The final story from Dad's Eulogy

GIGANTIC GOLDFISH

Dad loved to fish with his friend Bill MaDinn.   One winter morning, he and Bill gathered up all of their fishing gear, and headed to the Snake River. It was snowing like crazy – but that didn’t stop them.  Their plan was to fish for steelhead.  However, after a bit of time, they realized the steelhead weren’t biting, so they changed out their lures and went after the fresh water bass.  Now Dad really liked the bass better anyway – so that was fine with him!   As they caught their bass, they put them on stringers and hung the stringers over the side of the boat.  There was no need for a cooler in the boat, the water was icy cold and kept the fish just fine.  At the end of the day, the stringer of bass went into the cooler, the cooler into the car and home they came.  

Kris and I were quite young, early elementary school age, and were of course curious to see the fish that Dad caught.   So, we opened up the cooler and looked in.  Six shiny silvery bass were laying in the cooler.   Neat!  Oh, wait a minute – did that fish just blink?  It did!   Dad – these fish are moving!  They’re alive!  The freezing cold water of the Snake River had kept the fish alive.  We asked Dad what was going to happen to the fish and he tried to carefully explain that he would clean them, and that we would then have a fish dinner.

Now Kris and I would have none of that!  Kill the fish?  Never!   So Dad, not wanting to upset us, did what Dad did best, he came up with a solution.   He filled the bathtub up with water, and dumped those fish right in!   To heck with goldfish in a bowl, Kris and I had big silver bass in a bathtub!  I think Dad figured the fish would be dead by morning – but nope, stubborn bass, when we got up they were still happily swimming around.  Kris and I headed to school, happy in the knowledge that the fish were safe swimming around in the bathtub.  While we were at school, Dad cleaned and filleted the fish.  When we returned from school, we were told that the bass just couldn’t live in the bathtub water, and that they had died.  To us, that was sad, but at least Dad hadn’t whomped them on the head and killed them.   

That was my Dad.

Story #5 from Dad's Eulogy

FUNNY FINGERS FARR

Over the years, I think I can count on one hand the number of times a repairman ever came to the house.  If he was fixing something, Kris and I were probably underfoot.  Dad would patiently explain what he was doing, in terms that we could understand.   I can remember many a time out at the lake when Uncle Karl would be trying to fix something – he might have spent hours trying to get something to work.  Dad would come over and just start turning this or pushing that and “Voila!” it worked.  Karl would get so upset with Dad.  He’d ask Dad what he did to fix it and Dad would just say “I don’t know”.  Karl gave Dad the name Funny Fingers Farr – and it stuck.  

Story #4 from Dad's Eulogy

MR SMOOTH

Everything Dad did, he did in a relaxed, calm manner.  Golf was no different.  Dad had a swing like Ernie Els – relaxed, smooth, effortless.  Joel loved playing golf with Dad, and Joel would laugh and sometimes say that he felt like a Shank-a-potomus next to Dad.  He remembers playing with Dad and how often the guys they would be paired with would comment on what a smooth swing Dad had.  Eventually the gents in the Men’s club gave Dad the nickname “Mr. Smooth”. 

Mr. Smooth wasn’t just on the golf course – and Mr. Smooth wasn’t always so smooth.   Mom and Dad loved to dance.  But early on, Dad just couldn’t get his feet to move.  Dancer he was not.  So, knowing Mom loved to dance he agreed to take Ballroom dance classes.  They’d head down week after week to practice and learn new steps, and soon they were gliding around the floor.  I always loved watching Mom and Dad dance together because like everything Dad did, it looked effortless.  Even this last April at Travis’ wedding, as hard as I know it had to have been, he and Mom effortlessly glided across the dance floor.

Story #3 from Dad's Eulogy

BEAVER-CLEAVER LAND

Have you ever been together with friends and had the conversation turn to your childhood?  How would you describe it?   I have always told people that I grew up in “Beaver Cleaver land”.   Our house wasn’t white – it was two-story red brick.  But that's where the differences end.

Dad was Ward, Mom was June and I was Wally.  Kris very definitely got into predicaments just like “the Beaver”.    The parallels to the Cleavers are uncanny.  Dad headed off to work each day and Mom stayed home to take care of the house, while Kris and I headed off to school.  Just like the TV show, no one ever knew what happened at the house all day.  But we’d come home from school to milk and cookies, and the smell of dinner cooking.  When it became close to the time for Dad to come home, Mom would make sure that all the dirt and grime from playing outside was gone, and we were cleaned up and presentable.  Then it was her turn.  She always – and I mean always – was dressed up with fresh make-up on and her hair done. 

