This is the text of a eulogy that I delivered at my dad's funeral on April 11, 2015.
Dad once told Margie and me that there were only basically three different hairstyles. He said that I had one, Margie had another, and he had the third. Parted, un-parted, and departed. Today, not only is dad’s hair departed but he is also gone from us. But rather than focus on the loss, today I want to focus on the life that touched so many of us. Dad is not so much departed, as he was and is deep-hearted.
Dad was born as Junior Zoar Conklin on May 17, 1923 in a farmhouse near Stockville, Nebraska to James Zoar Conklin and Mildred Alma Guthrie. He was the middle of three boys. Chester was the oldest and Frank was the youngest. Dad later changed his name to James Zoar Conklin, Jr. because he felt that Junior was more of a title than a proper name. His mother continued to call him Junior, but to most everyone else he was Jim.
Dad’s memories of Stockville include a blizzard with 18-foot snow drifts, getting caught smoking corn silk, sleep walking episodes, and delivering voting ballots in an old Dodge touring car with the boxes strapped to the running boards.
In 1931, when Dad was 8 years old, his family moved to New Raymer, Colorado. On the way they were hit broadside by another car, knocking the Dodge touring car on its side. The family found Dad unconscious and thought he had been injured, but he woke up unhurt and just asked what had happened. He had slept through the whole thing. The sturdy old Dodge touring car was undamaged. They pushed the car back onto its wheels and went on.
The dust bowl hit in 1933 when Dad was 10 years old. Dad remembers it becoming as black as night when there was a dust storm. The dust would get so thick that they could hardly breathe. They would have to put a wet rag over their mouth if they went outside. The dust would get into everything. It was impossible to keep out. It gathered so high around the fences that cattle could walk right over. There was always a big clean up job after each storm.
While living in New Raymer, when he was around 12 years old, Dad took a movie trip with a couple of friends, Lawrence and Earl Hays. Lawrence was driving his parent's car. Dad kept pestering Lawrence to let him drive until Lawrence finally gave in. Dad was doing pretty well until he got going a little too fast traveling down a hill. The car hit some gravel at the bottom of the hill and Dad lost control of the car. The car skidded off the road and ended up on its side. There was a duck that had been in a gunnysack in the back seat. The duck and one of the boys were thrown through a hole in the roof. The boys left the car and walked the rest of the way into town, taking the duck with them. Dad's aunt, Ruby Clark, and her husband, Guy, found the car where the boys had left it on its side. They were worried that someone could have been hurt. They checked at the doctor's office, but no one there had seen the boys. They went to the school next and found the boys, and the duck, in the auditorium watching the movie as if nothing had happened. The boys explained what had happened, but no one ever found out that Lawrence had let Dad drive the car.
Dad played for the junior high basketball team in New Raymer. His most memorable experience was a game that he had a chance to win on the final shot. His shot spun around the rim several times before finally coming out to the gasps of the hometown fans. New Raymer had lost the game, apparently. But Dad was fouled on the play. With New Raymer down by one point and no time left, it was all up to Dad. If he made both shots, new Raymer would win. His coach could not watch, but he did not have to. The crowd went nuts as Dad sank both free throws to win the game. Dad called this the proudest moment of his life, as far as sports are concerned.
In 1938 Zoar got an offer to move his family to a farm near Gilcrest, Colorado to live rent-free. Still feeling the effects of the great depression, Zoar accepted. Dad attended Gilcrest High School for half of 10th grade where he still played basketball. In 1939 they moved to Greeley where dad attended the much larger Greeley High (which is now Greeley Central). Dad gave up basketball because of the tougher competition, but he tried boxing for a while. Dad's friend, Dean Carmichael, talked him into boxing in a tournament. Dad found out just before the match that his first opponent was the former Northern Colorado Lightweight Champion. The match lasted less than a round. Dad never boxed again, and Dean Carmichael was no longer his friend.
Zoar’s family lived in a two-room shack at 5th Street and 21st Avenue in Greeley. They had a large garden on this one-acre plot which yielded 37 different vegetables. Dad remembered Zoar's famous stew in which he used all 37 different vegetables.
While he was in high school, Dad caught typhoid fever, which the doctor attributed to having drunk water from the Big Thompson River. The doctor wrote a prescription for morphine, which called for 1⁄2 a grain in 24 tablets. But the druggist put 1⁄2 a grain in each tablet by mistake, making the dosage 24 times too strong. After Dad had taken four tablets, all he wanted to do was sleep all day long. He would nod off while someone was talking to him. Zoar got worried and called the doctor. The doctor came and figured out right away what had happened. The doctor said that it was a good thing Zoar called when he did. In another half hour, Dad would have been dead.
The doctor told Mildred to put on a pot of coffee. They gave Dad coffee, and Chester and a friend took turns walking him up and down the street. They also tried to make him vomit. They had to keep him awake and moving until he got all the morphine out of his system, which took several hours. Dad was not in his right mind and does not remember much of this. They told him later that he kept trying to get away and go flirt with the doctor’s daughter, who was waiting in car.
