Jefferson Weaver • The death of a newspaper man, 2001 – CCN

Some time ago I happened to solve an apparently insurmountable problem with a pocket knife and a little patience. The guy I helped was shocked.

“How did you learn that? 'He asked.

“My father taught me.”

It was a beautiful spring day in May 2001 when he said Miss Lois that he was tired and wanted to make a nap. She sat next to him in the chair and held his hand. They both went to sleep. Mother woke up a while later, but the old man had gone home to be with the Lord.

In the following days I had to use many skills that he had taught me from diplomacy and patience to repairing a door lock. As a man, I think that our fathers have to be gone before we really understand what they tried and why.

One of the greatest things he taught me was to love God. Papa was never a fire -breathing, extrovert Christian, but he was a Christian. Like all Christians, he still sinned occasionally (I learned how to escape), but he taught me that God and the Father are always forgiven.

Papa taught me to be a newspaper, not a journalist or just a reporter. He also taught me some other skills because he wanted to be sure that I could always take care of my family.

Papa taught me that its own country deserves love and loyalty, and that loyalty often means speaking against the screaming audience against the knee jerk. Papa also taught me to love my state, south and my community, not necessarily in this order.

Papa loved baseball; Before I was born, he trained, managed and played a semi-pro ball in the golden years of the local baseball. Although I was always a lousy player, I tried it, but I was a big, slowly moving boy. Papa had the same problem when he was my age – except that he was flat foot and not fat – so he taught me to put everything I had behind every swing.

When my trainers realized that I could consistently throw the tar from a baseball, they were a little susceptible to let me play. Some of my proudest moments were when I could hear the old man's voice in the stands: “This is, boy, that's it. Show what you have …”

On the one hand, he worked so much that it was a pleasure for him to make it to one of my ball games. On the other hand, it was my father who cheered me on, even if I excluded. Other parents may shout on the referee or criticize their children from the stand, but Papa would simply “boo!” If the call had failed or explain how I could have done it better on the way home.

Papa taught me to love music, mainly Dixieland Jazz, a style that is now apparently forgotten. I will never forget how I took mother and dad for dinner in a jazz club in Wilmington when I was a sophisticated 22-year-old. Papa was polite but not impressed. Later, when a filling pianist entered the tiny stage with his wife, Papa's ears started like a Coonhound who heard someone “Treed” Bay.

“This boy has it,” he said, waiting for the first song to land. Papa opened and spoke the pianist, shook his hand and asked him: “You know how to play …”.

The pianist did it and after a while the crowd stopped talking and began to listen when the fill act became a hit of the night. The piano went from simple to popular in half a minute.

“This is how we played in the past,” said Papa, reminding me again how the old man was always a newspaper man. He was many things depending on time, place and circumstances.

He was a gin-palace spaceasy saxophone player during the last ban; Even with old photos, I can't see my tetotaling dad as a stubborn Dixieland player.

Papa was a hardware dealer before becoming a newspaper man. Our Saturday trips were to general shops and old-fashioned hardware dealers, in whom the lights were weak and the stocks were sometimes dusty. It was in places like that that Papa could find a mug for an ancient rimlock or a wheese of exactly the right size – or for a first pocket knife for his youngest son.

Papa taught me that they should enjoy what they do and do their best. If one of these conditions cannot be met, it is time to look elsewhere. It is different for everyone involved in a job, in a job, a hobby or a church.

Papa taught me that loyalty and respect are repaid with loyalty and respect. He taught me that all people are different and that some misguided or incorrectly or simply earn idiots, everyone deserves a fair shaking. Papa taught me that every single person earns a few minutes if they bother to see them.

Some of the nicest cards and letters after his death came from people with whom dad was completely political and socially completely different – but they still liked him and still respected him because he was always fair.

Papa taught me about the value of cards and letters long before E -Mail became common. He used some e -mails last year, but he never really trusted e -mail. Instead, he was a productive letter writer; I am ashamed to give myself that my band is nothing compared to that of the old man while I write more cards and letters than some people.

Papa taught me to love my wife and family violently and to devote me to both. He taught me to hunt and fish responsibly – although he didn't hunt, he made sure that I had good mentors.

Papa taught me to love dogs and cats, and that there is no Sorrier individual on Earth than someone who misuses an animal, a child or a woman.

He taught me that a baby was a baby, regardless of when it comes from the womb or whether it was born at all.

He taught me that a man's appointment is primarily to worry and protect children, women and those who are not in danger through their own guilt.

He taught me that a tax is a tax, regardless of what the government calls it, and it should be paid for immediately and processed responsibly.

Papa taught me that gossip for people is small heads and not manners.

He taught me how to put on and when and where and how to wear a hat. Wearing at least one coat and a tie means showing your own customers and the employer respect, regardless of whether you are a newspaper or hardware dealer. He also taught me that men in our family were never left at home without a hat. It is an archaic habit that he continued to death, and one that I still practice.

Papa taught me that a lady is a woman until she proves herself differently, and she should always be treated as a lady. He also taught me that there is no single member of the fairer sex that has no functions that can be added harmlessly – and that you should point out these good properties because it could lighten the day of a lady.

Papa taught me that rude behavior has no place, achieved nothing and creates more rude behavior. The best revenge – and an example – is to show an rude person who do not bend on their levels. This requires control of the temperament, and I admit, sometimes my mother's temperament overwhelms my father's teaching.

Papa taught me that it is in cemeteries, honor in old houses and joy in the simple things of life. He taught me that nobody owes me a thing except what I earn myself.

Papa taught me everything and more.

He just never taught me how to miss him.

He was a newspaper man, yes, but he was so much more. He was a husband, a gentleman, a historian, a craftsman, a philosopher, a warrior poet in his own way and, above all, a father.

And although one day I know that I will see him again, I still miss him every day.

For my readers: In the other week, like every year, I wrote a column to make a promise that I made my father when he died.

This column is a promise that I made on the same day, and thank you for helping me to keep it.