JACK C. HOOD 1919-1992: father's day, 2008

Our "affectionate daddy" was a good cook; a tenor, a debater, a wedding singer, a ladies' man, a cigarette smoker, a legislator, Liquor Board Chairman, hunter of mallards and morels; chicken farmer, cattleman, banker, notary public; and a damn fine swimmer, too.

Born in Ferndale, Washington; he attended Whitman College, married our mother twice and two others, once each.

He died in Tucson at the age of 72 of the smoking disease.

He was an unrepentant Republican who never lost an election; a cohort of Dan Evans, Joel Pritchard, Ralph Munro, and was more liberal than Gary Locke or Bill Clinton.

He was beloved to all who knew him and to many who did not. He tried with all his heart to pencil in his family.

We think about him in salmon season and always wish we could hear him sing The Foggy, Foggy Dew just one more time.

Here's a commentary about being at his deathbed we did  for NPR's All Things Considered.

Comments

[joanie]

My kids and I made pop-out frogs and slithery snakes for father's day cards. Makes me smile what some of them wrote.

Men were bigger than life in those days. My dad worked on the Alcan highway. I found a telegram he sent my mom. You had to work six months to get paid. He lasted about three. Telegraphed that he missed her and was coming home. I think she'd have rather had the money.

But, he was a bass and he loved limericks. A risktaker to the end and could be found wherever there was a poker game going on.

Don't mean to steel your thunder, Michael. I bet they would've understood each other pretty darn well.

[sparky]

Happy Father's Day. My dad was an only son, a high school track athlete (his record still stands at his High School in Oregon), an Army vet from WWII, a state policeman, a CB radio fanatic and a teacher for 30 years, during which time he was a beloved baseball coach. He loved a joke, crackers and milk, and he cried when my litle brother gave him a homemade ashtray "even though I wish you didn't smoke" and he quit smoking right there on the spot. He loved long rides in the country and taught me to fish, tie my own hook and to spot wildlife.
He died in 1989 at the age of 68 and we still all miss him very much. He had asked to be cremated and his ashes buried on the side of Mt. Hood so that everytime we saw the mountain, we would think of him.
So, if you still have a dad, give him an extra big squeeze.

[sparky]

And "Bart", there has to something specially wrong with a person who mocks a man's remebrance of his father.

[ArtInstituteClair]

sparky is apparently of the self-serving opinion that no one else could have feelings like her. Pretty much par for the course.

[joanie]

Sparky, I think those of us who are northwest natives and of a certain age spent many, many hours on the rivers, streams, lakes and salt water. Wasn't it a wonderful time?

Fishing was a big deal. But, I only used worms. And I caught bullheads which I refused to remove myself. They were too ugly!

I'm impressed that you tied your own hook!

Those were the days. I met a young teacher from the East Coast in the 90s. He admitted that before he came to Washington State, he was prepared for frontier - the wild, wild west.

Of course, that's not what he found. Too bad. He will never know the best times in the Northwest.

[sparky]

Ok Bart, sorry. I read it lots of times and it just sounded bad. Easy to do with just written words.

ArtfartClair: Bite Me

Joanie, I learned to tie my own hook to impress a high school boyfriend. I haven't gone fishing for a long time, so I would probably have to practice it again. Last time I went fishing was in Yellowstone Lake with my uncle...caught 11 and had to throw them all back because you can't keep cutthroats over 12"!! My youngest nephew is now learning to carry on the tradition.

[mercifurious]

MentalInstitueClair: Nice try.

[lukobe]

I miss Dad, too. 1920-2000. Same disease.

"Put another nickel in
In the nickelodeon
All I want is loving you
And music, music, music"