A nice
instrumental played by two giants of guitar picking, Mark Knopfler of Dire
Straits, and Chet Atkins, folk/country legend.
I keep the
song on my Zune because it reminds me of Chet Atkins’ “My Father’s Hat (I Still
Can’t Say Goodbye)”, a song I can’t listen to without tears streaming down my
face. My dad never wore a hat , that I
can recall, at most maybe a winter cap when he worked outside as an
Installer/Repairman with Illinois Bell, but it triggers a response every time
since I first heard it on “Prairie Home Companion.”
Chorus: No matter how hard I try,
No
matter how many years go by,
No
matter how many tears I cry,
I
still can’t say goodbye.
(just
typing the lyrics makes me mist up, hope one of the kids doesn’t come in right
now)
My Father's Hat (I Still Can't Say Goodbye)- Chet Atkins
My dad
passed away 25 years ago this September just past, at 56, and it’s something
you never get over, really, I was in the room as he struggled and looked at me
with eyes I’ll never forget.
It started
when his doctors changed his heart medication (8 years before he had had a
valve replaced with a little poker chip. When it was quiet, you could hear it
“click”) and his blood pressure dropped and he passed out at work. (By 1988 he
had retired from Ma Bell after 30 years, 28 with perfect attendance. My dad was
never sick. I can honestly say I can only think of once or twice in my
whole life when I saw him sick, other than a cold now and then. By then he was
working on the Maintenance crew for School District 300).
Quick
digression…in the early 80s my parents contemplated selling the house in
Algonquin and moving to California to be near my dad’s little sister (Nancy, my
godmother). He was going to transfer from Ill Bell to California Bell. To make
the move, he would lose his seniority from here and have to go back to being an
Installer/Repairman, though he was a PBX installation foreman by then. Also, he
had to prove he could still climb a telephone pole using only spurs (strapped
to the inside of his ankles) and safety belt. Leaning back with the belt
wrapped around the pole, he’d hop up the pole, like a lumberjack.
This was after
the open heart surgery. At 50, he still could do it! He was a little
overweight, but still, I couldn’t have done that at 50.
They ended
up not moving when they found that selling the house would only give them a
down payment on a one car garage in Petaluma.
I was
working at Amax Plating, in Elgin, at the time and got the call that he was in
Sherman Hospital. By the time I got there he was OK, sitting up in bed. I had
to fly out of town the next day for business, but the day I got back, September
15, I got another call that he was doing worse. Evidently, the new medication
had caused his blood pressure to crash and they couldn’t bring it back up.
When I came
into the room I saw him struggling for breath and as I reached to take his
hand, I could see the fear in his eyes, something I had never seen before. The
doctors sent me out of the room as they moved him to cardiac ICU, and 45
minutes later, they came out and said he was gone.
I was
better prepared 8 years before with the valve replacement surgery (it happened
just after I had seen “All That Jazz”, which includes a graphic scene of them
cracking open Roy Scheider’s chest and cranking it open). When he came out of
surgery, he was gray, due to them cooling him down to slow the heartbeat, I
think.
What
saddens me the most is Lynn never got to meet him (I only called her because
she sent me a note of condolence. I had put off contacting her after our mutual
friends, Ron and Desiree, had given me her name and phone number weeks before),
and my kids will never know him other than through my stories. No video and very
few pictures (my folks were not real big on photo documentation).
It’s the
same reason I’ve never been able to watch “Field of Dreams” since it came out
in 1989. In a movie theater you can cry without being noticed, but watching at
home with the lights on is not doable (unless you’re alone). It’s a great movie,
but my dad was my little league manager for the 4-5 years I played organized
ball and he showed me everything and he put up with a lot from me.
I was an
especially poor loser, and hated being taken out of games. I remember one game I
broke my bat (it was a Sears wooden bat I’d had for years) and I started crying
like the spoiled little brat I was. I’m sure I got my share of spankings over
the years and deserved every one, but that day he just told me to buck up (or
words to that effect) and deal with it. I’m sure it’s hard with your kid being
on your team. I was not a great player (or even especially good), but I was
always chosen for the All-Star team (probably knowing the sh-- fit I’d throw if
I hadn’t been chosen).
Trivia
question: My first baseball glove was a Sears, Ernie Broglio model. What was
Ernie Broglio’s claim to fame (infamy for Cubs fans)? No fair using Wikipedia.
Answer when
clamored for by popular demand (or if one person asks, I’d love to get some
feedback).
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