Dick Bates was born in New Haven CT, April 27, 1922, son of Carl Alley Bates and Anne Hutchison Bates, and grew up on York St in West Haven. Dick's dad Carl was the middle of a boy-boy-girl family, and lost his mother when he was 6. Dick was also the middle of a boy-boy-girl family, and lost his father and aunt when he was 7 in a car accident. He had one prominent memory of his dad that became a model for his own family life:

“He was working downstairs with a saw, and there was sawdust all around the place. He said, ‘well Dick, let's go for a walk.’ So we went out the back, and he grabbed hold of me and lifted me up and put me on his shoulders.  And we walked out the back gate onto Clark Street, and we walked up Clark Street, and I had a ball. We talked about everything. But he'd stopped his work just to do that with his son, and I thought that was pretty great.”

Dick, his brother Ed and sister Betty were raised by Anne as a single mother during the Great Depression of the 1930's. Dick remembered seeing a milk bill for $200, and marveled at Gran’s ability to extend credit by simply making small payments with a sincere apology. She worked full time to keep the family together and not be on welfare. In these formative years, Dick was a confessed rascal, and grew a profound love and respect for his mom. Her patience and wisdom more than once got him out of trouble, and developed in him a strong sense of responsibility and reverence. His spirit of self-reliance, gratitude and common sense can be traced to Gran's example. Here’s a fond memory of the time:

“In the morning, I'd get up, and I'd go into the kitchen, and I would make coffee. And I would take my mother a cup of coffee in bed. She slept in the living room on a couch that folded out, because we just had half a house, we rented out the upstairs. And I would get in bed with her, and curl up around her back so she'd lean back against me, and I would be her support while she drank her coffee. And during those times, there wasn't anything that I can remember, that I wouldn't talk to her about. It was just the closest time. I was maybe a freshman in High School, or 8th grade. She had so much savvy.”

He had a father figure in his uncle George Hutchison, who was a New Haven high school principal. The Bates and Hutchison families visited often and shared holidays together. Dick recalled as a young teenager, being asked by George to turn on the garden hose lightly. When he did, the water barely dribbled out, and George said “Dick, I can pee a bigger stream than that, now please turn it on!” Dick was thrilled to be talked to that way by a man he respected, and you can almost hear Dick saying it himself, as he adopted a similar down-to-earth style of expression.

Ed and Dick were very close, and were both Eagle Scouts. At scout camp they were canoe champs. Ed was strong and Dick was good at maneuvering. They easily won races because they could turn so well, and were invincible in jousting, with Dick at the helm to bring them around in a broadside attack, and Ed to deliver the blow. When they were a little older, they bought a Model A together for $15, and on the way home they had to replace the head gasket. They walked to the nearest gas station, bought parts and borrowed tools, and fixed it up pretty well, but neglected to call home. Gran was frantically scared of another car accident. They deeply regretted putting her through that.

In August 1942, 8 months after Pearl Harbor, at the age of 20, Dick enlisted in the Navy and was stationed on the destroyer USS Caperton, embarking on the great and terrible adventure which was WWII. This became another defining stage of his life as he, like so many others, was forged into a man. Trained as a radio technician, he rose to the rank of Chief and received a commendation. Although he made light of his service, the Caperton was known as “one of the ‘fightingest’ destroyers of the Pacific theater”, including one famous story in which she narrowly escaped bombardment by onshore batteries:

“I think the scariest part of the war was the time we went in to sink a ship that was in a harbor on an island. We got in there and found out they had a torpedo net around the boat, so we started to shoot a lot of 5 inch shells into it. It was a freighter. And all of a sudden these 8 inch shells came at us from up on the hill. And of course the skipper called for flank speed right now. And he started out of there, and he'd just watch up there at the hill. Every time he'd see the flash, he'd say full left rudder, or full right rudder, and these 2 shells would land right where we would have been! The doc and I were standing out on the deck.  But we got out of there all right, and radioed back exactly what the location of that gun was, and pretty soon there were planes flying over to take that gun out. “

Culminating the war, he was present in Tokyo Bay at the signing of the surrender, recalling the thunderous waves of planes designed to remove all doubt about the outcome. Upon returning home to New Haven, he found his sister Betty engaged to David Tuckerman. Upon visiting the Tuckerman family, he was taken by Dave's sister Ruth. Ruth was an Ensign in the WAVES, outranking Dick, or as he put it, "she was ranker than I was." Like so many after the war, Dick and Ruth were ready to start a family, and were married within a few short months, 5 months ahead of Dave and Betts. A year later in 1947, tragedy struck Dick's family again when his brother Ed was killed in an industrial explosion in Texas, leaving Dick as the only man of the family. In 1950 with two kids already, Dick was called to service again for the Korean War, in which he served aboard the aircraft carrier USS Leyte.

