Eulogy for my Father

Thank you all for coming

Those of you who knew my father knew he was a man who disliked parties, ceremonies, or gatherings of any sort. When he married my mother 44 years ago he insisted the ceremony be performed at 2:00 p.m. on a Wednesday to ensure that as few relatives as possible could attend. He also requested his funeral be held at a similarly inconvenient time. So I'm very glad to see so many of you have decided to thwart his plans and show up here anyway. Thank you.

In describing any man there are the facts and then there is the man himself. The facts are easy and transparent.

My Father was born in 1943, in Ripley Tennessee to a family of modest means. He married my mother in 1964. Had two children, my brother Mark and I. Had a distinguished 29-year career in the FBI. And he retired a country gentleman who raised prize winning Andalusian horses.

This path was punctuated with hard work, integrity, and personal distinction.

• In High school he was the football quarterback and an honor student.
• In college he flew small airplanes while serving in ROTC.
• On April 4, 1968 when Martin Luther King was shot in Memphis Tennessee he was a young clerk on duty all alone at local FBI headquarters and had to scramble to alert personnel to the crisis.
• In 1973 he was seriously shot in the Wounded Knee dispute in South Dakota.
• He served on swat teams and later he became a specialist in hostage, crisis, and conflict negotiation. Skills he undoubtedly found useful in keeping the peace between my brother and I.
• And in his final post with the bureau he was assigned assistant director to Interpol. He had come a long way from his humble beginnings in Ripley.

There are so many other colorful stories in his life I wish I had time to tell. From his missions to exotic spots in the globe, to his restoration of my parent's 19th century farmhouse to the impressive parental restraint he showed when I, as a high school student with a new drivers license, dented his beloved GTO muscle car.

So those are the facts of his life but they speak little of the man himself, probably because he was a difficult man to know. He was somewhat reclusive, kept few friends, and was happiest in his home surrounded by his close family.

In many ways he was like a great stone at the edge of the ocean. The waves of life would come roaring around him with urgency and novelty and yet he would remain unmoved, unchanged.

When the FBI repeated suggested he move his family to further his career he stayed right where he was. When trends in culture and fashion pointed in new directions he was unimpressed. And when the newspapers cried out with turbulent times, he was unfazed.

At times his stoicism could be maddening. He was stubborn, he was set in his ways. He didn't like to try new things and he just couldn't understand that white converse tennis shoes had gone horribly out of fashion in the mid-1980s.

But more often his steadfastness was a source of great comfort. To be with my father was to visit a safe harbor where the familiar trappings of home and family never varied. The certainty with which he loved his family, his horses, his dogs -- mostly his dogs really -- and his simple country life never wavered. To understand that is to understand something of the man and why we loved him so.

So again I want to thank you all for coming out to help us honor my father, our great stone, who has finally been moved out into the deep vast sea. Goodbye dad.

Thank you