Crazy what you can find when you combine boredom with Google.

What I found was a great article written by one of the editors of Outdoor Guide Magazine about none other than my great-grandfather. I'm reposting here.




Siggie on the right



Hula Dance

By BOB WHITEHEAD

Dedicated to Henry Bowers, a World War II veteran, and my good friend.

Hi, Hank:

Working on the Spring Outdoor Guide here, and coming to your wake later today.

I know how much you loved reading the magazine, and thought I would write a few words for you before I came over to see you. I plan to publish these words in your honor in this next issue.

You and I met more than 45 years ago, as you were my stepdad's best friend.

You and Pop served our country during World War II. He was in the army, you the navy.

After returning from the war you both started new jobs at the Ford plant in Hazelwood, MO. Coincidentally you started the same day.

For more than thirty years that is where you and Pop made your living, and that is where you became great friends.

I was thirteen, and had two younger sisters and one younger brother when Pop brought mom and us kids to meet you.

We loved your place in the country, Hank.

Heck, you had a huge pond with fish in it. You had a garden with woods nearby and a tractor and equipment to hook up to it.

Your property was nestled alongside the Cuivre River. For a city boy, I thought I had gone to Heaven.

We could fish, swim and play while you guys barbecued, drank beer, and worked on the cabin, and there was always something exciting happening at Hank and Glenda's Place.

Kids loved you, Hank. And it was obvious you loved us too. You always thought of our comfort, and you were always clowning around trying to make us laugh.

Remember that night you took us frogging. Only you and Pop had done that before, and you were going to show us how to do it.

It was a big deal for us kids. We talked about it all day. Finally it came time to load the burlap sacks, flashlights, coolers and snacks. We jumped on the wagon and we were ready to roll.

Your wife Glenda and our mom waved goodbye and good luck as we headed over the hill.

I remember Glenda yelling out, "Hank, don't you let any of those kids get hurt!" You just smiled and said, "Yes, Mom."

Out of sight of the cabin you stopped the tractor, got off and told me to drive it. I'll never forget that night.

You knew Glenda and mom wouldn't let that happen, so you waited till we could get away with it. I saw that twinkle in your eye when you saw how excited I was.

You stood on the platform next to me, and showed me what to do. After that I always got to drive the tractor.

We caught a lot of frogs that night. You taught us we didn't need a gig, but rather it was more fun to "catch" the slippery amphibians with our hands.

I remember my brother Steve lunging for frog after frog. Mom wondered why he was so muddy when we got back.

Remember that time you saved Steve from drowning?

He had gotten too far from the banks in that little pond, and when folks started yelling, you immediately ran to water's edge, dove and swooped him up and back to shore.

You were always our hero.

Remember the tattoo of the hula girl you have on your arm. Evidently you had acquired several tattoos while in the navy, although you said you couldn't remember getting a single one of them. This one was on your wrist and arm.

Sisters Sue and Sheri loved when you made that gal dance by flexing your fist. And you loved making them laugh, too.

In the evenings after summer's day, we would sit and eat our barbecue and listen to live music.

Another of your buddies, Eddie Taylor and his boys would come join us and play country music into the night.

Eddie told me once, "When Glenda made you all go to bed, I'd take the band to town. We'd play at a honky tonk all night, go home, sleep, get up, do chores, then head back to Hank's Place the next evening."

You always wished you had learned to play guitar. I remember you mentioning that many times over the years.

You and I talked just a few weeks ago.

We planned for Debbie and me to come visit you and your second wife, Arnelda, and we talked of old times.

Debbie has always said you were one of a kind. It's cliché, but it's true for you, Hank.

You and I talked about how your generation is almost gone now, and I told you like I have many times, you were one of my heroes.

You and guys like my Pop were the platform for our strong and vibrant middle class. Loyal to your country, union men to the core, honest and hard working, it was easy to look up to you.

And while it makes me sad to think you are gone, just think, Hank.

Now that you've got an eternity to live, you can pick up that guitar. Maybe you can hook up with Elvis. I bet he doesn't have anything to do.

And Ernest Tubb, and Hank Williams and Patsy Cline - just think of the fun you're going to have.

I can just imagine you and Pop and some of the others sitting with St. Peter right now, the barbecue on, beers flowing, music playing, that hula gal a dancin'.

And while I am in no hurry, I assure you, I know my time will come.

When I get there, we're going to have one hell of a wingding, and I am counting on you to be leading the band.

Source: http://outdoorguidemagazine.com/editors.php

my Siggie

Note: I wrote most of this the week after the funeral, but kept getting all weepy so I couldn't finish it. He actually passed away on March 21. 

Last Monday night, my great-grandfather passed away. I spent most of last week in Troy, MO, where he'd lived for many years, to attend the funeral and be with family. In life, my "Siggie" (so named by my mom because he used to smoke cigars) made a huge impression on me, and that continued in his death.

To say there's no one like Siggie is an understatement. He was a gunner on merchant ships in World War II, and he was a true sailor. As a little girl I used to always ask him to make the hula girl tattoo on his forearm dance. He was the best storyteller in the world. He told stories of the war, his years spent working at Ford Motor Company, stories about my great-grandmother, Nonnie, and stories of pranks he played and crazy situations he got himself into. No matter what story he told, it was a guarantee everyone would be in stitches by the end of it. He just had a way of saying things and of laughing at himself.




At his 80th birthday party. Wearing beer cans upon his head.

  When we started looking through pictures for the video at the funeral home, I realized that you very rarely found a picture of Siggie without one of two things in his hand: a fish or a beer. He loved to have fun more than just about anyone I know, and he succeeded at it. He woke up every morning happy and energetic, and he stayed happy throughout the day. It was unusual to see him not smiling, laughing, singing, or whistling.
Siggie also cared about people. He knew just about everyone in Lincoln County, Missouri (example: Schaeffer and I walked into one place of business and mentioned that our great-grandfather had just passed away, to which they replied, "Is it Hank?"). He was involved in the local VFW and Lions Club, spending time with his many friends. I never heard him say a negative thing about anyone; he was too good-natured. His friends were of all ages and all kinds of social backgrounds, but he could get along with anyone who enjoyed a beer and a good story.



My Nonnie and Siggie in their kitchen


I've heard people say a funeral should be a celebration of life, not a mourning of death. This time, that was really the case. The funeral director, who knew Siggie well, put on some dreary funeral music during the visitation, then realized that this was all wrong. Instead he switched to old country, which felt just right. From the time the visitation started to the time it ended, there was a long line of people streaming in to pay their respects.

The funeral consisted mostly of people standing up to tell stories about Siggie. Some were stories I'd heard my whole life, others were new. But there wasn't time to tell all of them. I've never met a person who's gotten himself into more crazy situations (most of which he also caused). There was crying, for sure, but there was so much more laughter at this funeral. And for someone who spent most of his time laughing, that was perfect.

The VFW and Navy did the military rites at the graveside, which I had never seen before. It was really touching. I dare you to try to keep your composure while someone is playing Taps. After the graveside service, we went back to the VFW hall for food, singing, and dancing. We took Siggie out with a party, just as he lived his life.

I think Siggie's best friend of many years said it best at the funeral. He was too choked up to tell stories about his friend; all he was able to say was all he needed to say: "He was the damnedest guy I ever knew."

suffering

I read this this morning on suffering and idolatry...it was the most convicting thing ever. Ever. This guy spells his name all crazy but he's amazing.

Suffering does not rob you of joy, idolatry does