Eulogy for Thomas Mitzelfeld (1924-2013)

By son James Mitzelfeld

                                    at October 20, 2013 Funeral Service
                                       at St. James Episcopal Church
                                                  Birmingham, MI 

It’s so great to see all of you. My Dad, Thomas Mitzelfeld, would have been so honored to see all of you here.  He and my dear Mom loved this place . . . and devoted a great deal of their free time to making this a thriving parish.

As one of Tom’s three sons, I can’t tell you how much it means to us to have your love and support.  As many of you know, we lost my Mom on Valentine’s Day in 2011.  And although the suffering that dementia caused both of my parents is hard to quantify, there is one good thing that came from their minds leaving the building before their bodies did.  Despite being married 63 years, Tom and Audrey never had to say goodbye to each other – never had to face the reality that their marriage was gone.  It slipped away, quietly, when they weren’t looking.  We can only hope they are reunited in heaven, looking down on all of us and feeling good about all the love they left behind.

Many of you knew my father, but for those of you who never got the chance, let me tell you a little about him.

My father was a very unique person.  He was a real character. He was a one of a kind.  And boy did he have energy.  He was the kind of guy who always looked like he had just downed 2 or 3 coffees before he had his first sip.  He was as hard a worker as anyone I’ve ever met.  So it’s only fitting in a way, that tireless Tommy died on Labor Day.  It’s as if he knew, after all the hard work he put in, it was finally ok to rest.

My father was generous and had a huge heart.  He and my Mom lost three children shortly after birth, and thankfully were courageous enough to try two more times after suffering so much heartbreak.

My dad had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh.  He and my Mom also loved to entertain guests, whether it was the Hartmanns for Thanksgiving, or the Cresses and the Wilkenings for Bridge.  After hanging up his guests coats, my father always greeted his guests with a twinkle in his eye … he would rub his hands together and ask, “What can I getcha?”  I’ve never seen anyone so excited about taking a drink order and I’ve always thought, it’s a good thing he didn’t become a bartender, he wouldn’t have had any skin left on his palms.

Although humble and not one to brag about himself, my father was brilliant and accomplished some amazing things.  After graduating from MacKenzie High School in Detroit, where he met his “little Audrey” as he used to call my Mom, he earned an academic scholarship to what was then Michigan State College, now of course Michigan State University.  When he graduated in 1947 he had the highest GPA among all of those who earned a degree in mechanical engineering.  After graduating he went on to become an innovative auto engineer for GM, where he earned several patents.

He never talked a lot about any of these achievements, but he was proud of working for “Generous Motors,” as he called it, and very loyal.  So loyal, in fact, that as kids, if any of us even dared utter the word “Ford” – my Dad would get this stearn look on his face and say something like, “You know the punishment for swearing” and threaten to wash out our mouths with soap if we said the word “Ford” again.  It didn’t even matter the context or whether we were even talking about the rival car company.   This rule, of course, became more than a little problematic when Richard Nixon resigned and Gerald Ford became president. 

It was the same way with his alma matter – Michigan State University.  Throughout my childhood, if we even mentioned the University of Michigan he would look at us like we just stepped in something awful.  When I was accepted into U-M’s law school years later, I wasn’t sure how to break the news to him.  “Dad, Michigan State doesn’t have a law school” I pleaded.  My Dad had the last laugh, when he showed up at my law school graduation wearing a very bright, very loud green jacket.  He looked like he had just won the Masters.

Part of this can be explained by the fact that my Dad played football for Michigan State during the war in 1944.  A little guy, just 5-foot-8, he hadn’t even been a starter on his high school team.  But he was fast and there he was playing along side Jack Breslin.  He used to regale me with stories about how much bigger and stronger Breslin was and how he used to bounce off of him in practice.  As a freshman at MSU, my father arranged for me to meet Jack Breslin, who by then had become vice president of student affairs.  Years later, when I took the bar exam in the beautiful new basketball arena named after him, I couldn’t help but feel like I was getting some positive energy and extra karma from my Dad’s old pal, when I needed it most.

My Dad was also proud of serving his country.  In 1944, he enlisted as a cadet in the Merchant Marines and spent several months onboard Swarthmore Victory, a Liberty Ship that had the perilous task of ferrying bombs across the Pacific for delivery against Japan.  For many years, Merchant Marines had a kind of second-class status when it came to their treatment as veterans.  When this law was changed, I’ll never forget how proud he was to have received a letter that he was a full-fledged World War II veteran, eligible for benefits from the VA.  (Dad, it’s a darn good thing you pursued this, because in the last couple years, that VA pension came in handy.)

