Good
morning. For those who don’t know, I am Mark, the eldest son of
Wesley Nicholas, and I’d like to share a few things about my Dad
with you this morning as we remember, celebrate and give thanks for
his life.
Wesley
Bernard Nicholas was born on December 30th, 1946, to Joe and Isadora
Nicholas, who were both in their mid 40’s when he was born. As an
only child, he grew up in the small oil refinery and railroad town of
Laurel, Montana, which sits on the banks of the Yellowstone River and
just west of Billings by about 15 miles. Montana is well-known as
the Big Sky Country and from the town of Laurel you have a good view
of the Pryor Mountains to the southeast and the impressive Beartooth
Mountains to the southwest. The reason I tell you this is that this
place and these views were deeply imprinted in my dad and no matter
where else he lived, no place could be or ever would be home to him
like Montana.
Growing
up the only child of older parents, my dad had a fascinating
childhood in that he was exposed to a variety of things by HIS dad,
who was a skilled and resourceful jack of all trades. His dad was
the town’s deputy sheriff, the water treatment plant operator,
mechanic, machinist, building inspector and a pilot, among other
things. This meant that my dad had a broad view of the world and
what was possible. As a kid my dad was a paperboy, played trumpet,
was a photographer and earned his pilot’s license in high school.
He also dabbled in hunting, golf, and wrestling, but the most
formative and favorite activity of his childhood by far was being
with his dad and working alongside him in their garage shop, which
was a wonderland of tools, machines, oil, steel, bolts, and screws.
It smelled industrious and was
industrious. It was a place where possibilities could become a
reality. And it was the place where my Dad’s jack-of-all-trades
skills were cultivated and honed. (And … if any of you have ever
been inside mine, my brother’s or sister’s garage, you will how
see these values are still in play, a couple generations later :)
For
example, in the back there is a photo of a homemade tractor that my
dad and grandpa built together.
After
high school, Dad moved to Bozeman and attended Montana State
University, where he studied mechanical engineering. While there he
connected with a girl from his hometown by the name of Barbara and
they became friends, playing cards and hanging out socially. During
that time, Dad became smitten with Barbara, and though I’m told it
took some convincing, he won her hand and they were married in
September of 1968. After graduation, Dad accepted a job as a
manufacturing engineer at the Western Electric plant in Omaha,
Nebraska, where they moved in 1970.
(Actually,
there was a little stowaway onboard who also made the move with them.
This guy, whom they hadn’t met just yet. ;)
So
Omaha, Nebraska, became the place where my dad and mom set up their
tents and raised their family. I was born late summer of 1970, a
year a half later my brother Mike came along, and then 4 1/2 years
after that, our little sister Wendy was born.
In
thinking back over our dad’s life, there are so many memories,
stories and values that I could stand here and tell you about. But
for those of you here who have only known him the past 7 years that
they’ve lived here in Middle Tennessee, I want to share a few of
his meaningful traits with you, in hopes that you will know him and
his legacy a bit better.
The
first thing that comes to mind is our dad’s work ethic. As I
mentioned previously, he was an engineer and worked at Western
Electric (which later became AT&T). His job there at that plant
was to design telecommunications connectors for cabling operations.
In the 70’s it was all copper cabling but in the 80’s they
switched to fiber optic cable connectors. He was a quintessential
engineer and was always concerned with detail, precision and process.
At the dinner table when my mom would badger all of us with the
question “how was your day?”, when it was my dad’s turn he
would tell about some supremely boring machine process and how it had
to “be exact” and how the part’s variance could not be off more
than “1/100th the thickness of a sheet of paper”. I still don’t
know how thick a regular sheet of paper is and probably never will -
but he did and he cared and that made him good at his job.
Dad
was a self-described workaholic, but it never did interfere with
family. His work life was deeply patterned and systematic - he went
in to work early by 7am and was home by 4:30 on the dot every single
day (this to avoid the non-existent ‘rush hour’ traffic in Omaha,
Nebraska). He’d come in the house, drop his keys in the ashtray on
top of the refrigerator and briefcase on the counter in the same
spot. In the kitchen he’d kiss Mom on the cheek then head straight
to his lazy-boy recliner to read the newspaper until dinner was ready
at 5pm. In all our years at home, this pattern was as predictable as
the sun rising in the morning and never wavered. Looking back, I am
deeply grateful for the consistency that he offered, even in
something as seemingly trivial as this.
My
siblings and I considered our Dad to be an extraordinary and thrifty
do it yourself-er and we grew up in awe of his abilities. Whether it
was building us a treehouse, re-roofing the house, fixing the cars (I
never once remember my dad taking a car in to a mechanic for
anything), electrical, plumbing, repairing clocks, etc, no matter
what it was, our dad could do or fix seemingly anything.
