To My Father, Bill Newton

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple."

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw.
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to this stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!
- Lewis Carroll

Of all the poems Dad read to us growing up, that was my favorite, and I think it may have been his too - for obvious reasons. But there were so many others. Through our poetry readings, we were introduced to a world of danger, adventure, and ideas about a world beyond our immediate surroundings. Lines like ‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward ….’, ‘Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears’, ‘This above all: to thine own self be true.’ were as familiar to us as, “See Spot Run”. And we probably heard them earlier. Our copy of "A Treasury of the Familiar" is always close at hand, and is pretty beaten up. 

Another way that Dad exposed us to a larger world was through the diaries he kept of his time in the Navy during the Second World War. From his recounting of the day-to-day life of a store-keeper aboard an aircraft carrier, to his narratives of what it felt like to be in battle – protecting your floating city from kamikazes. Each day’s entry would include a little bit about his shipmates who had died in battle that day. We learned about courage and sacrifice early from a first-hand source.

Of course neither the Treasury of the Familiar, nor Dad’s shipboard diaries was the most used book in the house. That distinction was held by the dictionary – with the encyclopedia close behind. There’s a wonderful expression; ‘Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.’ Dad has always been a 'teach a man to fish' kind of guy. From the time we could read, if we had a question about a word, the answer was 'Look it up!' Then when we found the answer, we would be asked to share it with the rest of the family.

'Look it up' of course, was just one of Dad's many memorable lines. Here are a few others:
• 'Watch it! You could put an eye out with that thing!'
• 'You know that thing's only got so many clicks in it!'
• And of course, 'Profanity is the efforts of a weak mind to express itself forcibly'
• This was often followed by a demonstration any time Dad worked on the car. You see he believed that some bolts were designed to only turn when you torqued on them both physically and verbally.
And there are so many others
• After we left home, he learned a new line, "You know I never interfere in my kids' lives. Once you're out in the World on your own, you’re responsible for your own decisions …." The lecture followed immediately.

To say Dad was old-school is accurate, but barely touches it. He is from the 'gruff-love' generation. His generation didn’t wear their hearts – their big generous hearts – on their sleeves. These guys don’t betray their sentimentality, even though it’s just beneath the surface. When you tell him you'll be coming by for a visit, says, "Oh good, it always makes your mother happy to see you."

It has always meant a lot to us to make Dad proud. And he has always been so proud of us.

Dad was the kind of guy who would be there for you no matter what. There is an incident that I'll never forget; when a friend and I were stuck outside of Florence hitch-hiking in the middle of the night. Cars were only coming by about once every 5-10 minutes, and none of them was interested in picking up a couple of scraggly-looking hitchhikers at 1 AM. We were wet, and tired, and it was starting to get cold. We knew there was a pay phone a little way down the road, I called Dad. He said to just stay there, and he'd be down. About an hour later, there he was. He drove us back to town, and though we talked about a few things, he never brought up how we had inconvenienced him, and never implied that he'd rather be anywhere else than right there, making sure we were safe and warm.

Dad was that kind of old-school.

Dad's reaction to a crisis - especially one he couldn't control - was to become informed, and to share what he learned. Basically he'd read and write. Learn and share.

And boy, does Dad love his internet. For an information hound like Dad, this was the ultimate playground. He’d hit it first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.

We always found a lot to disagree about. Another of his famous lines was, “Anytime, two people in a conversation agree on everything, only one of them is doing any thinking.” He rarely let that happen. He truly respects your right to disagree, but if you choose to engage, you better be prepared. You show up for an argument with Bill Newton without your ‘A’ game, and he’ll rock you on your heels – First Round TKO.

Of course, he’ll then pick you back up, and dust you off. Old school.

We disagreed about all the things you might expect; War, Peace, Taxes, Welfare – stuff like that. And though many of our venues of competitive disagreement were issues of substance, there was really nothing too insubstantial to become the next forum. I hate to reveal this about him, but he has this habit of always putting the toilet paper on the roll where you pull the end of the roll out from the bottom, which NEVER made any sense to me. And he never seemed to appreciate it when I'd flip them over for him when we would visit. He just couldn't appreciate that I was doing him a favor. And on a couple occasions, when he’d be visiting our house, our TP rolls would mysteriously get flipped over.

He had surgery last year to unclog his carotid arteries. On my way down to visit him, instead of a standard ‘get well’ card, I stopped at the post office and picked up a voter registration form for him. I filled it out completely for him, including changing party affiliation from Republican to Democratic - on the assumption that the increase blood flow to the brain would motivate this change.

Dad really loved that. And I loved that he loved that. I know he kept that registration card, and has occasionally taken it out, and shared a laugh with a friend. I love that about him. As adamant as he is, he's not above an opportunity to laugh. As fundamental and heart-felt as our differences were, there is an underlying foundation of love and mutual respect that trumps all.

When I was down here a couple weeks ago when Mom was in the hospital, I stopped by the Smith Family Bookstore to cash in a gift certificate. Among the books I picked up was a copy of John F. Kennedy's Profiles in Courage, which I hadn't read since grade school. The book is a collection of stories about people who placed themselves at tremendous personal and political risk to remain true to their principles. As far back as I can remember, these stories have reminded me of Dad. Whatever faults he may have possessed, he was tremendously loyal to his principles – and for this, he paid a price. He held himself to the highest ethical standards; personally and professionally, and expected no less of us, or of his business associates. If he felt that something you did fell short of these standards, he would counsel you to improve – whether you were his son or daughter, a friend, a client, or his boss. 

Dad may have lost a step or two over the last few years, but he never accepted any imposed disability. Last summer we took Mom and Dad up to see Mt. St. Helens. At the Johnston Ridge Observatory we watched a movie about the eruption, and then went out to see the crater up close. There’s a hiking trail that goes up to an even better viewpoint. Madeleine wanted to go up a ways, so she and I took off. We figured we’d just go up, take a couple pictures, and head back down to rejoin the rest. We stopped about halfway up to take a few pictures, and when we turned around, guess who was right there. We ended up going all the way to the top – about a quarter mile, and 150 to 200 feet of climbing. We have a picture of Dad at the top – in fact it’s on the inside of the handout you were given as you came in. Though he’s keeping a pretty good poker face, he was so proud of making that hike, he was about bursting. And so was I.

In the week before Dad died, he got to see his brothers and sister - and had a VERY good time with them. He was able to care for Mom when she needed him, and was able to see the wonderful support she received from the others around her. Then, when his time came, he laid down for a nap, and peacefully left us. There is not a lot that we can ask God with regard to our passing. I am so grateful that he was – and we were – able to enjoy the last week he had. 

We were fortunate to have Dad in our lives, and we will miss him terribly. But we need to remember where he is now.

Our Father William is no longer old. He is young again, lean and fast. His limbs are supple, and – to borrow from his high school yearbook, the Hesperus – "Those broad shoulders, and the gleam in his eye" once again “put fear into the hearts of the opposing boxers.”