Rolling with Dad

Hollywood Cemetery

Richmond,Virginia

The Future

As the eldest child of Eveready Eddie I would like to thank everyone for coming out to honor him on this beautiful fall day. As I see Nick Wilson, amongst others, sitting in the audience; they remind me of all the friends Eveready talked about so much; hence, I dedicate this eulogy to you, the friends of Eveready Eddie. As he didn’t have much of a family: his parents long passed, estranged from his only brother, fired by seventy five percent of his children, barely conversational relationships with some of his grand children, no girlfriend or companion for years, you were his family! As most of you retired as millionaires after a lifetime of labor, I know how much the rides to Charlottesville, the free lunches at Farmington, and the football tickets meant to him.

As the eldest child, keeper of the flame as it were, I consider Eveready Eddie:

Grifter, alcoholic, raconteur extraordinaire, unemployable in any meaningful way, lover of American history, lazy, a bum, optimistic half full glass type of guy, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, rude, charming, thief of one of the children’s credit cards, sometimes abuser of the mother of his children, abandoner of filial responsibility, blackberry roll lover, Cannonball Leake, gambler, racist, public housing dandy, producer of obscure historical documents, nature lover, embarrassment to his offspring, life of the party, squanderer of inheritance, Frank Sinatra lover …our Dad.

When I finally write the book I will have to include the following memory:
Dad had taken Charles and I dove hunting. It was well passed dark and we were driving along in Dad’s 1957 Mercedes. I remember the cushy red leather seats and a cooler that contained a bottle of Beefeater’s, tonic and limes between us. Every so often he would put his arm behind the back seat and jiggle the empty glass and ask us for another “RE-ward”. What pleased us the most was that no matter how much gin or tonic, in whatever proportion, we mixed the drink, he took a long sip and proclaimed it perfect. The Frank Sinatra got progressively louder. Rolling along Virginia’s byways, singing along with Frank, …“you make me feel so young”.


My brothers and sister gave up on Eveready Eddie decades ago. In spite of the before mentioned character flaws, I made a place for him in my life, to get to know my children. Playing the cards I was dealt in life, the grueling chef-life that I chose, and surprisingly, more than a few character flaws myself, I had my own problems making ends meet. For almost twenty years I played host to my father: Washington DC, Charlottesville, Gloucester and overseas. He often referred to my house as the “pro bono motel”.


I remember the September weekend that I stopped my father from using my house, which I had to crawl over glass to keep, for over a decade, after my divorce, as his own private flophouse. He had come for the weekend and I had not seen much of him, as he was busy having lunches at Farmington and attending the game with the free tickets some of you here probably gave to him. I worked twenty straight hours Saturday night, but managed to fix a brunch of creamed chipped beef, toast and jam, Taylor’s pork roll, and spoon bread, served on the porch. As I came from the garden with the season’s peak tomatoes, he looked at them and said he was going to take them with him!
As I was slicing the tomatoes for our breakfast, a flood of memories came back. Although he never had any money, what bothered me the most was his refusal to roll up his sleeves. Never a quick sweep of the porch, a change of the sheets on my daughter’s bed; the occasional house warming gift was four Starbucks coffee drinks he would bring for himself. I asked him to wash the dishes and requested he help my brother and I move my daughter’s bed a little later and I went for a siesta. My girlfriend came into my room and said Eddie wanted us to move our cars so he could leave, shall we say, like a scalded dog; but he would see us the next weekend for another game weekend in the President’s box.
It was time for me to close the “pro bono motel” and have him stay with his friends while in Charlottesville. I thank all of you for lifting the burden.
In spite of, shall we say, “issues”, let us raise a vodka gimlet to the different life and saga of our father, Eveready Eddie. He sure did it” his way”.