Eulogy for Dad

Thank you all for coming.  Your presence is a real comfort to our family and a nice tribute to Dad.

As the noted philosopher Casey Stengel once said, “We wuz robbed!”  My father was a good man who deserved better than to be struck down with so much yet to live for.  And from the selfish perspective of the living, we will all be deprived of at least 15-20 years of good times and precious memories with him.

My personal sense of loss is profound, for we had a very close, very loving relationship.  My father taught me how to think, how to play (and play fairly), how to travel, and how to value family.  He was a teacher, and while I never sat in his classroom, I did sit on his lap and I learned more from him than from anyone else.  He was my role model, my mentor, and the single biggest influence in my life. His passing will leave an unfillable void in my life.

I’d first like to spend a few minutes reminiscing with you, sharing some of my favorite memories of Dad.

I remember swinging from the big tree in the front yard of 307 Greenwood, with Dad there to push me and spin me around.

I remember Dad making me a collection of college pennants to hang on my bedroom wall.  It was an eclectic mix of schools – everything from DePauw and Albright to Army, Navy, and Princeton.  I think he was proud that I went to Middlebury, and then followed him to Northwestern.

I remember playing pitch and catch in the big back yard, hearing Dad tell me to “throw to the mitt” and “follow through” and “watch the ball right into the glove”.

I remember playing football, with Dad patiently teaching me how to punt.  Something must have clicked, because I won the local Punt, Pass and Kick competition at age 10.  Much to Mom’s relief, that was the zenith of my football career.

I remember flying kites at Blackstock Stadium with Dad.  One time we used four or five rolls of kite string on a single flight, and the kite was so far out we could barely see it.  Another time we tied the kite off, went home for lunch, and came back to reel it in.  Dad always made sure we had a nice, long tail, and he’d bug Mom to cut up an old sheet so that we could knot together a good one.

I remember sitting on the front porch of 307 with the family and watching the thunderstorms roll in.

I remember going with Dad to Minshall lab, writing on the big chalkboards and seeing the mysterious chemistry and physics labs.  I’ll never forget the smell of those chemistry labs.  I also remember the old Freiden calculator Lisa and I used to fight over.

I remember the winter holidays – especially Christmas – and how Dad would help to make them special by building fires and taking us to sled or skate.   He was especially great at holidays with the grandkids.

I remember Dad’s sayings that we’d hear every time the family would get together:  “it’s just like Thanksgiving” and “darn good”; “14!” and “send her home!” when we played Parcheesi; “guard the house” to the dog; and “I always treat everyone the same”, “it’s only money”, and “it only costs a little more to go first class”.  I’ll come back to some others in a few minutes.

I remember that, after age 6 or 7, Dad and I would not hug or kiss when we said good night – it was always a handshake or a salute.  I guess we were too macho back then.  Fortunately, in the last 15 years or so we learned to hug, and I’m happy to say that we hugged and said we loved each other when I last saw him in February.

I remember flying from Greencastle to Cape Cod in Dad’s Piper Cub.  The trip took many days, and by the end I could read a map pretty well and find the major landmarks on the ground.  A fabric-covered tail-dragger that had a maximum airspeed of 60 miles an hour – now that was an airplane!

I remember driving the shore road from Falmouth to Woods Hole taking Dad to work during his sabbatical, and every time we’d pass the Nobska lighthouse with the Martha’s Vineyard ferry fighting the fog or wind Dad would start singing the Ride of the Valkyrie.  I think they stole his idea for that famous scene in Apocalypse Now with the helicopters coming in over the waves.

I remember our summer in Europe when I was 10 almost like it was yesterday.  We took the cog railroad up a Swiss mountain, went to the science museum in Munich, flew to West Berlin and peeked over the Wall, spent a day at Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, and tried on wooden shoes in Holland.  We visited Neuschwanstein castle, Chiemsee lake, and the picturesque little town of Ramsau in Bavaria.  Every year after that Dad would say “Ramsau for Christmas”, but unfortunately we never made it back.

I remember sailing from Europe on the SS United States, swimming in the tiny – and very cold – salt water pool, trying to play ping pong with the ship listing at 20 degrees, and marveling at the immensity of the boat.  I vividly remember getting up very early on the last day to watch us sail under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge into New York harbor, and seeing the Statue of Liberty at sunrise for the first time with Dad’s hand on my shoulder.