While Dick worked in NY, he lived first in Manchester CT, then Metuchen NJ. In 1962 he relocated to North Andover MA, remaining there until he retired in 1978. He took an early retirement in order to have plenty of time and energy to do many different things. Dick and Ruth bought a beautiful property in Cornwall, VT overlooking the Green Mountains, and built their dream retirement home, designed by Dick and built by the loving labor of family and friends. They looked forward to a happy and active retirement together there, but it was not to be. Ruth had begun cancer treatments before the move, and continued in VT with regular trips to Burlington. In 1978 Ruth died in her new home, having seen to its completion. Dick and Ruth were married 32 years and shared a deep faith, allowing them to embrace this twist of fate. Their witness was admired, and Dick was sometimes asked to testify. One such call came from Helen Hathorn, secretary of St. James Episcopal Church in Woodstock. Dick accepted her invitation… and Helen accepted his proposal… and they were married there in 1980.

Dick’s eight grandchildren and Helen’s two grandchildren were all born between 1984 and 1997. Grandpa’s house on Cider Mill Road was a very special place for them. Dick had built a pond for swimming in summer, and the hill was great for winter sledding. The house had a magic to it as an extension of himself, with the TV hidden behind the painting with the motorized lifter, and the miniature cannon for shooting marbles. The tractor was a favorite ride, and Dick would lift the kids up in the bucket to pick apples. Who can forget the Weber-cooked chicken, fresh garden vegetables and of course, rhubarb pie! These were golden years of grandparenthood for Dick and Helen. They also enjoyed traveling, with trips to Europe, Canada and elsewhere. They played an active role in church, they walked and snowshoed together, and Dick realized his dream of learning to fly a plane.

In 2003 at the age of 81, Dick and Helen decided to give up the country acres for supported living at Nichols Village in Groveland, Mass, and are among the longest tenants there. There they have continued to walk together, to be gracious hosts, and to demonstrate sincere interest and kindness to residents and guests alike. Dick’s strength and agility receded in later years. Even so, he kept up his positive mind, amazing memory and avid story-telling, and corny but endearing sense of humor, even bragging about the racing stripes on his walker.

Dick learned to accept death from an early age and through hard times. Death had no sting for him. He passed away in peace, and is home, for that we are grateful. The memory he leaves with us is his simple, child-like joy of life, and his quiet confidence in the life everlasting. He was truly the salt of the earth.

These eulogies were given by Dick's three sons at the memorial service, St. James Episcopal Church, Groveland, October 5.

Pete

One of my fun recent memories with Dad was a beach trip; Dad loved swimming in the cold ocean, and afterward I think we went to Essex for Fried Clams…a very simple but fun day, which was the way Dad liked it. Dad enjoyed the day and said to me “Pete, you really know how to live!” I felt that was about the highest praise I could receive from Dad—of course I responded “thanks Dad, I learned from the best!” Dad definitely knew how to live and he included all of us.

We didn’t do expensive things as a family (there were 6 kids!), but we all grew up loving the outdoors. We learned the basics of camping when we were just old enough to hold a hatchet and cut kindling. I remember getting roused out of bed early on a Saturday to go to Johnson State Park and have a breakfast picnic of cornmeal pancakes cooked on a fire, or all pile into the VW bus to go skiing for a day at King Ridge in NH. Whatever we did together was an adventure… worried that you might have forgotten something? Dad would say “whatever you don’t have you can do without!”

Dad epitomized for me what it means to be a good citizen and a good person. He respected authority but questioned assumptions, in fact sometimes he’d argue the opposite of whatever your point of view was even if he agreed with you just to make you think about it. He was honest and responsible and independent and he expected the same of us. When I did something stupid or irresponsible the harshest punishment Dad needed to administer was to express his disappointment—but that was rare (you had to really mess up…).

I was recently driving down the highway thinking about life…as we all do when we lose someone we love…but I was actually thinking a lot of happy thoughts. I was thinking about the changes we experience, the chapters we go through, and what a wonderful and happy chapter this last 33 years with Helen has been for Dad and for all of us. I was thinking about this next chapter for Helen as well…more changes, the sorrows and the joys to be experienced, the life that continues. As I drove I flipped through the mental photo album of so many shared experiences with Dad—sailing, camping, fixing the car, building the house—all such happy memories; and then I heard the sound of Dad’s two toned whistle and it made my heart jump. It was the whistle Dad used to call us home, to call us to family, to dinner, to rally together, to return to the embrace of parents.

