Today we gather as friends and family to mourn the death, honor the memory, and celebrate the life of Marvin Jameson, our dad, our grandpa, our great grandpa, brother, husband, uncle, step father, community leader, friend – and true friend. You’ve come from across the street, and as far away as North Carolina, and Texas – and Sicily. Your presence is a blessing to the family. It affirms what we’ve always believed – that relationships matter and that dad developed a web of relationships that supported him throughout his life.
His dearest friends are from relationships he maintained for more than 60 years. After we moved to Rio in 1958, we loaded into the car on many Sunday afternoons for a drive to Stoughton, Verona or Oregon to drop in on families that he and mom knew from their earliest days. We grew up with those kids. And today some of those children – now middle aged men like me – will usher Dad to his final resting place as his pallbearers.
Dad loved to travel. His desk drawer is stuffed with maps and when we talked about our schedule since we always lived far away, dad would pull out a map to visualize where we would be. He always talked about memories of his travels – and the friends with whom he traveled. The mortar of shared memories builds relationships that endure.
To maintain those connections, Dad was the organizing principal behind what he affectionately called “the old timers” that meets for lunch every other month. As committed as dad was to maintaining long-term friendships, he had an infinite capacity to broaden that circle. During visitation last night I met many people who knew Marvin only from the last 20 years, or last decade. He openly embraced new friendships.
An outpouring of condolences through social media, calls and notes from people much younger than Marvin remember him as “the kindest man in town,” as “generous” and – maybe the highest compliment given to any man – “a good man.” One young man less than half dad’s age visited the house Thursday and was inconsolable.
How many of you received cards and calls from dad? It was all to maintain relationships, to stay in touch, stay in contact, to keep the vital cord of relationship connected from one human to another. He held strong opinions, but he wasn’t apt to argue for his view because he knew he probably wasn’t going to change your mind and relationship was a whole lot more important than winning an argument.
Dad loved to drive. The hardest part of his ordeal the past month was hearing that he would not be able to drive anymore. His children remember that whenever we went someplace we would take the scenic route. Dad knew who lived in just about every house and farm. And he knew who lived there before the current occupant. Once, a trip home from Columbus with Denise was taking an abnormally long time. Finally, Denise piped up from the back seat, “Are we still in Wisconsin?” Even with dad’s sense of humor, he was not amused.
Except for brief stints in Brooklyn and Portage Dad lived in this community since he was 14 years old. He pedaled his bike from Lodi to live with his aunts Vicki and Lillian so he could go to school in Rio, where Lillian taught. By 10th grade he figured he’d taught the teachers in Rio all he could, and he quit school to start driving a gravel truck for Columbia County.
He worked at least one job from then until he fully retired at age 77. He worked at a tire store, at Bancroft Dairy, in the processing plant and on a delivery route. He drove gas truck for the Farmer’s Union Co-op, and then managed the store, until he bought into a local insurance agency, and served on the board of Arlington Mutual Insurance. Through these kinds of jobs Dad knew, it seems, everyone in four counties. And, I’ve learned his reputation for integrity and consistency and wisdom is untarnished.
Dad was a worker. Retirement was starting to wear thin for him. In fact, last fall he applied for and was hired to deliver newspapers for the Portage Daily Register. Fortunately, he thought ahead to the slippery roads of winter and ultimately declined to start the new job.
Dad was never one to turn down a friend in need OR a good card game. He loved Euchre and Casino. Those of you who know the game will understand when I say, dad never turned down the right bower. Even if was his only trump and it meant getting euchred.
Dad had a laugh out loud sense of humor. He loved jokes about the hapless Norwegians Ole and Lena. I’d tell him a joke and if he could remember it, he’d share it with Denise and she would always say SHE’s the one who GAVE me the joke in the first place. Often, she was right. In the past year or so, I didn’t have to have new jokes for dad. I could tell him the same one every week.
Dad had an amazing memory for numbers and dates. He could and did recite his great grandchildren’s middle names and birth dates. After our weekly calls he would say give Caleb Archer, Harper Grace, Juliette Elizabeth, Corbin Wayne, Grayson Robert, Larkin Elizabeth and Colton Jameson a big hug and kiss from me, will you? Kids, that’s why I hug and kiss you so much. Your great Grandpa tells me to. He could do the same for his great grandchildren in Texas, although there were some he never had a chance to meet.
Dad loved that he had granddaughters and great granddaughters whose middle name was Elizabeth, like mom’s. He loved that he had a grandson and great grandson with middle name Wayne, like his. There was always some debate about whether dad’s middle name actually was Wayne, or maybe it was DEwayne. He couldn’t remember. I’m Wayne, my first son is Wayne, my wife’s dad is Wayne, my son lived in Wayne, Pa. so we went with Wayne. The parents of Corbin Wayne, who is nine months old, tell me, that if Grandpa’s middle name had been Dewayne, Corbin probably wouldn’t have carried on the tradition. Then, lo and behold, I find dad’s class ring yesterday and the initials inside are M.D. J.
He was so proud of his grandchildren. Those who lived close – Tyler and Stacy – he adored you. And the adoration you returned warmed not only our dad, but also your aunt and uncles who so appreciated the attention you gave. During difficult days years ago, grandpa went out of his way to include Stacy, Tyler and Jeffrey in his travel and visits to affirm to you that families may struggle, but family love always wins. Grandchildren who lived far had earlier memories that probably grew to legend in your minds, but they are still true and sweet. Coming down County B past the farm still plucks the heartstrings of all of them – and of us.
In 1996 when Barbara died, Dad’s children thought he would die of loneliness. He cried often, and walked and walked and walked. Then he remembered an earlier relationship, and a girl with whom he shared confirmation classes at Dekorra Lutheran Church in 1944. Margaret and dad were married in 1997 and Margaret, it’s not an exaggeration to say you may well have saved dad’s life. Thank you for the companionship you shared these nearly 20 years. Thank you too, to your children who cared for dad.
The outpouring of condolences and sentiment from generations of friends and family that know my dad affirm to me time and again what an honor it has been to be known as “Marvin’s son.” It’s a title I’ll carry forever, as will Linda, Denise and Jim. In the years to come, the ability to say, “Marvin Jameson was my dad” will open virtually any door in Columbia County.
Dad was a good man who prayed like everything depended on God, and worked like everything depended on him. We miss him already. You will miss his calls, his card games, his ready willingness to help at church and in the community. Ushering, being a taxi to help others get to doctor’s appointments, helping with communion at Wyocena and Covenant House.
God, on the other hand, is looking for a fourth to join Him, Marvin and Barbara at the card table. Oh wait, there’s Merlin now. And Jerry, Dale, Orly and Lennis are waiting to take on the winners.
When you squeeze people they leak out the glue that holds communities like Rio together. People like Marvin Wayne Jameson. Institutions are vital too, institutions like the Church. And schools. And in Rio, institutions like HomeTown Café. Nancy, who runs the joint, has a great tradition of personalizing a coffee mug for her regulars. Another tradition of hers is to “retire” the mugs to a glass display when that regular customer – no longer needs it.
Dad no longer needs his, because he’s drinking his coffee now from the Holy Grail. Bottoms up dad. Bottoms up.
(Delivered at Redeemer Lutheran Church, Rio, Wisconsin on March 25, 2017)
7 thoughts on “Eulogy for Dad”
Honored to have met you, and through this, him. Touched by your feelings.
Thank you Peter. It seems Dad is still making new friends!
Well done my friend . . . VERY well done.