Dad would come home and Mom would have an icy cold drink ready for him.  He would take his drink and the newspaper and go into the living room to unwind.  After a time, Kris and I were allowed in to see him.  We always sat down to dinner together – no phones, no TV – just family, and we’d chat about what happened that day.  As you know, Dad was a quiet man and he listened more than talked.  When he did talk, we paid attention. 

There was never any yelling at the house.  Dad could convey volumes with his eyes and his facial expressions.  You never wanted to get “the look”!   Dad always called me Kathy or Sweetheart.  However, when he’d say “Kathleen”, I knew I was in trouble.  If I heard “Kathleen Marie”, I knew I was in deep kimshee !  With all the stunts that “The Beav” aka Kris pulled over the years, Dad never yelled.  But we heard “Kristine Renee” and saw “the look” often!   Kris would just wrinkle up her impish nose and grin, and Dad would soften right up.

Story #2 from Dad's Eulogy

 JOE COOL & THE LOVE OF CARS

Dad loved cars, especially sports cars.  He loved the deep rumbling sound the engines made, and the way folks looked at you when you drove by in a cool car.   

In the fall of 1959, Mom and Dad had a moss-green Chevy Impala with bench seats.  Not exactly the definition of a “Cool car”.   However, Mom’s brother Karl had an all white, 1957 Corvette.  Now one Friday night, Karl wanted to take his date, Margaret, to the drive-in movies – and a Corvette is no fun at the drive-in.  But he knew his brother-in-law had a car with a nice wide bench seat!  So he called Dad and asked if they would swap cars for the night.  Sure!  Dad said.   The swap was made. 

Friday night, as it turned out, was the night when young folks headed to Riverside Avenue to go cruising.  They’d drive up and down the “ave” showing off their cars and trying to entice others to “Drag race” off of the red lights.   Dad just couldn’t stand seeing that white corvette just sitting in the driveway.  So he put the top down, grabbed Mom and down to Riverside they went.    He was so excited.  They drove up to the first red light, stopped and he gunned the engine.  The guys in the car next to him just looked over and shook their heads.   Hmm..     At the next light, Dad rev’d the engine again and looked over with anticipation.  Again, the folks in that car just looked at Dad, smiled and shook their heads.   He tried several more times, each time revv’ing the engine and looking over in anticipation.  Each time the folks in the other car just shook their heads, sometimes grinning.  Dad reluctantly went home, hopes dashed, and decided his drag racing days were over.  I wonder if the fact that he had an 8-month pregnant wife in the seat next to him had anything to do with it! 

Instead of a traditional Eulogy, I would like to try to tell you a bit about Dad through a few short stories.  This is the first.

IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN 

The summer after his first year at WSC, Dad and his friend Bob Willman were outside the Farr’s house in their greasy overalls working on their 49 Ford.     On this particular day, Mom was bored. She hopped in her Dad’s 49 Packard convertible and drove over to Bob Willman’s house (who she had been dating).  Bob wasn’t there, so she headed for home, but as fate would have it, she drove by Dad’s house and saw the guys, stopped and flirted for a bit.  After Mom left, Dad told Bill that he sure thought Mom was cute and thought he’d ask her out.  Bob told him to forget it, it would never happen!   Luckily Dad ignored Bob and gave Mom a call – and Mom said Yes! 

Now Mom lived in a big house, and suitors had to climb a long flight of stairs to get to the front door.  Her father sat just inside the door in his big chair and waited to greet the gents.  It had to be very intimidating!  Dad however, didn’t let it faze him.  He put on his Sunday best and off he went.   At that time, Dad’s Sunday best was one of his father’s wool sport coats, which his Grandmother had lovingly taken in for him.  This was some coat.  It wasn’t the dark blue that you think of when you say blue sport coat.  It was a fairly bright medium blue.  The front of the suit was blue and white plaid.  The back of the jacket and the sleeves were a bright light blue, and the sleeves had worn oval leather patches on the elbows.  What a sight!  When recounting this story, Dad specifically told me that he did wear his best argyle socks!  

When Dad arrived, Grandpa Cordes rose from his chair, to his full 6’4” height, and shook Dad’s hand.  He took to Dad right away – ugly blue plaid sport coat and all.  The same couldn’t be said for the Cordes’ very large Chesapeake retriever, Rick, who immediately did NOT like Dad.  When Dad and Mom would watch TV in the basement, Rick would sit outside in the window well and watch them intently, sometimes growling. Dad said Rick always made him very nervous – I think more nervous than Grandpa Cordes.  

