I know it's a little lengthy for a blog, but my brother, Steve gave the Eulogy at Dad's memorial this weekend and my nephew Tony conducted. It was a beautiful memorial and I wanted to share it with those family members and friends who couldn't make it.
As background, Steve and Dad have been involved in mental health all their lives. That's one of the reasons Steve was the right choice for speaker.
What I learned from my father - Steve
Dad gave me
somewhat of a legacy, though maybe not on purpose, which I will carry for my
entire life. Like all children I grew up idolizing my father.
Some of my earliest memories are of Dad coming
home in his white uniform from Agnews State Hospital. White shirt – white belt
– white socks - white shoes. This was a place where my father and grandfather worked
and earned their living. They would tell
wild and bold, and no doubt embellished, stories. To me it was a place of adventure. I thought of it almost like a sanctuary.
I learned
from Dad that caring for others less fortunate than I is an honorable thing to
do, and that people with mental illness need not be feared. I remember him telling me that some of the
patients probably thought I was a bird. This really confused me – not that they
might think I was something I was not.
Mostly I wondered “why a bird?” I would much rather be a cat or a dog.
When I was a
young teenager Dad started to have my sister Ruth and I do volunteer work at
Agnews. We spent our summers volunteering on some of Dads units, usually doing
menial tasks and playing cards with the patients. I think it was good for them to
see people from the community and it was good for Ruth and I to be exposed to
them. This is something that affected both of us. I became a Psych Nurse – Ruth became a Social Worker. I found out later that the unit I worked on
was full of patients with criminal backgrounds – I suppose I should have been
afraid, but they just seemed like people to me.
At that
point Dad was an Area Supervisor. He
would make his rounds and meet with the person in charge of each unit to see
that they had the supplies that they needed and address whatever concerns that
might have developed that day. When I started doing volunteer work the staff on
the unit always had good things to say about Dad. The common reprise was “oh
your Dale’s son”. I believe it was meant with respect….maybe it was meant as a
warning – I will never know.
To me the
state hospitals were a community and a place of order – a place of asylum - in
a good sense. Everything happened the same way every day. Meals- medication –
down time – bed time.
One summer
Ruth and I worked on a museum project which was really just a collection of
junk that Dad found in warehouse on the grounds. Ruth did a lot of work on this
special project. Some of the exhibits
included the old books that our parents kept.
By the way, pilfering
state stuff was not considered a problem. In fact, it took me years to figure
out why my boots were labeled left and right……they were state issues.
Dad’s title
was Occupational Therapist. This was a new concept – that many patients could
be taught occupations and could move and work in the community. This was in the
early 1960s and his work was well before its time. He set up a silk screening
shop and got contracts with the community to create work on the grounds. As
patients learned the skills they were able to transition into the community. This was well before Medi-Cal, Regional Centers,
etc.
When Dad transferred
to Patton State Hospital, and we did our time in San Bernardino, he ran a very
progressive program helping to place patients in community residential
facilities. This was part of the deinstitutionalization movement of the 60’s
started by the Kennedy administration.
It was the honorable attempt to move patients from state hospitals into
the community. Today, much of Dad’s work
has been completely dismantled – but that is a story for another time.
The
representation of the employees and the development of the Psychiatric
Technician was something very dear to Dad and something he and Grandpa would
talk about endlessly. I remember when Dad first became president of the local
CSEA. I attended a couple of meetings
with him and the fact that his peers seemed to have to do what he said really
impressed me. It was very important to Dad to be a leader – and I believe he
truly cared about the issues.
Dad loved
being treated as important. There was
always some event or issue of great importance that Dad would be working on, well
beyond my comprehension at the time, but clearly I could pick up that his
opinion and backing was much sought after. When he went away on conventions, he would
come back charged up.
Now for you
young ones out there, there was this archaic process that families used to have
called “dinner at the table.” This was when families were lucky to have one TV
set with 3 TV channels. So the entire family would sit at the table – almost
every night – honest to God. Parents
would discuss the events of the day and children would sit and have to listen
to their parents talk. I remember what
Dad told Mom after work every evening. I
heard his ideas and it made a big impression.
He also
worked on licensure of the psych nurse – the concept that caregivers were more
than minions – and that this sort of work was a worthy profession. Psych
nursing evolved, and many people believe devolved, into a medical model.
Hospitals were managing patients more with medications and for a dark period by
committing surgeries that attempted to cut mental illness from the flesh of the
patients. I know that when I became a Psych Tech that Dad was very proud. This took going to college. Something my Dad didn’t get to do. I was in one of the first classes that took
the licensing exam. When I got my student positions and eventually became a licensed
Psychiatric Technician I began to hear the reprise again ….. “that’s Dales
son.”