My
dad was not selfish with his abilities and routinely shared them with
others. He was the go-to guy for all the widows at church who needed
their cars repaired, free of charge. He would be at church several
Saturdays a month working on the antiquated boiler system so we could
have heat the next day during services. He also ran the “tape
ministry” at church, which meant that he would record, duplicate
and distribute cassette tapes of the sermons to shut-ins around town.
Dad’s
work and acts of services were very formative for us kids, and his
actions showed us that we were to give ourselves away on behalf of
others.
That
sounds a bit like the way of Jesus as well.
Faith
was a crucial element of our Dad’s
life. He was raised by his parents (his mom in particular) as a
Christian Scientist, which if you know anything about it, it is a
pretty wacky religion. It was in college and during a time of
searching that my mom invited him to a Bible study she hosted in her
apartment. He became curious about Jesus and Christianity and after
talking to a pastor there, eventually placed his faith in the saving
work of Jesus Christ and developed a deep love for God’s Word.
As
I mentioned earlier, he was always looking for ways to serve his
local church, but throughout his Christian life, he and my mom
supported many foreign missionaries as well, in a number of different
countries, several of whom have become lifelong friends.
After
retirement Dad became a Gideon and devoted much of his spare time to
distributing Bibles and serving as Treasurer of the local Gideon
chapter.
You
can see the pattern here… a life well-spent serving others.
But
there’s a couple more things I’d like to briefly add.
Music
was so very meaningful to our dad. He loved playing trumpet and was
a great player. In high school he was often asked to play “Taps”
at military funerals, he marched in the Tournament of Roses parade
one year and traveled many places with the Montana Centennial Band.
In Omaha he joined the Western Electric company band and would play
annual holiday concerts, in nursing homes and so on. He also played
around on the saxophone and piano. One of my favorite memories as a
child is that he and my mom would often play duets on the family
piano to serenade us kids as we’d be going to sleep at night. Dad
would take the high, melodic parts and my mom would take the lower,
rhythmic arrangements. My favorite song in their repertoire was
"Jamaica Farewell.”
And
even though he let us play with it when we were older, it was clear
that his large console stereo system was one of his most valued
treasures, and he would love to play his albums or listen to music on
the radio for hours on end.
For
being a pretty reserved guy, music was the thing that kept his
emotions right at the surface. He and my mom’s love for music
permeated our home, and the net result is that we kids loved music as
well.
My
dad was kind of a quiet person and not one who ever looked for or
sought attention from other folks. However, he was always quick with
a joke or a quip. I’ve noticed in a number of the condolences that
people have offered that they remember him as a funny guy. Dad liked
to think that his humor was dark and even started writing a memoir a
few years back that he titled “Dark Humor”. But truth be told,
his brand of humor wasn’t dark at all - rather it was DRY humor or
WRY humor even. Kind of like if Bob Newhart was a bit more awkward
and a bit more silly - that’s the kind of humorist our Dad was. A
lot of times, during a family conversation, everybody would be
talking about a topic and Dad would be sitting there not contributing
anything, but then POW, out of left field he’d toss out a quip,
joke or funny observation. Almost like a non-sequitur, he was there
just waiting to pounce with a joke or something that would tickle
him.
His
humor was the thing that let us know he was paying attention and that
there was a world of thought going on inside his head.
Dad’s
humor was almost always self-deprecating. In the back on the table,
there’s a little life history printout that Dad wrote back in 2004
that would give you a small glimpse into his funny mind.
There
is a lot I’ve left out and more I wish I could say to let you know
about our dad. But in closing, there is a single word that I think
sums up my dad’s life and his legacy quite well. And that word is
Fidelity, which means:
Faithfulness
to a person, cause or belief AND demonstrated by continuing loyalty
and support. And also, accuracy in details.
Our
Dad - and our mom’s husband - was faithful to us, his family. He
was faithful to his friends and faithful to his God. He was loyal
and always supportive. I heard him say several times that he wanted
to be known as someone who always provided for his family. And by
God’s grace, he was able to do just that. Thanks, Dad, for leaving
us with a good legacy to aspire to and a story to live into. Your
story was a good one and we are grateful for your fidelity in all our
lives. We look forward to seeing you again in the resurrection, your
body, mind and soul restored and glorified. Until that day, we’ll
be missing you being here with us.
And
while I’m being thankful, I want to publicly honor and give thanks
to our Mom, who sacrificed so much in caring for Dad his whole adult
life, but particularly towards the end as his MS became more
pronounced and burdensome. Dad endured so much without complaint,
and you were there with him, holding his hand every step of the way.
I love you, Mom, and I can only imagine the truckload of crowns being
readied for you in heaven. Thank you for setting a loving example of
faithfulness too.
And
finally, to my parents’ friends at Smyrna Baptist Church - thank
you for your welcoming kindness to my parents in their relatively
short time here. You have given them a place to belong and a church
home away from their Montana home. May God bless you for this. To
God be the glory.
