Dad listening to the music at our annual gathering of the men in the family.

Character, as it turns out, is important. It matters much more how a life is lived than how it is materially clothed. Since my father’s passing two years ago, I have often reflected on what lessons he taught by example. He was a quiet man, not given to verbal instruction. But he had plenty to teach, if one paid attention, as I hope I did.

On showing up: On Saturday afternoon or a weekday night, my father would put his suit on, knot his tie, and head to a visitation or a funeral. When you have lived in the same modest city for a lifetime, worked the same job, attended the same church, you are part of a fabric. When that fabric gets torn, part of it is lost. That’s when you show up and pay your respects. Wear your suit and say your condolences.

On being the calm voice: I have heard variations of the same story my whole life. In one, a water main on the jobsite is ruptured by a careless backhoe operator, shutting off water to an entire town. The crew members are yelling and pointing fingers of blame. That’s when “Mr. Bill” shows up. He quietly directs everyone to a solution and repair. In the 59 years I knew him, I do not recall my father ever raising his voice. I’m sure it happened; he was certainly firm. But it wasn’t in his DNA to engage in a blame game. Stay calm and get on with fixing the problem at hand.

On knowing when to help: My father, after I left home, never offered me assistance (other than a $500 loan, which I was expected to and did pay back). With some other family members he stepped in, signed co-loans, and covered possible catastrophic life events. I puzzled over this, was even resentful, as a young man. As I have grown older, I’ve come to understand more of his unspoken rationale. In his world view, most need to make their way in life and can take care of themselves. Others need a helping hand, and he was prepared to offer it. Wisdom lies in knowing who benefits from help and who is harmed by it.

On trusting in yourself: My father never raised his voice or prattled on … about anything. He had opinions, which were voiced quietly (although often one had to read the tea leaves carefully to know where he stood). His was an old-fashioned quality that allowed one to rub shoulders, not throw elbows, within a larger community. Know who you are and what you stand for; there is no need to shout about it.

On stepping up: Whether as a member of countless social organizations, a deacon or trustee at church, or a visitor of shut-ins, he always showed up and contributed in the endless tasks of the volunteer. Be there, get things done, and expect to do it without recognition.

On being loyal: Here is how it works. Go to work every day after school at a brick factory to support your mom, volunteer to serve in World War II, use the GI Bill to go to college, and get out and work for the same company until you are 80. Stay at the same church, stay married, and stay in the same house. Sit by your wife’s side every afternoon for 10 years, holding her hand as she fades away. Be a sticker, not a boomer.

At his death, my father was not famous or rich. Yet, in the life he led he had wealth of character. In the final accounting that is more than sufficient. “What would Bill do?” is the essential question this son often asks himself.

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