I learned last week that my father, Chester Hall, had died of Alzheimer’s disease on Wednesday, August 29 – a disease from which he suffered for at least a decade. On September 10, he would have been 92 year’s old. I’ve been working for more than a year, now, half-way around the world from Texas, in Kuwait. But, I saw my Papa this summer, just over two weeks before he died. And, he came to visit with Steve and me frequently, for long periods of time as his disease progressed. We all loved him dearly. It has been difficult for all of us to watch a highly intelligent and amazingly creative individual struggle and waste away. The saddest part was when he was still aware: “I have a good ‘forgetter’,” he would say, apologetically, when he couldn’t remember the names of his children or grandchildren, or remember whether he had eaten yet, or taken his pills. I prefer to remember the gentle, moral, intelligent man, with a twinkling sense of humor, who was my father – a man who loved his wife and his five children, dearly, and who led an exemplary life. Weeks before he died, we all decided on his epitaph: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” It perfectly describes my feelings regarding my father’s life. I think all of us (his children) can only gather to celebrate a life well lived. And because I am so far away, I am sad to miss this enriching family experience. I personally celebrate, also, that our Papa is at last with his beloved wife, Joan, our mother, where he has wanted to be for a decade. Memories? Always deeply religious, I remember my daddy, as a little girl, coming into my room to say my prayers with me at night. He would tell Bible stories and read verses from the Bible. I remember this as a special and intimate time and was sorry, as we grew older that we discontinued these times together. I think he worked harder on my brother’s soul, however, (wonder why?) and I think Ken’s memories might be a little different. Papa accepted Christ as his personal savior while a young man, working for Mr. R.G. LeTourneau, and throughout his life, maintained his Christian commitment. We went to Sunday School and Church each Sunday, including Wednesday night prayer meetings. We belonged to the first Presbyterian Church in Longview and made many wonderful friends there. The church was the center of the social life of our family. After church, my parents would take us to Luby’s Cafeteria as a special treat for lunch on Sundays. I think the treat was really for my mother, who didn’t have to cook lunch for her large brood on the Lord’s day! I remember Mother and Daddy at the end of the Luby’s line, with very few choices on their trays. We were encouraged to choose whatever we liked, but we just had to eat it. Of course, we always had more small bowls of food than any of us could possibly eat which our parents knew would happen. They would help us out. Papa took his Christian commitment to heart, joining the Gideon Association and visiting Black churches to speak to the congregation and leave Bibles. I can remember our family waiting in the car, outside the church, as my father went in to be a part of the service. We were always amazed at the joyful and vibrant music we could hear from outside. Papa’s association with the Gideon’s led him also to a prison ministry in which he went into jails to take Bibles and to talk to the prisoner’s about Christ’s forgiveness and a better way to live. Daddy always had a wry sense of humor and loved plays on words. We heard over and over about the “land-gars” and the sea-gars”. He could take any words twist them to make humor. There were many such bits of dry humor: “Did you know that there are Toy-ota’s and then there are full-sized ‘ota’s’?”. Mostly, when we heard these things, we children groaned! And his stories came “around, and around, and around”! It did no good to protest that we had heard them all before! We can all sing the song Daddy made up as a 4-year old: “Hammy Doggie.” Even the great grand children can sing this simple song: Hammy Doggie I give ham to my doggie My doggie likes ham I give him some ham He says “thank-you.” Of course there were other verses: “Fishy Kittie,” and one we added: “Bird-Seed Birdie.” Papa had a gentle soul. He was kind to a fault; not ever wanting to hurt anyone or any thing. I can’t ever remember an incident in which I was spanked by my father. I do remember, however, that even his endless patience ran out upon rare occasions in which he could demonstrated a pure Irish temper which was a wonder to behold – flying lamps and all! Papa told me that his family name, Hall, could be traced back to the American Revolution. Then he wryly spoke of our cousin “Independence.” Later I learned that, indeed, I could actually have joined the Daughters of the American Revolution based on our family tree. The family was not “potato famine” Irish; and I’ve always wanted to know that kind of adventure brought my ancestor so early to the new world. Maybe I have a fragment of those adventurous genes myself! You can imagine how surprised we all were when Daddy reported that his father, Charles Wakefield Hall had confided to Daddy’s older brother, Clyde, that the family name was originally