The Good Man

He was born in 1915, the fifth of 10 children, on a small farm in northern Wisconsin. Times were different then. Every small town was built around a small church, a bar, a service station and usually a small park. If you lived in a small town, you usually would go shopping on Friday night and to church on Sunday. As youngsters you had chores and many would drop out of school to help work the farm. My dad was the oldest of six still at home when he dropped out after sixth grade.

On the farm you are the jack of all trades. Dad learned carpentry at an early age when he helped his father build a new house. This would be his introduction to a love of working with wood.

Dad was a good dancer and would go to the local dance hall on Saturday nights. There he met a little gal who liked to polka. After they married, they moved to Milwaukee where he went to work as a carpenter. Always having a dream of living on the West Coast, he built a travel trailer so they could relocate to California. My sister and I were under the age of four at the time. I don’t know if mom missed her family or if it was dad who wanted to move back, but before long we were back in Wisconsin. He loved country living, so he built a home on the outskirts of Milwaukee. But as the city expanded, he would build another home, our last, in Menomonee Falls, a village about 20 miles from the city of Milwaukee.

My dad was hard working and industrious. On weekends he could be found in the work room making cabinets for family members or doing fun projects, like building one of the first jet skis out of wood. Powered by a 5 1/2 HP, outboard engine, instead of sitting, you stood and steered by shifting your weight. He had gotten the idea from a Popular Mechanics magazine. The family loved camping so he built a pop up camper. As a teenager, I used what he built more than he did.

He was not one to hug, even when family members came over he seldom showed his feelings. However, when I was younger, he corrected me when I was insensitive to others. He showed respect and expected respect. I talked back to him only once and the retribution was swift.

He was a good dad and a good man. I remember collecting sweet sap from the maple trees on our wooded acre every March and April. We would drill a small hole, put in a tap and then hang a small bucket from a nail above the tap. I would empty the buckets once a day into a big vat to be boiled down to make maple syrup. At my dad’s funeral our parish priest commented that the rectory would miss the maple syrup dad brought over every spring.

Then at age 57, dad developed Leukemia. He would fight this disease for 15 years. Toward the end I went to visit him in the hospital. He told me he was ready to go. Transfusions & blood cleansing had become more frequent and he was tired. He told me he did not want mom to try to keep him alive. Both he and the doctor knew it was the end of the fight. We talked about how he had helped me build a new house right after his disability. He could not raise his arms, so I would nail everything above the waist and he everything below. At this visit I told him I was going to switch companies and he pleaded with me not to do it. I worked for a large company and I had done well with them. It was the first time he indicated he was proud of me. That was the last time I saw him alive.

Recently, my sister told me that when dad died there was a ray of light that came out of his body. She said, “It was like a ray you would see coming down when the sun broke through the clouds into the woods, only this ray was going up.”

Until now, she had always kept this to herself. I wished she had shared the experience sooner, to help console those of us who had endured the same loss. Sharing experiences like this lets everyone know that our souls live on after death, which reaffirms everyone’s faith in Christ and the resurrection.

John: 10-14

I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me.

Isaiah 60-1

Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

Clarence