Robert Gale Goodale

My father passed away at age 85 on October 31st, and I delivered the eulogy at his memorial services on November 8th. You will find two videos from those services below:

• Video of the chapel services portion of his memorial services linked here.
• Video of the graveside services portion of his memorial services linked here.

Services were held at Melrose Abbey in Anaheim, California, where Dad's remains are interred, next to his father's remains.

There are also several photos from the memorial services, linked here. There is one photo, linked here, where Rob and I are throwing a shovel full of dirt in to Dad's grave. In looking at this, we probably look entirely too happy and jovial about this. However, that's what Dad would have wanted! Thanks to my brother Rob for the EXCELLENT arrangements he made for Dad's services, while I was hurrying to wrap up some business in Tokyo to get home to try to help out.

And many thanks to those, too, who in one way or another have made this 9-day-business-trip-turned-in-to-19 more tolerable for me; it has been draining both physically and emotionally, and I appreciate everybody's kind words, thoughts and deeds. I travel home tomorrow finally! :-)

Below is the text of Dad's eulogy, mixed in with some hyperlinks and some scanned photos (the photos don't necessarily match up with the paragraph where they're placed) that I happen to have of Dad.

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Robert Gale Goodale
Eulogy given by John Goodale
November 8, 2010

I am John Goodale, the fourth of five children of Robert Gale Goodale, and the oldest son. As such, it is my privilege to offer some details of the life of our father, and to do offer some of the thoughts of the family on this sad, yet happy day.

Six years ago this month, I was on a business trip to Tokyo and learned of the passing of my mother. So it was with great irony that again I found myself on yet another business trip to Tokyo, and learned of the passing of my father. It must have been in the fog of jetlag that I mentioned to my siblings in an e-mail that if we all agreed, I would be happy to deliver a eulogy for Dad. Well… no response ever came to that e-mail, so it was with a degree of relief that I thought, “Wow… I guess my siblings all thought it was such a bad idea that they laughed it off and didn’t bother responding.” But here I stand, so I obviously misread their silence.

However, it truly is with honor and humility that I face this difficult task. I hope I deliver remarks that 1) make Dad proud, 2) cause you to learn more about Dad, 3) stir up memories of some of the great things about Dad, and 4) encourage you to always do your best when things don’t always go as you envision them.

Robert Gale Goodale was born on October 13, 1925 to Ralph Goodale and Bernice Smith Goodale, in Redfield, South Dakota. In going through Dad’s things this week, I actually learned a lot about Dad’s parents, Ralph and Bernice, and really developed a lot of love and respect for them. I had met and remember “Grandpa Ralph” and got to know him a little bit before he passed away when I was a young boy. However, I never had the opportunity to meet Bernice; in fact, Dad himself, did not remember her, either. Dad’s mother died when Dad was just two-and-a-half years old, of complications from appendicitis during a subsequent pregnancy.

However, before we travel down that painful road, I want to talk about something that Dad really LOVED all throughout his life. All of you who know Dad knew that he is a very intelligent man, and that he loved numbers. So let me throw out a few numbers associated with Dad.

• 9
• 22
• 5
• 17
• 6
• 13
• 705
• ..and finally, 31,064

So now back to Dad’s upbringing. Shortly after his mother’s death…
Oh wait a minute. I guess I should explain those numbers:

• 9. Dad weighed nine pounds at birth.
• 22. Dad was 22 inches long at birth.
  (I think that with those numbers, some of you are probably questioning what it was that really killed his mom!)
• 5. Dad has 5 children.
• 17. Dad has 17 grand-children.
• 6. Dad has 6 great-grand-children.
• 13. Dad had a dog that had for 13 years. He adored that dog and the feeling was mutual; Dad recounts that the dog would even sing with him. 13 years that had that dog… a dog named “Lucky.” 13 years with Lucky. Ironic.
• 705. The number of days that Dad served in the U.S. Naval Reserves, trained as a pilot.
• 31,064. The number of days Dad lived in this earthly life. Dad would be proud because I’ve accounted for leap years in there and this is an accurate figure. I’m not as good at math as Dad is, but Microsoft Excel spreadsheets never lie!

