A drawing of my father, Richard Althouse, dating back to the 1940s, signed by Henry Jacobs.
June 19, 2011
Happy Father's Day!
A drawing of my father, Richard Althouse, dating back to the 1940s, signed by Henry Jacobs.
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47 comments:
Very nicely done. Love the eyes. I can see every movement of the pencil.
How big is it?
Very patriotic.
I know that there are some really great dads who are regular commenters here; Happy Fathers Day to all of you.
I do think that the world is starting to become more aware of how incredibly important fathers are- I hope that trend continues.
- Lyssa
Happy Fathers Day, even to me!
Kid's coming over for lunch today. (Kid is 33!)
Now, can we get on with the bitching, complaining and name calling?
Happy Father's Day. Ladies, take care of your men folk today. You know what to do.
Its the professor's son JAC.
This is the man who put out Playboys on coffee tables?
I'd like to know more about him. What was his vocation? How many brothers and sisters does Ann have?
The Corner had a Fathers Day Card that said: Thanks Dad for not being involved in a nationwide cyber sex scandal while Mom was pregnant with me.
I can thank my Dad for that and my kids can thank me for that.
Ann, what is the story behind the picture of your Dad? What prompted the artist doing it?
Did they meet in service?
As an adult I've often wondered; what constitutes a "good" father?
My own father was rarely home. And when he was home he wasn't especially solicitous. What he did do well was work. Hard. For twenty years, out by 8am, back home after 11pm. He rested on Sundays, but not on Sunday nights. His evening off came on Tuesday. My mother would cook pork-chops, his favorite dinner.
Dad was a man of the city. Day or night, good weather and bad, he was part of the city. I too loved the city, but after he died I never went back. That's what surprised me, because I had never realized my connection was because of him. "He" was the city - not the city.
As his executor, he instructed me to spread his ashes on the grounds of Trinity Church. For years this is where we would meet when I visited - near where he would finish his workday. Always a man of the city.
But later he changed his mind about the ashes, choosing instead to rest on Bear Mountain. Where he could see the Hudson River, and hear the bugle from West Point. And see the seasons come and go. No longer a man of the city, but a man of the mountain.
"This is the man who put out Playboys on coffee tables?"
Yes.
"I'd like to know more about him. What was his vocation?"
He had a degree in chemical engineering and worked in petrochemicals purchasing for Dupont, then Sinclair (which got absorbed into Atlantic Richfield). He knew a lot about butadiene.
"How many brothers and sisters does Ann have?"
I have an older sister Dell and a younger brother George. Dell was named after my mother's grandmother, and George was named after my father's father (whom I wrote here. Apparently, they agreed to go with a family name from the father's side if it was a boy and the mother's if it was a girl. I was the second girl, so that rule (which I'm assuming) did not apply to me. Out of all the names in the world for a girl, why would anyone choose Ann? It's the simplest possible name. Not even an "e" at the end.
@Paul IV Yes. I told the story back here:
"They met in the Army. My father had one of those Army office jobs, and so did my mother, who was transferred from working on battle fatigue cases to an office job when it was learned that she could type. My father had made some coffee in his office, and my mother went into the office attracted by the smell of coffee. They were married two weeks later."
"Ann, what is the story behind the picture of your Dad? What prompted the artist doing it?"
I don't know. I think he was a college student at the University of Delaware. The artist wanted to draw him... for whatever reason. He was quite handsome!
"(whom I wrote here" = whom I wrote about here
My dad was a drunk (no nice way to say it) and could be abusive when he wanted to.
He did teach me the value of "look it up" (don't take people's word for anything) and that culture (the Liberal Arts stuff: he was fluent enough in French to read it, read the Classics like Ovid for pleasure, and was an avid opera buff - loved Puccini) gave you things all the technical stuff (he was working on a chemistry degree when he dropped out of Cornell - never heard why) can't ever do.
My uncle Bill and, to a lesser extent, my uncle Alec raised me (also the sons of their deceased brother).
So, Happy Father's Day to them. In that sense, I was lucky. Way too many boys today don't have anyone like that in their lives.
Are you genetically Jewish?
Almost Ali, thanks for sharing. Trinity Church would be fine, but Bear Mountain is good too. What did your dad do in the City?
edutcher, sorry about your biological dad, but glad your uncles could fill in and be your true dad.
Thanks, Fred. I wanted to make a point about uncles and how a lot of them do double and triple duty.
