My Dad was a Montana Highway Patrolman. He also was a father figure – not just to me and my siblings but for a lot of the kids around Clancy. He treated us all with the utmost love, compassion and respect. Recently, some of those old friends have said, “He put me on the right path. Had it not been for your Dad, who knows what path my life might have taken.” (It was not uncommon at our house for graphic black and white accident investigation photos to get pulled out, looked at, and discussed as a reminder to all of us what could happen.) Not many kids grow up with that sort of influence, and we were all proud to have that positive connection in our lives, someone of authority we could comfortably talk to, ask questions, and genuinely feel he was on our side.
Dad spent many years as a mentor and coach, teaching the community’s young people baseball, basketball and life skills, instilling in us the values of hard work, passion and commitment. Many of the kids I grew up with still mention him as a positive and critical influence in their lives. Perhaps this is the reason one of my best friends, Leif Griffin, was asked by my mom to speak at Dad’s memorial.
His love of community and especially of the Jefferson High Panthers remained with him until his passing. He never missed an event of mine, my siblings, or his grandchildren. Watching all of us perform was special enough, but attending a State Championship match made for some of the best days of his life. We were fortunate enough to give him a few of those over the years.
His passion would sometimes get the better of him. I recall several occasions when he and Marvin Timmer, another long time Boulder resident and close family friend, were nearly removed from the gym for being a little too passionate. He was also crazy about his beloved Griz football team, and this past fall he would have been thrilled with some of the moments the team provided. For me, however, there were some long, somber Saturday drives to Missoula and back; over the past few years, this was our special time together.
Dad’s greatest legacy is the family he molded. Our families’ relationships are filled with love, understanding and successes. He was so proud of how all his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren grew to be good, kind, and giving humans. To Dad, success was measured only in that regard; money or material wealth was never in his formula for success.
Within a few days of my Dad’s passing, one of my best friends, NAME TK, also lost his dad. Everett March, who owned the Clancy Store for many years, was a contemporary of my father, and NAME TK and I talked shortly after about how fortunate we were to be able to share so many quality years with our fathers, when many have not.
It has been nearly a year since my father’s passing. The waves of grief continue as they always will, I suspect. While they come a little less frequently now, occasionally I get hit with a rogue wave that nearly drowns me. But somehow, I emerge, wet, tired and out of breath — and alive and happy because I was raised by my Dad.