After his mother’s death, my dad and his dad moved in to the home of his maternal grandmother, Olive Smith. According to Dad’s autobiographical account, he grew up feeling incredibly lonely and sad without a mother. However, he also talks very fondly of the care and nurturing his grandmother provided. Especially as his dad was a very successful traveling salesman, Grandma Smith largely raised him through these formative years.

However, as Dad was entering the 5th grade, his father remarried to a woman named Lucielle Johnson. Dad wrote that he was thrilled to finally have a mother; however, it also tore him apart. Dad wrote, and I quote,

Dad was taking me away from my grandmother. She was my security for the past five years, my source of nurturing. She was there when I needed someone to run to, when the outside world would be threatening and unfriendly. The old disquieting feeling crept back, my sense of loss.

Thus, Dad had some pretty dark days in his early, formative years. I often wonder how much different his life would have been… how different HE might have been, if he had had more of a “normal” upbringing.

And though Dad wondered these things, I don’t believe he dwelt on them. In fact, at the outset of these remarks, I mentioned that the fourth point I hoped to offer here is encouragement, to do our best when things don’t quite turn out how we envision them. In this regard, I wish to quote from Dad again, as it is instructive for all of us. He wrote,

Life is seldom ever as we wished it and thankfully so. Because we would not be where we are today if we had been given our choices and wishes instead of those visited upon us by fate.

What great words of wisdom and comfort those are! I know that I will try to be grateful that life is seldom what we expect it to be.

Dad was in his youth and teenage years when our great country even went through its own bit of things not quite turning out as intended: the Great Depression, and the great Dust Bowl or “Dirty Thirties” when the Midwest was hit particularly hard by severe drought and nearly-destroyed agricultural output. As Dad’s dad was a flour salesman and his livelihood was destroyed, they left South Dakota to try to find work in Houston, where Dad’s step-mother Lucielle had some relatives. After only about a year in Houston, they moved out to California, again where Lucielle had some relatives. Here they found relative success, and California became Dad’s permanent home.

During the remainder of Dad’s youth, however, he would spend summers traveling by train – alone – back to South Dakota to be with his beloved Grandma Smith. He loved those trips; he called them his “salvation” growing up. Dad once stated, “All little boys should have a grandmother like mine.” However, one part that he dreaded was sitting alone at the food counter at train stations on the trip back to South Dakota. Dad remarked to that this day he hates eating alone.

Dad entered Huntington Park High School in 1939, took college-prep courses, and played the cornet in the orchestra and band. After school, he did odd jobs around the neighborhood, and even had some permanent factory jobs that he worked at.

Dad’s entire high school experience was during World War 2. What an amazing and terrifying time that must have been! I think that the times were certainly reflected in his high school graduation ceremony in 1943. Going through some of his things this week, we found the printed commencement program from that event. The program’s theme was “The Four Freedoms” and featured four student speeches entitled, “Freedom of Speech,” “Freedom of Worship,” “Freedom from Fear,” and “Freedom from Want.”

Immediately after high school, Dad joined the Naval Reserves as an aviation cadet and was training as a pilot. Shortly after the atomic bombing of Japan, all cadets were offered the chance to go home. Just five weeks short of finishing the complete aviation program, he did opt out and was given an honorable discharge in October of 1945. He immediately enrolled at USC to study engineering.

Over these last few days as some of us siblings have spent time together, we have laughed and joked about the many ways that we’re like each other: the same laughs, the same mannerisms, the same way of speaking, and so on. So it’s probably no surprise to anyone that we are in many ways just like Dad. One of the similarities Dad and I share is that we both worked mostly as independent contractors during the course of our careers. Dad mentions just about four years of working as an employee for one company or another, and that’s about the same amount of time I have worked as an employee. Dad helped clients build things through his contracted civil engineering and architectural design services; I help clients build businesses in Asia. And ironically, Dad spent some time in Asia, and he always spoke fondly of the times he has traveled there.

