RMJ 103 May 28
WEDNESDAY, MAY 28 ● Los Angeles
The service was to start at 10:00, and Judy and I were going to pick up Tal Smith at the Holiday Inn at 9:30. At 9:15, Laura Lynn sat on Judy’s glasses and smashed them flat. John offered to bend them back, but he said they might break, so we rushed to an eyeglass store. A lady said the same thing as John; then she bent them and they broke.
We took them to a jewelry store across the street and had them soldered, then we picked up Tal and came back. The glasses were ready, and we arrived at the chapel on time.
There were about fifty people already seated, but four of Dad’s best friends were missing. When they showed up, we started. By then, there were maybe 75 people; it was a full house.
Rick sat on one side of Mom, and I sat on the other. We were constantly holding her hand and patting her leg. The pastor had his say, and then Lily sang Amazing Grace. She did a beautiful job, but somehow a nine-year-old girl is not so evocative as an older person might be with the entreaty to “save a wretch like me.”
“Lily doesn’t look so wretched,” I whispered to Mom.
After that, Dad’s friends were invited to say a word if they felt the urge. I was proud to note that
almost all of his close friends spoke up, and most of them broke up in the process.
The central theme of most of the speakers was his honesty and integrity. Subthemes included his temper — which I choose to call “his passion” — and his sense of humor.
I never thought of my Dad as a humorous man. Sure, he liked to tickle and tease us. He would invent outrageous stories, such as his assertion that my best friend in high school was an operative for the FBI.
“How’s things in the spy business?” he would ask. “Have you captured any new secrets from the Russians?”
One of the ladies who spoke said that when she called, he would say in a whisper, “we’re going to have to stop meeting like this. Marilynn will find out.”
“Most people wouldn’t joke around about something like that, but Chuck and Marilynn had such a solid marriage that he could kid around without offending me or her. He was such a sweet man.”
I spoke on the issue of time:
I am proud that all of you have taken the time to share our grief today. Time is very precious. In the end, it is all we have. And when you are faced with something like this, you realize that your time on Earth is very short. It is said that someone is generous when he donates money to charities. Well, Dad gave to all of them. He was the ultimate soft touch. Certainly, it is admirable to give money to the needy. But he had a lot of money, and he never spent it on the luxuries of life. That is one thing; giving time is another. And he gave it in great quantities. This is the mark of true generosity: giving time. As children, we got the best part of it. He attended all our games, coached the teams. He even was the chief of our Indian Guides troop — sitting on the floor, making lanyards.
That comment got a good laugh, as did others made earlier about his all-thumbs approach to home maintenance, and his aversion to camping and beach activities.
I pointed to his business associates.
He always brought work home. I know you guys are aware of the extra time he gave to the company. What you might not know is that when he got home, he almost always threw the ball around or shot baskets with us. Then came dinner. Then our homework. Then his homework. Finally to bed, and the same thing all over again. I have heard some of you speak of his golfing and tennis exploits, but he really didn’t play that often. He didn’t have time to indulge himself; he gave most of his time to others. Mom likes to travel. Dad liked to stay home. So what did they do when he took vacation? They traveled, of course. No, Dad didn’t really have any hobbies — only responsibilities. In this life, he gave his time away. It is my hope his reward will be timeless and eternal.
I had to proceed slowly, to keep from crying. I did gurgle a little, but I got through it.
Ashley got up and said a few heartfelt words. She is the most-sensitive of Laura’s daughters, and her halting speech left everyone teary-eyed.
Laura read a passage from the Bible and elucidated it nicely. Then she called for the music: Dan Fogelberg’s The Leader of the Band.
The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I’m just a living legacy
To the leader of the band
The service concluded, we filed out of the chapel and into our unTossed [?] lives. There had been a lot of quiet weeping, but no wailing. It was the way Dad would have wanted it.
We still had a few hours before our flight. Tal came back with us, and we went over to a neighbor’s house for lunch.
Mom got dizzy after drinking half a glass of wine. It’s hard to drink wine when you haven’t been eating. I hope her appetite will return soon.
Her departure gave us all an excuse to go home. She lay on the couch, and we talked about life and baseball.
I said that I was impressed with the relatively small crowd at the service.
“He was such a powerful influence on all who knew him,” I said. “It makes you realize how small you really are in the world. There were only a handful of people there who really knew him,” I said. “What a shame.”
Judy took exception to my observation.
“He may not have had a direct effect on a lot of people, but his influence must have had a ripple effect. What about the people he did business with? Don’t you think his honesty and integrity rubbed off on them a little? He had a lot more impact on the world than you think.”
Though I still felt rather small, I agreed. I read somewhere that a life is important only in the impact it has on other lives.
My Dad was an important guy.
Rick and Chuck
Rick took us to the airport. We got stuck in traffic again, and we barely made the flight. Tal had a first-class ticket, and Judy and I had upgrades, but there were no seats for us. We sat in the back, just in front of a crying baby. Tal sat up front with a lapful of Coke, courtesy of a clumsy flight attendant.
It was not an easy week.