Preface for 6/5/20: I intended, though forgot, to upload this years ago. I recall part of the issue was formatting it onto the website. For all those hoping I would have it up sooner and those who were unable to attend his service, here it the eulogy I prepared for my father's service:
In preparation to speak today, I remembered the memorial service many years ago for my maternal grandfather, Elroy, in which both my father and I spoke about our relationship to my grandfather, and the impact he had upon our lives. My father spoke about his personal experiences showing my grandfather's integrity, achievement, family, and the profound effect he had on those whose lives he touched. My father was never one to brag or place himself on a pedestal, so I hope he appreciates how we speak of him today.
Anyone getting to know my father learned he told marvelous stories. If I neglect or omit details, please bear in mind I am working from memory, and I hope you will each contribute your experiences today. On behalf of all our family, welcome to this remembrance of Mike Price.
My father was born and raised in Shawnee, Oklahoma. His mother, Loretta, meant a lot to him, and they shared a strong artistic talent. His father, Jack, had dreams of playing professional baseball until a factory accident left him missing most of an arm. Remarkably, Jack continued to successfully play for minor league teams, and my father would tell wonderful anecdotes about his dad.
According to my dad, his dad would take on odd jobs. Jack started working at a local bar where folks knew one another pretty well. The locals knew not to mess with him as he was very tough in spite of missing his right forearm half way past his wrist, and not being a large guy to start. One day a fellow came in, found it funny he was the bouncer, and decided to start trouble with him. As my dad retold the story, Jack raised the man off the ground with his left arm, and proceeded to beat the man senseless with the nub of his right forearm, which he described as a blur of punches like watching someone working a speed bag at the gym.
My dad didn't emulate every aspect of his parents, but he loved them and tried to make them proud. As a boy, his main hangout was Blaine's, his aunt Maybelle's clothing store. Maybelle even took him to New York City when he was young, and it left a magical impression on him. When not hanging about the store, he enjoyed going to the movies. He especially liked Westerns and Science Fiction. Will Rogers and Captain Midnight were boyhood heroes of his, and contemporary films like Matinee and shows like Mystery Science Theater 3000 held strong nostalgic affection for him.
Another personal hero of his was Chuck Yeager in addition to NASA and the astronauts. He built model rockets as a boy, and shared that hobby with my brother and me when we were young. We lost a lot of rockets, but no fingers. A few years ago, he fulfilled a lifelong dream to watch a space shuttle launch.
As he got older, one of his earliest jobs was at the local country club in Shawnee, where he learned to play golf. He enjoyed playing in his youth, played for his high school, and carried on playing into adulthood. In 1983, he played in a statewide amateur golf championship with a team of three other men. The won the Oklahoma tournament, and were set to play at the National Championship. On Father's Day that year, we gave him a bicycle. He took it for a ride, got distracted mucking about with the gears, and ran into the front of a parked truck, breaking both wrists. The doctors told him he may only get 50% of the range of motion back, but he was determined to play in that golf tournament. After having the pins removed from his wrists, he practiced through pain every day with the golf clubs until he could do it. He played in that tournament, which was held in October 1983. They didn't win the tournament, but he retained full use of his hands and wrists as a direct result of his determination.
Throughout high school, he lived with his paternal grandmother Vernetta and grandfather Allen, and spent a lot of time with his uncle Don. His high school elected him senior class president, and he was quite popular. Don's influence inspired my dad to pursue a college degree at the University of Oklahoma.
Like Don, my dad chose to major in architecture, and joined the Beta Theta Pi fraternity. Some of his best stories were about the crazy times he had in college. He once told me how some of the guys were sharing a small room, and decide to build bunk beds into the closet so they could set up a card table in the room. Another time, he and his friends went to Colorado in search of a UFO. He relayed many stories over the years, so I picture a cross between the movies Animal House and Fandango, the latter of which my dad said reminded him of his fraternity time in college, and the strong bonds of friendship he forged through various reckless adventures.
Due to his draft status changing, and knowing he would be called up for service while still enrolled at OU, he stopped attending classes in the spring of 1970. He and my mother were dating at the time, so they made a difficult decision to marry before moving to Canada. My father filed for conscientious objector status. Unfortunately, during these first months of marriage while in Canada, his father passed away after complications from surgery. They were unable to return to attend the funeral, which affected his relationship with his mother for some time. They returned to Oklahoma after about four months, and were approved for civil vs. military service, located in Kansas City. They worked first at a hospital then an outreach center to help at risk youths.
After Kansas City, they put down roots in Norman, OK. I came along a few years later in 1975. We lived in an apartment until 1979, when we moved into our house, which my father designed. For those of you who have not seen it, he put in a barrel-vaulted skylight that stretches the length of the house, a split-level style entryway to connect to the upstairs and downstairs, and a two-story great room designed to bring in plenty of natural light. The home has been featured on the University of Oklahoma Architecture tour, as was his current home where Mary lives today.
My brother Mathew was born in 1982. My dad supported us in sports and hobbies. We enjoyed playing games, and watching movies together. He taught me to play baseball, we'd take occasional skiing trips, and we took family vacations every year using my grandparents' motor home. We traveled to Disneyworld twice, Washington D.C. once, but we spent much of those trips going to Canada. My dad would chop firewood, we picked blueberries, we would go hiking, and at night we'd cookout at our campground and sometimes visit with fellow campers. We particularly enjoyed British Columbia. His favorite place was Rogers Pass, and we'd regularly stay at the Illecillewaet campground.
