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DEAR CHILDREN My Parents

CHAPTER 10
My Father

I've spent a lot of time thinking about my
father over the last 44 years. He was a
very complex and private man, never
telling anyone about anything in his life. Not even
my mother was privy to many of the things my
father took to his grave.
My whole life was changed the evening of
October 14, 1989 when he passed away quietly
from pancreatic cancer. This has been very

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difficult for me to handle now, even two years later
but I guess for therapy reasons, I need to ramble
for a while. I may put it down and pick it up later
but for right now, I'm just reflecting.

In August 1989, my dad developed cancer of
the prostrate gland, which was very hard on the
family, but we were assured it is a slow growing
cancer, and it would probably outlive him. (Not
real reassuring words, but taken in context just the
same.)

When he was diagnosed, he all of a sudden
was unable to eat anything. I suppose neither could
I, just finding out I had cancer, so we attributed it
to this sudden blow of bad news. The doctors gave
him some medicine for his nerves, but food still
would not stay down. A few weeks later, the
doctors did a test and found a serious blockage in
his intestine, and scheduled him for surgery within
a few days (Sunday, September17). Being
scheduled for Sunday surgery concerned my dad,
and he jokingly asked if he was going to be

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charged overtime for the weekend operation.
He was admitted for surgery that Sunday at

10:00, and a couple hours later the doctors came
out with their totally unexpected death sentence.
My father was so filled with cancer in his abdomen
and had worked its way up his aorta to his heart,
that the doctors estimated he had only 3 weeks to 2
months to live. This was something not in the
cards, and was taken very hard. Denial convinced
us that I had to ask if the doctor was sure. I even
asked the doctor if he was referring to Allen
Dardenelle, thinking he had the wrong family. He
was certain. There was no mistake. I was in the
process of losing my dad right before my eyes. My
then 42 years did so many flashbacks in an instant
recalling the memories my dad and I shared all my
life. We were very close, and always had been.
The fact that 42 years of my life was about to be
snapped from under me was something I couldn't
grasp. I still can't.

I could not conceive of not having a father. For

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many years I had wondered what life would be like
without a parent. They say you never get over it
but you do adjust. And sometimes its more
difficult than others. I can be doing something
totally away from the thoughts of my father and
instantly I will begin to cry. This is due, I am sure,
to my everlasting love for him and the fact that I
miss him in my life. I need him so desperately to
be there for me. It's not the same thing to have
Mom around, although we are closer than we have
ever been, if that's possible. She is adjusting well
to being a widow, considering they were married
almost 50 years. She still has her moments, but I
probably don't see them much.

On October21, 1989, 1 stood at the lectern at
church, the one Mom and Dad felt comfortable in
the few times they came. They liked Rick Lyon,
and Mom thought it to be a fitting place to
memorialize this wonderful man. I put together a
very nice service, with Hawaiian music that Dad
loved, I even sang "In The Garden" because Mom

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likes that song so much. My Eulogy follows:

MY FATHER, MY FRIEND
a tribute to my father
October 21, 1989

How do you begin to eulogize a person so
special in your life -a person who was idolized,
adored and loved more than life itself? Because not
only do I speak of the loss of my father, I speak
also of the loss of my best friend - the one I could
count on anytime day or night - for any reason. He
was always doing for others: running errands,
quietly planting his plants, always the first to give
and never asking for nor expecting anything in
return. This is the kind of man my dad was.

You are all aware of my father's dry sense of
humor: ranging from the sour jokes he used to tell
to the practical jokes he played on anyone game
enough to be used as his target.

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Many years ago, he began exchanging a book
entitled "Sex In Marriage" with his best friend of
nearly 50 years, Rose Salter Cohen. The exchanges
of this book would re-cycle about every one to two
years. She would hide it under his pillow. He
would put it in the bottom of a plant. She would
disguise it as a trophy. He would have it baked
inside a cake that was presented to her. She would
wrap it as a Christmas present. At one time, he
wrapped it in plastic wrap and buried it inside a
large bowl of macaroni salad that Rose loved so
much. He even went so far back in 1970 to buy a
plaster paris centerpiece type bowl, dug out 4
corners, lay the book inside and covered it up with
plaster. He sprayed it gold, gave it to Rose as a gift
and she, not suspecting, put the bowl in the
cupboard. Had it not been for the 1971 earthquake
that knocked the bowl down and exposed the book
it would probably still be hidden in that bowl
today.

