In an ideal world a eulogy is performed by someone who knows the deceased well. My Mom's boss - a great man... a World War II war hero had nobody to give his eulogy so the minister who performed it misprounced his name. I was furious and Mom had to hold me back from grabbing the microphone from him to give the eulogy myself.
That said, what you choose to leave in as important as what you leave out. In the eulogy I have for dad that you are about to hear I left out some important points:
Nobody in Eastern Iowa donated more blood than Dad. When Dad learned he give more often if he donated plasma, he switched to donating plasma.
Dad ran a farm while working a full time job as a saw operator at Link-Belt Speeder. One of his former colleagues said of Dad, "If everyone had Merlon's work ethic there is no way they would have shut down the plant in Cedar Rapids.
Dad gardened more than anyone I've met. At one point he was growing 90 tomato plants, growing nearly an acre of sweet corn and, of course, perfecting his beloved popcorn that we named, Dad's Popcorn.
I so loved that side of Dad that I had early childhood ambition to grow up to be a horticulturalist. Unfortunately, I am Mom. The woman married to a farmer with a very brown thumb... she killed plants faster than anyone you've ever met. The child who would pick up that mantle from Dad was my sister Kathy - who now has the distinction of being a master gardener.
Now... as they say... on with the show.
My name is Steven Merlon Kranz, son of Merlon George Kranz. As Dad has his father's name as his middle name, I have the honor of being the son to have his name as my middle name.
Dad was the simplest yet most complicated man I've ever met. Let's start with the simple.
Merlon was born on May 30, 1934. It was at the height of the Great Depression and his parents were in the process of declaring bankruptcy losing their share in the Newhall Bank and the feed store they were running.
It may be self-serving for me to say this, but Dad was a good looking guy. Self-serving because to see me is to see my Dad. When it comes to looks there is no need for a DNA test; I am my father's son.
Dad was insanely smart. In junior high he taught me square root. What's square root? 3 is the square root of 9. 3*3 = 9. He also tried to teach me tri-root... Dad was one of the few people on this planet who could calculate that... sorry Dad that was one I never quite understood.
Whatever stereotypes you have of cold, standoff Germans? That was Dad. Growing up he spanked me once. I don't what I did but I'm sure I deserved it. And I can count on my fingers the number of times we ever hugged.
I was not only not his favorite child (that was Miriam) I was not his favorite son (that was Marty).
The best thing that happened for Dad and me was a roadtrip to NYC for my niece's wedding. Dad and I both love to drive so the trip itself was no big deal. Send Mom and her sister on the plane and we'll drive it.
What made the trip special for me? We had a come to Jesus discussion. I was able to unload all of the reasons I thought he was less than a great Dad while I was growing up and he let me know how I was less than a great son. We were both right.
Now to the complicated(?) or perhaps simple.
Dad was of the era where a father's role was to be the provider. Make sure his wife and children always have a roof over their head and food on the table. So long as you do that you are a good father.
My secret sauce... my gift? The ability to tell stories. It's what makes a great teacher. Although Dad and I were not close until I was 40, I did love to make him laugh and I know for a fact I am the only one to make him laugh so hard he fell out of his chair. I'd repeat the joke here but it was definitely a "You had to be there" joke.
Let's complicate things a bit more. Dad was extremely close to his brother Wilbert who tragically died from an accident where he was sprayed by gasoline and a spark from an arc welder set him on fire. To say that weighed on Dad is an understatement. Not a day went by that he had Wilbert on his mind. Shortly after Wilbert's death my parents had a son and named him Mark Wilbert Kranz. Steven Merlon could wait.
Mark was not the ideal son. He was not the heir to the farm Dad had hoped him to be and he gave into his addictions. Shortly before graduating HS Mark dropped out. He later got his GED and appeared to be on a good track. Then his world came crashing down on him and on his 23rd birthday Mark killed himself.
Remember when I said Dad was a cold German? That night was a night where we not only hugged, he wouldn't let go of me.
We all grieve in our own ways. Dad never got over the deaths of Wilbert, Mark, and Mom.
He knew he loved them and the love was mutual. He simply didn't know how to process it. He never understood the squabbling among his kids. Dad had the "he's not heavy; he's my brother" burned into his psyche so my fights with Marty were something Dad would never understand. "At the end of the day always remember he's your brother."
"Yes, Dad" I'd reply as I gave him an eyeroll big enough that he laughed.
Dad's mission in life: Provide for his wife and children was a mission accomplished. He didn't have the skills to understand the touchy feely side of life. He was an introverted mathematician. How Mom and him ever hooked up is that Dad was a good looking teenager and drove a nice car. What did I drive as a teenager? A Chevy Citation. I joked, "You guys really don't want me to get laid."
In 1997 I had the honor of giving the eulogy for my mentor Bill Spellman. I stood in front of 800 people and trust me on this, there wasn't a dry in the auditorium by the time I was done. Dad turned to a friend, "I wish he could say this about me." On the trip to NYC I was able to explain that my relationship with Doc was beyond friendship and family. "It's not a competition Dad," I tried to assure him.
If you know me, know that psychologically I am 90% Joyce Kranz. I was her favorite. Working for a lawyer she penned a new will almost every year. In the mid-2000's she created one that left everything to me. I was like, "Please don't die before you can redo this one... I do not want the burden." Dad never got himself involved on these things. Mom and I loved to argue; Dad not so much.
Mom and Dad eloped on her 18th birthday. It was the first day they could legally marry without permission from the parents. Dad removed Mom from an abusive home and never looked back.
At the end of my eulogy for Doc I was able to look at the auditorium and say, "The best thing you can say about a man after his death is that the world is a better place for him having been here."
Although I am saying this to a camera, the sentiment is the same. The world is a better place because Merlon Kranz was here. He was, ultimately, a great man and a good father.
❤️
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