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
Robert Hayden
why would anyone choose Ann?
Because "A Althouse" would be incorrect English.
It was not the corner, it was AoSHQ. My bad.
Ann Althouse said...
"How many brothers and sisters does Ann have?"
I have an older sister Dell and a younger brother George. Dell was named after my mother's grandmother, and George was named after my father's father (whom I wrote here. Apparently, they agreed to go with a family name from the father's side if it was a boy and the mother's if it was a girl.
Just occurred to me, is Dell short for Adele or Adelaide?
I ask because Adele (or Adelaide) Althouse sings.
WV "chaster" What the girl wasn't after he chased her.
Fred4Pres said...
What did your dad do in the City?
During the day he was a water/building inspector, nights and weekends he waited tables. Had a big family, lots of boys.
He changed his mind about Trinity Church because ashes weren't allowed. His next choice was West Point, but they also had rules. Very law-abiding, my father was, he grew up in a different era. Like when I told him I would place his ashes wherever he wanted, he wouldn't have it if it was against the rules.
Nevertheless, he chose his "outlaw" son to look after his affairs - to make sure his few dollars went where he wanted. That his favorite clock went to the eldest, a painting of the city to the youngest. And to me somewhere in the middle, a pocket-watch made of gold. And finally to carry him up the mountain where the river leads back to the city.
Thanks for asking.
"what constitutes a "good" father?"
My biological father was a sweet man, but his time was totally consumed by work and drinking, and in the 60's men weren't expected to spend a lot of time with their children, and he didn't, but he was very compassionate and generous in every other way, which I think I inherited.
My step-father who I constantly resisted out of loyalty to my dad was a wonderful father for one simple reason: He loved life, worked hard at enjoying it, and got the whole family involved. He showed us how to enjoy the world.
Like my father, he had an addiction to drink, but it was ancillary and just a part of having a great time. Because of him, our family was always having parties, traveling, camping, fishing, hunting, and generally just having fun.
Like, I think a lot of people, I chose my values from the general culture (TV, movies, literature), but this man taught me how to live, and I still use his lessons everyday, and thank him for making me a generally happy and active person, which I think is the greatest gift.
Thanks Dads.
A fine looking man. You are fortunate to have this beautiful drawing.
I can see where your good looks came from.
My dad gave us, first brother then me, our g'parents Impala a late 60s model. It got 8 miles to the gallon and was scary powerful. My brother put in an 8 track. I don't know if our parents knew what they had given us. We got in wrecks and the car didn't last that long. (I bring this up b/c the link was about cars of Ann's grandfather and father)
It's so interesting reading these experiences, I'll hold off writing about my own father for another time.
Amateur birth order-ololgy: I think the fact that ann is a middle child is less significant than that she is the younger of two daughters. I am a middle child, and that says more about me, I think , than the fact that I am the elder of 2 daughters.
Oh, and growing up where and when I did, I never encountered chemical engineers. However, now that my father is in a retirement home, there is a larger representation of people - both professionally and geographically - than what I grew up with. And I met one guy who was a chemical engineer, from Michigan. I just don't think there are that many chemical engineers in the south outside NOLA and Houston maybe.
The one thing my brother and I truly regret we never got out of our father was a coherent narrative of his WWII experiences with the 1st Armor division in Italy. Anecdotes, yes, all the time, but never a chronology.
I don't know if he never cared to repeat it, or if he just thought we'd never understand (in that he was correct), or if he just thought it was one experience among the millions, so why not just get on with life.
RIP, Paw.
Both of my fathers served in the Pacific during WWII. Neither ever mentioned it, and I foolishly never asked.
My dad did say he would never wear any other color socks but white, because of how his feat suffered in the Pacific. That's all I ever got. What a lost opportunity.
I can see every movement of the pencil.
Energy is an indirectly observed quantity.
What The Crack Emcee is seeing and interpreting is one of the effects of pencil movement.
Very different from seeing every movement of the Pencil.
My Dad, 88, is a stoic scandinavian. He taught me how to watch and observe and pay attention. And he taught he how to find humor in the bizarre. Today he's spending father's day taking care of my Mom, who is sick with the flu today. He attributes this to eating at the Waffle house yesterday, on N. Atherton Street, a restaurant packed with out-of-town softball players (State HS tourney). Plenty of foreign viruses to be had.
Dad spent WWII in Britain, teaching chemical decontamination to soldiers.
