A Symbol of Sorts, Part 2

In my last entry, I told of finding some TV antenna cable under my house, in a very confined crawl space. And I had realized that about 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was right then. And it got me thinking about him. You see, I don’t think I was very good to him.

I know this isn't fair, but most of the memories of my dad are from his later years. He died of pancreatic cancer when he was 80, about a year after my mom. Yes, I remember when he was 40, I guess. But most of my memories are from when he was in his 50’s or later. And that’s really too bad.

You see, I really don’t think the older Dad bore much resemblance to the younger Dad. When he was young, he worked incredibly hard. He was an engineer at Philco in Sandusky, and started to install antennas, then fix TV’s and radios in the evenings and on weekends. Eventually, he took a huge risk and opened Morgan’s TV, a very small retail store in Port Clinton. A few years later, he took an even bigger risk, moving and expanding his business into “Morgan’s TV and Appliance.” It was a huge store, for its day, on Perry Street, and he was a leader in the community in many ways. During its peak, which was probably when color TV became popular in the late 60’s, he did a tremendous business. And he worked his butt off, took huge chances, and really made it work. He was hard working, ambitious, and not afraid to take risks. I remember the sales he had, that were really like circuses, with literally hundreds of customers. He had the anniversary sale in February, complete with radio remotes and search lights; and the tent sale in the parking lot in August, where I was in charge of giving out the popcorn, pop, and balloons (and got to drink all the Coke I wanted!) He even built Mom the new house she had always wanted. Everything was good.

But then things changed. Lots of things. First of all, the day of the small town independent retailer was coming to an end. He could not seem to compete with the huge stores in Toledo and Sandusky. Or course he wasn't alone; most stores like his are gone now. Then there was the booze. It started out small, but then it hit hard, as it often does. And I know there were other factors. But what’s important, unfortunately, is that I think he just gave up. No more would he give that extra effort. No more would he strive for more. The Warren Morgan who would venture into the crawl space to run antenna wire was gone. His drive was gone. He got tired of working. He got tired of trying. Instead of working hard to make a difference, he wanted to be taken care of. He became incredibly difficult to deal with. Trust me, I could go on and on.

My mother once said that one of the reasons she was attracted to Dad was because he was the strongest and most independent man she had ever known. I’m sure he was at 20, but he definitely was not at 60. No, I’m pretty sure old Warren was nothing like young Warren.

Unfortunately, as I grew up, I reacted to the man I saw before me. I was young and arrogant, and of course sure that I would never end up like that. As he spent his last year in the nursing home, I rarely visited, and when I did it was for short times. I know he felt bad about that and wondered why. Honestly, I didn't really like the man he became, but I wasn't being fair. Half a generation later, I realize my own kids may not like the old man I become, but I hope they still visit me, love me, and remember the good things about me. I didn't do that for him, and it wasn't fair. I will always regret that I didn't do more for him.

Should he have become what he did? Probably not. But honestly, it’s not my place to say. Because no matter what I think, I can’t be sure that if I were in his shoes, I would have done anything differently. Instead of judging him for the man he was, I should have treated him as the man he had been. And to be fair, Dad never became a horrible man. He loved his family, and he showed it. And he remained to his death a very likable guy.

You know, many of us tend to do what I did. We look at other people’s lives from our own world view. But no matter what we think we know, we can never know all that goes on inside another person: what is in his heart, what is in his mind, and what is happening in his soul. And although we think we know better, we can never be sure that we would have behaved any differently.

As I age, I’m aware of what happened to him, and try very hard not to let it happen to me. Have I been successful? I don’t know. I think so, for the most part. But I know some that would disagree.

But you know, it’s OK either way. Because for all he was and was not, I find that I’m still secretly proud when someone says “You’re Warren Morgan's boy.”

A Symbol of Sorts, part 1

Do you know what this is in the picture? Well, it’s called a “standoff,” holding very old fashioned antenna wire. You remember antennas; the big things on your roof or on a tower that we all used before cable or satellite? Yeah, that antenna.

So why am I bringing this up? Well, as some of you may know, I've moved to Port Clinton, the town I grew up in. And not just the same town, but the same house, actually. My mom and dad bought this house about five years before I was born, and we lived here until I was 12. Well, one day recently I was driving through Port Clinton, and just for fun I drove by this house, and I could see it was for sale, and in serious need of major repairs. So I bought it. Someone had bought it at foreclosure and tried to flip it. He didn't do a very good job; in fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months, fixing his “repairs.” Renovating this house is going to be a long process. But finding pieces of my family history is very rewarding.

OK, so still, why am I talking about antennas? (I’m getting there, really I am.) During my renovations, I've spent significant time in the crawlspace (no basement.) And it’s not a nice one. No bugs, varmints, or water, which is good. But it’s very cramped. No hands and knees action in this place. In the good parts, I belly crawl. In other parts, I have to squirm through, hoping I can fit my butt with me! But there are some parts that I’m way too claustrophobic to get to. I think I could get to them, but I’m afraid I’d panic and wouldn't be able to get out.

So the other day, I cheated. Since I’m going to replace the flooring anyway, I cut a new hole in the existing floor, and crawled down into one of the previously inaccessible parts. And here’s where I saw the standoff and antenna wire. And when I saw it, I knew exactly how it got there, and who put it there. And it humbled me, honestly. You see, before my dad retired, he owned a TV and appliance store. But before that, he got his start fixing TV’s and radios on the side. And before that, he put up TV antennas. So I knew how the standoff, and the wire that was in it, had gotten there.

At that moment, I realized that, sometime over 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was, on his back, running antenna wire, and screwing these standoffs into the floor joists. Only he hadn't cheated. He got there through the tiny places that I wouldn't go. And while intellectually I knew he had done this sort of thing, seeing that wire under the house really hit me. I hate to admit it, but this was the Dad I had forgotten about. This was the young Warren Morgan, not the old one. This was the skinny Dad, not the one he grew into later! This was the hard-working Dad.

Which really got me thinking about Dad. Looking back, in his later years, I wasn't fair to him. And laying in the crawlspace, I realized that. But this blog is already too long.

So that story will have to come in part 2.