My dad was not just proud, as anyone who ever met him will tell you. . . he was also very loud.  At dinner time, my Dad – who was not easily embarrassed – in fact I’m not sure he was ever embarrassed (and as my teenage children constantly remind me -- that is not necessarily a good thing) -- at dinner time, when we were kids, my dad would just step out our front porch, and as loud as any human was capable, would shout “JIM - BO!!!” – He was so loud, I could hear his voice in the basement of my friends’ house, several doors away. 

When I played hockey as a kid, my dad was a big fan and took me to all of my games, even the ones that started before the sun came up.  Every time I would check someone on the other team, or score a goal, my Dad would let out the kind of war whoop – that would literally frighten those who had never heard it.  Modern day parenting experts would have cringed, but as a kid I can’t tell you how fun it was – and my teammates thought it was quite entertaining as well – to have him yell outrageously loud every time I did something on the ice.  I had my own cheering section . . . of one.

(Speaking of hockey, years later, one of my favorite memories with my Dad came after Lisa and I moved to Washington DC. I called my Dad and said, “I have two tickets to the Stanley Cup final game tomorrow night between the Capitals and the Detroit Red Wings, want to come?”  Despite being 73, my Dad dropped everything, drove through night, and sat next to me, shouting his head off, as the Red Wings won the game and hoisted the Stanley Cup.)

His big booming voice, and his failure to properly gauge when he should use it, certainly did lead to some embarrassing moments.  One time my Dad was in a park near our house, calling for our lost dog. “Max Come,” he was shouting.  He was yelling this so loud that a neighbor of ours, who was a raging alcoholic and who also happened to be named “Max” came barreling out of his house and asked why my Dad was calling his name.

My dad’s lack of fear in speaking up, didn’t always serve him well.  At GM, my dad was a brilliant engineer and on the fast track up the promotion ladder, when he was asked to lead a team examining whether the “rotary engine” could reach the kind of efficiencies that would make it a worthwhile investment for GM.  After weeks of tests, my father revealed at an important meeting of top executives – that according to his team’s calculations, the engine simply could not do what its supporters were claiming.  For those who follow the auto industry closely, you may remember that my father’s advice was not heeded, and GM sunk millions of dollars into a rotary engine program that proved to be a big bust.  But it didn’t matter.  The damage had been done.  The thanks my father received for telling one of the big VPs that his dream concept wouldn’t fly, was that his career at GM flat-lined from then on. He never was able to get back on the promotion track.  A more diplomatic or timid person would not have spoken up so forcefully, a less loyal employee would have moved on to a new employer.  But when I’m in settings where it’s clear that no one has the courage to speak up, I recall fondly that my own father would not have been so quiet when a louder voice was needed.

Now no recollection of my father would be complete without noting that my father was one of the most frugal people on the face of the Earth.  He was generous and would always give each of his sons anything they needed, but as for his own expenditures – he spent his entire life pinching pennies in a way that used to boggle our minds.  We traveled all over the U.S, but it was always Motel 6, and that’s if we weren’t camping.  He had enough money to design his own home with a 3-car garage, but he would drive around our neighborhood on trash night and see what lucky morsels he could pluck from other folks’ refuse.  He would collect broken hockey sticks while attending my games, and then made a beautiful coffee table out of them. He used an old vacuum cleaner he had saved to make a gorgeous, all wood, air hockey table. Our basement was filled with things he collected, and it seemed like we had every power tool imaginable, including things like a metal lathe.  Who has a metal lathe in their basement?

My dad passed on his skills to both of my brothers.  My brother Charlie, a skilled carpenter, electrician, plumber, etc., became a handy man who has rebuilt half of the homes in Ann Arbor.  My brother Bill, like my father, became a professional engineer, and has done everything from designing dams for the city of Boulder, Colorado, which I’d like to point out saved the town from the deluge that did so much damage earlier this month, to starting his own engineering company.

As we say goodbye to my father, I think the one thing we would all agree was how much he loved his family.  From his brothers, Jack, Lou and Bill, who we are so happy is here with us today, along with his wife Diana, to his sons, to his daughters-in-law, Donna, Susie and Lisa, to his four grandchildren, Heidi, Peter, Paris and Benjamin, to his many nieces and nephews, you were all so dear to him.  His biggest smiles and his heartiest laughs were the ones he shared with each of you.

We’re going to miss you Dad.