1 remember as a child, every Christmas

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morning, my dad would call Frank Salter on the
phone at 5:00, wake him up to wish him a Merry
Christmas, only to have Frank shout back - - well,
never mind what he shouted back because it was
naughty. I think both really looked forward to this
tradition.

One Christmas when he and my mother
returned from a trip to Hawaii there was little time
to set up the traditional Christmas tree, so Dad
took a large lava-type rock put it on the hearth of
the fireplace, and strung a string of lights around it.
This was our "Christmas Rock" The presents
around the rock made the rock look small by
comparison, and we still get a chuckle out of it
today.

My father, as you know, was somewhat
possessive, and when it came to his prized
possession, his 1964 Cadillac, he was downright
selfish. One weekend when he and my mother
went away, he gave me strict instructions, and I
can still hear them today: "Don't drive the Cadillac

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for any reason." This I considered to be an open
invitation to take it for a spin. And so I did. I drove
the car to my aunt's home in Beverly Hills that
Saturday, and spent the night knowing I would be
home Sunday before they got back I arranged to
leave Beverly Hills at 7:00 Sunday morning only
to find that the car had a flat tire. Now when you
are 17 years old, you don't think of simply
changing the tire. You panic. So instead of
changing the tire, I drove the car flat and all, down
the hill to a gas station to have it changed. By now,
the tire was destroyed beyond repair so now I had
to go find a tire store that would replace the tire. I
found a Mark C. Bloome, I think in the valley,
who had the exact tire I needed, but they wanted to
sell me one that was "better and on sale". He
obviously did not know my father. No, I insisted, it
must be exact.

I returned home, sly that I was, with a new
spare tire, and the knowledge that I really pulled
one over on him. when they came home, though,

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he asked my where I drove the car. Pleading
innocence, I did everything but call him crazy. He
told me that the car was not parked in the same
position, and there were quite a few miles
unaccounted for. He actually checked the mileage!
How trusting. I told him what happened, and then
had the audacity to ask him to reimburse me for
the new tire I bought. Needless to say, it was quite
an expensive lesson I learned because he never
gave me a dime for that tire.

Just recently, before his surgery, when he
found out that the surgeon was going to remove a
portion of his blocked intestine, he very seriously
asked the doctor if when walking down the street
he would "snap open." when my father learned that
the surgery was to take place on a Sunday, he
wanted to know if the doctor would be charging
time and a half.

My father leaves behind a multitude of
memories - some that you all share; some that our
family shares; some that are private only to those

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involved, and many that he took with him, never to
be shared by anyone. My father was loving and
was loved by all those whose lives he touched. He
will long be remembered as a man who was more
than generous in all he did. My dad had a rough
time showing any type of emotion but he didn't
need to say or show anything to let you know how
he felt about you. He was forever devoted to my
mom, whom he affectionately called "Runt" for as
long as I can remember; to my brother and me,
who he always called his "bears" and to his four
grandchildren, who he so lovingly called his
"crickets". You never questioned why he chose
those nicknames: That was Dad, and you accepted
him that way. He also leaves behind his loving
nephew and niece, Mark Richards and Judy Bart,
both of whom will miss their "Uncle Dard"
forever. His brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Bob
and Lucille, hold a very special place in their
hearts for my dad, as he did for them.

Most of you are aware of his involvement in

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the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association. This was a
part of his life that meant a great deal to him, for
his tour of duty in the Navy and the country he
served was one of which he was very proud. The
American flag you see before you was a gift to my
father from Allen and Ruth and Georgia and me on
the occasion of his 71st birthday last month. We
purchased it for him on a recent trip to Hawaii and
arranged that it be flown over the USS Arizona
that has rested at the bottom of Pearl Harbor since
its attack by the Japanese on December 7 1941.
The flag was raised and lowered on his birthday,
September 20, 1989. Not only was he proud to
serve his country in this most honorable position,
but he also was that kind of man you would be
proud to call "Dad."

