My father was born October 15, 1944 and died at the age of 62 on June 21, 2007. Below is the eulogy that my brother gave at the mass today. Ryan summed it up so well; he really did my father justice.
My father was a man who dreamed of ships. Fascinated not with those of luxury or comfort, but with those that carried great weights. Barges and freighters that seared across the choppy waters of the great lakes and labored diligently under gray and abysmal mid-west skies. Ships that operated on an unglamorous and under appreciated level, but were always vital to the success of the states in their employ. Dependable and determined ships like the William G. Mather or the infamous SS Edmund Fitzgerald, the latter of which proved exceptionally shocking when it did not succeed.
None of us, however, should be shocked. While Charles Everett Ward’s time may have come sooner than any of us anticipated or wanted, he never flagged or faltered in his mission to provide for his family. He never got caught in vainglorious pomp that would detract from what needed to be done. He never failed to succeed. And he was always ready to enjoy the spaces between his duties with an incredible story or string of obscure and meticulous facts.
My father had an impeccable mind for politics and showed us this in the way that he exalted the importance of civic duty. He served his country with honor and pride in the United States Army and even in his latter years by volunteering his time and services at election booths. He was of a rare sort indeed: Overwhelmingly educated, vehemently opinionated, and extraordinarily civil in his disagreements.
My father was also a man who read widely and of a great many and measure of character. From Hobbes and Locke to Hobbes and Calvin, he was adept at ascertaining the importance both the gravely historic and the capriciously mischievous. Where “At Dawn We Slept” next to a 24 volume, encyclopedic collection of Mark Twain, stoically stationed upon one of his bookshelves, amidst a great many other reads of humanity’s ventures into conflict and war and the historical lessons they have left to us.
Adjacent to those bookshelves sat his most prized possessions - two antique tool boxes that had belonged to his father, which he had restored well beyond their former luster. He made me promise to never sell them. He said if nothing else, he wanted us to have these two tool boxes. Fitting for a man who raised his children to value the tools of a good book, a well thought out argument, a hard days’ work, and a good friend. While he may entrust to us a pair of empty tool boxes, his legacy will be more about the tools that he provided us that enriched our lives.
In this I remember the simplest yet most potent piece of advice he ever gave to me. “Never retreat.” So as we honor Charles Ward here today, let us remember a man who would courageously carry out his duties like a Great Lake freighter, forging across the intolerant waters, never retreating. Let us remember a man who worked hard for his family. A man who’s den still has a lantern that sits like a lighthouse next to a toolbox, guiding the way at night, for those of us who dream of ships.
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