What else
did I learn from Dad? I learned to value of storytelling, and that strict
adherence to the truth is not a requisite for a good story. In my workshops I often illustrate concepts
based on stories about family. Dad once got to hear one of my lectures. Before I
began, I was a bit concerned that he might be offended. Oh no – I should never have been concerned. Dad loved it, in fact, from that point on he
adopted my ‘illustration’ as his own, as if it really had happened.
To this day
when we talk about deeming of assets my clients often will interrupt me and say
“I know – it’s just like your father…” referring to the story from my
presentation. I shared that funny fact
with Dad. He was very proud – even
though there is only a grain of truth in the story.
I also
learned that a parent is human and can also make stunningly bad decisions.
While I certainly don’t want to dwell on this, we can learn that parents are
human. Sometimes we as parents need our
children to understand that we are just people with frailties like anyone else.
After my
parents divorced in the 70s, Dad came and visited me in Napa. This visit was not under the best of
circumstances. I had also just divorced.
My brother and I were living a fairly freewheeling life. Dad indicated that he wanted to move in with us. Not only was the timing bad, it could arguably
be categorized as in bad taste. Being of a Methodist background, we certainly
couldn’t tell him we didn’t want him around so we came up with a very clever
idea. We would throw a party and try to
include every offensive act we could think of to drive him away. Welllll – it didn’t quite work out that
way. We learned that Dad was very
adaptable. Everyone had a good time at
the party --- except for my brother and me.
Dad was a
caring individual. He wasn’t demonstrative about it. In fact, I don’t ever remember
him telling me he loved me, but I never questioned his love. Maybe this also comes
from our Methodist upbringing. Being a loving individual was good enough, while
outwardly demonstrating it was awkward. Quite honestly, I prefer acts of love
over words, though words are nice.
Lastly, this
last decade with Dad’s declining health has been quite an experience. It always
seemed to me that a former psych nurse should be spared mental illness. It’s
only fair.
Unfortunately it was not to
be. These last 10 years have been a sobering experience. Dad’s dementia slowly
caused him to behave in ways I never imagined. It caused a lot of
problems. I remember once begging the
social worker from the nursing home he was living in “please don’t discharge my
father. I will do anything.”
We never
could have weathered this were it not for Roz (my Dad’s wonderful wife) and her
devotion. Our father made some good decisions and some bad decisions, but one
of the best decisions he made was his choice of companion and wife. We all owe
her for she has weathered abuse and heartache stemming from Dad’s dementia. The
real test of true love isn’t what you do when all is well – it’s what you do in
the face of adversity.
So – our
father was a good man, a dutiful man, and he did a lot of good in the world. He wasn’t perfect and he certainly wasn’t a
saint. I know he loved all of us and
enjoyed hearing about our lives. He always asked me “where are you traveling
to?” This always impressed him. I think
in many ways I am doing what he always wanted to.
I hope he
has found peace – he certainly deserves it.
This is Tony's talk:
I
was thinking of where I wanted to focus on in giving the eulogy for my
grandfather. How do you come up with some sort of semi-comprehensive
speech about the life of a man so complex and rich in personality without
writing books or spending days in conversation with those who love him best?
Looking
through yearbooks and old pictures of him, it is safe to say that he marched to
his own rhythm. He played trombone. He loved a good joke.
He was a
great writer. He loved silly hats. He loved to make those around him
laugh. He looked snazzy in a bow tie. He loved bingo, dancing and
football.
He
loved to talk with anyone who would give him the time of day and even those who
wouldn’t.
If
we look back on his life, you can see what was important to him by where he
invested his life. Grandpa was quite the investor.
He
invested in the enjoyment of others. His silly hats and his jokes are
legendary. Grandpa always was ready with a smile and a story,
sometime true. Grandpa would say the way to remember a joke was to tell
it to everyone you met that day. He not only said it, he lived it.
If you spent a day with him, you would know the joke too.
I
was talking to my kids about my grandfather and they remembered being able to
go into his hat room and play. It was a great time for them.
While
he collected the hats, they never lost their original intent. The
enjoyment was more important than the items. He lived his life in that
simple joy of watching others enjoy life.
He
invested in people who could not invest in themselves. The Apostle Paul
wrote in 1 Corinthians, “Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. He comforts us in all
our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of
affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
Grandpa
worked 35 years for Mental Health system. He worked as a psych tech,
taking care of people in their greatest time of need. This job took him
from San Jose to San Bernardino, then to Sierra County where he was the entire
Mental Health Department. The story goes that he was once reported to
Patient’s Rights because he made one patient laugh so hard from his jokes that
she busted a stitch from a recent surgery. Not only did he make them
laugh, he took good care of them to where they would trust him before anyone
else.
He
invested in his co-workers. Grandpa made sure that his people were taken
care of, being instrumental in the formation of the union to take care of Psych
Techs throughout the state. He served as the first president of the
union, then as the steward for years. His nature of talking served him
well in this investment – when management saw Earl Dale coming, wearing his
derby, they knew something was wrong and that he was there to fix it.
