October 31, 2011

Throwing the Dark One

a eulogy
Marc Nelson

JABBERWOCKY Lewis Carroll Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch! He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy.

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. That is what passed for a bedtime story in the house where I grew up. My father read to my brother, sisters and myself every night until we were old enough to read ourselves to sleep. Many people here have probably heard him quote from Lewis Carroll or Edward Lear or Longfellow or Alfred Noyes or Whitman or Kipling or Seuss, you name it. He adored nonsense and narrative poetry which may seem odd for a man whose intellectual life was founded in Chemistry and mathematical logic before turning to educational counseling as a career but my father was a surprising guy in many ways. Merlin Alfred Nelson was born in the Illinois River Valley in the city of LaSalle on April 10th 1931. His parents had immigrated from the Southern tip of Sweden at the beginning of the 20th Century. They spoke Swedish in the home and until Merlin went to public school he spoke it as well. They were farming folk that kept milk cows and chickens. Little Merlin was charged with caring for the birds and he never voluntarily ate a chicken again, not because he loved the lively feathered beasts or held them in sentimental regard but because they were; the filthiest and stupidest goddamned creatures on the face of the Earth. He attended a one room schoolhouse 1st through 8th grade and he credited the experience with giving him a rock solid educational foundation. By the time I got to 8th grade, I had heard the same lesson eight times; I had it memorized. High school solidified his reputation for scholastic excellence graduating salutatorian of his admittedly small class. For college, after beginning at what is now Illinois Valley Community College, he transferred to Illinois State University studying Math & Chemistry. It wasnt all work and no play in Bloomington/Normal for this was where he met and courted Mary Jane McNeal who ultimately said yes. As it turned out she was tired of walking everywhere and he had a car, they were married on June 10th 1956 and remained married for 55 years. Before the marriage Merlin completed his national service as a radio operator in the US Army stationed in Japan at the end of the Korean Conflict. His experiences overseas and the harrowing trip home remained some of his clearest memories. Merlin and Jane taught together at Orion High School after marriage and then moved to East Molines North Twentieth Street when Merlin got a position teaching at United Township High School. The first child Melinda was born in 1958 and about a year and a half later the first son, me, Marc. Paw received a Masters in Educational Counseling from the University of Iowa

and moved into counseling where he would remain for nearly thirty years. He began to pursue a PhD in Chemistry but stopped in the fall of 1964 about the time Martha, the second daughter, made her appearance. I asked him once if he ever regretted giving up on that PhD because of us kids and he replied, Where did you get that idea? I pointed out the timing but he laughed and said, That isnt why I quit. I realized one day that all the guys in the PhD program were a bunch of assholes and if I stayed that meant that either I was an asshole or I would have to hang out with a bunch of assholes for the rest of my life, I liked the people I worked with at UT, so I quit. In the summer of 1966 another son popped up, or should I say out? On Fathers Day appropriately enough and he was named Merlin Jr., which might have led to confusion except for something I neglected to mention: In September of 1951, Merlins first year at ISU, the Chicago White Sox, his favorite team, picked a Pittsburgh Pirate off the waiver wire named Glenn Richard Nelson. Glenn pretty much rode the bench for the Sox, his only contribution was to pinch hit in six games getting on base only once via a walk. Pretty awful, the only reason I mention him, is because, Glenns nickname was Rocky and somebody tagged the new kid from Tonica, who loved baseball, as Rocky Nelson. And so, no confusion with his future namesake, Merlin Sr. was always Rocky. As Mary Jane said in later years, When I went to meet his family, everyone kept talking about Merlin, I didnt know they were talking about Rock. Baseball was a lifelong obsession for Paw. When he was a kid, he read about a baseball simulation game in a catalogue involving disks and spinners. Being the little mathematical fiend that he was, he figured out that those disks were 360 degrees and that a players stats could be formulated and equated to spaces on that circle and therefore at bat outcomes could be determined with the spinner. He made his own disks using major league players actual stats to create six or eight teams and play 154 game seasons keeping stats that he carried in his wallet for decades. He gave my brother and I the gift of baseball. He coached my Little League and Babe Ruth teams to undefeated seasons where we lost the championship games. He coached my brothers Little League and Babe Ruth teams to championship games and won. One of the great regrets of his life was that he didnt coach my little sisters softball team on which she was a star pitcher. When he was about 68 years old we went to the Field of Dreams and the three guys played a pick up game with others who came to have a catch. Even during rebellious teen years we always had baseball; when we couldnt talk about anything else, we could always talk White Sox. Our last conversation was about Ozzie Guillen leaving as team manager and the naming of the untried Robin Ventura; he thought it might just work out though he hated

