Today is the seventh anniversary of my father’s death. Cancer killed him, which is what you get from smoking for 40 years, even if you quit for the last ten or so. As with everyone’s parents he was a big influence on my life. Mom may have taught me about politics, about finding compromise and co-opting your opponents when your and their agendas coincide, but it was Dad that gave me my fire for justice and passion for the rule of law.
Dad once told me the story of how he decided to become an attorney. He was a company clerk for his company in Korea. In that job he was responsible for typing up the sentences for those who were convicted of crimes. What got under his skin was the fact that in almost all cases he was typing up the sentence before the hearing was held. Now, part of that is how military justice works, but it struck him as inherently unfair, more importantly inherently unjust. So he decided then and there that he would become an attorney and represent the little guy against the powerful forces that took advantage of them.
He spent his professional life representing the little guy. He loved nothing more than bringing suit against an insurance company or one of the automakers that thought their workers were nothing more than disposable machine operators. One of his proudest moments was in 1974 when he and John Barr represented Carolyn Ann King against the Little League Baseball Inc. for discriminating against her by denying her the right to play little league baseball. The case was ultimately dismissed because Little League Inc caved and asked Congress for a change in their charter that made it explicit that girls could join teams.
That was the kind of thing that Dad loved doing, bringing a little more justice to the world. When he was dying I wrote him the letter below. Every year I bring it out and read it over to remind myself of the commitment it contains.
Dear Dad,
I wanted to write you a letter to tell you some stuff. It is not that I feel that we could not have this conversation in person, but every time I tried, I got choked up and, hell, if you try to talk like that all that gets focused on is the crying, you know?
So, what to say? It comes down to just a few things. First off, I want you to know that I have always admired the way that you were able to boot-strap yourself from your humble beginnings through college and law school. Our society values the Horatio Alger stories (with good reason), but it is somewhat rare that you get to meet and know one. You will always be one of my examples of how determination and hard work can take you far.
I also wanted to let you know that you are my primary role model for what it means to be a man. I am not going to gild the lily here, I am completely aware of your strengths and weaknesses. Having said that, I really feel that you have showed the combination of strength and compassion; humor and discipline; and intelligence and knowledge that makes up a good man. If more men could live up to this standard, I think the world would be a much better place. All that I can do is try to set a similar example myself.
The thing that has most affected the way that I live my life is the way that you have lived your life rationally. I do not mean to imply that you don’t let your emotions inform your actions, that is not the case at all. Rather once you have decided the direction that you want to go in, you consciously use your intellect and knowledge to get it. Beyond that you never shy away from researching anything that interests you or you might need. To few in our society are able and willing to look dispassionately at their situation and form a plan to get from where they are to where they want to be; you have been a master at for as long I have known you.
I want you to know that the things you have stood for in your life, social justice; fairness for workers and the under-privileged ; liberal policy, and a general feeling that government, well run, is a strong and needed force for positive change will have a passionate advocate in me. Wherever I am, I will be speaking of these things, in both of our names.
In the years to come I will miss your advice, and your conversation. I have really valued your opinions, even when I did not follow them. But, I have had the time to know you and will always be able to ask myself, “Now just how would Pop handle this?” and have a good feel for the way out of any situation. I want you to know that I love you and always have. I have been and will continue to be proud to introduce myself as Ron Egnor’s Son.
With Love, Remembrance and Respect, I remain your Son,
B-
After seven years you have stopped saying good bye. I did not wake up this morning and think “Now it is seven years that he has not been around” you don’t stop missing the people in your life who died, but you do eventually stop mourning for them and feeling sorry for yourself that they are not there. If you are lucky (and I count myself in that category) you have something you can take from their life, something that you can keep moving forward even though they are gone. It is in my fathers honor that I do the work I do. It is for his dream of a more just society, a more fair work place that I will keep writing and campaigning and advocating.
To do any less is to say that dreams die with the man, and that is a proposition I am unwilling to accept.
The floor is yours