The doctor suggested that they hire a lawyer, so they hired Robert Gilbert. He got them an out-of-court settlement, and the druggist left town. Later, when Dad lost his hair in a relatively short time, the doctor thought that the morphine overdose may have contributed.
Dad graduated from Greeley High in 1941, the same school from which Margie and I later graduated 38 and 41 years later, although it was Greeley Central by then. Dad received a draft notice later that year as America entered World War II. Dad got a medical deferment because of a hernia, but several years later he voluntarily enlisted with his brother, Frank, in time to fight in the Korean War. Frank was on the front lines and Dad’s job was in communications. He would lay new phone lines every time they were cut by the enemy.
Between high school and his service years Dad was married, divorced, and became a single parent, retaining custody of his first son, Jimmy. While Dad was in the service Jimmy stayed with his grandparents. Dad sent his entire military paycheck home to support Jimmy and the rest of his family.
In late 1959, Dad was attending the funeral of his uncle’s wife. It was there that he met the love of his life, Florence Jane Ferguson. She was attending the funeral of her mom’s cousin’s wife. Since this happened to be the same person, this made Mom and Dad second cousins. They were married a few weeks later on December 10, 1959. This past year they celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary.
Mom and Dad were both single parents with one child each when they met and married. Dad had a 15-year-old son, Jimmy, and Mom had a 7-year-old daughter, Tillie. Within a year and a half they had their first child together. Margie was born June 10, 1961. Two and a half years after that, I was born on November 14, 1963, just eight days before the assassination of John F. Kennedy. By the time I was born, Jimmy was no longer living at home. Eight months later in August 1964 Jimmy was killed in a single car accident when he fell asleep and drove off an overpass on his way home to visit.
Anyone who has lost a child will know how hard this hit the family, especially Dad. He was such a private person that he was left cope with his overwhelming grief in the only way he knew. Consequently, he continued the pattern of problem drinking that had begun with his own father. Later, when Dad saw how much this hurt his loved ones he quit completely. By the time of his passing he had been sober for more than 35 years.
For similar reasons, Dad also quit smoking around 1984. He always had a special connection with his grandson, Joel Marshall, Tillie’s fourth son. When Joel was around 6 years old, he said to his grandpa, “Oh Grandpa, I wish you wouldn’t drink and smoke and get canceled and die.” This touched Dad so much that he did not smoke the last 31 years of his life. This may be a big part of why he was around so long. His love for his family sustained him and motivated him to make life-changing choices.
Dad retired from the Postal Service in 1984 after working there for more than 20 years. He recently told my wife Lisa that he had been retired for 31 years. Not a bad return on investment.
Mom and Dad’s lives changed forever on February 1, 1986. They once again found themselves taking care of a baby, their grandson, Brandon. Brandon stayed with Mom and Dad from the time he was born until he was about 3 when he went to live with his mother, Margie, and her new husband Steve, who eventually adopted Brandon and raised him as his own son. Mom and Dad stayed involved in Brandon’s life taking him on vacation with them and helping him with anything he needed. When Brandon had children of his own they became very precious to Mom and Dad. Brandon’s children were at Dad’s bedside two days before he died, along with their mother, Margie, Steve, and Brandon’s brother Justin. However, Brandon could only be there in spirit as he preceded Dad when he died suddenly and tragically at the age of 28 just a few months earlier. During the viewing just before Brandon’s funeral, Dad placed his hand on Brandon and said, “I will be joining you soon.” Dad seemed to lose much of his will to go on after Brandon’s death. We can only hope that he now has what he had hoped for and that they are reunited, along with Henri Dad’s favorite toy poodle dog.
Dad did not often express his feelings verbally, which made a few occasions all the more striking. At both their 40th and 50th wedding anniversary parties in front of family and friends he spontaneously and publicly declared how much he loved Mom. In his lucid moments at the hospital just weeks before he died he continually asked about Mom, how her surgery went, and if she could walk now. It was as if he knew that he did not have much time left and he wanted to make sure she would be OK without him.
Although Dad was not always big on words, his actions spoke volumes. He was one of the most kind, gentle, generous, and loving men I have ever know. When I went through a divorce I gained a new level of appreciation for both Mom and Dad. They were both unbelievably kind and generous in helping me pick up the pieces of my life, and providing a place where I could spend time with my kids after I moved to California. My current wife, Lisa, has told me many times that Dad was one of the biggest reasons she felt right about marrying me when she saw the loving and gentle way he interacted with his wife, children, and grand children. I know there are many here who have been touched and influenced by Dad’s gentleness and generosity. He never wanted to be a bother to anyone, but he gave whatever he could to those who needed it with no thought about how much it cost him personally. He was the living embodiment of the widow from Jesus’ parable of the widow’s mite who cast her all into the treasury. Thank you, Dad, for who you were. For the life you lived. For how much you have touched us all. May you rest in peace and know how much we love you.
