My father, Carl Musall
December 25th 2008 18:24
"Pops" as I have called him for years, ended the long struggle that his life had become the Friday morning after Thanksgiving. Although we knew it could come at anytime, it was still a shock. This is my tribute, my recollections, and observations.
My dad was born in 1934, on July 2nd, in Gagetown, Michigan. He had a mostly typical working class kind of hard-scrabble upbringing, and left home by joining the Army. He spent time training at Fort Campbell, KY, Dugway, UT, and deployed to Korea during the Korean War. His reputation as a bit of a hell raiser got him in trouble a couple of times, but he ended his service honorably.
After the Army he met a young woman working at a drugstore soda counter. Dolores Lowella Drake, the preacher's daughter, ended up getting married to the Michigan ruffian. A little while later they found their way to Southern California. A daughter wasn't much later, followed by myself and eventually three other daughters.
Ours wasn't a cushy upbringing, that's for sure. My father had health concerns a good part of his adult life. And although he had a very strong work ethic, it often times wasn't enough. Still, we alot of good times. We moved alot, which proved both challenging and rewarding. It sparked a wanderlust I still have, and gave me an appreciation early on for differences in people and place.
We lived in and near some large urban areas, and in some of the most remote parts of America. From a little town in Nevada with 13 kids in the combined 7th and 8th grade classes to one of the largest high schools in Indiana. One common factor - dad spent quite some time in V.A. hospitals, mostly during his last 25 years. But he would get out, and he would be fine for months again.
Dad was always a jokester. Sometimes us kids didn't appreciate it as much as strangers - we heard it all before. I remember an incident at a family camp gathering when Pops swallowed a frog on a dare. My cousin had found it and was doing what little boys do, showing it to everyone. Someone issued a challenge to Dad, and down the hatch it went.
Dad loved to eat out, and would do it every day if he could. He loved to give the help a hard time too. I remember once a waitress at a diner in Pittsburgh who didn't take to his jokes and got after him. It was next to where he was working and he had been in a few times before and her service was pretty bad. Still, it didn't help to antagonize her. After their big event, my father spent about an hour (as I remember) sawing a penny in half. He then left it it a glass for a tip the next time in. But those who could handle him loved him.
With my father's health pretty much perpetually bad the last few years, we had expected more than once that he wouldn't make it. He kept going. When Mom died in 2005 (almost 15 years after doctors gave her six months to live) we weren't sure if Pops could last without her. He always depended on her so much.
Dad even was thrust into some drama then. He was in the V.A. hospital in Denver, just having undergone a leg amputation when he got the word about his wife. One of my sisters got him from the hospital and was driving him home to spend a few hours with family and go over details. They made a routine stop for gas when a high-speed chase landed on top of them. A couple from California on the run screeched into the gas station, hitting her car. A shootout with police ensued, killing the woman and wounding the man."Get out of the car!" Police shouted to Dad. My sister yelled back at them "he can't he doesn't have his leg!"
Since I got married in 2004 my wife Oksana had become very close to Dad, and was hit hard by his passing. In his last months he lived near us in a rehab center, and we (along with our son and Oksana's sister) spent alot of time with him. We brought him to our house for Thanksgiving dinner, and he died the next morning. We got at least some semblance of goodbye.
I spent some time in the hospital with him when I went to claim his body and take care of arrangements. I don't see any evidence anywhere to convince me humans are unique enough to be granted an afterlife, but I did spend a few moments contemplating the next best thing, the memories we leave. I promised Pops that his memory would be of a man who wasn't dealt the best deck of cards, but played 'em anyway.
I promised him I wouldn't let the despicable allegations once made by a desperate woman sully his memory as it did our relationship for a few years. I promised to tell the next generation about him, and to smile. I then smiled, and said "fare thee well, Dad."
My dad was born in 1934, on July 2nd, in Gagetown, Michigan. He had a mostly typical working class kind of hard-scrabble upbringing, and left home by joining the Army. He spent time training at Fort Campbell, KY, Dugway, UT, and deployed to Korea during the Korean War. His reputation as a bit of a hell raiser got him in trouble a couple of times, but he ended his service honorably.
Dad on Thanksgiving
After the Army he met a young woman working at a drugstore soda counter. Dolores Lowella Drake, the preacher's daughter, ended up getting married to the Michigan ruffian. A little while later they found their way to Southern California. A daughter wasn't much later, followed by myself and eventually three other daughters.
Ours wasn't a cushy upbringing, that's for sure. My father had health concerns a good part of his adult life. And although he had a very strong work ethic, it often times wasn't enough. Still, we alot of good times. We moved alot, which proved both challenging and rewarding. It sparked a wanderlust I still have, and gave me an appreciation early on for differences in people and place.
We lived in and near some large urban areas, and in some of the most remote parts of America. From a little town in Nevada with 13 kids in the combined 7th and 8th grade classes to one of the largest high schools in Indiana. One common factor - dad spent quite some time in V.A. hospitals, mostly during his last 25 years. But he would get out, and he would be fine for months again.
Dad was always a jokester. Sometimes us kids didn't appreciate it as much as strangers - we heard it all before. I remember an incident at a family camp gathering when Pops swallowed a frog on a dare. My cousin had found it and was doing what little boys do, showing it to everyone. Someone issued a challenge to Dad, and down the hatch it went.
Dad loved to eat out, and would do it every day if he could. He loved to give the help a hard time too. I remember once a waitress at a diner in Pittsburgh who didn't take to his jokes and got after him. It was next to where he was working and he had been in a few times before and her service was pretty bad. Still, it didn't help to antagonize her. After their big event, my father spent about an hour (as I remember) sawing a penny in half. He then left it it a glass for a tip the next time in. But those who could handle him loved him.
With my father's health pretty much perpetually bad the last few years, we had expected more than once that he wouldn't make it. He kept going. When Mom died in 2005 (almost 15 years after doctors gave her six months to live) we weren't sure if Pops could last without her. He always depended on her so much.
Dad even was thrust into some drama then. He was in the V.A. hospital in Denver, just having undergone a leg amputation when he got the word about his wife. One of my sisters got him from the hospital and was driving him home to spend a few hours with family and go over details. They made a routine stop for gas when a high-speed chase landed on top of them. A couple from California on the run screeched into the gas station, hitting her car. A shootout with police ensued, killing the woman and wounding the man."Get out of the car!" Police shouted to Dad. My sister yelled back at them "he can't he doesn't have his leg!"
Since I got married in 2004 my wife Oksana had become very close to Dad, and was hit hard by his passing. In his last months he lived near us in a rehab center, and we (along with our son and Oksana's sister) spent alot of time with him. We brought him to our house for Thanksgiving dinner, and he died the next morning. We got at least some semblance of goodbye.
I spent some time in the hospital with him when I went to claim his body and take care of arrangements. I don't see any evidence anywhere to convince me humans are unique enough to be granted an afterlife, but I did spend a few moments contemplating the next best thing, the memories we leave. I promised Pops that his memory would be of a man who wasn't dealt the best deck of cards, but played 'em anyway.
I promised him I wouldn't let the despicable allegations once made by a desperate woman sully his memory as it did our relationship for a few years. I promised to tell the next generation about him, and to smile. I then smiled, and said "fare thee well, Dad."
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Comment by Morgan Bell
Science News
Deep Pencil
Business News
Movie Train
Artist Quirk
i think the memories one leaves behind in those still living are our legacy . . . our immortality beyond death
Comment by Jeff Musall
Secular Humanity