Today would have been Dad’s 102nd birthday. He’s been gone 26 years now and my mom died in July of 2020. The following tribute is one that I had written in 2010.
My dad died on December 28, 1998, the day after my youngest daughter’s 13th birthday. My father was always my hero. Unlike most kids from the 60’s, I never felt a resentment toward him and thought for the most part that he was always right.
My dad was born on this day in 1922. He grew up very quickly as it was terribly hard during the depression. His father died when he was very young, forcing his family to be broken up and sent to various farms to work as cheap labor – slave labor. At 12 and 13 years old many kids like my dad ended up living with farm families just for a bed and a meal and little pay – if any; they were often treated like mere slaves.
Dad told me of the times he would have to stay in the kitchen when the farmers real kids celebrated Christmas in the living room, opening their presents and having a great family gathering. Dad was not included. That’s how he grew up in the real world of the Great Depression, which for many poor people really started in 1925!
It was a world that was often cruel and uncaring.
Dad dropped out of school after the 8th grade in order to work. That experience made him sure that he would better himself and that was committed to making sure that his family would never suffer as he had. For the most part he was quite successful through hard work, exercising integrity in honesty and character. Those who knew him respected him and most I would say looked up to him; I know I did. He was always my hero. I grew up in the 60’s when kids hated their parents, but that wasn’t me, or my brothers for that matter. Our parents sacrificed so that their children had everything they wanted. Yes, we had to work for those things, but we knew we would get them.
Dad’s story changed dramatically and miraculously. Dad worked hard, often holding down two and three side jobs. In The 1940’s, he was still farming, and for a time ran the farm that was owned by the sister of the Warner Brothers, YES, the movie studio brothers! He often told me stories of all the movie stars in the 1940’s that would come to the farm and how they told him that making movies was nothing like anyone would imagine. His hard work and devotion paid off and by the late 40’s he was running the very same farm that I would one day sell corn from and that would put me through college. People noticed his hard work and especially his integrity. Dad didn’t lie, cheat, or steal from anyone. His word was law and with that said, nobody ever needed anything but his word! My mother was a devout believer, and even though my father was not outwardly religious, he had a great belief in God. Like Joseph in Egypt, he had a knack to turn things around and make people money. Soon this got the attention of the Nestle company, and Dad was hired and quickly worked his way up the ranks to a high paid management position. In doing so, we (his children) grew up in a storybook life. We lived well in the 50,’s 60’s and 70’s. As for me, I was good in school, went to college and ended up graduating at the University of Connecticut in the mid-70’s.
Even during his Nestle’s years, dad worked side jobs. He still helped work on the farm owned by Mary Weaver, he mowed lawns, drove nighttime mail truck deliveries, and about anything else that would better his family. We were the first family on our street to have a color tv (1963), The first to have 3 cars (by 1970), and the first to have a swimming pool (1967). Dad worked hard, so his kids would not have to ever live as he did. He was a success in that.
My dad lived into his 78th year, dying of complications from modern hospital mistreatment. There is not a day I don’t think of my father.
Happy Birthday Dad – until we meet again on that great day!