Morgan's Eulogy
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Memories of my Dad: Willard E. Roe
by Morgan H. Roe - November 4, 2006
On behalf of the Roe family, thank you very much for your warm love and support over the last several days. Each of us has deeply appreciated your expressions of love and sympathy.
I realized this week in a new way how multi-faceted my father was. He connected with so many people in so many different ways. This week, it has been awesome to hear many of your thoughts and remembrances that have added new parts to our family's recollections of Dad. Unfortunately in the few minutes that I have this morning, I can only relate to you what Dad was to me; the facets that were important to me. Each one of us would remember Dad a little differently, but this is how I will remember him.
Dad had a rare combination of integrity and courage. Perhaps more than anything, the area of my life where I desire to see his image in me is integrity. I have always greatly admired and have been greatly inspired by that single characteristic in Dad. I always wanted to be like him in that way. Dad always took the high road. Always impeccable to his own high standards.
What was impressionable to me (and, at times, probably maddening to others), was his combination of courage and integrity. Not only did he see right from wrong clearly, he was brave enough to point it out and brave enough to take action. I've never known anyone braver than he was. He was a hero. Not the action hero of today where self-glory is emphasized as much as courage. However, his war-time accomplishments absolutely qualify him as a hero by any standard. But the courage I remember him by was a life lived without compromise to what he believed in. It did not matter who the rest of the world pandered to, or what social or economic pressures were at play, Willard just stayed his course. I always admired that in him. I want to be like that. I want to be like that to my children.
I well remember one episode 20 years ago. I had recently come to work for the family business and had a part in helping the company maintain environmental compliance. We had a scheduled inspection by the state and I was involved in making preparations. Part of that was a self pre-inspection. Shortly before the inspector arrived, I gave Dad an honest summary of what I had seen -- mostly pretty good, but also some areas I was genuinely concerned about. I knew it was important for Dad to know the truth so he could steer the inspection wisely. We had normal greetings and polite small talk with the inspector when he arrived and then Dad immediately said something like, "There are a couple of areas I want to show you where we are not up to snuff." And he proceeded to air all the dirty laundry, explaining the problem, the scope of non-compliance, and the impediments to our compliance, as well as our desire to overcome them. Meanwhile, I cringed. I think we suffered a few fines as we progressed towards compliance over the following months. All-in-all, an acceptable outcome, but thru a path I would have never voluntarily chosen. I've seen that same approach hundreds of times ... with auditors, lawyers, fruit inspectors, bankers, customers, employees, friends and family. That was just my Dad. Integrity with courage.
I fondly remember Dad's consistent approach to always take time to teach. The joke in the office was that there was no such thing as a "quick question for Mr. Roe". If he was asked a question, it meant to him that more than just an answer was needed -- a full understanding of the subject was required. However, his explanations were never irrelevant, and never punitively imposed. They were just a good education at the perfect teachable moment. He was remarkably able to teach with compassion and understanding -- knowing when comprehension was occurring, and more importantly, when it wasn't. This approach applied to his children, employees, business associates, customers, and friends. The most fondly remembered example of this in our family was when my late sister, Marjorie -- probably a pre-adolescent at the time -- asked what "torque" meant. Two hours later, the dinner plates having long sense been cleared, and with homework assignments yet to be completed for the evening, Dad was still explaining the concept and its relative implications to mechanics and physics. Open-ended questions, especially in a technical area, have long since been dubbed "torque-questions" in our family. My sister Marjorie went on to become an engineer -- if not a direct result of this event, then at least a direct result of this kind of parenting.
