Farewell, Dad

There is so much of the human experience that the history books fail to describe. They speak of great men, but how many of those men have really touched you, shaped you and set your course for all of your lifetime? Most of the great men of history touch many lives in relatively small ways, but I believe the truly great men, the unsung heroes, make a bigger and more positive impact on a much smaller group of people.



About 6 years before the Great Depression took hold and long before there was such a thing as World War II, a boy was born to Clara and Gifford Allen, a couple living in what was then rural Raynham, Massachusetts. They named him Wendell and he was the oldest son of four boys, with only a sister that was older than he. His Dad was a home builder and general carpenter and his mom was a pretty housewife. Like so many boys of the depression era, he left school early to help his family. As a boy, times were hard and money was in very short supply and young Wendell had to be resorceful. He fixed bicycles he found in the trash and sold scrap copper to get scarce funds. His Dad kept a garden and they raised much of their own food and, together, they all pulled through.



In the early 1940's, Wendell picked up a hammer and built a small home for himself and his new wife, Nora, at One King's Road in East Taunton, Massachusetts, where he would live for the next 27 years, raising three boys. When the war came, he was unable to serve in the military due to his already serious hearing loss, so he took jobs as a mechanic, patching up the deteriorating fleet of pre-war vehicles that remained on the American roads. Sometime after the war, he found work as a mechanic at Ansonia Mills, a local textile factory, where he repaired weaving machines and did general maintenance work, all the while continuing to repair and sell cars in his off time. In 1965, he left that job in favor of a Finish Carpenter position at Wheaton College.



Two years later one of the biggest challenges he and his family would face came to pass. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts announced their plans to build Massasoit State Park on the land that the Allen's had been occupying for almost three decades. There would be no debate. The state was taking the land by eminent domain. He was paid what the land was worth and, using that money and some he had managed to save, bought three acres of land in the Westville section of Taunton. This time he opted to have the house built for him and, in the spring of 1968, took occupancy of his brand new home which he had helped to design.



But none of this really tells the tale of the man that I remember as Dad. He was the kind of man that would do something for you just because you needed it. There were many times where I saw Dad fix something for somebody and, when they offered him money for his work, he would politely refuse it. His earlier life of hard times honed a personality that was at once an odd blend of incredible generosity coupled with a serious sense of the value of the dollar that would be hard to imitate. What he could do for you or build for you was his way of showing his love and friendship.



He was a strong man, and he loved to stay busy. At work he could scale the highest rooftops the college had to offer and at home, he continued to repair his own cars and was a lifelong, avid gardener. Family and friends alike looked foward to his annual harvest and, with his natural knack for making things grow plump and delicious, he never disappointed. Dad never rented storage space like so many of us do today. Over the years, he built an array of buildings and structures on his property to house all of his stuff.

But he didn't just build things out of wood, he also built character. Dad taught me very useful skills and he did so by example. He showed me how to swing a hammer, how to do an oil change, how to be fair and honest and how to be thrifty with my money. He's the guy who taught me how to ride a bike. I never had training wheels. We had a little hill in our back yard and one day, he took me up there with a little old bike he bought for me from the local junk man, put me on it and sent me down the hill. He knew I would stay on the bike and I trusted his faith in me. For me, it was good enough that my Dad thought I could do it. I still love to ride my bike. Thanks for the push, Dad!

Dad knew how to do all kinds of things and owned a galaxy of tools. He believed in doing things right, and his work was top notch. Need an impossible to find latch for the convertible top of a car that history has forgotten? Ask Dad. Faced with this predicament with my own beloved ride, I turned to him. Using the old latch as a guide, he literally carved a new part from a block of nylon and the resulting piece is still in use to this day. It was even a similar color. I have an old wooden Zenith table radio from the late 30's in my collection. It is a beautiful and impressive looking piece of work today, but when it was given to me, the case was partially broken, the veneer was coming off in sheets and the whole thing was painted with white house paint. Dad took it down to pieces and made it look not only new, but just the way it did when it was made. It remains to this day a tribute to his excellence and care.

Over the years he has helped each and every one of us. When my brother wanted to install a lift in the very first service station he was renting, my Dad and he raised a section of the ceiling to accomodate it. When I wanted a clubhouse to hang out in with my friends, Dad built a roughly 12 x 12 shed out of scrap wood and old doors that the college had discarded. The shed is now 30 years old and still stands, strong to this day. Even the roof is still intact.

Dad loved animals as both pets and livestock. When the raccoons were getting into the henhouse and killing the birds, he poured a raccoon proof concrete slab and built a huge new two story "Chicken Condominium" using mostly scrap materials in the construction. The tin roof, which is still intact, was made from the shell of our old above ground swimming pool. All of this was accomplished in addition to his regular job and routine repairs to the house, and he still had time to read the Taunton Daily Gazette every night.



                    Rooster on the run? It's Dad to the rescue!

Whenever I and my friends would be working on some junker or another in the garage, Dad would be there to help. He would come up with some good ideas too, and was always ready to fabricate impossible to find parts. But Dad had other talents that not everyone got to see. Although Mom did most of the cooking for us, when she was sick, Dad took over and his cooking skills were excellent. Dad also could play the harmonica, but rarely did so in later years, possibly due to his hearing problem.

I never saw Dad shy away from a challenge. If something needed to be done, he would roll up his sleeves and do it. When I arrived for my final summer visit together with him, he had a tractor in the garage that needed a drive belt. I would have been happy to do the job for him by myself, but at 84 years old, he insisted on being involved and got right out there and worked shoulder to shoulder with me until the tractor was as good as new. It would be our final project together.



In the end, seeing him laid up in the hospital was hard. For much of his life he was the strong one, hardly ever sick enough to go to a doctor, but the final few years were difficult. He was in and out of the hospital with a variety of ailments, and things were definitely slowing down for him. He began needing regular doctor and hospital visits in the spring of 2007, and they progressively got more frequent to the point where, by fall, I was surprised to hear that he was home at all. Jamie and I visited Dad one final time over Thanksgiving week, and I said all those things a son needs to say to his father. For good or ill, he made me the man I am today, and I thanked him for that. I also told him I love him. He really was a very lovable guy.

Dad only lived 9 more days after we left. He finally lost his fight with Congestive Heart Failure and found peace sometime around 10:30 PM, EST, Sunday evening. Dad is survived by his wife, Nora, sons Robert, Richard and John, his brother, Wayne, his granddaughter, Cheryl, and great grandchild, Jamie. He was a great man, but all we have left of him now are our memories, some old pictures and the things that he made. Things will never be the same without him. Farewell, Dad. I hope they have a lot of things that need to be fixed in Heaven, because they just picked up the best damned handyman they will ever be blessed to meet.