When Mat was young, the four of us went up a trail near Roger's Pass call Asulkan Valley. My mother gets vertigo easily, so she avoids steep drop-offs on both sides. She was petrified, and refused to let Mat or herself proceed. For better of worse, my dad didn't scare easily. As a father myself, I often have to put up the same strong front for the benefit of my family. Five years ago, a tornado came right past my home in Norman, pushing over a fifty-foot oak tree, which barely missed the house while I was inside with my son. During that moment, I thought about my dad, and how he'd react. He may be terrified inside, but you'd never know it. I feel as though my son learned some of the lessons I got from my dad that day as I handled it calmly to diffuse the stressful situation.
My father wasn't perfect. Growing up as only child left him clueless as to how to deal with sibling rivalry between my brother and me. At Christmas, he tended to buy presents for all of us that he wanted fr himself as opposed to things we wanted.
My father made a lot of us nervous with his driving. He wasn't a poor driver so much as one who was easily distracted. He would want to look at sights when he was driving, which was enormously disconcerting. He would tell my mother about his excellent peripheral vision, so she would ask him to start using his peripheral vision to see the sights. Interestingly though, he was the best parallel parker I ever saw. He once parked a motor home on the street with less than 2 feet to spare between other vehicles. It may have been the most memorable part of that trip. It's a testament to his attention to the fine detail when he was focused, and general lack of attention when he wasn't.
However, one of the most frustrating flaws he had was his approach to projects. It always seemed ironic to me how he ended up working with the Project Management Institute since he was the last person I ever wanted to work with on a project.
Once, my dad put up a basketball goal at the house. He poured cement, installed a pole, and mounted a backboard and hoop to it. It was 6" too high. A few years later, he decided to remove it, and wanted my help. I was around the age of 13, and about 100 pounds soaking wet. He rented a jackhammer to break up the cement. However, he opted for the largest one they rented since it was only a few dollars more, and he assumed we could do the job faster. The tool was more than half my weight and the job took forever to complete.
Most kids growing up do not experience putting up outdoor Christmas lights as a weekend-long activity. My dad would change the design over and over, and when he finally had it the way he wanted, we would discover we had the strand of lights backward, so we'd redo it. That would give him just enough time to decide it should be done a different way. Eventually we "finished," but he would go back a couple days later to redo it again.
He enjoyed building things. He built us desks, shelves, a tree house, a soccer goal, rebuilt our deck, and many other projects in which I was along for the ride. When he worked toward his PhD, he studies personalities, and how they learn. He identified heavily toward creativity, with weaknesses in following structure. There are many things I miss about my dad. I miss how he talks on the phone with hand-gestures and his doodles he left around the house, but I do not miss those projects we worked on together.
Aside from travel, my father was passionate about movies. He learned visually more so than through books, as do I. He loved classics like Citizen Kane and Casablanca, science fiction like Star Wars and 2001: A Space Odyssey, and clever comedies like My Favorite Year, Local Hero, and Woody Allen films. When he was in the hospital some time back and under medication, he started saying "Go ahead! Lash me you swine. You'll no loosen my tongue." His speech was slurred, and Mary thought he was hallucinating until I pointed out he was quoting Peter O'Toole from My Favorite Year from a scene where he was drunk, and they were restraining him to get him undressed for a bath. Years ago, my grandmother Esther passed after an eight year battle with Alzheimer's. As sad as losing my father was, I am grateful he kept his mind throughout. His wit was remarkable as times.
In high school, I spent a year in Germany as an exchange student. Both my parents were supportive of this, and the and Mat visited near the end of my exchange. This was the first extended period of time away from them, and this was probably the first time my father started to view me as a man. I showed them around, translated German for them, taught them about the customs, and most importantly I made all the travelling arrangements. Growing up taking family vacations, I had little part in the planning. The trip went quite well, and I felt I'd completed some unnamed rite of passage within his mind.
As I entered my college years and my twenties, I spent less time with the family on a daily basis. In 1997, I moved to Minnesota. Although I didn't understand immediately, my parents were int he process of separating, then divorcing in 1998. I suppose it was fortunate the divorce was amicable, but it was unfortunate my brother didn't have our dad around during most of high school. I had just gone through my first really tough break-up, so I started seeing my parents differently than I had in the past. Though I didn't like what was happening, I knew my dad needed to take a new direction with his life. Over the years, he stayed involved with our lives, but I could always tell he wanted to be more involved. I moved back to Norman in 2001, shortly after losing my grandfather, Elroy. A couple years later, my dad's mother passed. A short time after receiving his diagnosis, my dad decided to move back to Oklahoma as well in order to be closer to family.
I'm grateful he saw me get married, got to know each of my children, and got to spend time with us during the holidays making happy memories. My wife and I recently moved our family to Fort Collins, Colorado. We started looking at Fort Collins in part because of my dad's recommendation. We love the schools, the people, the weather, the views, and the general atmosphere. My father was very supportive of us during this process. He loved the mountains, and I know he'd be proud of our decision.
My dad's time was cut short, but I'm glad he helped raise my brother and me, spent twenty-eight mostly happy years with my mother, happily remarried, and had a lovely life with Mary. I know when he lived in Philadelphia, he enjoyed his job with the Project Management Institute, which allowed him to travel a great deal. He spent a lot of time prior to his lung transplant fulfilling many of his dreams and wishes by travelling as much as he could. Even though I didn't always see eye to eye with my dad, I always appreciated him having the courage to follow his dreams, and I try to keep those memories close to my heart every day.
