Recently in a class at MCC, I led a discussion among the students regarding someone that they highly respected. The term "awe" indicates the highest level of respect, which really should be reserved for God. However, we use the term to speak of people whom we highly respect. As I thought about this, I told the class the great respect I had for my father.
Until I was about 15 years old, there was no greater man in my life than my father. I believed in his dreams, especially those when we would have our own "Jimmy" diesel truck and would be making the big bucks we believed that truck drivers made. We had the biggest Chevrolet available, which was a 2-ton truck. I can remember that we had come close to starving to death working in the logging business. Disgusted my father came home and a local trucker who knew my dad has this truck called to tell him that if he could get a dump bed on the truck he could go to work. The job was hauling slag (waste metal) from the local smelter (AS&R) to Climax Colorado to provide a base to place a huge conveyor from the mine to the mill. The job would pay $10.00 a load and my father could plan to make 8-10 loads a day. As I rode back and forth with my dad we talked about the "Jimmy" diesel we would soon have. However, we never got the "Jimmy" and my dad would die in 1974 working in a uranium mine in Moab Utah.
My dad was among the hundreds of children of his day who never got beyond the 8th grade in school. The same was true of my mother. Nevertheless, through reading and personal development they educated themselves to at least a high school level. My dad was an excellent musician, able to play guitar, harmonica, and accordion. He did not read music but he quickly picked up tunes. A special event was whenever we had a private concert at home. My dad never attempted to do anything professional in music and now that he is gone so is the music he made. I always dreamed of being able to sing as well as my dad, but it never happened.
My dad was a classic shade tree mechanic who could fix anything that had an engine in it. There is a man in the church where I minister is almost a reincarnation of my dad. The church fellow cannot sing though. Otherwise, in habit, demeanor, and abilities they are two peas from the same pod. He worked for years as a mine-mechanic in the mines around Kokomo and Leadville Colorado. I remember the bizarre working hours my father had. Sometimes he went to work at 4:00 in the afternoon and got home after midnight or go to work at 3:00 in the morning and get home around noon. The shifts changed every two weeks. I do not how he was able to establish any pattern of sleep. I do remember that regardless of the time of day he got up or got home, my mother had a hot meal on the table for him.
The greatest year I had with my dad was when I was 13 years old. I spent the entire summer working in the woods with him. My working was certainly illegal because of my age, but no one seemed to care. I had my own ax and I worked alongside my dad as he cut trees for lumber. My job was to help to trim off the limbs. We walked up the mountain every day together, worked hard all day and then came back to the logging camp for supper. Some weekends we would return to Leadville to be with the rest of the family.
When I became a Christian and later went into the ministry, my father was very disappointed. He wanted me to have a good job as the result of a good education so that I would not have to struggle as he did. He did not see that happening in the ministry. Sad to say he never accepted Christ. He was a loner for most of his life and trusted only my mother. Every other friend he had and many families had betrayed his trust to the point that he trusted no one and died without any friends. At his funeral, the only people there were friends of mine and friends of my mother. My father died as he chose to live—alone.
His death was the hardest event I ever faced in my life. After than I had a lot of concern for people who lost loved ones. In the year after my father died, I began attending funerals especially for people whom I knew were not loved by many. I realized that funerals were for the living not the dead. The saddest funeral I attended during that time was for the child of one of my students. The baby was a beautiful normal little girl. However, when she was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her throat and before they could get it off she was dead. This was the first baby for the couple and she died in such a tragic way. I was the only person at the funeral. No grandparents, friends, or relatives. I wept alongside the couple as they laid their child to rest. I promised myself I would never allow anyone to go through that alone if there was some way I could be there. I have kept that promise and have attended funerals for people I never knew because I knew someone I knew that needed comfort at that time loved them.
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