Just before Christmas, my father-in-law
died. He had been failing for almost a
year, so in some ways, we had anticipated his death. But his final decline seemed drastically
sudden.
My father-in-law was a university president
for 13 years, and was known for his kindness and compassionate administrative
principles. He taught and administered
at the same university for over 25 years.
He was involved in many community organizations, authored several books
and edited many other books and articles, and was a respected academic and
administrator. He was, as his friend
Alex Colville wrote, “a man of substantial
intellectual accomplishment, of great energy, and of firm principles” and
he was a man of faith. He received 2
honorary doctorates, and was awarded a Commemorative Medal for Canada’s 125th
anniversary and a Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Medal.
His funeral was a large and public affair, well attended by the
community. The funeral service
remembered and celebrated his professional accomplishments, and his legacy as a
community and institutional leader was recognized.
He was an accomplished and respected man, and I respected him
greatly. And yet, in all of the public
memorials following his death, I did not feel a great sense of personal
connection to this public figure. I did
not know him as a community volunteer, or a teacher, or a pastor, or a university
president. I knew him as my husband’s
father, and grandfather to our children.
The things that I personally know or remember about him are less connected
to his public roles and his place in the community.
My first memory of him is when my newly minted fiancé phoned his
parents to let them know that there would be an addition to the family
(me). To put this into perspective, his
parents lived in Nova Scotia. We had a
bit of a whirlwind romance, and had spent the summer working together, 4
provinces away, at a somewhat isolated summer camp, with no telephone (and
before the days of cell phones). Until I
met my husband, I had never heard of his family, or his community, or the
university where his father was then the president; before this phone call,
they had certainly never heard of me, or my family.
After my future husband broke the news that he was planning to marry
this previously unheard of young woman, there was silence. Then, in a moment of pure graciousness, my
future father-in-law sputtered his congratulations. Not just once, but repeatedly, as he
struggled to react appropriately. Later,
when I knew him better, I realized that this news must have been a complete
shock to him; I never knew him to be at a loss for words at any other
time.
The first time I met the family was several months later, when I
travelled east to spend New Year’s with them.
By this time, they had all mostly recovered from the shock. Both of his parents were kind and gracious,
welcoming me into their family seemingly without reservation.
I remember a very busy man, who made an 8-hour detour to see his first
grandchild, just a few days after he was born.
He had been at meetings in Ottawa, and instead of returning directly to
Halifax, he flew to Toronto, drove to our home which was about 45 minutes from
the airport, spent a couple of hours with his grandson, and then returned to
Toronto for the return flight to Halifax.
I recall a grandfather who quietly enjoyed his grandchildren. When our children were small, whenever we
stayed with the grandparents, the routine was breakfast with Grandpa. As soon as the children were up, Grandpa
would be in the kitchen, making morning tea as usual for his beloved wife, and
then preparing bacon, eggs, toast with Marmite, and half a grapefruit for his
grandchildren. This was his time with
his grandchildren, with no one else around.
As they grew older, the routine changed, but I believe that his pride in
both of his grandchildren as they grew was limitless.
I remember his retirement from the presidency at his university, which
is in a small town about three hours away from where we live now. He retired in 1993, about the same time that
we moved to the Maritimes. I remember
his retirement party, and the number of town people at the party. If I recall, there were at least as many town
people as there were university people.
I have lived in a similar small university town for almost 25 years, and
trust me when I tell you that is a remarkable sign of respect from the
community. One of his greatest legacies was nurturing a cooperative and
mutually respectful relationship between the Town and the University, which,
based on our experiences in our community, is another remarkable accomplishment.
When we were all gathered for his funeral, I spent a few moments in his
study. On his wall is a walking staff
that the employees of the university’s Physical Plant created for him when he
retired. It incorporated items such as
an antique doorknob, a piece of an oak railing, and other items from around the
campus, all lovingly and thoughtfully assembled into this gift by various
sections of the Physical Plant – electricians, custodians, groundskeepers,
locksmiths, etc. The accompanying letter
explained the symbolism of the different components of the staff, and expressed
appreciation for his dedication to the University, specifically, his support of
the Physical Plant staff.
I have heard a story from several people, most recently directly from
the horse’s mouth, about a former student at the university, probably during
the late 80s. This student dressed as
the Pope and “blessed” the football field before every home football game. The former student recalled the day that a
member of the University’s Security staff showed up at his residence room and
told him that the University President wanted to see him immediately. He wrote, “I remember being escorted into his office, thinking that I was
about to be expelled for my alter ego shenanigans. He kindly introduced himself
to me and we chatted. Then, he said, ‘I hear that you are planning to land in a
helicopter at the football game on Saturday.’ I said ‘yes.’ He said, ‘You’re
not flying it, are you?’ I said, ‘No, it comes with a pilot.’ He said, ‘You
will not be carrying the Bible will you?’ I said, ‘No, I never do, it's a
business law text book that I carry.’ He said, ‘Good. See you on Saturday at the game, Good Luck!’”
These are some of the things that I will remember about my
father-in-law. A man who was serious
about life, but not so serious that he did not enjoy it. A man who enjoyed sports, but didn’t so much
enjoy the analysis and would most aggravatingly turn the television off between
periods of the hockey games or at halftime of football games. A man who had a mind for details, so much so
that when my husband’s older brother got married in Toronto a month earlier
than we expected (when we were again working at the aforementioned camp with no
communication), he wrote us a detailed letter about the family’s trip to
Toronto, including where they stayed, what they were served to eat on the
airplane, maybe even the name of their flight attendants, but neglected to tell
us WHY they were in Toronto; the only clues we had were a brief mention of a
rehearsal dinner, and the fact that the entire family (except for us) had made
the trip. Our suspicions were confirmed
several days later, after a rare phone call home from the resort town on the
other side of the lake. He was a man of
integrity who never forgot his working class roots; my husband often recalls
that when his father became president, he informed the university community
that budget cuts were inevitable. He
pledged that no one would lose their jobs; cuts would be accomplished through
retirements and resignations, and he kept his word. A man who took his profession and his academic
and intellectual life very seriously, but was able to relate to everyone on a
deeply human and personal level – from world famous artists and wealthy
businessmen and politicians to the man who owned the local garage where he took
his cars to be serviced to the woman who has cleaned for them for the past
several years to the staff at the Physical Plant to a slightly intimidated
young woman from the prairies who married his son, and everyone in
between. A man who deeply loved his wife
of 64 years and called her by his own personal nickname until he died. A man who took great pride in his children
and his grandchildren, and all that they aspired to do and be.
We will miss him. I will miss
him. Requiescat in pace.
