If a Job's Worth Doing, it's Worth Doing Well

Living in a small Midwestern town, my parents and I would occasionally travel 50 miles for shopping trips. I remember one trip in particular when we encountered a surprise snowstorm on our way home. As I peered out the back seat window, I saw cars all over the place, many in ditches, and I was terrified that ours might be next. But guess what? We made it home safely because, with the help of God, Dad delivered us there. That's how it was then and how it was for the remainder of his life. As I was growing up, Dad took care of me, kept me safe, and was always there for me. In fact, he was always there for the entire community!  

Unlike many of us who leave small towns in search of big city dreams, Dad was an unusual man, content to remain in the town where he grew up. Why? Because his friends were there. He was smart -- salutatorian of his graduating high school class -- but he graduated during the Depression and couldn't afford to further his education. He worked hard, though, and became a skilled painter and craftsman in many areas of home improvement. He was a "jack of all trades," a heating and cooling specialist, carpenter, plumber and electrician. There was no job too big or too small. He cut glass and stained furniture. He repaired children's chairs and built dollhouses. People would even hire him to fix messes created by so-called professional carpenters.

His motto was: "If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well," and he did do his work well. Dad remodeled our house from the bottom up -- digging out and creating the basement, tearing down walls and building new rooms. With his hard-to-find skills, Dad could have made lots more money in his trade in a larger town but he wouldn't leave our small town or his friends. He managed a hardware store in our town for a few years but, when offered a similar job in a larger town that paid more, he turned it down.

Dad served his community well. Fun loving and happy, he had a special relationship with the children in town -- especially at Christmastime, coming to town by sleigh, fire truck, train and even a small airplane. At one time or another he was village treasurer, town clerk and precinct committeeman. He was also a volunteer fireman and deputy sheriff. Oftentimes he served as a pallbearer or driver for funerals. He gave blood. He clerked auctions and sales.

Whenever anyone in town needed help, they called Dad. He was usually there before he was called because it was the thing to do. Dad was always there for those who were ill, driving them to doctor’s appointments and to hospitals many miles away. From the beginning to the end, he and my mother provided food, comfort, calls and visits to the seriously ill. At no time was Dad’s friendship, strength and comfort more evident than when tragedy struck. He volunteered to identify the body of a friend who was killed in an automobile accident so the widow would not have to. The only thing identifiable were the deceased’s hands.

My dad was a great man to me and I miss him very much, especially on Father’s
Day. I believe my aunt summed up his life in one sentence. At his visitation, she looked at him and said, “I can’t believe Lyle’s gone. He was the one who always took care of the rest of us.”