Happy Father's Day memories

By Jeff Orvis

When a loved one, especially a parent, is no longer with you, sometimes memories of your time with them pop up at the most unlikely time. This afternoon, I finally hooked up my stereo that had been in storage for nearly four years. And immediately thoughts of my dad came to my mind.

I love many kinds of music and I fully realize that I can thank both of my folks for that appreciation. Dad was not much of a singer. About the only time I heard him sing was when he tried to go along with those tough Lutheran hymns in church. I still think he sang only to please my mom. He didn't play a musical instrument that I know of. But he had a wonderful collection of 78 rpm records and really loved good jazz. I still have those records and yes, I have a turntable that will play them.

He talked of the time as a young man leading the cool life in the Quad-Cities when he paid 50 cents to hear Louis Armstrong in concert in Rock Island. Although he never really expressed an opinion, I think he was quietly happy when our high school band director arranged for our jazz band to stand in the alley outside the stage door of a nightspot in Moline and listen to the Count Basie Band. I hope he was also proud when our band bused over to a bank one mid-morning to hear the Stan Kenton Band and my director introduced me to the legendary band leader. I was lead trumpet in the jazz band for a brief time.

For my parents' 25^th wedding anniversary, I managed to get tickets to a concert by the Doc Severinsen Band. The whole Tonight Show group was there and I was really proud that I had gotten tickets in the eighth row, until they rolled out a pair of huge speakers and after the concert, I don't think any of us regained our hearing all the way home from Waterloo.

Dad was a Navy veteran who served at the very end of World War II. I vaguely remember that he actually captured a couple of the enemy. As the story goes, he wandered out into the woods on the island where he was stationed to find the latrine and a couple of former soldiers from the other side pleaded with him to let them surrender. I think the only way we ever heard this was at Mom's prompting.

Dad worked for many years in the metal testing lab at the Davenport Alcoa Works. He also loved photography and the company soon made him the plant photographer. Later, he worked at John Deere for a time. In his off hours, he was a wedding portrait photographer. I still have folks who recognize the Orvis name who say Dad shot their wedding 40 or more years ago!

He was also an avid fisherman and on one of our vacations to Minnesota, he figured out that he could maybe make some extra income by combining those trips with photography. It wasn't long before he was traveling to the Arrowhead area of Northeast Minnesota. Many of the hundreds of pictures he took over the years is part of his lasting legacy.

I never gained the gift of photography that he had, nor am I much of a woodworker, as he also enjoyed. I already mentioned his love of jazz. I also hope I inherited his slow-to-anger, quiet personality.

My dad left us way too soon. A second heart attack took him on a sunny Sunday afternoon in 1981 at the age of 54. But as most of us who have lost a parent will realize, he's still with me today.

I should also mention that I was fortunate to have a second dad for a brief time. Several years after we lost Dad, Mom's heart was captured by a gentleman she knew from her church. Ernie was also a military veteran and later worked at the Rock Island Arsenal. He was a widower who kept the local florist happy with his many visits to win over Mom with roses. This courtship and later marriage happened after my sister and I were adults. But we're grateful that Ernie made Mom happy and eased the loneliness for several years until he also passed on.

At some point in our lives, if we are fortunate to have children of our own, we switch from being sad for losing our parents to being hopeful that we can draw upon our own experiences growing up to instill in our children some of the positive qualities that we gained in our own childhood.

With that bit of Dr. Phil philosophy, I will sign off here by simply saying “Thanks Dad and Ernie. I love you both.”

Happy Fathers Day one and all.