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I join my siblings in thanking you all for the HEROIC efforts you have made to be here today to celebrate
my Dad’s life. Yes, this is NOT a funeral, but a memorial service, a LIFE
CELEBRATION.
It
is my privilege to share with you some memories and thoughts about my father,
William Andrus Thornton Jr. who lived a full, satisfying and productive life for
almost 83 years, until last Thursday afternoon.
When
I was preparing this, I realized that there is no one in the room who has known
Dad all his life—he was a ‘senior statesman’—the eldest son of three children.
His sister Joanne comes closest to knowing his full story—and she will share a
poem she has written about Dad later in the service.
For
those of us who have known Dad all our lives, when we look back over his
life to celebrate his unique talents and gifts, we would perhaps first think of
his amazing intellectual gifts of creativity, innovation, scientific discovery,
and musical talent.
We
would remember his discoveries in the lighting and color measurement fields, his
award for Inventor of the Year in 1979, his love of music, both instrumental and
choral, his problem-solving abilities.
My
brother Bill will comment on these later in the service, from a ‘world’ view as
well as a son’s intimate view.
But
what came to me in my search for images for this morning… to commemorate and
celebrate the life of this one-of-a-kind human being, were two subjects….his
hands and his heart. His hands…full of strength and productivity….of help and
guidance.
His
heart….full of love and caring; full of courage and determination; full of
protection…. I share these thoughts with you from one daughter’s perspective.
Dad
lived his life on a foundation of values, chief among which were these:
education, thrift, strong spiritual foundation, productivity, creativity,
science and the arts. You’ll recognize these values throughout my stories.
So…to begin at the beginning…..my beginning, that is…..
I
don’t remember his hands holding me when I was a tiny baby, but my strong sense
of security in the world must have originated there.
His
strong and beautiful hands were guiding me from my earliest moments. I remember
his guiding hand on the back of my small bike, when I first experimented with
training wheels. Today, two of his kids love to bike for miles and miles.
I
remember him pulling us around the neighborhood for endless hours in our
dilapidated old wagon, never tiring of showing us our little domain.
I
can envision his hands showing us how to make snow ‘bricks’ to build igloos in
those days when New Jersey got lots of winter snow…..and his hands putting up
the Christmas tree the night before Christmas. Only Dad could reach the top of
the tree to place the star. We looked up to him from our early days! And
whenever we were lost in a crowd, we just had to look up to find Dad, towering
over the rest of the people. He looked a lot like home!
I
remember receiving a wonderful ‘grown-up’ green bike with fat tires, that Dad
had picked up at a thrift store and completely rehabilitated. I rode it and
treasured it for years!
In
my mind’s eye, I can see his hands showing us how to set and light a campfire
and how to put up our tent when the family wandered the country in those long,
endless childhood summers. (Of course, we all know the story of trying out one
of Dad’s raised tent inventions-imagine a home-made tent trailer with pulled out
platforms on spindly poles!! Right! Piled Thorntons in a heap on the ground….two
nights in a row!! That was NOT one of his 39 successful patents!)
I
remember his hands sharing one of his great early loves…fishing....showing me
how to put a worm on a hook….even when it gave me the skeeves to watch it writhe
around…and how to take a fish off a hook and let it go. We spent hours and hours
of restful time in nature, rowing and motoring around lakes and rivers and
oceans to find the good fishing spots….sometimes just Dad and me, sometimes the
whole crew of kids. Today I kayak on rivers all over the NE whenever I get the
chance.
(Of
course, there were two problems with fishing. it was a VERY bad thing when we
kept the fish we caught, because frying fish was one of the few culinary things
Mom wasn’t good at!) Very quickly, we learned to take all of our Chautauqua Lake
catch, buckets and buckets, over to the Lindquist’s across the road from Gramp’s
cottage, where they at least pretended to eat what we caught!
And
there was one more problem with fishing. Of course, he and Mom DID take me up to
Canada to our favorite Blue Water lodge long after I’d become a teenager
and could barely stand being with my brothers, much less fishing on a lake. But
Mom and I took off for shopping and nature walking, so all was saved.
