Dad’s
Dash
Several months ago a friend
of mine at work sent me a poem, one that had been floating around
the Internet. As I was thinking of the remarks I wanted to make
today, that poem came to mind.
In this poem, it talks about
the two dates on a headstone: one for the date of the person’s
birth and one for the date the person passed away. Separating
these dates is a dash, what appears to be a simple punctuation
mark. But, as the poem says, that dash represents all the time
spent here on earth, all the time we have to live and love. In
fact, it’s that dash that matters most of all.
I’m here today to tell
you some things about my Dad’s “dash”.
Over the years, my dad was many
things to many people: son, brother (being the oldest of 4 boys),
husband, father, step-father, father-in-law, grandfather, great-grandfather,
uncle and friend.
Dad’s “dash”
was filled with family. Dad was married to Ann for 33 years –
I’ve heard her tell many people over the last few days that
she lost her best friend when she lost Dad. He was father to Tripp,
Chris and I, and step-father to Kathy, Linda and John. Six of
us kids under one roof was challenging at times! There were times
that growing up in Dad’s house was eventful. Often when
a few of us get together, invariably the stories about dinnertimes
from long ago come up. Back then, Dad was “old school”
about manners and for cleaning your plate ‘no matter what’.
There’s always the infamous 3-bean salad story of the 6
of us kids sitting around the dinner table for over an hour staring
at this pickled 3-bean salad on our plates, forbidden to leave
the table until it was gone. To this day I haven’t touched
3-bean salad again. And I still remember the process for dividing
up the last piece of something good, whether it was a hamburger
or hunk of cake – one kid did the cutting, the other got
first choice. We still call it the “Bud Rule” at my
house. Dad was also a stickler about haircuts – hair couldn’t
touch the ears or your collar. Growing up in the 60s and 70s when
everyone else had long hair like the Beatles, we were the only
kids that looked more like G.I. Joe. Dad would be happy to see
my latest haircut! I only asked for a light trim, but I think
it was his hand on the clippers that made it this short. And then
there’s the “leisure suit incident”, but that’s
too painful to go into now.
Dad had 13 grandchildren who
called him PopPop, ranging from 28 down to 4 years old, and who
loved him and were loved by him. They will miss him very much.
And just recently he became a great-grandfather to a little boy
that unfortunately will never get to know PopPop.
Dad had many pets that filled
his “dash” with love like only a canine can –
dogs big and small had a place in his heart. And on his lap. And
at the office. And in the car … anywhere that Dad went.
Spooky and Buffy are lost at home without Dad.
So many people were in Dad’s “dash”
for the myriad ways he was involved with the community, which
he loved so much. Dad didn’t so much as join an organization
and simply participate, but he immersed himself in it, getting
involved in the leadership, helping to shape and form it:
-
He was member of the Fair Haven Fire Company for over 44 years, joining in 1962. He worked
his way up the ranks to become chief, treasurer, president –
is there anything he didn’t do? In 2004 he was inducted
as a Life Member of the Fire Company, one of only 33 that had
been bestowed that honor at the time.
-
Once he reached exempt
member status with the Fire Company, he moved on to the Fire
Police. Again, he was very active, serving as captain three
times, and was on his way toward his fourth; he also attained
the honor of being named a life member of the Fire Police. From
what I’ve been told, there was nobody who could drive
the Fire Police truck, or back it in, like Bud could. Looks
like there’s an opening for a new driver.
-
When he wasn’t out
dealing with fires, Dad served as a Little League and Pop Warner
football coach for so many of the kids in Fair Haven. Like many
dads, he started coaching when we were getting into the programs.
But in the case of Pop Warner, he stayed on for many years after
we were out. I remember coming back when I was in college and
giving him a hand with the kids during the summer. Back then,
coaching Pop Warner was an every weeknight event from the 1st
of August through mid-November. That’s dedication.
-
And if that wasn’t
enough, Dad served on the Fair Haven Board of Education for
27 years, long after all of us kids were out of school. As my
brother Chris said the other day, there was no getting away
with anything – there was a direct line between the superintendent
and Dad! All day yesterday, I met teachers, fellow Board members
and administrators who all said the same thing – Dad was
fair, honest and dedicated, and was missed by all when he left
the Board.
Dad was a local businessman,
running Leons Carpet Cleaners for over 35 years, first in Red Bank
and for the last several years here in Fair Haven. The guys working
for Dad didn’t just see him as the boss – they saw him
as a friend and mentor. He was there when they needed a hand, maybe
an advance on their pay, or to borrow a truck if their car had problems,
or simply to talk or get advice. Many of the guys stayed on with
Leons long-term, because of the loyalty they felt for Dad.
I learned my first things about
earning money by working for Dad at Leons over weekends and summer
vacations. You couldn’t just “borrow” money from
Dad – it always had to be “worked off” down at
the shop on Saturday. It gave me a good perspective on the value
of money – was the $20 I wanted really worth the time and
effort it would take to “earn” it?
And what would a person’s
“dash” be like without his friends – so many of
you here today that Dad loved so much and spoke of so often. Those
of you who knew Dad so well know what that little line between the
dates represented – the good times on the softball field,
or the bowling alley, or at the Fireman’s Fair, or on a cruise,
or around the neighborhood. The friends that he would wave to from
the front porch as the town of Fair Haven went by on River Road.
The outpouring of love and support by all who knew and were touched
by Dad was certainly a true testament to the many people who filled
Dad’s dash.
---------------------
I thought I’d end my remarks with the last stanza of the poem.
It goes like this:
“So, when your eulogy's being
read
With your life’s actions to rehash,
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?”
I’m here to say, Dad, you
should be very proud of the things that I’m saying –
and others have been saying – about your dash.
We only wish your dash could have
been longer.
Jeff Dupree
Eulogy for Bud Dupree
May 25, 2006
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