One More Day

The other day, a Facebook friend asked a question that was something like, "If you could spend one more day with your dad, what would you do?" There were references to a day fishing, or spending time at a ballgame and, while I wouldn't turn my nose up at a day at the ballpark, I had something else in mind.

When you stand over the coffin and look at that face and those hands, you realize with certainty, that that person is gone. The body, before you for now, but the person, the personality, has gone silent and will never return.

What I miss about Dad is his personality and the bond my personality had with his. I miss hearing him pray. He said the same prayer at meals, with little variation, for all my adult life. We would smile at the familiar words and the familiar cadence as Dad thanked God for provisions and asked for strength. We would have sworn we'd never forget it, but today, all I can recall is the ending, "as Thy Words are to our spirits. In Jesus' Name we ask it. Amen." Short 'a' on the 'amen'.

I miss his laugh. Dad would have a funny story to tell and he'd start in, but many times, would get so tickled that by the end you could hardly understand him between the laughing and gasping.

I'm not sure what got us laughing in the picture on the right, but we both are clearly enjoying ourselves. And it's obvious there was no reason for me not to let go - I was wearing plastic pants.

Dad would spend time trying to teach me to play some baseball. Here, I crushed one of his offerings, at least that's the way I remember it. I always imagined that the white dot near the building was the ball. Now I just think it's a white dot. Dad's dad had been a coach, a teacher, and a principal and so I think my dad is just doing a little coaching right here. Granddad had older kids to work with, though.










Here's some guys Granddad worked with. Inmates at Algoa Farm in Jefferson City. In this photo from 1944, Granddad is standing in the back on the left. These young men had been incarcerated by the state of Missouri and sent to the prison farm at Algoa. Granddad was the boxing coach there for a time. In 1950, a guy who'd robbed a gas station in St. Louis showed up at Algoa and learned to box there, but there is no indication that Sonny Liston ever crossed paths with my granddad.

Back to the opening question: If I could have one more day with Granddad, I think I'd like to know about teaching boxing in prison. Wouldn't you?

Here we are staring into the sun, so Grandma must be behind the Brownie camera. Every photo that Grandma took featured us facing the sun. She liked her subjects well lit. So this is in the yard at Granddad's in Forsyth. The house had been built on a steep Ozarks slope and you parked down below and walked up a very interesting flight of stairs to the house. The steps were of varying heights and depths and had once been painted red, if memory serves.

Judging by the clothing, my guess is this one was taken the same day as the one above. Granddad has been replaced by my older sister. Apparently my legs have gone wobbly and Dad is trying to steady me. You notice in his left hand is some elixar of life that I'll probably knock back on the long car ride home. Thirteen long miles made simpler because the baby has a bottle.

I think this is a sweet picture. If an image could capture fatherhood, you could pick worse ones than this. I don't know where we were going, but I'd guess to church, based on how we're dressed. You have to keep the little man's shoes tied.

But now that I look again, you can see by the shadows that the sun was in the west when the picture was taken. So I don't know where we were going.

In the end, we helped Dad with various things as age and life and illness took their toll. For his sake you'd never ask, but even one of those days would be a joy for me to re-live.

Happy Father's Day.

Pop Culture

I recently saw a Dr. Pepper commercial that featured some singer doing his glamorous thing. It was clear that the assumption was the target audience would know who this star is and, knowing it, would be compelled to consume Dr. Pepper by the tanker truck load. Clearly, I am not in this demographic. Oh, I like Dr. Pepper just fine. But I don't have Clue One who the singer is.

And this made me think of my dad.

When I was but a child, Coca-Cola produced a commercial that really resonated with the young folks. So much so that many of you, based on this very general description, know precisely what commercial I'm talking about. In the ad, hundreds of young people of many nationalities and ethnic groups were standing in a field and singing about buying everyone in the whole world a Coke. I know I was eager to have a Coke bought for me. One time this ad was running when my dad was in the room and he made some remark about the song they were singing. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was evident that he didn't know that it was a real song that had been adapted for Coke. My older sister and I were mortified that DAD DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS A REAL SONG! What was he doing with his time for heaven's sake? You know, besides working 40-60 hours a week, working on our car, working on the house, attending meetings at the office, and meetings at the church, mowing the grass, raking the leaves, shoveling the snow, and visiting his parents and his in-laws weekly and some other stuff.