One day I asked Dad what was the smartest decision he ever made.  Without hesitation, he answered,  “Asking your Mom out”.

Travis Prince (Grandson)

What can words say about a man and the indelible mark he’s left behind on all of us?  Grandpa, as you well know, was someone that I, and likely all of us in many ways looked up to.  He set the tone for our families, and in all my life I’ve never known him to raise his voice or speak a harsh word.  He didn’t have to; all he had to do was use my middle name and boy did I snap to attention! 

A few weeks ago, I called grandma and grandpa’s house and to my surprise it wasn’t my ebullient grandmother who picked up the phone, but grandpa.  Grandma was out running errands, and quickly he and I fell into the normal cadence of our catch up ritual.  I could hear him struggling to speak loud enough for me to hear him, and we chatted as if it were a normal Thursday afternoon.  As we were wrapping up, I caught the tail end of grandpa saying “…I love ya guy”.  Not quite sure I’d heard him, I said “what was that?” and he repeated much more strongly, “…I love ya guy!”  That was the last thing grandpa and I ever said to each other.  It wasn’t until grandpa had passed a few days later that this moment struck me and I knew deep in my heart that grandpa probably knew this was going to be his and my last conversation.  He put all his effort into ensuring that I clearly heard those 4 words.  He left me with something so special, not only the memories and the wisdom of how to be a kind and wise man, but how to love and be loved.  Speak softly, be patient, show courage and strength in the small things you do every day, and never miss an opportunity to tell your family you love them.

Ted Farr (Nephew)

Don is my Dad's brother.  Not was. He is and that's the way it will always be.  Lu is my Grandmother and George, my Grandfather.  Kristi, my cousin. They moved on to what I believe is a better place, one in which they will reside for eternity.  It is sad that they are gone but this grief comes from knowing loved ones will miss them, at least until they are together again.  Life is short,  Eternity not so.

Obviously, I've known Don my entire life.  During one period I saw him fairly often.  We spent some Holidays together until, as is usually the case, families grew and we started meeting with them.  The same happened with my parents, brothers and sisters.    Don, Annetta, Kathy and Kristi were the most welcoming, friendly people I came in contact with during those times.  One could never feel unwelcome at their home.  The entire family has a glowing smile and easy, infectious laughs.  No offense to the others but Don's is the best.  I posted his passing on Facebook and a friend of mine remembered him by his smile and laugh from over thirty years ago.  I will also treasure the times when we snowmobiled together.  Great times.  One time a friend and I stupidly stranded our sleds on Mt. Spokane and Don, Dad and others spent two days getting them out. Not once did he, or anyone else make me feel like the idiot I probably was for going where I went.  Never felt I thanked him enough for this incident.  Thank you, Don.  

 To sum this up....When I think Uncle....I think Don.  Uncle Don.  Love to you Kathy and Annetta.  You have been blessed and I know you will miss him, as will I.

Mark Farr  (Nephew)

 Don is my dad’s brother. He is my Uncle Don. Growing up,  every Christmas Eve  and Thanksgiving was spent with the Farr side of our family. Grandma and Granddad, Don and Annetta,  Kathy and Kristy , Tom and Margrethe Molly & Amy, and our family. This is when many of my most cherished memories took place. We would rotate houses every year, Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve at a different house each year. It was always special getting together as a family. It’s just what we did and that's when the magic of memories took place. Too many to list. I'm sure there are different ones that each of us remember, but I guarantee each one was of joy, and happiness and a lot of laughter.

 Uncle Don made model boats as a hobby. I remember his work shop and was amazed at the precision that these model boats were made. He had the Farr trait of being able to do just about anything with his hands. My dad had always asked for a new motor for his boat. I remember one year Christmas Eve, Uncle Don had taken a small electric outboard motor, one that would go on a model boat, made a small wooden outboard stand (to exact scale of course) and put it in a big box that would hold a regular sized 60 horsepower outboard motor. He put that little model motor in the box, filled the box with bricks and wrapped it in Christmas wrap. I'm pretty sure Christmas was at grandma and granddads that year and he hauled that box over there. Unfortunately my dad had the flu that year and stayed at home. Not discouraged, Uncle Don hauled that box filled with bricks to our house for my dad to open.  I thought we were getting a new boat motor and was very excited, but when they hand carted that box into the house I'm sure dad was even more excited . Of course it didn't take long after he opened the box that he realized it was a joke. Then in the middle of that big box my dad found a small little box, unwrapped it and found a brand new Johnson 60 hp outboard model motor. The work and effort that Uncle Don put into that, and the laughter and memory is priceless.

