In tribute to Dad who passed away this last week. Rest in peace Big Ken!
All In The Details:
Dad
Anything worth writing about deserves a good title, and so it goes for the life of Kenneth Wittler, or Dad as the case may be. Something about the written word, even though you can speak to someone, or listen to their voice, sounds will echo in your ears for a years, but they fade in time like old photographs, and lose the lustre they once held. But words on paper last like books on shelves; permanent reminders people, events, and memories of all sorts. And so I share with all of you today in written, and spoken words so that Kenny Wittler will not fade into the past, but last forever like some grand edifice,or monument reserved for greater human beings. But we all deserve a special place upon the pedestal of greatness within the hearts, and minds of those we love, don't you think? So here is my simple tribute to a man I called Father, or big Ken, brother, neighbor, friend, or simply “Mo” to so many others here today. But how do I cap it all off with a few words to describe the contents of a life now moved on to greener pastures?
As I recall all it took was a text message to get me moving. Looking back over the past six years has helped me gain perspective, and I understand more fully how fate, or faith brought me here today. In the end though I believe faith is the better choice of words as memories came flooding back through a simple sentence from my little sis; “You better come for a visit, things aren't looking good for Dad.” So it came to pass as I drove to work that night about how to speak of Dad when worst came to worse, and his final chapter was at hand.
I began with long time memories, sounds of Red River Valley being played on the “mouth harp” as Dad called it. And there was the beating of a bass drum, tapping of a snare by Sparky Brinkman, brass trumpets, and clarinets resounding in the background. John Phillip Sousa, a polka, or Old Mother Leary takes me back to a little toe headed boy sitting on an old wooden folding chair atop a hay wagon in early September.
But with that there are sounds I would rather not remember, or share; like a snore that could rip the top off a canvas tent. Some of you here can attest to that fact I am sure. And I recall thinking about Army basic training when our drill instructors would yell at us; “My Dad could snore louder than that, I got this.”
And then there are the legendary sounds that probably still echo down East Sixth, and Walnut streets today; “Chico, you rev that engine one more time, you're gonna blow it up!” Yeah, I think we all know about that famous temper, especially at basketball games. Not only was Dad a huge Big Green fan, but a father of ball players, cheerleaders, and a humble manager sitting on the sidelines watching in awe; those were the days I tell ya.
But there were good things too, like the assistant little league coach yelling “run it out, “ and Vic Fischbach calling out the line up. The big man behind home plate calling balls,and strikes as well. And though I seldom saw Dad officiate a basketball game, I knew he kept his cool calling fouls, and traveling too. It had to be his sense of fair play that led him on to other things as well, but he had a voice that could shake you to your soul; that was Dad.
No tribute to Dad would be complete without mentioning my brothers and sisters who would not be here without him. I have been blessed to have grown up with two big brothers. They were my first heroes, and I still look up to them today. I always admired their strength, dexterity, and ability to run swiftly, leap like a deer, and put a ball through a hoop.
I share the same admiration for my three sisters. It was like we had everything covered on a basketball court including players, cheerleaders, and a manager. But what I admire about my sister's most is their artistry, musical ability, and unparalleled compassion for others. When I think of all the potential, talent, and ability, it dawns on me that we couldn't have gotten everything from Mom; Dad had to have a little something to do with it.
With Dad, I think it's all in the details, and I think it would make a fitting title to his story. Though I don't recall many lessons that he taught me directly, he was a detail man, and it has paid off, especially while I was in the service. Lesson 1: Pay attention, follow direction, and do it right the first time. My first platoon sergeant in Germany was especially fond of that one.
Lesson 2: Work hard, show up for work, and put in your time; in other words, pay your dues. Though I have struggled over the years, this one has definitely sunk in.
Lesson 3: The customer is always right. But I still wonder how he took a hot pot of coffee spilled on his back at Pizza Hut in Columbus with as much calm as he did. I think Virgil Hohlbein was there so I have a witness to the fact.
Dad put in many hours at GM to support six kids. I don't remember ever having a Christmas where each of us didn't get at least one thing we really wanted, but I think Mom may have had a little something to do with that too. If there was one thing I could give Dad that he didn't get as a kid it would be his own bicycle. I think that would make him smile I heaven today. Lord knows he assembled a few down at Grandma, and Grandpa Stepleton's over the years on Christmas Eve.
And still there the stories, like those notorious morning carpool rides to GM. I know Dad took advantage of a few shoulders to rest his head against along the way. But he thought highly of the people he worked with, especially those like Virgil Schnipke.
For many years Dad would leave his work clothes draped over a kitchen chair. I assumed it was so he didn't wake up Mom, but she had those “Mom ears,” and would spring into action with every creak of the hardwood floor. She prepared countless lunch buckets for Dad,and us kids before school.
Yes, we all have our favorite, and not so favorite stories about Dad, and I am sure you all will share them today as his final chapter closes, and we say our last goodbyes. I just know that Dad loved, and cared for his family, friends, and neighbors. He, and Mom held public service in the highest regard. I think it is a sense of fairness, and community spirit that resonates most in me today, but love is always just beneath the surface too. Being involved in something greater than self also describes Dad, it is something to share for the greater good of all. Whether it was church, Lion's club, town council, The Brass Notes, or Park Carnival, Dad was always there; and that is Dad in a nutshell.
But I keep coming back to details. The thoughts I began with seem to converge on the fact that he paid attention, always made adjustments, and cared to make things right, if only in his mind's eye. Now I don't want to keep you any longer, and I am no Paul Harvey, but you all know the rest of the story, and I hope to hear more today, because I don't want to remember him as just a name on a polished granite headstone, but as a man I dearly loved, and came to know over the years as Dad. “It's All In The Details. Good day!
