strawberry season, so he could make a little money. He earned 5 cents a gallon for picking them all day in the blazing sun. Dad used his strawberry earnings at age ten to buy a leather-bound bible from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. 

Depression Era farming was hard. Dad’s family’s Strawberry land was cleared from the forest with axes and crosscut saws. Have you ever cut down and cleared a tree using only hand tools? I did once. I don’t recommend it!

Dad instilled a strong work ethic in his children. If we wanted to buy something, we first had to earn the money.  I mowed neighbors’ lawns at age nine for $3 per cutting.

Dad went to school in a one-room schoolhouse heated by a wood-fired stove and hosted by a single teacher covering grades one through eight. He was the first of our ancestors on his side to attend school beyond the eighth grade. Dad said there was nothing more important than getting a good education. He drilled that value into me so often that I knew I would go to graduate school before I even finished high school. 

I’ll never forget how my graduate school enrollment transpired. I was short on tuition, so I asked Dad for a loan. He turned me down. Frustrated, I told him I had already been accepted into the program and didn’t want to delay my attendance. Dad replied: “Tim, didn’t you just complete a B.S. Degree in Economics? Are you here to tell me that you didn’t learn about the banking system?”

The next day, I met with a loan officer. He asked what I intended to post for collateral. I didn’t have any. Ultimately, I got my graduate school advisor to vouch for me to obtain a signature loan. Dad didn’t believe in hand outs for those capable of making it on thier own. I learned a lot from that experience. 

Dad was a patriot. He enlisted to fight in WWII at age 17. After basic training, the position of ball turret gunner opened up on a B-17 Flying Fortress. According to the popular podcaster Mike Rowe, “The ball turret was, without question, the last place you wanted to be. Conditions were impossibly cramped. Temperatures at altitude were often 40 or 50 below zero. There was no room to move or stretch or turn around for hours at a time.”

Here’s a picture of a man in the ball turret:

Casualties for B-17 crews were so high during WWII that if an airman flew 20 missions, he earned a discharge from service. Dad flew 17 missions over Germany. 

Here’s a picture of him with his bomber crew:

After WWII, Dad went to Purdue Univerity on the GI Bill, completing Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees in Agricultural Economics. Upon graduation, he married Mom and worked for 38 years at the Ralston Purina Company, rising to Vice President of Economic and Market Research. 

Dad was an active volunteer at The U.S. Department of Agriculture throughout his career. Upon his retirement, a flag was flown over the U.S. Capitol in his honor. 

Near the end of Dad’s long life, I asked him if he had accomplished his life purpose. He thought about it and said, “My greatest desire has always been to be a Christian gentleman.”

Everyone who knew him would agree he accomplished that objective.

The minister who conducted Dad’s funeral service was a somber fellow. Still, I credit him for playing the only funeral “spoof” I’ve ever witnessed. 

Upon entering the Presbyterian church, attendees found the left side of the large sanctuary completely cordoned off. The service was well attended, and those arriving late were forced to sit in the back on the right. At the end of the service, almost as an afterthought, the minister added, “You may be wondering why you are all seated on the right side of the sanctuary. Well, as many of you know, Norm was a bit to the right himself!”

Dad was indeed a staunch conservative. 

Happy Heavenly Father’s Day, Dad!

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