First of all, we want to wish our deceased mother a symbolic Happy Birthday. Today would have been her 87th birthday, had she lived. It is remarkable to note that Dad and Mom are being buried together on the date of her birth. This was arranged by our Loving Universe, as we had nothing to do with the scheduling. I can almost hear Dad yelling “what’s the hold up here!” After all, it has been 12 days since his death.
We want to thank everyone who is here today. Your presence honors our father and mother, and the rest of our family, and we are all grateful to share these moments with you today. Our father is the main connecting link that continues to hold us together. And, after today, with his death severing that link, this may be the end of many of our connections with each other. It is up to each of us to renew, or ignore, our past ties to my father, and to each other.
There will be no ministerial service today. The last time that I remember Dad being present in a church was to witness my baptism in 1987, which also corresponds to the last time I was in such a structured church environment, as well. Dad avoided going to church, having never been convinced that church attendance had any relationship to a connection with God. He stated that if he ever walked into a church, it would probably fall onto him. His church was his love for nature, its beauty, the wildlife, hiking through woods and meadows, hiking the deserts in Arizona, the trails of the Columbia River Gorge, or any of thousands of places around America, and the world. His church was also his love of his wife, his family, including his brother and sister, and his in-laws, his love of his dear friends, his love of his dogs, of which he had many. He adored his dogs, and they supplied a constant supply of the unconditional love that his heart, and soul craved, and which his experience of his exterior life sometimes failed to supply him in sufficient amounts. He loved the homes in which he lived, and prepared the grounds of each of them carefully, as if making each one a sacred offering to his creator. His body of life was truly the temple of his living God. He was the type of guy that, had he ever met Jesus Christ in person, if he noted lettuce in the Christ’s teeth, he would tell him about it. He liked to state that “heaven was not ready for him, and that the devil did not want him either, as he would try to take hell over and run it the way it should be run”. Dad lived his life “outside of the lines” so to speak, and he delighted in challenging other people’s assumptions, sensibilities and understandings.
I am about to read for about 15 minutes about the story of Dad’s life. Like Dad’s life, the story is somewhat broken, yet still infused with love. Dad would have treasured the opportunity to talk on and on about any issue for 15 minutes without interruption, and our present political climate would have been a gold mine for him in his prime. Yet, it is my privilege to be his substitute for this once in a lifetime monologue, giving my father his opportunity to deliver a final message through me. There are some who thought that my father was a horse’s ass, but that is the limited view one gets when in second place, being passed by his race horse of a mind. For those who would like to offer their objections, or counter stories, there will be opportunities to share about dad at North Clackamas Park, after this service. Maps will be provided, and you are all invited to attend, eat some food, and share your experiences with each other. A man like my father, who lived a full life, could be talked about for hours, and not scratch the surface of all the people that he impacted, positively or negatively, and all of the experiences that he had, all of the humor that he shared, and all of the wisdom that he developed.
Dad was a product of the Great Depression, having been born in 1927. His Father, Beryl, was a Fire Chief, respected within the community, and a horribly abusive alcoholic in his private life. I know little else about him, other he also served in the military, during World War 1, and is buried in section K on these grounds. He also did allow a man impacted by the Depression to live in their basement during a period of time. My father kept Pam and I away from grandpa Bruce until we were teenagers, that is how much my father wanted to protect us from the oppressive presence of his father. While in our early teenage years, Pam and I did visit with Grandpa Beryl at his La Center home twice, and I visited him in the VA hospital prior to his death. In his later years, he was sober, and seemed like a pleasant enough man. Dad’s mother was the classic abused wife, suffering also through physical and emotional problems while married to “that Brute”, as my father referred to him. I also know little about her, either, other than she had kidney disease, and she died shortly after my birth. John Edward was his older brother (who preceded him in death) and Ed was removed from his home and placed at their grandparents’ farm in Oregon City at 6 years of age, after nearly being beaten to death by their father. Gloria (or Susie) as most people now know her, was his younger sister, and both Susie and my father suffered under horrible abusive conditions for most of their childhood. Both my father and my aunt displayed symptoms of PTSD for most of their lives, as well as being products of the age of which they grew up.
