My dad would be 100 years old today.
Even though he has been gone for a few years and was in his 80s when he died, that is nearly impossible to fathom. Even more incomprehensible are the world changes he experienced in his lifetime.
He was born in 1914 on the family farm northwest of Fontanelle, the same farm where I grew up; surrounded by extended family, just like I did. He walked or rode his horse to country school with his brothers and sister. They had a car when they attended high school in town – a very rare treat in those days. Dad graduated in 1933. Like most young lads with mechanical inclination, “car” may be too loose a word. They cut off the back seat of an old jalopy and added a box to make it into a pick-up truck. They also added a cut-out muffler, complete with an on-off valve that they could only activate when out of Grandpa’s ear shot.
Going to high school was a special treat in those days, too. Grandpa (who ended his education in the 4th grade) told the boys they could go if they stayed and worked for him on the farm for a year after graduation. Aunt Irene, like most young girls of the day, finished her education with Normal Training.
They also took music lessons and were allowed to participate in high school sports. Dad played the coronet and could run 100 yards in full football pads in 14 seconds flat. I witnessed his speed and dexterity first-hand many times chasing hogs. I never heard him play a note. I did hear him try to sing in church. Let’s just say that wasn’t one of his skills.
Life during the Depression was rough, and offering these few perks to their children was a challenge for my grandparents. Dad saw through formative eyes what could go wrong, and for the rest of his life would take a conservative approach to his business dealings.
My dad was intelligent and well read. He attended two years of mechanical engineering school at Iowa State, and was seldom without a newspaper or book nearby. He never swore (unless livestock was involved). He taught us always to strive for excellence, and instilled in us a confidence that we could achieve it.
He was by most people’s standards, a successful farmer. I saw the struggle behind the finished product, and learned success and excellence are obtainable, but require hard work and a lot of worry and prayer – they don’t happen by accident.
He served in the U.S. Navy in WWII, manning a torpedo refueling station on the Island of Attu, the last of the Aleutian Islands in Alaska. Near the end of his life, he could still quote the mechanical specs for the base’s machinery.
He spent his early work life in the farm implement business before settling on the farm after the war. He bled red – a Farmall/International man to the end. He sold Grandpa one of the first rubber-tired tractors in the area by promising him they could switch them out for metal ones if he really didn’t like it. Grandpa never turned back.
Dad’s introduction into farming was into a world of hard labor, self-sufficiency, and horse-drawn implements. It was a time when a man’s team was his pride and joy, and everything from head cheese to root beer was made at home. He and my uncles could bring a chicken in for supper by shooting it through the neck on the run, made their own rope just for fun, and learned the basic skills of carpentry and blacksmithing along with planting and hand-picking corn. They learned to read Grandpa’s hand-scrawled hog breeding records and field yield notes.
He knew how to darn socks. He was sick one winter and spent most of his time indoors where Grandma found ways to keep him busy.
He learned to farm. And he learned to farm smart. He learned those evening hours thinking through the next day’s work or the next production move were just as important as the work itself. He read and studied. He plotted field rows, cattle breeding strategies, crop varieties and machinery improvements.
When it came time to work, he worked as hard as any man.
He was a progressive farmer, who taught me a successful operation mixes profit with resource conservation. He was always abreast of the latest technologies and practiced the most advanced conservation methods.
He believed a good business deal was a win-win for both parties. He believed you should always do more than was expected of you. He told me in his final days, “When you do something, do it just a little different [than other people].”
Dad was friendly, humorous, talkative to a fault. He could (and would) carry on a conversation with anyone about anything. One of the few things he held in low regard was a person who didn’t respect others – or their land.
He was proud of his daughters, all four of them. And he taught us the importance of self-reliance, and to keep our gas tanks full.
And he taught us there is value in being kind, in supporting your community, and in spending time with your own thoughts.
Even though they now come from a distance, he is still teaching those lessons. Not many can say their legacy has lasted a century. But then, not many have left a legacy like his.
Happy Birthday, Dad.