We, the family of Professor John Gara Nengel, appreciate the fact that we lack the capacity to write the biography of a man that was born, lived and died as an enigma. Moreover, there is such an emphasis on the enigmatic nature of our dad, husband and brother that even the thought of eulogising him is truly awesome. The one thing that is and shall ever remain true however, is the fact that he is physically departed from us but his love and memory shall never wax cold until the resurrection morning when we shall all be fulfilled in Christ.
On the night that Martin Luther King Jr. was shot and killed in 1968, Bobby Kennedy, tried to ease the pain of black Americans by quoting one of the poems of the ancient Greek poet and father of tragedy, Aeschylus,
In visions of the night, like dropping rain,
Descend the many memories of pain
Before the spirit's sight: through tears and dole (grief)
Comes wisdom o'er the unwilling soul-
A boon, I wot (think), of all Divinity,
That holds its sacred throne in strength, above the sky!
Yes, indeed, it is somehow true that in our sleep the pain, which we cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, brings wisdom through the awesome grace of God.
Father was self-made, extremely humble and self-reliant. From his education to his career, from his religion to his worldview, our father engaged with the world as a man who would be its master. Father was proud to be, as he said it, “first and foremost” a Seventh-day Adventist Christian and, then, a historian. Thus, the man who was an icon of history, a great man in the academic world and a mentor cum patron to the myriads of people, young and old, that he drew to him was, to his family, absolutely enigmatic in his principles and their application, in his idiosyncrasies and lifestyle, even in his communication, the man was the enigma. However, overall, he was,
Only a dad,
With a tired face,
Coming home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame
To show how well he has played the game,
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see him come, and to hear his voice.
Only a dad,
Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For the sake of those who at home await.
Only a dad,
Neither rich nor proud,
Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of us (them).
Only a dad,
Nevertheless, he gave his all
To smooth the way for his children (and humanity),
Doing, with courage, stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him
This, therefore, is the line that for him we write,
Only a dad,
But, the best of men.
(Adapted from Edgar Albert Guest)
That is exactly how we feel about our departed father