I
can envision Dad’s hands laying out the map routes for our family travel
adventures and then steady on the wheel, driving us all around the United States
and Canada on several occasions and around Europe on two different family
trips….and that took both faith and determination..perhaps a little insanity
too!
Of
course, his tail-gating took some patience and stamina from us as well!
Then
there was the point where we were old enough to get our hands in on the act.
Saturday projects.
Naturally, being used to the care-free life of a child, when we were old enough
to be included in household maintenance, we were resentful of our Saturday
chores, which HAD TO be done before we could go out and join our friends and
play. But we learned a myriad of home management skills under his tutelage and
have used the skills, the work ethic and the ‘work before play’ strategy to
great effect in our lives.
Thrift taken to the extreme. I can see Dad’s hands cutting the boys’ hair when
they were very young, but that ceased finally when Dad asked young Bill how he
liked his cut and Bill’s depressed-sounding reply: “It stinks. It always
stinks.” Once ‘the boys’ earned enough money to take off for a barber shop cut,
Dad’s haircutting duties were over.
I remember Dad endlessly building things, like the swing in the back yard and
our tree house, a fountain to set off Mom’s garden plants and cabinets to house
all his stereo equipment….and fixing broken things---toys, lamps, sump pumps,
doors, tables, mechanical devices, toilets, showers, hoses, fountains. Few
family tag sales took place at our house, because things got recycled and
recycled. Like his father, he had a fully equipped basement where he could work
miracles on most home-related projects. I don’t ever remember seeing a hired
handyman in our household.
Today, my basement is as fully equipped as his, AND I know how to use all the
equipment. Dad gave me a birthday present one year—of coming up to CT to help me
re-organize all my tools and equipment and we had a blast for a full day, in the
basement! His father had shelves and shelves of small, matched glass jars full
of nails and screws and hooks. Dad had shelves and shelves; I have shelves and
shelves.
Of
course, it’s a
Thornton tradition
to NOT read the manuals to new appliances and tools, so sometimes getting
projects going would take some serious trial and error!
One
of the strong values that Dad taught us was that there was no limitation to the
things we could do. I often put the concept to the test and I think that Dad was
aware of the possibility that I might bite off more than I could chew, and
always offered help just in case it might be needed.
An
example of Dad giving his hands with his heart was in helping me with a property
I bought in 1987….a big old 1892 Victorian in New Hampshire that I spiffed up in
preparation for sharing with renters. Side by side, weekend by weekend, we built
a deck off the back of the first floor apartment, painted the shutters, hired a
drilling company to drill a new well, and generally revitalized a tired old
property. We shared our sweet memories when I finally sold it in 2001.
Dad’s hands were strong, precise and gifted when he played the clarinet, and the
saxophone, and the string bass. His friend June was so inspired by the beauty
and the strength of his hands that she took an award-winning picture of those
hands playing his bass fiddle, George. That’s George over there in the corner,
here to help us celebrate Dad’s life.
And,
of course, last but not by any means least, it was his hands and great mind
together that financed all of the family’s needs for YEARS, until Mom got her
Doctorate and joined him as a breadwinner!! Dad and Mom, both scrimped and saved
so that all four kids could go to good colleges and so that we might all have
our travel adventures and important memories.
His
heart….full of love and courage and protection and determination….
The
story goes that Mom wanted at least six children, and with great heart, Dad
agreed to populate the world with four….for which we are, of course, thankful!
Using their hands and their hearts, Dad and Mom raised four strong, capable and
independent offspring.
Our
childhood was filled with fun and adventure, as well as structure and
discipline. As you can see from the pictures throughout the room, these kids had
a great time growing up. Once our family duties were fulfilled, we were free to
roam the neighborhood on our bikes, build forts on the college property behind
our lawn, have sleepovers, hold sales to raise income to buy our heart’s
desires, play with our neighbors and friends.
And
Dad’s values (and Mom’s) ruled here too. Dad persevered with great courage,
sometimes in spite of momentous opposition, to expose his family to the things
that he cherished and valued. As I mentioned, some of his ‘heart’ values
included spirituality, love of education, appreciating and participating in
music, productivity and projects, love of nature, and love of travel.