Dad met my mother, Barbara Jean Wilcox, and they married on January 1st, 1950. They bought a home in Whittier, California, which is the home I grew up in and have so many great memories of.  They had Kristin, Barbara, Susan, and myself, John. My sisters and I remain very close to this day, and I am glad that Kristin could be here today. My parents divorced in 1967.

Dad married Joan Marylin Briggs in June of 1969, and they had a home together in La Mirada, California. Together then had a son, Robert. Though Rob and I did not spend a lot of time together growing up, we are amazed at how much he and I are alike as brothers. When you see us here together today, please try not to laugh at how we look alike, talk alike, and laugh alike. Our similarities are really amazing, something we attribute not only to our Dad, but to our amazing mothers.

Dad and Joan were divorced in 1973, and Dad married Flora Mae McKnight DeMark in 1974. Dad and Flora had one stillborn child from their marriage, the baby named Aaron Burtis. Dad and Flora had 30 great years together before their divorce a few years ago. Indeed, they traveled the world together, and talked often of their trips to Europe, the Orient, and the Holy Land. They loved to travel in Dad’s camper-truck, and the explored much of our great United States that way.

Dad spent most of the last 6-7 years at the senior living community Sunnycrest Chalet in Fullerton, California. Dad made many dear friends there, and really enjoyed his time there. We truly appreciate the help the Sunnycrest staff gave Dad there.

Dad passed away quietly last Sunday, October 31st. In July of this year, Dad had promised me that he would live to see the election on November 2nd. He didn’t make it, but I’m confident he was viewing from the other side of the veil.  Yesterday going through Dad’s things we found his unmailed absentee ballot, so nobody needs to worry about counting the votes of the deceased – at least in Dad’s case.

So that offers just a snapshot of Dad’s mortal probation on Earth. Now I would like to share some attributes of Dad, as well as some personal thoughts and stories on Dad as we reflect upon his life.

Dad had a deep and abiding faith in Jesus Christ, and he always enjoyed going to church, and attended congregations wherever he lived, even from a small boy. I believe it was partly attributable to this faith that he hung on to life and fought so hard until the very end.

One of the things that I remember my mother saying is what an outstanding dancer Dad was. I believe that he quite literally swept Mom off her feet. Unfortunately, he didn’t pass this attribute on to me, as I merely trip over the many left feet that he apparently DID give to me.

One of the things that I remember fondly about Dad was that he is an excellent singer, and I’m sure he’s thrilled to contribute his gorgeous bass voice to the choirs in Heaven. This IS something he passed along to me, and I really enjoy singing as well. For years, Dad was a member of the “Whittier Choralaires,” a non-profit barbershop singing group that raised money for mute children. As mentioned earlier, Dad’s part-shepherd, part-Seymour dog “Lucky” would often “sing” with Dad during his practicing.

Our sister Barbara recounts the following story about Dad’s singing:

Dad always had a very beautiful and powerful singing voice. I was a very little girl when dad's church hosted a night of singing and talent.  Dad signed up to solo a very difficult number, "Soliloquy," I think from the musical "Carousel."  It was very long with MANY lyrics and I was dad's practice audience out on our backyard patio (a very artistic patio, which he constructed). I very much enjoyed listening to dad practice and sing so beautifully... and in the process I also learned ALL the many words of the song. Dad performed magnificently the night of the performance at his church and I sat on one of the front rows. Somewhere mid-song dad forgot the words and faltered. I knew all the words and earnestly mouthed the words to him so that he could continue singing, which he did after a few moments. I choose to remember this when I reflect on growing up with Dad, but I was not quite sure I remembered this accurately. So, in July 2009 while visiting dad in Fullerton, I asked him about my memory and he verified my memory with gratitude that his very little daughter helped him to continue singing.

Dad was also physically very active, and enjoyed sports. I believe his old baseball glove is here on display today. Our sister Susan, an extremely accomplished softball pitcher in high school, recounts the following story:

Dad used to take me bowling at the bowling alley not far from his house. I always LOVED that. He taught me how to bowl and it seemed like I was pretty good. At least I felt like I was a good bowler anyway. Who knows, maybe that's why I was such a good softball pitcher? The sling shot style, which is how I started pitching, is based on the same principle as bowling. Between Mom telling me that I could do anything I wanted to, and dad teaching me the basics of pitching through bowling, maybe that's why I could pitch the way I did.

