Not an ordinary man — a Father’s Day tribute

You won’t read about him in any history book nor will you see his name on any buildings. In the eyes of most people he was just an ordinary man. But his story was anything but ordinary in my eyes. It is like so many other untold tales in our society of those individuals that are the bedrock of our country.

My father spoke little about his life. I’m not sure whether it may have been that he felt few were interested or some of the memories were too painful. His story though was a special one of the triumph of the human spirit despite the odds.

When I think of him, it’s hard for me to comprehend some of the pain and difficulties that befell him in his life. I wonder whether I could have survived, let alone thrive as he did.

My father never spoke of the setbacks, the heartbreak, or the sad events that occurred. It was only through speaking to his sisters and my mother that I came to understand his story. In his eyes his story was not special but rather one of perseverance that was to be expected.

When he was merely fourteen, he lost his father whom he adored. At that time in the 1920s, there was no safety net for families with the exception of the charity of others. To support the family he quit school in the eighth grade and went to work for the railroad.

Life didn’t get easier. He married his first wife and they soon had three young children when tragedy struck. Little over a year after the birth of their youngest child, his wife died of pneumonia on Christmas Eve. Despite the heartbreak of losing his wife, my father labored on to provide his three children with a future that he dreamed would be better than his own.

As if life had not thrown enough curves at him, events on a national basis intervened. The Great Depression set in and the railroad cut his job. To support his young family he traveled to other cities to find work while his sisters cared for his young family. He finally was able to obtain work in our hometown through President Roosevelt’s WPA program. I only found this out because

My father was a man of few words and was not one to express his feelings. Men at that time didn’t do such things. He didn’t tell us that he loved us but we knew that he did. He showed it through the many little things that he did daily and the various minor and major sacrifices that he made for us.

he sometimes would point out a project that he helped to construct.

After several years as a single father, he met and fell in love with my mother. Like other challenges in his life, he stepped up to this one. In those days marrying a widower with three children was quite an undertaking and it took a great deal of convincing of my grandfather that he would be a good husband to his daughter. To show his commitment, my father, without telling my mother, became a Catholic so that her family would better accept their relationship. Interestingly, my father ended up being a better Catholic than many of us.

My father was a man of few words and was not one to express his feelings. Men at that time didn’t do such things. He didn’t tell us that he loved us but we knew that he did. He showed it through the many little things that he did daily and the various minor and major sacrifices that he made for us.

A number of people mention certain pillars of wisdom that their father provided them. I can remember little of such advice because that was not my father’s way. He was someone who led by example and his actions spoke for themselves. From him, I learned a deep sense of loyalty to my family and friends based on how my father treated those close to him. I understood the importance of working hard and following through on your commitments to others. I realized that you did things for others not for attention or credit but because it was the right thing to do.

In all of my life, I only saw my father cry once. It was when my eldest stepbrother died. I was a young teenager and it was difficult to see this type of emotion from my father. It was challenging because I then realized that beneath that stoic countenance, my father felt real pain like the rest of us.

My father was one of those from a period that has come to be known as the “greatest generation.” He probably wouldn’t like that term because my father didn’t feel that he was “special or great.” He viewed it as doing his job and taking care of his family as others should. While my father was very intelligent and understood many things, the one thing that he didn’t comprehend was just how special and great, he really was.