In 1943, at 16 years of age, Dad enlisted in the Marines, as he wanted to serve his country, get away from his family of origin, as well as he thought of himself as a “dummy” ,with no faith in his ability to successfully finish high school at Benson PolyTech. His mother promptly collared the local Marine Corps recruiter, and forced dad’s return home from the service. He re-enlisted in the Navy the moment he turned 18 years of age, and was assigned duty on two different warships, the West Virginia, and the Missouri, during his two years in the Navy. Upon his return from active duty in 1947, he returned home, where he threatened his dad with death if he ever laid a hand on his mother again. Dad moved on from that relationship with his mother and father, not seeing either of them again for quite some time.
He started college at the University of Portland, studying Psychology, Logic, Metaphysics, Philosophy of Mind, and other courses, from 1947-1952. He really wanted to understand the human mind at the deepest level, and his curious mind about other issues only left him in recent years. But he had to delay his search for the truth about the broken human mind, as his now hyper-busy life got in the way of him finishing his studies of the human condition. A side note here: I was to later pick up his mantle, and I have made my own attempts to finish the job that he had started. And, like my father, I rebel against the spiritual and philosophical authorities of the day, sometimes sharing with unwary Facebook readers, and those who have not already “unfriended me”, my insights. Anyway, Dad formed a great friendship and relationship with Father Delaney, who taught at the University of Portland, and in whose name the Delaney Institute was named. He struggled a bit with his school work, but he did stay at it over a course of five years, which did not result in a degree.
Dad still had a fire in his heart, and an incredible desire to succeed. He worked harder than anybody around him, the sign of a classic “overachiever”. He endlessly drove himself, and he was going to overcome his upbringing, and prove to the world that he had higher value than the poor self-esteem that his verbally and physically abusive father had inculcated him with. His perfectionism and zealousness for order and efficiency was utilized to its best advantage in his future employment with the US Postal Service. That same attitude tended to, at times, challenge others, especially those that he attempted to help, or manage, as both a general manager with the Postal Service, and as a friend and family member. A person with a passive/aggressive personality, like me, had the most difficulty with him. Those who were self-assured or had found their own voice, and engaged him directly, had the best relationship with him, and he really enjoyed engaging with others in stimulating, challenging discussions. Those who took the time to get to know Dad, also found a way to love him, in spite of his sometimes rough edges.
He had several choices in his career, either as a policeman, fireman, or joining with the US Postal Service, of which he ultimately selected. He also began courting my Mother, Corinne Beatrice Henry, who happened to be quite a “looker”, and also quite a hard-working young woman, as well. Mom worked at the original Fred Meyer store in downtown Portland, among many other jobs over the course of her own career. Mom’s parents were not impressed with my fathers’ parents for obvious reasons, and Dad had to overcome some real judgements to make inroads into that family. My Grandpa Henry made my father mow his yard before he would even let Dad take Mom out, as part of their desire to prove that Dad really wanted to move forward with her.
Dad married mother in June of 1950, and they lived in NW Portland for several years. Pamela came along in 1954, and Dad knew love in a way he never knew before. Pam was a precious prize, and Dad delighted in her presence, and her life, until his death. I came along in 1955, and Dad initially had trouble embracing who I was, as I had troubled early years, causing much disruption to the family lifestyle, because of health issues. Dad had a house built in West Linn in 1955, and spent the next nine years there, investing thousands of hours of work turning his property into his own outdoor temple. He repeated the same process with his next two homes, as well, converting the landscapes into his own unique paradise.