So how do you eulogize and memorialize that
someone so important in your life? What do you
say about that special friend? It is not as important
to say these things when that someone is gone as it
is to say them while they are still around. And I

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did. I have no regrets about neglecting my father
because I didn't. I do not have to wish I had said
how important he was in my life and how
influential he was in my being the kind of person I
am, and raising my children the way I do because I
told him. Not only was the love between us
understood, it was said. The memories I have of
my father are some of the most pleasant memories
of my life. He was my biggest inspiration as I grew
up and as I became a husband and a father. I credit
him for my being the kind of man I am, the way I
think and the way I do things.

My family and I are forever grateful to all of
you for sharing your lives with my dad, for being
proud to know him; for putting up with him; but
most of all for loving him the way you do. You are
all very special to us for that.

It is said that any man can be a father but it
takes that someone special to be a dad. May God
embrace my father and give him eternal peace.

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*

It's sad to say that this Eulogy had to be written
before my dad died, but it did save me a lot of
grief because after his death, I was in a state of
shock and probably unable to honor him the way I
did.

My brother exhibited some emotions and
feelings that day that I have never seen. He has
never been an emotional person, 1 guess taking
after our father. I was the more emotional one (you
can tell by having grown up with me) but like my
brother I know the true value of life and what it
means as we raise our children.

My dad was a dry comedian. He always had a
cheery word and little quip for most situations one
would run into. As Allen's Eulogy says, he could
really hold his own. I like to think that I got that
trait from him, because my sense of humor is not
unlike that of my father. Like him, I am very
tolerant of a lot of things, but let someone or

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something cross me, I turn a different side. I
remember a lot, and unfortunately sometimes hold
grudges. Bad trait but built in.

The earliest recollection I have of my dad is at
our beach home in Venice when I was brand new.
My dad was quire thin, then and very handsome as
he was throughout his life, even on his bed in the
hospital when he died. Pictures of him show him
leaning up against an old black Ford, his prize,
taking life very easy. I remember once he was
trimming the lawn, and the trimmers he used were
spring loaded (they didn't have electric then) and
he cut his finger almost off. He was taken to the
hospital but I was too young then to understand
what was going on.

It's very difficult to remember that far back
because everything in our home was just as orderly
as it should have been. He rarely disciplined us
(that was left to Mom), so Allen and I always got
along with him. Always. I have tried, especially
since his death, to come up with some negative

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thoughts about him, and I just can't. If that doesn't
say a lot I don't know what does. A lot of
memories are in the eulogy I wrote, as are the
memories of Uncle Allen in the eulogy he wrote.
Other than that, its kind of hard digging up old
memories. In due time, 1 suppose I will add to this
chapter.

I guess if I had to think of a negative thought
about my father, was that in all my life, I don't
ever remember exchanging the words "I love
you". Now, I regret it but during my life, and I
guess his too, it was never felt necessary to say the
words. In fact I don 't remember them being said in
my family at all. Not by my mother, my brother,
my dad or me. Maybe that's why I tell you kids
how much I love you as much as I can, because it
is not only felt in our family but I think its
important to be said.

As much as I loved my father it wasn't until 2
weeks before he died that I sat at his bedside at
home, kind of reflecting our lives together. I knew

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and maybe he knew too that he was so close to
death, but neither of us spoke of the future. We
reflected a while, and I told him that I was so very
proud to be one of his sons to carry on our name,
and that everything I am I credit to him and the
way he brought me up. He didn't say much; he
never did when it came to things like that. I
thanked him for raising me the way he did and told
him how grateful was that we had each other. The
only thing he said was, "Well, Bear I appreciate
that."

That was as close to “I love you" as I’ll ever
get..

A year after his passing, I wrote a song, to the
tune of Kathy Mattea's "Where Have You Been"

Where've You Gone?