Our sister Kristin also talks about Dad taking her deep-sea fishing out of Newport Beach as a child. He also took our brother Rob deep-sea fishing out of L.A. Harbor, as well. Kristin speaks of Dad, always the efficient one, taking home the guts and other parts of the caught fish home to use as fertilizer in the flower bed. Maybe it could be said that Dad’s gardens really stank. ?

Now, Dad may have lacked some good parental examples in his life, and this along with other challenges he faced often made it difficult to express his love to his children. But I take this line from Dad’s very writings:

I am very proud of all my children and I love them far more than they will ever know.

Dad wanted to be a good parent, and there is no doubt that he truly did, and indeed still does, love us.

Dad’s life was filled with a fair amount of pain. I recount the following from Dad’s own writings:

I looked out and the world was dark and full of fears and uncertainties. My view was obstructed by the pounding that was a familiar part of me. The pounding was a headache again. It was not an unknown intruder into my life but an old familiar one. It dares me to look at the world and my life with rosy views.

Dad went on to write of a different kind of pain:

A rosy view you say? How can I look at the world with a rosy view when all I can see and feel is pain? My earliest memory is of pain. Not a headache but pain of another type. The pain of losing my mother... The pain of being separated and taken from my grandmother...

Speaking further of his physical pain, he wrote in his declining years:

Walking is difficult. The feet do not want to pick up and dance as in youth. Those feet that once skipped down the sidewalk will barely carry their burden across the living room carpeted floor or through the house. They seem to search out obstacles to stumble over. My eyes have lost their sparkle because of being dulled with the ever present pain of headaches. My hands, so steady in youth, are now thick with years of work and gnarled with calluses from hours of work.

Despite all this, I really admire Dad’s view of his world. He wrote the following:

The familiar pounding will come back and the world will look hazy and not as rosy as I would like it to look. But this is my world, this is my challenge, and this is my life. I will face it bravely every day and do the best I can with whatever resources I am granted and be thankful that I have been chosen to take this path of life and not the easier one that I view over the fence.

More than 11 years ago I gave the eulogy at the funeral of our sister Barbara’s husband, Steve. He, too, suffered a great deal in life. My sisters and I like to consider ourselves fairly devout members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, more commonly referred to as Mormons. We believe in modern-day revelation, and while this comes from one of our church leaders and a man we believe to be a prophet of God, I believe these remarks may offer comfort to all:

I have heard a great many tell about what they have suffered for Christ’s sake. I am happy to say I never had occasion to. I have enjoyed a great deal, but so far as suffering goes I have compared it a great many times, in my feelings and before congregations, to a man wearing an old, worn-out, tattered and dirty coat, and somebody comes along and gives him one that is new, whole and beautiful. This is the comparison I draw when I think of what I have suffered for the Gospel's sake – I have thrown away an old coat and have put on a new one.  - Brigham Young

Dad has thrown away an old coat, and has put on a new one. Let’s be happy for him. And let’s be happy in the fact that, as Paul states in the Book of Romans, “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18).

Dad was not a perfect man. But who amongst us is? I find great comfort knowing that Jesus Christ is our Savior, pleading our cause for us. In modern-day revelation we are told:

Listen to him who is the advocate with the Father, who is pleading your cause before him—
Saying: Father, behold the sufferings and death of him who did no sin, in whom thou wast well pleased; behold the blood of thy Son which was shed, the blood of him whom thou gavest that thyself might be glorified;
Wherefore, Father, spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life.
(Doctrine and Covenants 45:3-5)

I hope that through my remarks here I have accomplished my previously-mentioned goals. I hope that I have made Dad proud. I hope that you have learned more about Dad. I hope you’ve had occasion to remember some of the great things about Dad. But most of all, I pray that you have found encouragement to do the best you can, no matter what life throws you. I offer that prayer and do so in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, Amen.