So many people grow up without a father or with only the shadow of a father…we not only had a very present father, we had a great dad. Thanks Pops, you done good.

Ken

Dad was strong… In fact, he’d get a lot stronger by blowing on his thumb to "inflate" his bicep until they looked gigantic to a 4 or 5 year old! He'd then squeeze his thumb to "deflate" his muscle.

Dad was smart… When my high school biology teacher referred to the “blood” on the plate of a rare steak, I blurted out “That’s not blood, it’s cellular juices! My dad told me so!” After I returned from the Principal’s office, my friends asked, so your dad’s a biologist? I said no, he works for the Bell Labs, but you don’t understand, he KNOWS stuff like this! This was not elementary school; this was high school.

Dad was strict… he’d transform into a drill sargent when we got onto the sailboat, where he would demand that the boat be trim and the jib would NOT be allowed to luff. He just wanted it all to be done right.

Dad was stylish… as proven by his crushed fedora in the early years, and then his growing and shaving off beards more times than anyone else I’ve ever seen.

Dad was wise… when he was Santa at church Christmas fairs, he’d ask the kids what they wanted to give their parents for Christmas rather than what they wanted themselves. There must have been some long pauses as the kids tried to figure out this Santa...

Dad was creative… after a long Saturday morning of repair projects around the house when we were young, if mom was out he’d sometimes make us lunch, including bananas sliced lengthwise with mayonnaise and paprika on them. An experience I never had before or after!

Dad was a teacher… he’d often make Christmas gifts for us kids, but he preferred to work together with us to help us make things for each other. Thankfully, we grew up knowing how to fix, mend, or build anything. (or at least, BELIEVING that we could do it, whether it works out right or not).

Dad was genuine… he wanted to have a meaningful church experience for himself and his family. When he felt uncomfortable and unfulfilled by the church we attended when I was young, he asked the minister if they could pray together about it for guidance. When the reverend answered that the prayers were in the prayer book, dad replied… “not MY prayers”, and changed churches.

Dad was confident… confident in himself, confident in his faith in God, and confident in where he was going when this life ended. As much as 15 years ago, he’d recite his special poem about moving out of the “house” which was the physical body he was living in, and that house was not who he was, but merely where his spirit lived for this life before it moved on to the next.

Dad was trusting… he believed in us. He saw the good in us even when we were bad, he gave us advice but was fiercely committed to us making our own mistakes, and he forgave us and continued to care after we did exactly that.

Dad was the best… the world’s best sailor, world’s best driver, best knife sharpener, wood chopper, fire starter, pancake flipper, and gadget fixer. When dad gave us boys haircuts (which was all the time) he’d always ask the next day “Hey, where’d you get that haircut? To which the only correct response was “from the best barber in the world!”.

But most of all, dad was loving… you know there’s a difference between going through the motions to do the right thing, and really caring about people. All those who knew Dick Bates could see that he really cared. You could see it in his love for us and for our mom as we grew up. His concern for others that he worked with and knew. His great love for grandma, and the unwavering love and support that they together have shared with us for the past 30+ years as Grandpa and Grandma. Grandma, Helen, Mom H, for all the love we remember from dad, you have matched him stride for stride, loved us and loved and supported HIM so constantly and unselfishly over all these years. We couldn’t have asked for anything more from a Grandma… or from a Grandpa, dad!
So, in saying goodbye to dad, I’ll just say “well done, our good and faithful Dad” 

Doug

"Lord, Lord, Lord, you sure are good to me, and the devil can’t do me no harm." This simple prayer was Dad’s favorite, which I guess he said several thousand times in his life, and it sums up his outlook on life: gratitude, and trust in the Lord.

I’m so happy today! I’m happy to celebrate Dad’s long and wonderful life. I’m happy that I had such an excellent dad. I’m happy that at each visit in recent years, I could say good-bye with a kiss, and “I love you, Dad,” or “I’m so proud of you Dad,” knowing that each one might be the last. I’m happy that just last June, I could groom his nails, rub his back, and take him down to the river and watch him polish off a meatball sub.

Dad was common-sense practical, yet solid in faith. You did not want to get into a debate with him about spiritual truth. Yet he was the salt of the earth. When he naturally put others before himself, it was easy to forget some of the hard knocks he got in his life. Those were in his bones, evidenced in his stature and the reach of his helping hand.

I cannot separate the dad I know as my own from the image I hold of a model father. He is in me, and I in him, and that about says it all.

I’d like to close with one of Dad’s favorite verses, from 2 Corinthians 3:17-18. “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” Amen!

For information about family history, or to get access to our online family tree, contact Doug Bates by email.