He
invested in his family. Early in his family life, Grandpa was known to
work three jobs to make ends meet – having 5 kids with bottomless stomachs.
But all this time on the job did not stop him from knowing his family.
On trips to sell Fuller Brushes, he would often take one of the kids with
him, traveling from house to house. The kid would spend the day in the
car as Grandpa went door to door selling brushes. It was time fondly
remembered.
When
he learned that he was going to be a great-grandfather, he put together a
complete family history spanning generations, to make sure that the future
generations would remember those who came before. He passed on his
qualities to his children and grandchildren. I stand before you today an
example of what he passed on – not just his receding hairline, his tastes in
bad jokes and an ungodly amount of body hair in places that it doesn’t belong,
but in his love for life, his love for people, and his love for his family.
Earl Dale’s life on this Earth ended too soon but is a life well-lived.
I can imagine Grandpa walking the streets of gold today with Jesus
chuckling, saying, “tell me that one about Andy again. That one never
gets old.” May he rest in peace.
One of Dad's favorite joke (yes, there were millions of em')
So Garth Brooks (or whoever's name filled his fancy at the time) died and went to heaven.
St Peter greeted him and said "You have done well during your life, but you must answer 3 questions before I can let you in.
"Ok", answered Garth -
How many Ts are in a week?" St. Peter asked
"2", Garth answered.
"2" exclaimed St. Peter? Name them"
"Today and tomorrow, of course"
"OK, I'll accept that. Tell me then how many seconds there are in a year?"
Garth thought for a minute. "I'm thinking there are 12", he said.
St Peter scratched his head. "How did you get 12?"
"Well, there's January 2nd, February 2nd...."
"Well, I can't argue with that", St. Peter replied. "You've got
one question left. I want you to tell me, what is God's first name?"
"Well, that's easy," he answered. "His name is Andy"
St. Peter threw his hands in the air. "Andy? Where did you hear the name Andy?"
"From church, of course. Even you should know that. (Singing) And he walks with me, and he talks with me."
---------------------
An Irish Prayer - from the program
May those who love us, love us;
and those who don't love us,
may God turn their hearts;
and if He doesn't turn their hearts,
may he turn their ankles
so we'll know them by their limping.
An Irish Funeral Prayer - read by Kenneth Dale
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around
the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
---------------------
Earlston E. Dale, born Sept. 25, 1931, in Sugarette, N.M.,
passed away Friday, Dec. 23, 2011. He was 80.
Earlston worked for 35 years in the California State Mental Health
System. He was a founding member of the California Association of
Psychiatric Technicians (CAPT), serving as their first union
president. His hobbies included gardening and bingo. Earl was
funny, gregarious and full of joy. He owned more than 350 crazy
hats and had a joke for everyone.
Earl is survived by his loving wife, Roz, whom he married on March
17, 1992; his sister, Marceline Lockhart, his children, Stephen W. Dale, Concord, Calif., Kenneth
D. Dale, Reno, Nev., Audrey L. Escarzaga, Hemet, Calif., and Nina
S. Jones, Sequim, Wash.; 10 grandchildren; and 19
great-grandchildren.
He was preceded in death by his daughter, Ruthmarie Dale, and
parents, Walter and Lita Dale.
Not to whine, but it's true. Straight is the way and narrow is the path, I guess. Wouldn't choose anything different because I'm soooo happy where I am.
I have a woman that I see most every morning where I exercise. She is passionate about the fact that the world is overpopulated, that children are obnoxious and totally unnecessary, that most people are stupid and that she has been enlightened enough to point it out. It is uncomfortable (nigh onto enraging) to share how much I love my grandchildren, my faith or my viewpoints because she will steamroll over me and anyone else around us. She will yell, she will ridicule. Its extremely frustrating. 
I do not expect everyone in the whole wide world to believe this scripture (though how grand it would be.) It is suffice to know that I not only believe it, but that I recognize the universal truths outlined in it. First, that if I really believe what I believe, I will not be swayed by the disapproval of others. Second, the fact is that people judge harshly against anything contrary to how they think, feel, live. Whether right or wrong is not really the point (though people THINK it is) because people rarely understand that their viewpoint MAY be flawed, especially when it comes to understanding others.
Second, treating people with respect and living a good and pure life is an emphasis of every single faith-based group I have come across and I have worked with many, many religions. DON'T talk to me about how hateful the Muslims, or Shi'ites or Jews or conservative Christians are. They are NOT. Don't quote me their scripture unless you can quote me ALL of their scripture, because you are only reflecting what supports your own personal prejudice otherwise. Yes, there are evil people in the world who want to take you and everyone around you out. They also have perverted the truth for their own selfish ideology. That's why they are called 'extremists' (and yes, that means if you do the same to support your prejudice then you too are an extremist.)