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He had a childhood all his own, he kept his mem’ries all
alone

He never shared his childhood days with those he loved so
many ways

He left his home his family life, and soon thereafter found a
wife

Where’ve you gone I miss you more with every passing
day

Where’ve you gone I’m just not myself when you’re away

He joined the navy, saw the world and married with a navy
girl

They settled down, they had their fun and soon thereafter
had a son

And two years later so it seems, another son had filled their
dreams

Where’ve you gone I miss you more with every passing
day

Where’ve you gone I’m just not myself when you’re away

They never spent much time apart, together over 40 years
She loved the man with all heart but now she cries a million

tears

He kept his problems from his wife, just like he did for all
his life

A gentle man we loved each day but then one evening
passed away

I never wondered if he knew how much we loved him and
still do

Where’ve you gone I miss you more with every passing
day

Where’ve you gone I’m just not myself when you’re away

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I miss you, Dad. We all do.

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My mother

What can I possibly say about this woman?
Mom was born June 21, 1921 in Denver. She
and her parents and brother Bob moved to Los
Angeles when she was only a couple years old.
She attended Manual Arts High School in Los
Angeles where she seemed to excel at everything
she did. She was one smart lady.
As she grew, she decided to eventually join the
Navy. It was there that she met her husband, Allen
Dardenelle. After only 6 weeks, they married in
1943.
She gave birth to my brother, Allen, in May
1945 and was pretty much a housewife and mother
for several years until I was born in 1947.
Certainly I don't remember much about her nor
was I ever told stories about the life she lead with
Grandpa before I was born, but I do remember her
working as I grew. She was a secretary for
Hoffman Cabinets back in the 50s, and then later

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branched out into the escrow business, where she
would work the remainder of her working years.

As the years went by, she would eventually
become a volunteer for the City of Hope because
her dearest friends Frank and Rose Salter had lost
their son Dick in 1960 to leukemia. A chapter of
the City of Hope was named after him, and Frank
and Rose and Grandma and Grandpa began what
would turn into a more than 50 year commitment.
She remained with the chapter until it's demise
having served as president of the chapter for more
terms and more years than anyone else.

Grandma took a lot of pride in whatever she
did. I clearly remember the luncheons she used to
put on for the City of Hope; MANY luncheons that
served well over 1000 people at the Beverly Hilton
Hotel.

She had her fingers into everything: The
vendor contracts, the entertainment, the seating.
Everything. And one of the things about her was
that no matter what you asked of her, she had an

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answer. In her head. "Where is John Smith
sitting?" and without a second's thought, "Table
14 with Mary Doe and James Turner". She was
amazing. "What does the contract for this vendor
say?" and she'd rattle off exactly, nearly word for
word, what the contract said…without even
looking at the contract!

During my lifetime, she was my rock. I knew I
could depend on her no matter what I needed. She
was the one who was always there for me; during
my illnesses, my jobs, my girlfriends, my marriage
to your mother, my finances…just everything.

I remember one evening when I was in my teen
years, we were sitting at the dinner table, and
Uncle Allen had mentioned that the "leche was
fria" (we were both studying Spanish and he
thought he'd show off by saying the milk was cold.
Grandma said, "The leche isn't fria. It costa
plenty."

Grandma humor. Go figure.
As I approach 70 years old next birthday,

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Grandma is laying in a hospital bed in an assisted
living facility. She has become an invalid,
bedridden, unable to speak, eat or drink and within
a very short time of her passing away.

in 2011 she suffered a stroke that she partially
recovered from but she continued to decline after
that, suffering many falls, one of which landed
her…yet again…in the hospital in January, 2014.
After her release from the hospital, she was placed
in a nursing home for a few months, and during
that time, the decision was made that she would
not be able to return to the house, and we decided
the best place for her safety was an assisted living
facility.

She was placed there in May, 2014, and her
health continued to be stable for only a short
period of time. In November 2015, she started to
decline swiftly and was given only a short period
of time to live.

I realize Grandma is very near death. I can
accept that because of the exemplary life she has

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