to see Ozzie go. He called the first game of the 2005 playoffs, which he attended with my brother and witnessed firsthand when the White Sox thumping the Red Sox on the way to winning the World Series, the greatest game he had ever been too. He loved the White Sox. He also enjoyed history, reading it, imparting what he knew and public lecturing about Lincoln as well. He was extremely proud of his work with and devotion to the Hampton Historical Society serving as its president and reading the list of the Hampton war dead each Memorial Day. His committed ebullient reading of those names led to much satire in our household but also made that lesser holiday into a must return home holiday in our family. We will remember the timbre and pitch of his voice for the rest of our lives as cherished keepsakes of memory: Luuuucius Wells! or Henry Baum-bach! He kept those names in mind during his genealogy searches and readings on the civil war, reporting any new nuggets he might come across regarding them as if they were members of our own family and in a way, I suppose they became so. He made sure the veterans graves were decorated every year. Took great pride in the improvements to the museum and marveled at the architectural archaeology involved in deciding wall colors, room usage and counter placement. Another great gift was his love of humor; this was a guy who coveted a good joke above all else. If the joke involved a funny voice it was a lock to be repeated. When I was older and involved in other families I was surprised to discover other fathers getting incredibly angry if anyone told a joke at their expense. Not our Dad, he seemed to love it when we battled wits with him telling big belly stories or quoting his endless stream of odd sayings such as: Take it easy greasy, before you slide a mile. or Guard that dish! Throw him the dark one. The boy stood on the burning deck. I keep hearing those little sayings and notice the whole family using them; they are oral touchstones that comfort in his absence. Well, since this started with a bedtime story, we may as well end with one: You know, a funny thing happened on my way to the funeral this morning. As I was leaving I saw a man along the side of the road with a horse on a lead, only he wasnt leading anywhere. Now this is pretty unusual, even as rural as our little village seems it isnt everyday you see a fella struggling with a horse. So, I stopped and asked if he could use some help. Nyeah, nyeah, I could use some help. I need to get this horse to my house. Ill give you a hundred bucks if youll give me a hand. Well, Im delivering food to make a living right now so a hundred dollars sounds pretty darn good. So, even though I was pressed for time, I said, okay. Now it didnt take us very long and although the horse was stubborn with both of us pushing and pulling we ended up in front of his house.

Okay, I said, Im in a bit of hurry, so, if you could give me my hundred dollars . . . Nyoull git your money, nyoull git your money . . . first, I want the horse, on the porch. What? You want the horse on the porch? Nyeah. I want the horse on the porch. I said, Ill give you a hundred dollars? Ill make it two hundred dollars. Two hundred? Nyeah, two hundred! Well, I could certainly use two hundred so I said, okay. After tremendous effort, pushing and pulling, we were able to get the horse on the porch. Okay, buddy, you got your horse on the porch, now if youll give me the 200 Ill take off. Not so fast, nyoull git your money, nyoull git your money. First, I need the horse, in the house. Hold on there buddy, I dont have time to fool around here, give me what you owe me and were good. Not until the horse is in the house. Ill add another hundred. Three hundred? All right, but lets make this quick. Nyeah, nyeah, no problem. After an intense period of pushing, pulling, cajoling and beseeching and even a little swearing the horse stood in the front hall of the mans house. Well, that wasnt easy, I said, but a job well done. If youll give me the three c-notes Ill be off. Nyoull git your money, Nyoull get your money. First, I need the horse upstairs. You must be crazy. Well never get that animal up those stairs. Not even for four hundred dollars? Four hundred dollars is a lot of money. Id probably missed the limo to the funeral home anyway and besides, by now I was getting curious. Four hundred? I asked. Nyeah. All right. And so friends we packed that animal up those stairs and sooner that you might imagine we stood in the upstairs hallway. Now? I said holding out my hand. Nyoull git your money, Nyoull get your money. First, I need the horse in the bathroom and in the tub. (silence.) Let me get this straight, you want the horse in the bathtub?

Nyeah, nyeah, I want the horse in the bathtub. Let me guess . . . five hundred bucks, right Nyeah, nyeah five hundred smackers. Well, Ive come this far . . . why not? If I had thought the previous part of our adventure had been difficult it was paltry compared to the strain of convincing that hoofed quadruped into the ceramic tub. But when it was done we stood on his porch and he counted five one hundred dollar bills into my waiting hand. I cant thank you enough, this is so great, worth every penny. He said. Now, buddy, I said, I quit questioning what we were doing about halfway up the stairs, but if you dont mind me asking, why do you want that horse in that tub? Let me tell ya, I got a guy who lives here with me, a roommate and, nyoh, hes a wise guy, he thinks hes so smart, he thinks he knows everything. He doesnt believe a word I say. Last week when he got home from work I told him I saw a giraffe in the elevator and he just shrugged and said nyeah, nyeah, shore, shore . . . he didnt believe me. A couple days later I told him I saw a monkey riding on a zebra down main street and he goes nyeah, nyeah, shore, shore . . . He didnt believe me that time either. So tonight when he gets home from work I m gonna tell him theres a horse in the bathtub and when he goes: Nyeah, nyeah, shore, shore . . . Im gonna march him right upstairs and show him . . .Nyeah, nyeah, shore, shore, yer ass! We begged Paw to tell us that joke over the years. If you got a few beers in him you might get lucky and hed launch into it. Many a boy or girl or family friend discovered they had joined a select club of people who got to hear him tell it, having waited sometimes a year or more. The build in anticipation was so important to him and the look of unfathomable consternation on peoples faces when the joke was finally told. That was when you really heard our father laugh. Now you folks are in on the joke, enjoy. Now you kids get to sleep! In Memory of Merlin Alfred Rocky Nelson, April 10, 1931October 27, 2011