Overlooked is the common, everyday person who has a tally of modest, and what some would consider unremarkable, contributions over a lifetime. He goes to work. He pays his bills. He struggles to make ends meet. He meets a woman, they marry, and she does the same. Together they lead average, ordinary lives. But in the aggregate, their contributions stack up and build the foundation for the next generation. They are loved by each other and a small circle of friends and family.
They are not perfect; they have faults, but if you are one of the small circle of family you accept them for who they are — people who you love. You read about them every day; you’ll scan an obituary, you’ll think he or she seemed like a nice person, and you’ll turn the page.
The man pictured below is one such common man.
He was born on January 6, 1932, in New Philadelphia, Ohio.
When he was ten years old, he found a railroad torpedo and hit it with a sledgehammer. He went temporarily deaf and his ears rang for days.
He played high school football, a stick-thin guard noted for flying elbows.
Upon graduating from high school, he wanted to be a diesel mechanic. A few years later, in November 1951, he enlisted in the Air Force.
For a time, he was stationed in Wyoming. Also there was an 18-year-old high school graduate from Gilmanton, Wisconsin, going to school to be an X-ray technician. He was introduced to her by a mutual friend in the Bluebird Bar in Cheyenne. They married and had seven sons.
He retired from the Air Force in 1971. He loved being in the military but he worried about the cost of college for his seven sons. While he was waiting to secure a job with the Immigration and Naturalization Service, he took a janitorial job in a furniture store in San Antonio, Texas. The older sons remember that at the time between the Air Force and Immigration, chicken was always on the menu. They now know that chicken was the most inexpensive protein their mother could buy at the time.
In 1976, he had a heart attack. He survived. He retired from the Immigration service in 1992. By that time each of his seven sons had gone to college. One went into the Air Force and retired as a Lt. Col.
The sons had some difficult times. There were some divorces. But they all recovered, and all are now married. They live relatively quiet and content lives.
The man in the picture had more health problems as he aged. “You have to be strong to get old,” he would say. He rarely complained, and most of the time he enjoyed his retirement, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren.
In May 2017 his chronic, but manageable, pain started to get worse. He saw a number of doctors. In September 2017, he was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. There was nothing that could be done to save him. But he was a man of faith, and he took comfort in what awaited him after death.
In the time that remained, he did not complain. He comforted his wife, and she promised to take care of him until he passed. His sons, their wives, and their children traveled to see him. They said everything they needed to say.
In the end, he could not speak. Two days before he died, he struggled to give his wife of 64 years a kiss. She did indeed keep her promise to take care of him until he passed.
He died on December 7, 2017, and he was my father.
Love you, Dad.
*****
