Father's Day Salute

In honor of Father’s Day, here’s a salute to my father, Wally Weidman, who passed away in December of 2003 after years of fending off a cascade of ailments.  His German heritage endowed him with clear blue eyes that twinkled when he told a joke, but showed his stubborn indomitable spirit when he was determined to achieve a goal.  He was the consummate salesman, who was loyal to the same company for his entire career, climbing up through the ranks to become a highly respected executive, then mentoring young rising stars.  He loved golf and Chicago Bears football and a thick medium rare aged Midwestern steak.  A sharp dresser, he always put his best foot forward and encouraged us to do the same.  He told a great story and embraced life at every turn.  Some might say he was larger than life, and maybe he was.  You decide.

  

Still a Tough Old Guy

 

            I think Daddy was pretty ticked off that he died.  All the signs pointed to it. 

The Tribune bearing his obituary didn’t get delivered to his wife, Audley’s, door.  The Trib was always there in the morning, every morning except this particular one.  Did Daddy reach back from the dead to snatch it away from the doorstep?

Even though an icy December downpour kept some people from the visitation, the room was full.   Chairs faced the rich wood coffin holding Daddy’s body, impeccably suited, as usual, but we all stood around the room with our backs to him most of the time. Every so often I felt compelled to turn and look at him, thinking I heard him saying, “Hey, I’m over here!  You can’t have this party without me!”  It just wasn’t right that he was not greeting everyone at the door with his warm smile and easy conversation or telling about his great tee shot on the eighteenth hole at Medinah.  It just wasn’t right to be turning our backs on him as if he weren’t there.  I’ll bet he was ticked off at that, too, that he could only be an onlooker.  No matter how many wonderful words were said about him that night, I felt him struggling to be part of it, angry to be left out.

He fought being dead the day of the funeral, too.  Was he the one responsible for the car’s stalling just as we pulled into the church parking lot?  And what about the minister’s microphone?  The tech guy swore it was working before the service, but each time the minister tried to begin his eulogy by proclaiming, “Good news!” the mike was dead.

“What the hell!” I could hear Daddy say. “How can it be good news that I’m dead?”  Oh, yes, Daddy was certainly ticked off.

I think the final straw for Daddy was “Amazing Grace”.  Damned if he was going to let anyone sing “Amazing Grace” about him!  That was a song for the dead and he was most certainly not about to admit that defeat!  He hadn’t fought so hard and endured so much over the past few years to up and die!  He was still a tough old guy, just like his doctor had said, and tough old guys didn’t let death take them without a fight, God damn it!  This woman was not going to sing that song!  Midway through the first verse, the noon bells began to chime, battling the contralto tones of “Amazing Grace” until the organist and soloist gave up and let the bells finish their insistent interruption. 

“Ha!” I heard Daddy say.  “Take that, Death!”

But as the bells’ final tones slipped away, the second verse of “Amazing Grace” prevailed, and the service continued without further interruption.   That must have been when Daddy finally understood that his fight was over - that this world he was trying so desperately to hold onto wasn’t his world anymore.  Did he let go at last, lay down his struggle and rest?  I hope so.  It was time for the tough old guy to relax and enjoy a perpetual round of hole-in-one golf.  He had certainly earned it.