The night Dad died, I wasn't home.

My father died of brain cancer (though technically of a heart attack) at home on Wednesday night November 8, 1961. I was not at home.

I spent that night next door at the Inmans' house.  I remember this because it was a Wednesday night and the Inmans let me stay up to see Alvin and the Chipmunks which came on at 9pm.  That was a pretty big deal to an eight year old in 1961.

Mr. Jesse Inman owned the local Red and White grocery store and we called him Mr. Jesse.  He was one of the kindest men I ever knew.  His status with me was also enhanced by an ability to imitate the sound of a mooing cow which could be heard all over the store.  He had two sons.  Tony was my age and Joe a couple of years older.  We spent years playing whatever sport was in season in one of our two yards.

I know in retrospect that at some point that night the phone rang and Mr. Jesse was told that Dad had died.  I don't know if the decision was made not to tell me or Mr. Jesse just couldn't bring himself to tell me that my father was dead.  Who could have blamed him?  Many years later I had to tell my step-daughter over the phone that her father had died.  It was one of hardest things I’ve ever had to do. 

The next morning started normally as far as I was concerned and I walked home to get ready to spend another day in third grade at Elizabethtown Primary School.  The first thing I saw walking back across the yard was a wreath hanging on the wall next to the front door -- and the front door was open.

Our front door opened into what we called the "living room".  Ironically, it was the least used room in the house.  The "door" and the "room" were never used it except for formal occasions.  In later years, Judy would receive her gentleman callers there and but as of that day it was only used for Christmas.  (We left the front door unlocked on Christmas Eve for Santa Claus because we didn't have a fireplace.) In cold months, we would close it off completely to save heat. 

I went into the house through the front door and I saw that a podium had been set up in the living room with a book on it.  I later learned it was for vistors to sign when they paid their respects to the family.  Next to the podium Mom was sitting in a chair with Judy standing just behind her—both were crying.  I walked to Mom and she said simply, “Daddy’s gone.”  Always helpful, I responded, “Gone where?”

I don't know what words were actually said but eventually I got it.  I began to cry. Mom tried to hug me but I broke away and I ran back to the bedroom to see my Dad.  For some reason I believed he would still be there.

But Mom was right. 

He was gone.