George Noakes (1927-2008)

Some visitors to this site might remember I mentioned having to be offline back in mid-January for personal reasons.  The truth is, my father died unexpectedly on January 14th, apparently sometime very early that morning--of a heart attack.   He was one month past his 80th birthday.  I was preoccupied for the better part of two weeks getting the basic affairs one needs to attend to in order. 

My mother had just turned 83 a few day earlier.  I was planning to go up and see my folks after work that day  when I got this terrible news from a call at work. A policeman had responed to a 911 call at their house.  I can remember driving the 30 miles up the road to their place feeling numb and in a state of only half-belief at the news.  When I arrived my mom was in the chair where she slept at night--across from my dad in the other chair. The lady who came  twice a week from Senior Services was there in the living room--she had called the police because my mom can't get up without assistance after suffering  a series of strokes. My dad was in the living room, sitting down in the recliner chair he always sat in. He looked to be asleep.  There was no sign of an some internal attack to his body.  Except for his coloring I would have probably reached over and said , "Dad, wake up.  People are here."

  I was on automatic pilot after that. 

I shook the cop's hand for staying with my mom (the first time I ever shook a policeman's hand I'm almost sure) and thanked Jan--the home health aide--and then watched as someone arrived to take my father's body away to a funeral chapel.   Thankfully my wife Shirley arrived shortly and I set about doing what everybody does when a sudden change in life jerks us into action.  

Mom has much more serious health problems.  After spending time with Shirley and I at our place, she is now in a nursing home close to the main hospital in Medford.  My father was her primary caregiver and she needed and needs 24-hour care.  Ironically, I think her physical health has improved since moving to the facility, and I am also thankful in a way that her short-term memory loss has buffered at least some of the loss to her spirit and heart due to the loss of the man she loved and was married to for 48 years. 

My parents had their arguments and short words over the decades, but they were still blowing kissing at one another across the living room at their house when I came to visit them every 10 days or so.  (They lived in Grants Pass, about 50 miles from Ashland) They seemed closer emotionally in recent times than I had  seen them in years.

I thought seriously about not bring up this personal loss on my site here.  After all, its not like some of my friends here aren't quite likely dealing with personal matters that weigh heavily.  But a couple things changed my mind after a week or so.     

My dad dabbled in writing and was a good storyteller, so I was not totally surprised when I found a notebook that contained a short memoir he had written about his early life. I may well post some brief extracts of his recollections in the near future.   Even though I knew the man all my life, I found that he put a humorous spin on a lot of events in his life that were actually must have been quite a challenge to get through.

 

  I plan to do this not because I  thought my father was in anyway unique or overly special as a young man of his generation--he was in many ways the product of a working-class family near Portland, Oregon, in the 1930's and early 1940's.  As a teen, he often worked two jobs to help support his family while still going full-time to high school (not atypical in the throes of the Great Depression.)  He did his hitch in the Marines and worked and studied his way in to the middle-class with the help of his wits and the benefits received for all veterans by "The G.I. Bill", the greatest social program in the history of the USA if not the world.    

His storytelling skill I believe was part of the reason he was  a successful salesman and sales manager, the profession that ade up most of his working career.  I remember being amazed as a teenager when I found out he was one of the Top 10 sales persons for the large retail company he worked for   If the Internet had come along later, he probably would have been a great blog-ger.  He was casual about that success, but I was impressed and a little mystified. (I'm afraid I was one of those dumb adolescents who enter adulthood thinking "the old man" wasn't "the sharpest tool in the shed."  I have long since changed my mind about that, having had my own full-on experiences with adult responsibilities and the working world. ) 

 

He very passionate about sports (a lifelong baseball, football and college and NBA basketball fan); politics (a child of the Great Depression, his touchstones were Franklin Roosevelt and Harry S. Truman and he was a vocal Democrat), reading up on current events and history ( I think the first "grown-up" book he ever bought me was a short pictorial book on the life of Winston Churchill, one that was put out in 1965 or 66 to commenorate his passing ) and also about knowing and chatting with other people.        

Even though he could have retired fully at 65, he kept working at one thing or another until he was well past 70.  Part of this was to get out of my mother's way at home I'm sure and to have extra money for short vacations, but also because I think he really enjoyed the camaraderie of working  with others and meeting people. 

 

I found out only after he died how--before my mom got too ill-- he would get together with other men he worked with at a Wal-Mart coffee shop once or twice a week to discuss and "solve" world and local problems.  Guys he had barely mentioned to me told me how much his company meant to them.

I was also amazed at how many neighbors stopped by to help us with moving and shutting down their house.  They volunteered to help Shirley and I like we were long-lost family. (That sort of thing isn't supposed to happen very much in modern America, but don't tell that to these folks on Sun-Glo Avenue in Grants Pass.)   

Many neighbors not only said good things about him--one would expect that of neighbors after a acquaintance passes on--but how many of them told me stories of how my father was ready to help them if a problem came up.  (My dad was also something of an amateur handyman, a trait I am sorry to say his son here has little ability to replicate.)

Anyway, for the sake of adding an "iota of knowledge" (as Neil has said) I want to in future blogs add a bit more about my dad--in his own words as much has possible. It is a sad fact that fathers and mothers and generations including our own will pass from this life, but l  want to leave some of his experiences around for a little wider audience to learn and maybe relate to from their own parents' experiences.

I feel sad but fortunate.  Sad that my dad is gone and that we will never talk again on this mortal plane or just be together or play golf together again.  And fortunate because I had a father for 47 years to draw upon for wisdom, experience, guidance, affection and love.     

(pictued above--my dad, a couple Thanksgiving Days ago with my mom outside a restaurant in Medford.  The little girl is their great-granddaugrter Stacey.)