He's always said that after teaching that, he could teach anything. When he got back to the states, he had no clothes -- because his Mom had converted all his clothes to her own uses, because she didn't expect to see him again. He was late applying to the UW, and the Iowa quota was filled, but someone wrote across his folder: His dad used to teach here. So he got in, met my Mom, and that's why I'm here.
I hope I didn't delete the millionth comment. How ironic would that be?
One other thing I have to say about my Dad, given the WWII references, when the peacetime draft was instituted in 1941, he enlisted. At 35, he would probably not have been called, but he felt obliged to go.
He was boarded out after Pearl Harbor for the heart problems that eventually killed him. Presumably, it was the cause, or possibly the result, of his drinking.
Your father, and your son who really favors him, are very handsome. Beautiful eyes.
My own father died over 30 years ago at age 56 from a rare liver disease, hemochromatosis. He served in WWII, was at Pearl Harbor and then in Europe. He did not have much formal education but was an extremely intelligent, well read man. He had a tough life: his own mother died shortly after his birth and his father never forgave him for it. But in spite of that, he was a great father to me and my brothers, had a wicked sense of humor, never earned a lot of money but would give you his last $5.00 to go to the movie when you were feeling depressed. I miss him. Thanks for letting me share that.
P.S. my other name is Ann. No "e".
Good looking young man.
Chemical engineering is a very, very tough degree to get. So a smart person, too. Just from ability to get that type of degree.
"Are you genetically Jewish?"
No. My father's side of the family is Pennsylvania Dutch and Moravian.
"Your father, and your son who really favors him, are very handsome. Beautiful eyes."
Thanks. I have another son as well. He looks like this.
Both of my fathers served in the Pacific during WWII. Neither ever mentioned it, and I foolishly never asked.
My dad was 'over there' the first three years of my life. Probably affected the bonding thing. Aside from mention of an old friend occasionally - nothing. Just once, when I was about 10 he got started and was quickly sorry. I was sorry too, just to see how it bothered him.
My own experiences in the late 60s remain vivid and profound but not so troubling. I never talk with my son or daughter about it and they never ask. Just a line or two that means absolutely nothing, now and then. There are degrees of privacy attached to degrees of intimacy.
If we were together - same time - same place - same shit, we could talk about that. But we wouldn't have to and we wouldn't.
Most 'war stories' are about about some guys who were like us but weren't us or about trivialities.
Of course, these priciples don't apply to journalists and some of the weasels who run for office (who dat say John Kerry?).
I went to The Wall in DC for the first (and only) time a few years ago. WTF? Like they tried to hide it. Then I saw Tony and Chuck in my reflection on the granite. Still side by side. No where on earth, IMO, is there likely to be so much communication going on between the living and the 'dead' than along that wall. Hard to walk away.
Sorry to wander off track. Both my sprouts called ridiculously early this morning - each claiming they wanted to be first. It's good to be Dad.
"I have another son as well. "
...and he's equally handsome!
Nice looking family.
@Ann- My father, Morton Althouse, who passed away in 1986, and was born in 1920, was a Chemical Engineer! Quite interesting. He worked for Allie Chemical before working for a small company in New Jersey specializing in fire retardants.
Sadly, we had no playboys on the table
My father's father died when he was thirteen. Alcoholism. My father also drank himself to death. He sobered up for WWII and had a good record during that conflict. He went from enlisted man to major. Then he got cashiered for heavy drinking. He was an intelligent man, but he never figured it out. He died on skid row......When he died, I tried to think of some moment of shared love or gratitude. I felt I owed him a few tears, and I wanted to cry. I came up empty. For all the time I knew him, he was either drunk and angry or hung over and angry. Then I cried for all the emptiness he left behind.
Althouse wrote: He knew a lot about butadiene.
I may be alone here but I find that interesting as well. Butadiene was long used by DuPont to make hexamethylenediamine, which is half of nylon-6,6.
Butadiene was a waste product of the oil industry. I wrote a blurb about the inventor of nylon here.link. I'm reading a Carothers biography.
Butadiene also has fascinating HOMOs LUMOs.
My late uncle was a PhD chemist for Dupont for 40 years ('51-'91), the last 30 in Wilmington, and he had a German/Moravian great grandmother (her ancestors left Friedensthal, Pennsylvania before the Revolution). I believe he helped develop Kevlar.
Her brother was a founder of Wachovia Bank, which helped put many of her descendants in clover before First Union bought it and drove it off a sub-prime cliff.
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