First and foremost, Dad dearly and devotedly loved his new family, eventually including his in-laws, and all the new friends that they developed through the Oakey Doaks square dancing group. These included, amongst several others, Bob and Dorothy Fero, John and Cleone Edwards (who he also worked with at the Post Office), Dick and Eunice Jamison (who he also worked with at the Post Office), Joe and Sue Constans, and Bob and Diane West (both are here today), along with several others. He carried a lifelong friend, Roland Mills, who is here today, far into his adulthood, with Mom and Dad sharing many fond memories with Roland, and his first wife, Eloise, who is also here today. They attempted to continue their friendship with both parties after Roland and Eloise’s divorce. In the very early years, My sister and I shared some fond memories of staying at their home while being baby sat by their daughter Cindy, watching horror, science fiction, and Elvis Presley movies with her, and her brother Gary. Gary and Pam’s first deceased husband Jim Graham actually ended up working together for a while in the early 1990’s in the home real estate industry, resulting in the sale of the house to Sharon and I that we presently live in.
When dad was a young husband and father, he carried two jobs for a number of years because he did not like feeling in debt. But he also loved to play hard, and he had many stories of being a top flight beer drinker in the local tavern scene, while also becoming quite the accomplished shuffleboard player. He told a story that the owner of a tavern even served him a beer while he was in the bathroom. Yes, he became friendly with the suds during that time period. His love of the suds translated directly to me, where I learned, quite early, how wonderful the flavor of beer was, and how wonderfully intoxicating it’s effects were. He told the story of how when I was 5 years old, he left an open beer on the coffee table, and when he left the room for a moment, I lifted the beer up, and drank it all. Within 30 minutes, I fell off of the couch, and dad and I both knew that I had a new, but dangerous, friend. Dad took care to monitor his beer after that, and so did I.
Dad carried a tarnished understanding of how to discipline his children, though he later claimed that he eventually came to realize that he was repeating his fathers’ abusive behavior, as far as physical discipline was concerned, and thus he stopped. His rebukes were quite powerful, and, at times, seemed to outnumber his praise and acknowledgement of us. Early on, Pam and I suffered under the abuse of his belt too many times to recall. But through all of that, I never lost my love for my father. He was my hero, albeit a broken one. He loved my mother deeply, though at times unskillfully. Fortunately for mother, dad never lifted a hand against her, though they both traded many barbs over the years. A lot of it was just the way they communicated, thinking that they were being funny, and a lot might have been veiled aggression. They shared much pride in their children, and being parents brought untold gifts, and meaning, to both of their lives, because of, and in spite of, all of the challenges and lessons that we presented to them as children, and then as adults, over the years.
Dad was an accomplished card player, stamp collector, avid fisherman, hiker, camper, traveler, scout troop leader, general outdoorsman, adventurer, and golfer, but retired early in life from hunting. As a young man he hunted with his father, though he grew to be repulsed by the idea of killing innocent creatures. One time while hiking in the Arizona desert with his dog Misty, they were confronted by a rattlesnake, and he had to draw his pistol and shoot the creature. He regretted having killed it, which shows how his love for all life had taken over his soul. He had a challenged understanding of cats, though, and was quick to punish wayward cats that strayed unto his property to assault and kill birds and squirrels.
Dad’s high point in his career was when he was promoted to Operations Manager of the Main Office of the US Postal Service, in Northwest Portland. His career there spanned 35 years, and he developed many friends, and a few enemies, along the way to his peak. He was respected by the Postmaster, though it was the Postmaster’s dissatisfaction with an aspect of dad’s personal life that encouraged dad to retire at 55 years of age. Mother had a direct hand in that decision, as Mother had a lifelong investment in my father staying married to her, and she took charge of a situation that would have discouraged most other people. So my fathers’ official retirement date was 1982, and a whole new world opened up to mother and dad.
Dad travelled extensively with mother in retirement. They travelled around the world, and around America. Eventually they settled upon their yearly snow bird excursions to Queens Valley, in Arizona, where they would park their travel trailer, and spend the winter in sunny southern Arizona. He lived the dream, and learned to make mom his best friend, and travel companion. Mother’s health had taken a downturn in 1978, when she learned that she had kidney disease. Dad would admonish her about her weight, thinking that if only she would lose her extra weight, her health would be better. Mom would do her best to comply, but, hey, that chocolate cake was just too hard to resist sometimes, and, anyway, she deserved it because she stayed so active.