For
example, spirituality was a high priority for him and for our mother, Jeanne. He
marched the whole clan to Sunday school or church every Sunday of our childhood,
AND
to Wednesday evening meetings when we were old enough. I can visualize him
gathering his very unwilling family to read the lesson at 7am
every weekday morning for years on end. His idea was to shape a future for us
with a good connection to God and humanity, and a clear understanding of how to
live a loving, healthful life. We cringed at the soft voice at the foot of the
stairs saying “Lesson time, lambies”, but we got the message, made our own
spiritual choices and are all here today…..more-or-less loving and healthy!!
Similarly, Dad protected our mental health to the best of his ability. He would
walk into the TV room, assess whether what we were watching was ‘constructive’
or not and turn it off, if not. We were outraged!! Right in the middle of a
movie…where we were engrossed in the violence or gore. Many years later, I would
come to study psychology and read reams of research that show that violent
images do in fact alter our experience of life and reality in a detrimental way.
Strong and protective
Dad
had a big heart, and was strong and protective, which is what little girls
thrive on. A big strong Dad that they can count on. I don’t think that we kids
or Mom ever lost any sleep, feeling that we were not safe and protected by our
sometimes fierce 6’5” father.
And
speaking of fierce, there was that time that a neighborhood boy, Danny Maroukian,
was beating up one of my brothers. My sister, Deb, saw what was happening and
took off to rescue her brother. Debbie always did love a good scrap. Just as she
was vaulting over the back fence, Dad grabbed her by the belt loops, hauled her
back and gave her a good talking-to about not beating up neighborhood kids. Then
he went over the fence, broke up the fight and gave Danny a fierce talking-to!
Of
course, Danny’s little sister was my best friend, and he knew I had witnessed
his shame, so she had to give him her whole allowance to not beat me up when I
went over for a sleepover!
Whenever we got ourselves into trouble, Dad was there to get us out and then
give us what-for for poor behavior choices! And he knew how to use incentives.
We all got ice cream sodas at the Cranford
soda shoppe when one of us found the courage to stand up and give a testimonial
at the Wednesday night meeting….and we visited the Dairy Queen often, after our
chores were done.
Of
course, little girls become teenagers and that protectiveness seems to be
over-protectiveness as curfews seem too binding—and boyfriend choices are not
fully embraced. But it was all clearly heart-originated. And teenagers do
finally mature and, seeing the world more clearly, recognize what their parents
are trying to do for them.
When
I needed a summer job during high school to pay for those teen necessities and
to save for college, Dad took the time to find me a job in the cafeteria of the
Esso Refinery in nearby Elizabeth.
With
the exception of his peculiar habit of wearing a paisley shirt with plaid pants
on weekends, Dad was generally a traditional dresser. However, it was a true
trial for Dad’s teen children when he left his traditional look and grew dark,
bushy black sideburns in the 60s, which clashed rather loudly with his bald head
and graying fringe. Still, we survived, and if it hadn’t been the sideburns, it
would certainly have been something else that horrified and embarrassed us!
I
attended college in Massachusetts,
four hours from home, and Dad and Mom carried me and all my college needs back
and forth, back and forth, even in major snowstorms. They attended all my
important choral concerts and Dad came and escorted me to my Father’s Weekend
activities every year—never missing the chance to spend time together on Mount
Holyoke’s beautiful campus. He even led me around the dance floor at the
Father’s weekend balls! Since I never learned to follow anyone’s lead very well,
this was clear evidence of Dad’s big heart.
Dad
had many loves, and many of these have been passed down to his children. His
love of reading is shared by us all; his love of music has made its way into our
hearts—each having experimented with at least one instrument. His love of nature
is shared by all of us, with hiking and camping embraced by some. He had a yen
to fly a small plane, and though he never did get his license, I did, in 1988
and Dad was my first passenger ever….in fact, he’s the only family member to
have found the courage to fly with me!
He
committed time, energy and love in areas that he believed in—he was a leader,
never a ‘joiner’. He was the reader in our church, the President of the Old
Guard, a world leader in his area of scientific research. He made a difference
in all areas of his life—home, work, community, church.
