I never really knew what my father, who died last week at the age of 99, thought about my choice of journalism as a career.
My guess is that because he was a man of few words, a “yup” and “nope” type of guy, he probably thought the choice was at best “not bad” or “might be OK.”
Whatever his measured judgment, it seems only fitting that the tools of journalism be used now to pay him – and, by extension, others of his generation – a parting tribute.
People who reach the age of 100 (Dad was nine months short) are almost always asked what secrets led to their long life. It is also often asked what lessons the departed left behind.
In the case of Henry A. Knight of Wahpeton, N.D., the answers to both questions are very much connected.
The chief characteristic of my father’s generation was the ability to face hardship and simply keep going. Certainly in the years since 1906, when Dad was born, until the day he died, there was hardship aplenty, especially in his early and middle years. Still, he managed in the depths of the Depression to graduate from the University of Wyoming with an electrical engineering degree.
On those rare occasions when he was encouraged to discuss those times, he matter-of-factly told heartbreaking stories of broken dreams, failed farms, starving cattle and horses, and of a hand-to-mouth existence for many.
If it is true that stress is one of the main factors in shortening lives, Dad should have died years ago. The reason stress didn’t do him in, I believe, is because of the way in which he dealt with it.
The characteristic that most defined him was the ability to undertake any task, no matter how small, with the simple desire to do it well. This impulse was put to use, no matter if the job was peeling carrots or teaching calculus and physics to junior college students, the job he held for 35 years.
When my mother fell into a protracted illness because of a stroke in her 70s, Dad without complaint became her caregiver. He casually referred to the 24-hour-a-day obligations as his “new job.” He quietly did what was necessary for as long as he could at home and, later, when she entered a nursing home for her final difficult years, he was an every-day, all-day visitor even after he too became a nursing-home patient.
If there was ever an occasion when he complained inappropriately or was found mired in self pity, it escaped the notice of all who knew him.
This behavior did not make him a saint, but it did make him a a very good Boy Scout.
For 35 years, Dad was a scoutmaster and later, in retirement, a willing assistant.
The Boy Scouts of America, the association he loved, has been under attack for awhile now; it is probably a very good thing that he didn’t try to stay informed on the ACLU’s unrelenting attempts to undermine the organization. He would have strongly disapproved.
The hundreds of boys who were members of his troop have long since had many opportunities to incorporate scout principles in their own lives. Most have done so, but few have lived the Scout Oath any better than their old scoutmaster.
“On my honor, I will do my best,” are the opening words of the oath. While it goes on to talk about duty to God and country, the most important words are those at the beginning. If that initial pledge is met, the rest will easily follow.
Nowadays, of course, pledges and oaths don’t mean what they used to. Too often they are seen as restrictive and a bit of a nuisance.
For my father’s generation, however, they meant something. They provided the framework that, in turn, produced a necessary sense of place and purpose. For him, it was important to willingly accept the role fate and circumstance had assigned. Once that was done, he believed it was up to him to do the rest, preferably with consideration for others, a sense of humility and good grace.
His teaching, like all good teaching, was by example. That he was able to gently instruct so well and for so long was a blessing that makes his passing just slightly less sad.
Al Knight of Fairplay (alknight@mindspring.com. ) is a former member of The Post’s editorial-page staff. His columns appear on Wednesday.
