A Man of Unconventional Integrity
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The one-year anniversary of my father’s death was March 13th. To honor the memory of his life and passing, I’m reposting this.
Thank you to those who answered my note to read this.
This particular memorial piece about my father has been on my mind for 2 months. After Dad’s funeral was canceled due to the coronavirus, this idea came to mind during the drive back to Portland from Florida. The theme is difficult, and I’ve struggled to find a graceful place to start.
I’m sure a softer, more elegant segue is possible, yet I haven’t been able to figure one out. So this begins with the last authentic connection I had with my brother before he died.
As all of you know, Robert took his life in November 2012. What many of you may not know is that Robert had made a serious attempt with an overdose of pills that almost killed him in January 2010. The reason I mention that is because it’s part of this story.
In October 2012, Robert spent a week alone with Dad at the Rice Diet Center that had once been at Duke University. Going there had been Dad’s protocol whenever his blood sugar got too out of hand, and he needed to get it down and take off some weight. Although Robert also had issues with weight as he got older, this was an unusual move. Robert had struggled in his relationship with Dad for most of his life.
In November, I called Robert to talk to him about making an offer on my house, and asked him about that week with Dad. Robert said the Rice Diet was a special kind of hell before expressing pleasant surprise that the week with Dad had gone well, and that he had enjoyed spending one-on-one time with him.
There must be something about a severe diet restriction of eating only oatmeal, rice, and fruit, while taking out meat, wheat, dairy, fat, alcohol, and sugar that brings out all kinds of feelings. From what Robert told me, those two connected and went deep.
“You know, Mary, for all the therapy and meetings with doctors and psychiatrists, Dad asked me something about my overdose that week which nobody else did. I actually had to think about it before I could answer him.”
“What did he say?”
“‘Robert, before did what you did…taking those pills…what were you thinking?’”
“How many times has Dad thought about offing himself?” I blurted that out before I knew what I was saying.
For once, Robert didn’t tease me about lacking a filter.
“That was the first thing I thought as soon as he asked me that.”
Neither of us said anything for a minute.
“I hope he finds peace someday, Mary. I bet Dad never acted on it because he couldn’t do that to us.”
Robert was probably right, because he usually was about stuff like that.
“How did you answer his question?”
“I told him, ‘I think I just felt so lonely.’”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much. He nodded, kind of like he understood.”
Photo by Loni Knehr
I don’t claim to get every word or sentence of a conversation from 7 ½ years ago exactly right. But this is close enough to the last real talk I had with Robert before he died less than 2 weeks later.
Some of you may be shocked that I would disclose something so personal. Please know that I gave this a lot of thought. I considered the personalities of Dad and Robert from various angles and how they would react to me sharing this. And my gut feeling tells me they would be okay with it.
Privacy had never been a top priority in how Dad and Robert approached life, and both of them were remarkably open people. I believe they’d even be supportive, especially knowing the why.
I chose to share that moment between Dad and Robert as it was confided to me because it indicates qualities my father possessed in great measure, which he received little credit for while he was alive – integrity and fortitude.
This is not the only story I could have shared that highlights Dad’s integrity, but it is the only one that immediately came to mind that didn’t hang somebody else out to dry. Dad would never have consented to me sharing anything like that.
This memorial is the 2nd of 3 pieces I’m working on to remember Dad and say good-bye in a way that honors him as he has deserved for a long time. The 1st and 3rd (not yet written) are intended for an audience of friends and family who knew my father, and loved him.
However, this piece is written for those who didn’t.
Besides Robert’s friends and mine, if you received a link to this, you were a part of the College Park/Winter Park/Country Club social group from my adolescence, and you happen to be one of my Facebook friends. It’s a short list – only 6 of you.
Some of your parents judged my father none too kindly, and in some cases, that judgment passed down to some of you. For the record, I don’t have an issue with anybody who didn’t see Dad in a favorable light. And if I did, that would make me a hypocrite.
For decades, a lot of people thought of Dad as an immoral-sonofabitch-who-didn’t-give-a-damn-about-anybody-but-himself. Unfortunately, my brothers and I were a part of that, and we treated Dad like shit for a long time.
I’m ashamed of that. In many respects, I realize this wasn’t my fault. I was way too young to deal with those aspects of my parents’ marriage and divorce that should have stayed between them. As was Robert. Chances are excellent that some of your judgment about Dad came from us. I remember confiding – or venting, really – to some of you when I was a kid. And I know Robert did his fair share too.
The question asked of me about my father the most often throughout my life was: “How can you respect him?”
My answer? I respect my father from the depths of my soul.
I wouldn’t have said that until a little over 10 years ago.
Dad is not an easy man to defend. He was pretty scandalous back in the day. His excesses were shocking, and as a husband, he put both Mom and Terry through the wringer. I’m not making excuses for his flaws. But I am saying his flaws were not the truth of who he was.
It’s a hard sell in some ways to present Dad as a man of substance and strong character. Dad did not live by the classical checklist of good behavior. Monogamy was not one of his virtues. Neither were abstinence, moderation, or equanimity. His vices and lesser moments were often in the spotlight, whereas his qualities were behind the scenes.
