To A Wonderful Man
This week I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I (with my siblings and my Mom) put my sweet, little, Alzheimer’s afflicted Dad into a nursing home. It hurt like hell, and it still does, so I thought I would just write about what a wonderful, unique individual he was when he was himself.
At Christmas every year, Dad would walk with us kids to McCree Park where he would climb the trees and pick mistletoe. My baby sister Jenny would egg him on to climb higher, further out on the limbs. We would laugh until our sides ached as he dangled precariously from the tree tops. We always took home way more mistletoe than Mom wanted in the house, but Dad always put it over her head first thing and claimed his kiss, and she didn’t complain too much.
Dad was a big fan of University of Arkansas football. The year they played Texas for the National Championship, we were all watching in the den. Arkansas made a fine play, and Dad got so excited he jumped up and knocked the globe out of the chandelier with his head. It flew up in the air, and he caught it as he and the globe both came down. We thought he was pretty special.
My Dad was the biggest fan of jazz that I’ve ever known. His tastes were wide and varied. He loved the straight ahead stuff from Bud Powell and Art Pepper to Thelonious Monk and Miles Davis. And he really loved our local jazz hero, Red Garland. He loved the musicians and the singers and collected them all. He had (actually we still have) every album Billie Holiday ever made and many in duplicate because he would buy the fantastic boxed sets which were released after they were originally done on LP. The same goes for Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Anita O’Day, Mildred Bailey and Benny Goodman. He loved the big bands and collected all of them. And the big band singers - what can I say. The Helens (Forrest, O’Connell, Humes, Ward), June Christy, Peggy Lee, Jo Stafford and his beloved Martha Tilton. His LP collection numbers somewhere between 7,000 and 8,000 and his collection of 78’s runs about half that. And among all that great jazz, you’ll find a smattering of opera, classical, and authentic country such as Mother Maybelle Carter and Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs.
Dad’s love of music was not just in listening. His knowledge was downright encyclopedic. He knew the year a song was recorded, what label it was on, and could name all the musicians. When my brother, Steve, and I would sit for hours and listen with Dad, it was always sort of a game for us to identify the singer and the sidemen accompanying. When I didn’t know the singer, I’d just guess “Helen” because there were so many of them I had a decent chance of being right. This was a terrifically fun game to Steve and me. I was pretty good at the singers, but Steve was much better at the more difficult trivia than I was. The music education I got from my Dad I would compare to one from any institution of higher learning.
Dad was a reader and a writer and challenged us to do both as much as possible. He was a lover of movies and art, and we would make lists of favorite things. My lists of favorite movies, favorite songs, and favorite singers would change with each year. Dad loved Alice Faye, and he said a day never went by that he didn’t think of her. Oscar night was a special night at my house. He was so proud of the Academy when they awarded Midnight Cowboy. He didn’t think they would have the courage. After all, it was the only movie rated R ever awarded (maybe even nominated) for Best Picture. And we all cried for joy when Meryl Streep won for Sophie’s Choice.
I will miss him so much it’s unbelievable. The shell of a body that is left of him will linger, but the essence of the man is gone. And it’s unbearably sad.