As
he passed the financially challenging child-rearing years, he began to let go
his tight grip on money and I remember his surprisingly supportive stance to a
quandary I had one summer. I was out visiting the west, my favorite travel
target, when I stopped into an old trading post and found this squash blossom
necklace. It cost a LOT of money, but my Mom had always wanted one, and we had a
lot of family appreciation for the Native Americans. I bought it, to remind me
of her. But 20 miles down the road, my thrifty voice started telling me that I
had made a mistake and should return the necklace. I was upset, called Dad, whom
I suspected would support me in my plan to turn around and take it back.
Amazingly, my thrifty Dad stated clearly that if the necklace gave me joy, I
should really hold on to it! So I wear this necklace for Dad…and for Mom!!
On
the subject of Dad’s big protective heart, four years ago, I fell in love with
kayaking and before that summer was out, I decided I had to have my own kayak. I
did my research and found a used, 17 ½
foot Eclipse that was available in southern Jersey. I convinced the seller to
drive it up to the most northern rest stop on the Garden State Parkway and
called Dad to see if he would meet me there to look over this boat before I
bought it. He immediately agreed and we loved it and I bought it. He calls it my
‘red torpedo’. I began to call Dad either before I set off paddling, or after I
returned, to regale him with stories of the natural beauty I’d seen.
Later in my paddling career, as I extended my paddling to year-round, Dad heard
that my winter paddling might be less dangerous if I had a dry suit to keep me
dry should my boat capsize in near-freezing water. My next birthday, he bought
me a dry suit.
I
then started the tradition of calling Dad every time I went for a paddle, so he
has accompanied me in spirit on a couple hundred paddles on the Housatonic
River, especially (see the painting I painted from a photograph of a Housatonic
sunset) and sometimes on the Long Island Sound.
Sometimes, I even take my headset and cell phone in the boat and call Dad and
share the beauty I see there. Once 18 months or so ago, Dad and I journeyed onto
the Housatonic in a canoe and several times, he and Marcia and I have driven his
car up and down the river, finding the kingfishers, the Canada geese, the
wildflowers and the gorgeous sunsets that can only be found on that lovely CT
river.
In
recent years, Dad’s heart has outdistanced his hands. While still singing and
playing music as often as possible, still working on research papers and making
international presentations when inspired, still taking on projects on his
Cranford home and then his Jackson home, Dad’s heart reached out to all those
who came in contact with him.
In
some respects, his last two years have been the sweetest of all. With all the
income-producing and child-rearing challenges far behind him, and with a
scientific community which finally embraced much of his research and theory
development, he entered a stage marked by love and high spirits; of quiet warmth
and support for all around him; of appreciation for life and loved ones, for the
simpler things in life.
Last
October, Dad moved into the Orchards at Bartley assisted living center here in
Jackson and within weeks, made strong and deep friendships with most of the
residents there, and all of the staff and professionals. Two Fridays ago, Dad
was voted the King of the Prom by his friends and fellow residents. Last week,
surrounded by friends and loved ones, and by loving prayers and best wishes from
hundreds of people the world over, he died there, and that community was so
devastated, they continued to call his phone machine to hear his message.
My
final vision of the strength of his heart and his hands was a moment last week,
when he gathered all his strength and love and placed his hands on his walker
and walked across his bedroom to me, step by slow step, with his aide, Roland
and I urging him to do his best, before going down to lunch. This, despite the
extreme weakness of his limbs and frailty of his body. The vigor of his willing
heart, his indomitable spirit, his inner strength, shone through his eyes
brightly, along with a clear sense of mastery in spite of major challenges. It
is a vision and a lesson that I will take with me throughout life.
Virtually every day of the last year, when my father was most challenged by
memory lapses or weakened legs, I have spoken to him before he went to sleep and
told him that I was wrapping him in a thick cocoon of love and sending him off
to sweet dreams and a deep sleep.
I
know that you join me in wrapping him in just such a cocoon as he makes his
transition to the next stage of his life journey.
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