 This was my Uncle Don. He made you laugh and he loved to laugh.  I told him once he reminded me of Granddad. He looked surprised. Granddad was kind and gentle, had a sense of humor and loved to laugh. As years go by and families grow older, time and distance seem to separate us and our times together grow less frequent. Don and Annetta always seemed to be there though. We were blessed to have both participate in Mary Ellen and my wedding. Uncle Don took the pictures (another of his hobbies), Annette played the piano. I will never forget that beautiful piano in their home. They traveled down to Walla Walla  to attend Tressa's wedding. They were at anniversaries, special occasions, and family gatherings. I will miss my Uncle Don, knowing that he won't be there any more. But I will forever remember the many memories we all have of him and his ever present gentleness and kindness and laughter.

Earle Preston  (Don’s best friend)

What do you say when you have lost a best friend…a friendship that started over 65 years ago and never faltered or faded in all those years?     There isn’t much to say except I am so sorry to see Don go.  Maybe instead of seeing this as a loss of a friend, look at it as a call to remember all the things we did together.

Moving to Spokane when I was 10, Don was the first boy of my age who I met.  He lived just across the empty lot in front of our house and down the alley a bit.  We immediately seemed to bond even though Don was a year ahead of me in school.  The common thread that tied us together was a love of anything mechanical…if it had parts to rotate or had wheels we were interested.  Over the years it manifested itself first with model planes with rubber band motors, then little gas engines  (much more noise, therefore more fun!)  We ventured into the models and activities where the older guys operated (older meaning teenagers) but were able to hold our own. Our folks and especially Don’s Dad were great boosters of whatever the latest craze we embarked on.  Mr. Farr, who seemed a little gruff at times to us kids, taught us wonderful skills such as how to work with our hands and even introduced us to basic power tools.  As our interests moved from model airplanes to soap box derby racers, we immediately realized there was much more fun with those cars if they had a small gas engine fitted on instead of looking for a hill to coast down.  This led to a series of small cars made out of two-by-fours and whatever wheels we could obtain.  Most of these were powered by lawn mower motors and one even had a Maytag washing machine engine on it!  Needless to say, we were very popular around the neighborhood with all the kids…getting a ride on whatever was the current cart was a big deal.  Sometime during this era of model planes and go-carts we found ourselves building model boats with engines and began to experiment with radio control.  

From all of this background, it was only natural that the next jump was to real cars…Don, being the oldest, was the first to get a driver’s license.  A year later I got my license and this opened up a new era for us.  Using every possible excuse to borrow our parents’ cars led to cruising downtown Spokane and hanging out at the A&W.  Of course the ultimate goal of any teenager with a driver’s license is ownership of his own car.   I was able to buy a very nice 1940 Chevrolet coupe and that was the start of our drag racing era.   Within a few months Don and I had the engine out and were making several modifications for increased horsepower to get ready for the drag race season at Dear Park Drag Strip.  We raced most Sundays and had a great time.  When Don drove he was faster than I was.  With the little 6 cylinder 1940 engine in the car, we never went very fast compared to the big boys, but did we have fun!  Because of the small engine and the weight of the car, we were in a class where we did very well and took home many trophies.  We christened the car the “7-11” and it became pretty well known in the area.  But all good things come to the end, and Don graduated from Lewis and Clark and headed to WSC.

 Since I was a year behind, I lost my best friend and crewman on the car to the books at WSC.  I joined Don at WSU a year later and we did have some interesting adventures - especially a few terrifying drives between Pullman and Spokane in the middle of winter.  We would drive back to home on those visits in the 7-11, which even when detuned for street use, was not the best winter car…in fact it was a terrible winter car!  We often talked later in life about some of those drives and wondered how we made it without killing ourselves.  Graduation came for both of us, marriage and children, new jobs and new friends.  But never during those years did Don and I fail to keep in touch.  My wife, Valerie, and I visited Don and Annetta on several occasions and they came to visit us in St. Helena as  well.  As true friendships go…it is not necessary to call or write all  the time.  When the time came to get together for a visit, it was as if we never moved away from each other.  I will really miss Don but I know the time will be right sometime for us to get together to swap stories again.

Looking forward to getting together,

Your pal,

Earle

So, often I think about the times Don drove all the course raters to far off places so that we wouldn't be tired doing the rating that day.  There was one time that Sandy told us it wouldn't take long to drive from Spokane to Bear Lake - but of course that was according to her husband that was using a straight line for pilots.  

He was a great driver and I have to admit he put up with a lot from us women. Don you will be missed!

Love,
Jackie Brown