O’Halleran! One look at my father’s Irish nose, and there was no doubt about the Irish heritage, but the name? Mother, when miffed at him, would mutter “shanty Irish” under her breath. Mother was British. There was a right way to do everything in her world. My father rarely got it right. They were a devoted couple and married for love; but as I grew up, it seemed that my mother was always trying to straighten Daddy up. “Oh, Daddy” she would say, in exasperation when he was sporting a brown sock on one foot, and a black one on the other. Daddy was Chief Design Engineer for the R.G. LeTourneau Company. His intelligence was conceptual. Details like socks matching were the furthest things from his mind. Working closely with Mr. R.G., he designed amazing earth moving equipment: from the earliest “Turnapull”, Tree Stomper, a snow train in Alaska, to offshore drilling rigs. A humble and self-effacing man, he was, none the less, a brilliant engineer. Theirs was a traditional-role marriage. Papa was the breadwinner, and Mother, for the most part, did not work until we were in high school. However, with five children, finances were often strained. I remember when I was a senior in Longview High School, and we senior girls were to be presented to the “court” of the king and queen of the school, I had to have formal dress. Money was very tight at the time. I wanted a spaghetti strapped, gorgeous red “circular” full length formal silk gown. My dear friend Lynne Maier’s mother offered to make it for me. Somehow, the money was found for the yards and yards of expensive fabric and I wore the most gorgeous dress ever! I wonder if Daddy had to borrow money to make that happen. He has always been lovingly generous with me in my own difficult times, for which I have been always grateful. Mother was organized, orderly, planned ahead, and was clearly gifted with skills that my brother-in -law John Ferguson said would have made her CEO of a major corporation in another day and time. She ran our busy household with organized precision. Daddy was the dreamer, and often, a source of exasperation to her, despite the love. Years later, after I had become a learning styles specialist and consultant and had my own company, I had the unique opportunity to invite my parents to a presentation I was making for the Regional Educational Center in Corpus Christi, where they lived. I was sharing the difference between “global” or wholistic intelligence, and “analytic” intelligence. I watched my parents as they struggled to process that their gifts were, indeed, opposites – Daddy’s talent for visualizing, drawing, and then creating amazing earth-moving equipment as a chief design engineer required a wholistic thinking style. I like to think that, perhaps, Mother, at last understood…Maybe they are in Heaven talking of such things, even now! In so many ways they were opposites. My Dad was always cold and mother, hot. I remember seeing them settle in at night. Blankets and bedcovers from Mother’s side of the bed, folded back on top of Daddy’s side of the bed, doubling his warmth, and leaving her, sleeping peacefully under just the sheet. Mother’s death was the turning point in Papa’s life. He continued to maintain that the doctors killed Joan, in a botched heart operation, and we believe he was probably right. From the time we buried her, he seemed unable to care for himself, so deeply in grief. And, then, we lost my sister Rosemary to breast cancer at age 44 that same year. Regular visits convinced us all that intervention was necessary to take care of Papa. He simply couldn’t cope without his Joan. Perhaps, however, it was depression plus the onset of the disease that ultimately killed him. Perhaps the shock of loss and depression invited the disease… So, what to do? My brother Ken asked for his “design help” on an addition to their home in Vicksburg, Mississippi as a way to get him engaged in living again. And, once it was built, we gently helped him close down his household and this was where he moved, living with Ken and his growing family of grand-children until it was clear that the progression of his disease necessitated custodial care as he could be a danger to himself. We moved him to a facility in Ft. Worth that my Steve found for him, close to my youngest sister Susie and her family. Steve, Susie, Frank and Susie and Frank's three girls were watchful, loving family to him for the two years he spent there before his death. My father was gifted – with a heart full of love, a head full of fun, and high intelligence. And he adored his family. And, we were gifted, too, with his presence in our lives. How rare it seems to be, now that I have see a lot of the world, when a mother and father manage to bring up their children to be healthy, happy and productive members of society. It is the gift of love and emotional stability that sees you through the hard times. That was our heritage, and because of the love and values of our parents, it is the legacy we are able to pass on – all of us – to our own children. I love you, Papa, and I celebrate with you that you have thrown off that old skin, and are safely at home. Written in Kuwait with much love by Carol Anne Hall Marshall, oldest child.