This was Dad's style of love. He demonstrated it with his time and actions. He engaged with those he loved and dedicated his time to them. While he was spending time, he was always educating. He was courageous to invest not only his time, which was exceedingly important, but also much more. As children, he gave us lots of freedom from which to learn -- often at great personal cost. If Thomas Edison discovered 1,000 ways how NOT to make a light bulb, then Dad's children were allowed to discover 7,000 ways to do things wrong on their way to learning how to do things right -- a process that is still underway, I might add. Dad was a do-er. And he did things in a way that attracted us to come along side and do "whatever-it-was" with him. There was never a break in the lessons -- I still remember even the little things, like being taught the right way to pull weeds, how to service a lawnmower, how to fix run-over sprinklers, how to prune a tree, and how to estimate a crop of fruit -- which began with a lesson on how to count fruit, which, for those of you have ever been taught this skill by Dad, know that it is not as simple as it sounds. Last week, I had my extension cord out and when I curled it up, I realized that I did it just the way Dad taught me 35 years ago-- unlike any other way that I've ever seen done and yet twice as fast. Dad had an uncanny ability to always show up when teaching needed to occur. He instinctively knew when and where things were going wrong -- and made a point to be there when it did. I still don't know how he did that.
Dad taught us the value of family. I don't ever remember hearing the exact words, "We'll always be here for you -- no matter what." But that's the family message that Dad lived. He dished out plenty of hard discipline -- always for just cause. But we always knew that he loved us and that he would be there. He made a point of celebrating our accomplishments. He encouraged us and helped us to develop along the lines of our interests. Even as his children became adults, he stayed engaged and involved. We could always go to him for input. It might take two hours for what we were about to be taught -- but it was always worth it. As an adult, there were many times when I thought his advice was outdated, too hard, or impractical. However, I cannot recall a single instance when his advice would not have been the best road to take -- if I had actually taken it in the first place.
Dad taught me about marriage. Mom and Dad had a unique relationship because they were generally at the opposite ends of most subjects on which you could have an opinion. This created lots of lively dinner conversations. However, neither of my parents recoiled from their relationship to each other. They continued loving each other and their relationship continued to improve over the years. This was especially evident in the last several years, as life's responsibilities began to slow down and Mom and Dad had more time for each other. They always protected, defended, and cared for each other with loving tenderness. The morning of the day Dad died, I called home and spoke to Mom. She was sitting next to Dad who was asleep and they were holding hands like newly-weds. Dad died one day before their 57th anniversary.
I moved away from Winter Haven about four months ago. In the weeks leading up to my departure, I had some great talks with Dad. We both knew and told each other that we probably would not see each other again. Earlier, I had written these words to Dad in a letter:
"Everyone will live eternity in either Heaven or Hell. Everyone, including you and me, are sinners and our sin separates us from God and condemns us to hell. But Christ took the death penalty so those who believe in Him don't have to go to hell. If we believe in Christ as this perfect sacrifice for us, and repent of our sins, God will forgive us and not hold us accountable for our sins. Some people think you have to be good to be a Christian. Some try to be good to earn God's favor. Some just try to be pious or generous to get to Heaven. None of that is right. None of that gets you to heaven. But Christ earned God's favor for us, and He offers it to those who will accept it."
That was a launching point for some discussion about what was really important: final words between us that I will always remember. Dad's way was to quickly move from small talk and to communicate with people on subjects that were really important -- often in a deep and intimate way that was even a bit surprising at times. Here was this big, strong, important guy and he's suddenly become this tender, approachable, compassionate person genuinely engaging with me about things that really matter.
Jesus tells a story in the Bible about a man who died and who then wanted the opportunity to go back and tell his loved ones more about eternity, about Heaven and hell. Remembering Dad as the great teacher that he was, I think he is thinking the same thing right now. He would be explaining to us that Christ is knocking at the door to your heart, and if you don't have a personal relationship with Him -- you need to invite Him in and live eternity in Heaven. Like all of Dad's advice, this is the best that there is.
I love my Dad for his legacy of courage and integrity. For all that he passed onto me and my family. All of us will long revere how he taught us to live. How he loved us. How he taught us to love, and how he lived a life of consistency. Someone told me this week that to them Dad was a "larger-than-life" kind of a man. And I guess that is true -- but to me he was just a great Dad. An unforgettable Dad -- a Dad I keep trying to emulate and one that I'll always love.