I remember going to the Indy 500 time trials with Dad and, eventually, the race itself.  We always borrowed stop watches from DPU and cut out the speed tables and qualification grid from The Indianapolis Star.

I remember Dad helping me with my Junior High science fair project, the Pippenblooper, which won a first place prize.  That was the start of my serious interest in science.

I remember our many long trips in the station wagon to Reading to visit Mom Mom – well, I can’t actually say I remember this particular trip.   We’d play in the attic and the basement and down at the park at 11th and Pike, and then get snow cones or ice cream on the way back and eat them on the front porch watching the cars go by on 13th Street.  Dad always made sure to get us “real” Italian sandwiches from his favorite Reading sub shop. Subs were a family tradition whenever and wherever we got together.

I remember sitting on the screened-in porch before dinner, when Austin Sprague would come over and join Dad and Mom for a drink, usually after a flight.   Thus began a lifetime of nibbling cheese and crackers, peanuts, and pretzels.

remember playing Frisbie in the front yard at 300 Greenwood, and HORSE on the basket that Dad built in the driveway.

I remember Dad teaching me to play tennis behind Bowman gym, forcing me to use the right grips.  The serve he taught me turned into my best weapon, and I won a lot of matches with it.

I remember Dad helping me with my college Physics homework, and helping me edit my thesis.  I was really proud to follow in his footsteps and be a Physics major, even though I knew I wouldn’t pursue it as a career.

I remember Dad’s thing for ferries, and how we would sometimes go miles out of our way to ride one.  He especially liked the Staten Island ferry – where this photo was taken – perhaps because he was born there.

I remember calling Dad in Spain to tell him he had a new grandson named Eric Paul.  I also remember placing a collect call to him from Laura Diane Kissinger when she was born.

I remember our fabulous trip to China and Tibet – truly the trip of a lifetime.  We of course rode the Star Ferry in Hong Kong, climbed the Great Wall, ate yakburgers in Lhasa, got our hands greasy with yak butter holding the handrails in the Potala Palace, and had the scariest commercial airplane ride of our lives landing at Chengdu.  I’ll also never forget the smell of Listerine mouthwash that permeated our hotel rooms – for some reason Dad felt compelled to gargle with that stuff three or four times a day.

Dad was a tireless eclipse chaser, and he invited me to join him to see one in Mongolia.  We had a great trip but as luck would have it our only cloudy day was on eclipse day.  I think Dad was more upset about it than I was – I still had a wonderful time.

I remember Dad’s retirement party.  I was – and still am – so tremendously proud of everything he accomplished professionally.  He had a truly remarkable career.

I remember driving together a few years ago to see Los Alamos, a legendary place for him where important people were doing important work that inspired him to become a physicist.  We looked at the reproductions of Little Boy and Fat Man and talked about the ethics of weapons research.  It was during that drive that I learned about his time in the military – he had never talked about it before that.

I remember the pride Dad had in all of his grandchildren, and how he would give each of them individual attention and make them feel good about themselves.   They may not remember it, but they each loved it when Dad would play “Hey Diddle Diddle” and swing their legs around when they were babies.

I remember Dad at the beach.  He didn’t really have an affinity for the water, but he was a good sport.  He’s also the only person I know who wears khakis and shoes and socks as beach attire.

I remember Dad would talk for the animals.  It’s amazing what a sense of humor our dogs and cats had.  I also remember how excited our dog Ellie would get when Dad would visit, because she knew she would get several long walks each day.

And finally I remember Dad clowning around.  We aren’t a family of joke tellers, but the laughter comes pretty easily.  Especially after the grandkids arrived, Dad made a real effort to make sure that everyone was having a good time, whether by playing games or going for walks or watching videos or just plain old tomfoolery.

I apologize if I went a little overboard here, but I hope you have a sense of Paul Kissinger as a father.  I could not have asked for a better man as my Dad. I feel as if I should have many more years of memories with him, but as you can see I’m fortunate to have a lifetime of great memories already.

I’d like to close by taking a brief look at Dad the teacher, and share with you some of the lessons that he taught me over the years.

As you know, Dad was an eclipse chaser.  I want to use the eclipse as a metaphor for what I’m about to tell you, because sometimes you have to block out the obvious to see the subtle and profound, as the moon blocks the sun to allow the corona and Bailey’s Beads to be seen.

