11/07/2009
Everything I’ve ever known about telling a story I’ve learned from my dad. And the challenge for me today is to summarize in a brief time one of the fullest lives I’ve ever known of.
My dad’s story began, of course, long before I was born, on August 30th, 1923, in Cleveland, Ohio. On that day, Norman and Philomena Moeller welcomed their 4th child, Robert John to the world. I don’t think they could have imagined on that summer day 86 years ago, all the places he would go, the things he would accomplish, and the enormous number of lives he would touch and forever leave an impression on. In a strong and loving faithful Catholic family he was raised along with his older siblings, Norman, Arthur, and Betty.
From young boy on, our father was industrious and hard working. He often told stories about the store his parents owned during the Depression. At the store they ran a lunch counter, and at lunchtime during the school year, he and Betty would walk home to wash stacks and stacks of dishes and then return to school for the afternoon. As a young boy, there were many other jobs he worked as well, including a paper route on which he was accompanied by his first faithful dog, Stymie. Another was delivering Western Union telegrams, first on foot and later on his first bike, a Silver Streak. While not and easy one, his was a happy childhood with devoted parents and loving siblings. His special bond with his brothers Art and Norman and his sister Betty lasted a lifetime.
In 1941, my father graduated from high school and then moved on to both college and the military. In November of 1945 while visiting Art in Milwaukee, he attended a Thanksgiving dance where he was fortunate to have caught the eye of the most beautiful girl at the dance, the girl who would soon become the love of his life, and the woman he would spend the next 63 years with, my mother and his best friend, Lucille. Having met at Thanksgiving, he proposed at Christmas, and on June 29th, 1946 they were married. In April of 1947, they too welcomed a child to the world, their first, Robert John Jr. ‘Sonny’ was followed quickly by Mary Beth, Margaret, Tom and Jerry, Norman, Therese, James, Bridget, Patty, Monica, Francis, and then in 1961, me, Anne. 14 years… and then, in 1966, sadly for all of us, losing their last, our sister who he named Angel Rose.
He was an amazing father, always there, and always fair. He was firm but kind. He was honest and gentle. He was generous. He was the king of the castle, and I never for a minute doubted his love for us or his pride in us. He instilled the value of education and led by example teaching us all that we must work hard in order to achieve. Growing up in our house there was never a dull moment. Swim meets, girl scouts, boy scouts, football, baseball, basketball, tent camping, music, dances, girl friends, boyfriends, pizza night, TV, popcorn, yelling, crying fighting, and laughter, pigs in a jar, and polyester leisure suits, he’s seen it all. Homework, housework, Holidays, birthdays, Sundays and church. Graduations, weddings, and then the grandkids.
And let’s not forget all of his faithful four legged companions that shared the house with us, including Mitch Jr, Sam, Casey Lovable, Max Bruno, Shane, Dink, and his little dog Winnie.
And even with all of this going on, he went to work in order to support all of this. And even more surprising, he had time for friends, there were dinners out for him and our mom, bridge club, golf and Y memberships. And still he found time to volunteer to many organizations.
In 1976, he retired to his and our mothers beautiful lake home on Enterprise Lake in Northern Wisconsin. But the retirement didn’t last long, too few beautiful sunsets, when he then embarked on his second career as a farmer on the farm they purchased in Hixton, WI. There too he continued to make lasting friendships. All the while, the grandkids kept coming to finally total 45. And then the great grandkids that began arriving one after the next. Once, upon telling him of the birth of one of my own grandchildren, he responded: “They’re like rain, they just keep coming”. Twelve days before my father died, I was able to share the news and pictures of our latest addition to the family, his 39th great grandchild, my grandson George.
If I had to choose just one word to describe our father, well that would just be impossible, but a few that come to mind are: teacher, mentor, father, husband, grandpa, great grandpa. Story teller, example, proud American, friend, neighbor, farmer, provider, cook, animal lover, creative, inventive, Christian, brother, son. Honest compassionate, witty, and fun. And my mother adds good looking.
There is an expression that goes something like if everyone were to throw all of their troubles into one pile, and would then need to choose from that pile, they would always chose their own. I can tell you with certainty that if all the dads in the world were grouped together and we had o choose just one, I know that my brothers and sisters and I would definitely choose Daddy.
