My dad died yesterday March 19th, 2024, my mom’s birthday. He was 70.
He was my hero. It’s been a lifelong project trying to understand and emulate him. He never directly prescribed a way for me to be, never pushed anything on me. I never consciously intended to follow in his footsteps, but here I am—a fuzzy, low resolution copy of him in just about every way minus the cutoff t shirts. I think he was a great man worthy of emulation. I probably should have said this to him when he was alive but I hope he could sense it.
He had a taste in music that felt uniquely authentic, uninformed and untainted by cultural connotations of genre, etc. He liked what he liked. His taste was exceptionally wide ranging, eclectic, and unpredictable, more than anyone I’ve ever met. I made a spotify playlist trying to captures some of it:
He loved to share movies and music. He made a point to show me “important” films. He’d show me a film with deeper themes, often years before I was quite ready for them, and he wouldn’t explain what they meant. I appreciated that. I knew there was something important to get. It was an invitation to try to think deeper and discover things for myself, far more valuable than being told what to think.
He was complex. I never really got to the bottom of it all and I suppose now I never will. “There just wasn’t enough time, Michael.” He was unique, irreducible, impossible to contain within the confines of some DSM category or whatever other human sorting mechanism you might have in mind. Actually, genuinely one of a kind.
I’m hesitant to call him a “good” man, but I do think he was a great man, differentiated from “good” not by degree but by category. He wasn’t perfect, but he lived life on his own terms, carved his own path, and made a dent in the world, in the most authentic way I’ve ever witnessed. He did what he loved and he loved a lot of things. He had such wide ranging, passionate interests and hobbies. Fingerpicking the acoustic guitar (a la John Fahey usually in an open tuning), woodworking and lutherie (building guitars), sailing (Fox lake), fishing (Kentucky Lake), baking (chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon coffee cake) , barbecuing (ribs), listening to records with a rum & coke (or RC in his heyday, rootbeer & Dr Pepper near the end, grape Koolaid somewhere in the middle; always rum). So many things could bring him deep joy. He was very particular and specific with everything he loved too. He had strong, unapologetic opinions on just about everything ranging from the philosophical/religious to exactly how to shop for meat at the grocery store, complete with drawings and descriptions of the fat distribution. Once, he stuck a knife in a perfectly fine Ovation guitar—“Tupperware with strings”— because it offended his sensibilities as a woodworker. He could have sold it for a decent amount of money but his principles were worth more to him. So he mounted it on the wall of RT Guitars with a steak knife through it.
He touched the lives of quite a few people and made a lot of great friends over the years. He was eccentrically charismatic with an great sense of humor and exceptional wit, an endless repository of obscure quotes from the 3 Stooges, WC Fields, the Marx Brothers. I have great memories watching him hang with his friends in the basement workshop or at his stores. I owe a lot of my guitar playing ability to sporadic one-off lessons from his friends and customers. I wish he didn’t lose touch with so many of them.
He really loved my kids. Near the end, nothing seemed to make him happier. I’m grateful I got to see that side of him again, reliving a slice of my childhood from a new angle. To date, I’ve never seen my kids laugh as hard as they did the very first time they wanted Stooges with Grandpa.
When I was about 12 on an annual fishing trip to Kentucky lake we went out again before sunset, just the two of us. We had decent luck at a particular spot we dubbed “catfish cove” so we returned there. In the midst of reeling in a giant catfish I reflexively blurted out, “I love you Dad.” I think this was one of his favorite memories. It’s definitely one of mine.
He died peacefully in his sleep. He was ready for it. He said he was proud to have helped bring a lot music into the world. He’s been humorously / morbidly preparing me for his death for a decade or so. I don’t think it worked. Nothing can prepare you for it. A lot of people say stuff like, “if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” What am I supposed to say? “Please resurrect my dad.” I know no one really knows what to say when someone dies, so we lean on phrases like this, condolences, thoughts and prayers, etc. I don’t blame anyone for it. I wish there really was something to say, something to do. He’s gone forever. I’ll miss him forever. There’s nothing anyone can do to change that.
That said, sharing memories, stories, and pictures would be very nice and greatly appreciated. I started making a memorial page for him with pictures and a place for you to leave stories in the comments here. He had heart issues starting around 2012. While searching for photos on his facebook, I discovered that around that time he did a pretty good job memorializing himself there on fb. There are a ton of pictures of all the guitars he made and the people he made them for. He learned how to scan pictures but probably not how to tag people so you might be on there.
He was an atheist. He didn’t like public gatherings. There will be no wake and no funeral. He donated his body to science. When they’re done with him, we’ll scatter his ashes on Kentucky Lake.
In closing, don’t let Grandpa’s death get you down, kids. People die all the time—just like that. Why, you could wake up dead tomorrow…
Well…goodnight!
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