And that’s the kicker. Integrity comes in many forms and so many people don’t know that Dad was an awesome person who had his standards that he lived by because he held the best parts of himself inside, and did what he did without drawing attention to it.
Today is Robert’s birthday. I’m pretty sure he would have liked it if y’all would give your time to learn about some of Dad’s finer attributes. I know I would.
Tolerance:
Dad was one of the most accepting, live-and-let-live people I’ve ever known. He took people as they were, and was not one to judge and point fingers. He was also friends with gays (through Terry) and lesbians (through the bridge world) for decades.
About 15 years ago, a friend and I went to see Dad and Terry at their place in Lake Tahoe to go snowboarding and celebrate New Year’s. Friends of theirs, Hugh and Barbara Jones, were also going to be there.
My early attempts at coming out as bisexual/queer/gay had been often brushed off with “Oh Mary!” until my brothers started gossiping about it. Anyway, Jenn and I had been very close, but not as a couple. However, Dad didn’t know that because rumor had it otherwise.
When I talked to him about coming, Dad informed me that Hugh and Barbara would have the room with twin beds. When he pointed out that Jenn and I would be in the room with a double bed, he talked fast and stammered a lot like he always did when he was nervous.
That made me wonder, but whatever.
So Jenn and I went to Tahoe where Dad and Terry, and Hugh and Barbara thought we were a couple. That really wasn’t as awkward as it sounds. Except for a head-scratching moment here and there, like when Terry said she loved Jenn because she could see how much Jenn loved me – a good time was had by all, Jenn gave me some good pointers on riding my board, and later, I figured out what everybody had been thinking.
But the lasting impression that stayed with me was Dad’s immediate acceptance and support. Without saying a word, the message I received from him was “All good here. I just want you to be happy.”
That kind of puts him way ahead of his time, don’t you think?
Wisdom:
Dad was one of those who watched the goings on around him and kept his mouth shut. Really, that is a magnificently subtle act of wisdom in and of itself. God knows how many hassles and minefields he side-stepped because of that MO. But Dad never fought battles he knew he’d never win, and he tried to teach me to do the same.
But some lessons need to be learned the hard way. It hasn’t been until recently that I understood his reasons behind that.
By the way, when he did speak his mind about a person or a situation, Dad was seldom wrong. He pretty much called it every time. The first memorial piece I wrote tells those stories about Dad and his sage take on things. I’ll embed the link at the end of this for anybody who would like to keep reading and check it out.
Sensitivity:
Where do you think Robert got his sensitivity from?
Because of the nature of what’s expected of men of his generation and his life in business, this was not a side of Dad that was often seen. His presence was imposing, and I’ve lost count of all the times people have told me that my father intimidated or scared the hell out of them. That image was nothing more than an illusion.
The reality was that Dad was extremely shy, he struggled to connect emotionally, and his feelings were easily hurt. But he also hurt when he witnessed the suffering of others. One time, when we were out to lunch, he told me about an acquaintance who was terrified because his retirement did not last him the rest of his life. His wife had gotten ill and died, which ate up a lot of money, he was nearly out, and didn’t know what he was going to do.
“He said he retired with $2.5 million. You would think that’d be more than enough for anything that would come up, but it wasn’t.”
Dad was shocked and clearly upset about this man’s predicament, someone who was not a close friend, somebody he knew casually.
Forthrightness:
Once I was an adult, Mom shared more with me about the last two weeks of their marriage before Dad moved out. At this point, both were ready to stop lying to themselves and talked long into the night, every night, after putting us to bed.
Mom said she wanted Dad home more and no more mistresses.
Dad said: “That’s the nature of the beast and I’m not going to change. Your choice is whether you can live with it or not.” He was never one to mince words.
Of course that was not the answer Mom wanted. But Dad gave her the truth and there’s something to be said for that.
Which brings me to…
Honesty:
And at his core, he was. When he wasn’t covering his ass in his personal life, Dad was as honest as they came.
Years ago, I was knee deep in conversation about our families with somebody from this social group. The flow of conversation took an unexpected turn when she asked me if Dad had ever been in the mafia. To say I was taken aback would be an understatement.
“What?! The closest Dad ever came to being in the mafia was watching The Godfather too many times.”
“But how did he get in?” (making connections to do business in Florida)
“Bill Demetree. And they don’t get more pure or morally upright than him.”
Where business was concerned, Mrs. Demetree once told me that Mr. Demetree had always felt at ease in his dealings with my family. She said: “Bill always said: “I never have to worry about a thing whenever I do business with the Mahaffeys.’”
Is it so hard to believe doors would open readily for a man like this?
Drive:
In regards to that conversation, the woman I was talking to nodded, and we moved on to other subjects. There had been no malice or spite in her manner, only curiosity. I appreciate that she had been open with me like that.
But that stuck with me; and the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me.
Although it’s possible her perception of Dad came solely from her imagination, I have always found that most of our opinions and beliefs are formed within the collective of which we are a part. I can’t help but wonder about the source where she came up with my father and the mafia.
It’s one thing to judge Dad for things he actually did. It’s another to strip him of the recognition for spectacular achievements that he earned legitimately. That is going way too far.
Carlton Towers Opening, St. Petersburg Times - Dad, Mom, Nana, Dado.