It took forever to find a picture of Dad for this page. This is my favorite, that I keep in my livingroom. I realized after he died, that he was the one that always took the pictures and was never in them. Even going through my wedding pictures I have found only 3 of him. Take this to heart and take plenty of pictures of the ones you love, even if they do object.

My dad died at home, alone, early in the morning. He was 59. A few weeks earlier he had complained of heart pains, but he refused to go to a doctor. His heart burst, a week before the test he had finally reluctantly scheduled.

Out of his 3 wishes about how he wanted to die. Atleast 2 came true. He always said he wanted to be at home, instead of in some smelly hospital. He wanted to be alone, so there would be no maudlin scenes at the end. And he wanted to die in his bed. That part didn't come true, but atleast he was wearing his bathrobe, which I hope, considering my father's raw sense of irony, may count for something in the great scheme of things.

You are listening to Waylon Jennings' Good Old Boy. And if you know the words, they are a perfect description of my dad. Waylon was one of the only cassette tapes he owned. We played it at the viewing over and over. And yes I said cassette tape, no CD's for my dad, they were too modern and probably just a fad. The only other music he listened to was classical. His favorite place to find it was a station out of Philadelphia. A friend of his was a DJ there.

I don't know how to describe my dad. He was described in many ways by many different people. Not all of it was always good, but I think that depended on who you talked too. My mom always referred to him as Peter Pan, in a loving way, because he held on to the child's delight and wonder that many grownups lose, and because he could always put the serious off to another day. Many of his customers (he ran his own dry cleaning chemical company) called him a good old boy, who a handshake was good enough for, on any agreement. He never made a lot of money but he always made friends. His friends knew him as a devilish guy who liked to stir things up for fun and could find a joke for any occasion.

And me, well to me he was just my dad. He was always there in a pinch. Willing to drop anything to come and help his little girl. (Normally, that involved the car that he kept "fixing" for me, atleast until the next time it stalled.) After every grandbaby was born he was the first one there to make sure I was OK. And then he would look at the newest addition. The one who snuck all the cookies I baked at Christmas and then would tell me about my rotten cooking. The one who I could call on Friday night and we would talk for 4 hours while we both drank and complained about our weeks.

Our last day together was about 3 weeks before dad died. My mom's cousins were coming for the weekend and he and I volunteered (were drafted) to clean the house. We joked and laughed all day, about all the little comments he was going to make to get us both in trouble with the guests. I told him about my newest love the internet and he was anxious to come and see my page. (He never made it.) He treated my girls to Burger King for lunch. (A favorite place of ours, when I was little and Mom worked weekends.) He got to play with and hold his grandson, though he pretended not to enjoy it. (Dad always said a baby wasn't worth anything until they could bring him a beer and go to the bathroom by themselves. - Actually babies just made him nervous, though he would never tell.) He told me about a fishing trip he had gone on a few weeks earlier. One that some customers actually tricked him into going on because they knew he wouldn't give up a work day. And now I'm glad they did! And he broke out the vodka at 3 so we could enjoy the rest of the cleaning.

Dad loved things that were old. He collected jaguars(the cars) with the thought that he would restore them someday. He had a Garwood runabout and a 36' Richarson. Both of which he restored himself. He took a caining class so he could recain his antique chairs and he refinished antique furniture.

He was an avid member of the NRA. He and I always argued about guns. He would constantly bombard me with copies of letters and articles that he found in the NRA magazine and other places to change my mind about owning a gun. He never did, it was one of those things we agreed to disagree about.

He loved to cook, especially if he could add hot peppers. Everyone still talks about the oyster stuffing one Thanksgiving that couldn't be eaten without an extinguisher. And I still remember when I had all 4 wisdom teeth removed. He wanted to make my dinner of cream of chicken soup special so he added pepper sauce and nutmeg. I said that he loved to cook, not that he was good at it! I just taught him how to chop garlic the Christmas before he died.

And did this great man have flaws? Of course. He couldn't type worth a lick, even though he owned a word processor,(not a computer, again just a fad) for 5 years. He still used the hunt and peck system, that I always snickered at. He was opinionated in his beliefs, and could hardly ever be convinced to see the other side. And his other flaw...he never thought that he would die. He left without goodbyes or final decisions made, because there would be time for that later.