Post Scripts: Memories of my father

He died Feb. 17, 1978. I think back on the night he passed away at the nursing home where he had been only a few days after spending over a month in the hospital. Kathy chose to spend the night with my mother and I went home alone, but soon a dear old friend, Phil Tate, came and we spent a long time reminiscing. The next morning bright and early more friends, Bob and Rick Snidow, were at mother’s home shoveling snow off the driveway. It wasn’t too long until friends and neighbors began bringing in food extending their sorrow. That’s what Gallatin is all about. Friends helping friends, whether it is a death in the family or a birth or any other special occasion, friends and neighbor share with each other.

I have many fond memories of my dad while I was growing up. He worked hard to make a living for us so my mother was my main care giver, but Dad and I also spent time together. One of my fond memories is when we went the Blue River on his day off and caught crawdads. We went home with a bag full and mother cleaned and boiled them and what a feast we had.

Another special memory I have of Dad when I was little boy was one Christmas. I had spotted a toy truck at Katz Drug Store and hoped that Santa would bring it along with a piece of material from my grandma for mother to make me a shirt. I don’t remember what I got, but I do remember I didn’t get the truck I had so wished for. Although it was a holiday, Dad took me downtown on the street car, we didn’t have a car, and thank goodness the store was open. They had one truck left on display and Dad bought it so his son could have a Merry Christmas.

After Dad retired, my parents decided they wanted to move to Gallatin in 1962. They were welcomed into the community and they became active members of our United Methodist Church. He eventually taught the older couples Sunday School class. That brought back memories of when I was a little boy and he was Sunday School Superintendent at Oakhurt Methodist Church in Kansas City.

For several years they lived in a rental house, but finally they were able to buy a home. They had lost their nearly new home in Kansas City during the depression when Dad had lost his job and they couldn’t make the small payments each month on the $2500 loan.

I picked up Dad every morning as I went to the office. We got the mail and he chatted with the employees and sometimes went to the grocery store before I returned him home. One morning as I circled back by their house I noticed Dad putting out liver which he had purchased at the store, for several cats. I finally found out why they so often had stray cats at their back door. Their old cat, Stinker, who had one eye, died a few years after they came to Gallatin.

Old age and health problems finally caught up with Dad and one day he said he didn’t mind dying, but hated to leave mother and hoped he didn’t die right before Christmas. I, too, felt like it might be his last one. It was a great Christmas, too, as he enjoyed his two great grandsons, Doug and Ryan Fessler.

My Dad never gained any measure of prominence, and certainly not any wealth but he was a rich and uncommon man because he was aware of the value of love, trust, respect and appreciation. I never knew a man more honest and honorable than he was. I think his philosophy of life was based on faith and patient acceptance. He figured a spoonful of kindness mixed with a couple of dashes of good humor and cheer was a cure for many of man’s ills.

We hope everyone who has lost their father has such special memories on Father’s Day.