Dad didn’t make a ton of money, he wasn’t a Rhodes scholar, he didn’t win the Nobel prize in Physics, but he really had it all figured out.   He had a nice house, a great wife, he traveled the world, he put his kids through college, and he spent time with his grandkids.  Think also of how many lives he touched, not just in a positive way but in a profound way; I think he derived tremendous satisfaction from that.  At the end of a satisfying day on vacation he would often say “this is the good life”.  And as sad as we all are at his passing, I think we would unanimously agree that he did indeed live the good life.

I think he was able to live the good life because he knew himself, he knew what we wanted, and he was true to his principles.  His needs were relatively simple – just think of that embarrassing car he drove, or the fact that we were the last house in the western world to have color TV – and that allowed him to spend his time and money on the things that mattered to him.

I’ve come to realize that he didn’t overtly preach his principles to us, but rather communicated them more subtly through his many sayings.   Whether this method was intentional on his part I’ll never know, but I think it was ultimately effective.  See if you agree with my analysis as I share a few more of his sayings with you.

“All things in moderation.” – Lisa and I heard this one a lot growing up.  Dad really lived this way – he rarely lost his temper, didn’t eat or drink to excess, didn’t stay up late, but still had plenty of fun.

“Always do your best.” – I think he passed this on to us from his mother, Mom Mom.  The corollary was “it’s OK if you don’t win so long as you’ve tried your best”.  This eased the pain of our inevitable failures, yet still allowed him to push us to achieve more.

“Safety first!” – Lisa and I still laugh over having heard this one a million times, particularly during our teenage driving years.  I think this was his way of telling us that it’s just plain foolish to take unnecessary risks.

“It’s good to have everyone under one roof.” – Family was extremely important to Dad, and he really enjoyed the holidays when we could all be together.  He really made our house a home of great warmth and comfort.

“Nobody’s having more fun than we are.” – Dad would often say this at the end of the meal that began with the previous quote.  He was, of course, correct.  People could spend more money and be in more exotic locales and eat at fancier restaurants and have more expensive toys, but at the end of the day they weren’t having a better time than we were.  For Dad, simple things were plenty good enough so long as they were done with family.

“This is what makes America great.” – Often uttered in reference to some small town attraction or rinky-dink event that was nevertheless fun.   For him, the bedrock strength of America is in the contributions and values of the regular folk who don’t have an inflated sense of self-worth but go about their living and striving in anonymity and without hurting others.  New York is great and he enjoyed the city as much as anyone, but he was not above also enjoying the quaint (or just plain cheesy) out-of-the-way tourist attractions of Ocracoke or New Mexico.

“This is the good life.” – His signature saying and one that many of you have no doubt heard yourselves.  I believe Dad had the attitude that we all have a choice whether to be happy or sad, and for him the choice was obvious.   I can’t remember a single day when he was mad at the world or outwardly depressed.  Sure some days were better than others and he suffered his share of disappointments in life, but for the most part he enjoyed whatever he was doing at the time and simply reveled at being alive.  Maybe the naps had something to do with it.

Lastly, whenever one of us would say “oh I wish I had a picture of that” or “I wish I had brought my camera” or “I should have bought that souvenir”, Dad would say “that’s OK, it’s better to keep it up here” and point to his head.  He enjoyed taking pictures as much as the rest of us – think of all the slides of his that you’ve seen – and he was a pretty prolific buyer of souvenirs, but he realized that what really matters in life are the experiences you have, the memories you make, and the people you make them with.  For Dad, material possessions were nice but ultimately not necessary for a rich and rewarding life.

So the essence of Dad is rather simple: love your family, choose to be happy, be as good as you can be, don’t overdo it, and always be grateful for what you have and the good times that you experience.  Simple but profound, just like an eclipse.  We should all be so lucky to see it with such clarity and to execute it to perfection, as he has.

It’s a sad day – I’ve lost my father and you have lost him, too.  But while we mourn his passing let’s also celebrate his remarkable life, and take to heart the teachings of this remarkable teacher.

Now, if I may speak to him for just a moment:

Dad, I am immensely proud of you, and proud to be your son.  I promise to keep my memories of you not only up here, but also here.  I love you, Dad, I love you.

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