Like my dad, I have come to learn that there is just no time for everything and one of the things I have largely let go of is awareness of current popular culture, i.e., the People magazine beat. I watch precisely one TV program, I listen to old music and most of the books I read are not current. I like stuff that stands the test of time.

Stuff like buying the world a Coke.

Where Were You In '32?

Here's a look at the hometown, very little of which I recognize. By the time I was wandering around downtown, some 35-40 years later, much had already changed.

That is Main Street that runs up the hill from the foot of the bridge - a bridge that no longer exists, though I think I remember seeing the tops of the concrete pilings standing in the water. The tan building on the north side of Main with the row of windows is the White River Hotel, I believe. Or that's what it was when I knew it. Next up the hill is the railroad, the station right across the street from the hotel. Boy, does that make sense. The tracks run left to right in the photo. After that is the old Catholic Church on the left side of Main, the first building after the green space above the train station, I think. But that all I recognize from this photo. Maybe someone else can help out.

Here's the foot of Branson's Main Street these days -

Dad, Louie, Ferlin, a Bucket, and Music

I like my parents' music. I like it more every day.

I don't know exactly how to explain it, I am no musical scholar. I can only say that the rumbling bass and incessant riffs of my youth have receded into the background and the melodies, rhythms, and the voices (oh, the voices!) of the 1930's and 1940's are more front and center.

I got a Louis Prima CD for my birthday and am having a blast listening to this crazy guy. I was introduced to Prima by my dad. Not formally, of course, but because Dad had one of his albums. I don't remember ever hearing it, but I'm sure the folks listened at one time or another. Lately I've been hearing more of Prima as I listen to a station here that is devoted to this kind of music. Prima is compared to Louis Armstrong and for good reason, I suppose. Prima was a New Orleans guy and you can hear it in the music. Prima was Italian, which I did not know, and when I hear him, sometimes I hear Dean Martin coming out.

Prima's style could be described as frenetic, the album's liner notes say he and his band essentially invented the lounge act. Here, from the Tube of You, is Prima, Keely Smith (at one time married to him), and saxophonist Sam Butera, in all of their glory:

Keely Smith's job, besides her great voice, was to provide a stoic contrast to the antics of Prima and his orchestra - it was all part of the act.

Dad also liked country music and while I dip into that less liberally, there's a quite a bit of it that is growing on me, particularly the sounds of country swing and the rockabilly stuff. Dad went to school with country singer Ferlin Husky, who passed away just a few months ago. During the years when Ferlin was singing in Branson, Mom and Dad would try to go once or twice a year. Ferlin would be talking and ask if anybody there was from home and Dad would raise his hand and Ferlin would say, "Hello, Paul!" and then they'd have a conversation right in front of everybody. Here's Ferlin and Paul a few years earlier:

Ferlin is #20 and Dad is #22. This past July was the 12th anniversary of Dad's home-going and that caused me think about those two guys again.

One time during my childhood, I was in the back yard and for some reason I was talking to Dad about a bucket - either I was looking for one or lost one, or something. Dad grinned and said, "Does it have a hole in it?" I didn't get the reference and tried to explain what I needed and that I hadn't said anything about a hole. He just explained that there was a song about a bucket with a hole in it.

Well sure there was, a Hank Williams song to be exact. A lot of people (Robert Plant and Jimmy Page!) have covered it, but I'll give you Van Morrison, which might be my favorite version.

70's Saturday Today

On the way home from hunting and gathering, I had the radio tuned to a station that features music from the 70's on Saturday. Get this - they call it "70's Saturday." Pretty handy, I think.

At one point, the Boz Scaggs song 'Lido Shuffle' came on. I had not heard this song in a long, long time and it immediately took me back to a period in my life. On a similar note, I remember the MASH episode where Hawkeye suffers from an allergy and other symptoms and Sidney, the shrink, comes to help him. There's something in there about smells being a powerful memory trigger. Maybe. But songs can do it too.

So, 'Lido Shuffle' stirs up memories of listening to rock music way too loud at 'The Ranch, ' cruising around Missouri State, nee SMSU, showing the campus to a guy from out of town who, as a young father, was trying to persuade his toddling son not to admire Darth Vader so. I told him I liked Vader and he said, "Yeah, but you're not four."

So, what does 'Lido Shuffle' remind you of?

This is a live version and not the one of 30 years ago and Boz obviously can't hit the high notes anymore, but I find it compelling nonetheless.