In 1984, at the encouragement of the Employee Assistance Program where I worked, I checked into the Care Unit at the old Lovejoy hospital, where I spent 30 days in recovery from my own alcoholism. I bounced around between relapse and attempted recovery for the next two years, finally having an “epic fail”, and I descended into full darkness. After a suicide attempt by me after the Challenger explosion in 1986, I fully entered the unknown, searching for my own truth, a truth that might bring light to me, and a reason to keep living. After bouncing around a variety of challenging situations with the darkest characters our city had to offer, I was befriended, inadvertently, by an undercover federal agent. When things got too scary for my new ally and his relationship to me, he physically placed me in his car, and drove me to my father’s house. As he dropped me off, he told me “Bruce, I can no longer keep you safe. your search for truth in the underworld is over, now search for your truth with your father”. As I don’t want this eulogy to be too much about me, I will stop the story here, perhaps somebody, when they write my own eulogy, can refer to it then, and develop it into the amazing story that it was, and still is. Let us end this segment by stating that I became clean and sober in 1987, just in the nick of time. My mother and father offered me meaningful and loving support for the next 2 and one half years, as I was homeless and jobless at the time.
I met the woman who I had been looking for my entire life in 1989. Sharon is my soul mate, and she was to shape the second half of my own life in such a way that I could continue my relationship with my parents in a much more meaningful, loving way. Together, we chose to move to within 2 miles of my parents in 1993, knowing that they would need us soon, as they continued their aging process. As a result of moving closer to mom and dad, we also became connected in a new way with dad’s brother and sister, and they started becoming included in several family gatherings at our home, beginning in 1995. I grew to really love my uncle Ed and aunt Susie during this period of time. My uncle Ed captured my imagination and attention with his great stories of life, and family, and I saw why my father was so connected with him. Uncle Ed had a perfect way of deflecting my fathers’ controlling energy, and my father finally accepted his brother for who he was, rather than who my father thought he could be. Uncle Ed honored me from his own death-bed, actually remembering the date of my birth, which still brings a tear to my eye on occasion.
On the advice of our physician, Sharon and I began to share vacations with my parents. Sharon and I were also avid outdoors people, and it was quite the compromise for us to tone down our physical endeavors to meet the energy level of my aging parents. But the rewards were immense. In the year 2000, My parents, Pam, my aunt Susie, Sharon, and I traveled to Hawaii, celebrating their 50 year wedding anniversary there. It was the trip of all of our lifetimes, and a memory that I will cherish until the day I die. On this trip, my sister committed to getting her degrees at Oregon State University, which resulted in a total life change for her, as well. My parents were never prouder than when we witnessed her getting her diploma, then going on to getting her Master’s degree, as well.
As a family group, we continued to travel a lot of North America together, taking cruises to the Caribbean islands, exploring the Yucatan Peninsula, climbing pyramids and exploring Mayan ruins, driving on the Pan American highway through and around Costa Rica, cruising the west coast of Mexico, and generally just loving life, and living it to the fullest extent we possibly could together. I have been blessed beyond all of my ability to acknowledge the experiences, and they affirmed the value that we all had for family connections.
Two years prior to mother’s death, mother had noted dad’s cognitive deterioration, especially during his run in with prostate cancer. I noted that dad had lost some of his sense of direction, and he could no longer drive to his hospital to get his radiation treatments, because of his easy disorientation. Mom enlisted the potential aid of Eloise, to help in dad’s care, should he slip fully into Alzheimer’s. But mom had a fatal infection, and that threw everything into a chaotic mashup.
Dad found inner strength in dealing with mother’s three day dying ordeal in the hospital. He was an active participant in the final decision to take mom off of life support. But, shortly after that, he threatened his own demise by use of firearms, and I had to hide all of the bullets from his rifles and handgun, should he have chosen to end his life. I had to repeatedly advise him that it would be tortuous now for him to end his life, with all of the grieving that the family was already involved with. He acquiesced, though I still kept all of his weapons unloaded, unbeknownst to him. While attempting to disarm one of his weapons, a rifle discharged, nearly shooting myself in the foot.
The death wish abated, and Dad somehow held his own for a while. He was able to maintain his sense of self, and his memory of his family, and his love of his home. Around 5 years ago, after having backed over our mailbox twice, getting a big speeding ticket, and getting into a wreck which totaled mothers’ car, Sharon encouraged me to take him to the doctor and get a diagnosis. He was tested, and it was determined that he was no longer competent to drive. This ended life for me as I knew it at the time, and I had to eventually retire from my own career as an electrician four years earlier than I had wanted to. Sharon and I became his primary caregivers, drivers, friends, cooks, house cleaners, spiritual advisors, and, generally, his sole means of support to maintain him in his own home, as Pam worked and lived in California, and could not find employment opportunities closer to home. She remained on emergency call, and had to drive incredible distances to help in his care and maintenance.
It was tough watching my father deteriorate, yet, I found a way to love that man on deeper and more profound levels, as I continued to release my own expectations of how he should be, and how he should live. His sole concerns became his love for his dog, Rocky, and maintaining residence in his own home until his own death. He had lost all short-term memory, and was basically unteachable the last 5 years of his life, though he maintained his dignity, his sense of self, and his love for his children, including my wife Sharon.
The last conversation that I had with my father was 6 hours before his death. This is what we exchanged with each other:
Dad, you are still in bed, and its 2:30 in the afternoon, what’s up, it’s such a beautiful day outside.
You know son, I am always tired now, but I am about to get up.
Well, Dad, this might be the last sunny day in a long time, so why don’t you get up, and go out on the porch and have a cigar? I’ll put a chocolate bar on your table, and a drink for you.
I’ll get right up son. By the way, who is caring for me this evening?
Well, Dad, Madison is caring for you this evening.
Oh, poor Madison!
Dad, Madison benefits by being with you, as you do with her.
I will be with you beginning this Sunday morning, and I will be with you for the next three weeks as usual. You know we are planning one final trip to Hawaii with you, right?
Oh son, I am happy just staying at home. I have everything that I need here.
Well, OK dad. I am going to leave now, as I need to prepare for Marty’s funeral tomorrow.
When will I see you again, son?
Dad, it will be Sunday morning, OK?
OK, son, you know that I am dependent on you. Please take care of yourself.
Oh, dad, you know that I am dependent on you, too. You be careful too!
I love you, son.
I love you too, Dad.
I leave his room, not knowing this is to be our last exchange.
The next day, at 10:58am, as I stand in back of the hearse, as a pall bearer in Marty Crouch’s funeral, I prepare to receive Marty’s body to place into the hearse. I receive a call from Madison, which I cannot take, so I hand the phone to Sharon. Sharon is informed that my father is deceased. Sharon has to leave the service for our body.
Oh, father, you really knew how to place your unique stamp on my life, didn’t you?
In retrospect, My father only appeared to cast a shadow over my life. It was up to me to find my own unique voice, in my search for my own truth, so that I could arise from my own self-imposed shadows, and be with him as a partner on love’s endless journey. Those who did not learn to love my father, missed out on one of my life’s most precious gifts, yet there are many other opportunities to bring light into our own lives. The healing journey that I had with my father could be considered miraculous by some, yet it is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Yes, that healing will die with me, as I have no heirs. Yet, the love that we shared, as a family, will live forever in the mind and heart, of God.
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
“As you have been with me in life, so I am with you, in death”
Thank you, mom and dad, for loving Pam and I.
We love you, Dad. We love you, Mom
“I am destroyed, and I am renewed”
Thank you for listening to my version of my fathers’ story.
Now my sister would like to read some “Beryl-isms”
