Thoughts on Dad – June 6, 2003 Orville Holtan’s funeral, by Tim Holtan
We’re here this morning to remember a special person. He was known as Orv, Orville, Grandpa, Uncle Orville, Orvie, Orvellie, and even Orville, Orville, Orville. My purpose this morning is to remember the one I (or we) knew as Dad. Over the past few years as we approached this inevitable day, there was occasional small talk about who would stand up here and speak. The conversation was usually akin to the response given the Little Red Hen in the children’s story about looking for help growing wheat and baking bread. The words NOT ME were pretty resounding. Being the youngest, it would be easy to tell you that I simply drew the short straw. But it wouldn’t be true. Even though I may have played a bit hard to get, I wanted to talk about Dad. You see, I don’t see this as a time of great despair. I’d like us to celebrate a wonderful life and some great memories.
So, who was the man called Orville …?
He was a homegrown Washburn boy, and like me, the youngest of four. A full-blooded Norwegian Lutheran, who in typical fashion, found it hard to be outwardly affectionate. You know, men only shake hands, because hugging another guy (or even a daughter) was a bit beyond his comfort zone. It was nice to see Kathy and Barb change that in his later years. But there was never a question about the pleasure he took in being with people. He was comfortable in any situation. He had many deep friendships that lasted a lifetime. He could talk to anybody, anytime, anywhere, and especially loved telling stories. With a grin and a little chuckle, he’d say “Yes Sir,” which was his personal “Amen” emphasis on the topic of discussion. He was simply a people person, which I think may be why he enjoyed working in retail sales.
Like us, he grew up around the business known as Holtan Mercantile, Inc, or as I remember it, simply the Holtan Store. I’m sure this was where his love of being around people grew. I remember him behind the counter in the hardware department, talking with a smile, always courteous, and unlike most places you go today, always counting out the change. Of course, I’ve heard stories of his delivering groceries in the early
years, taking Mom along, as it was their courting days. And later living in an apartment above the store. Mom would call downstairs for a couple groceries, and Dad would step out back and toss them up to Mom on the balcony; . . . they were good, they even tossed eggs that way. The store was unique, as it had three brothers and a sister working together to serve the community of Washburn. One of our earliest lessons was seeing Dad’s commitment to that store and his siblings. Many don’t know that Dad had a good job offer in the early 1960s, but he was committed to sticking with the family business. All of us have lots of memories of the store. I especially remember when inventory time came over the Christmas break. You can’t believe the number of bolts, nuts, washers and screws I’ve counted, and I remember seeing Kathy, Bruce, and Barb, and cousins Carol and Bill off with an adult and doing their own piece of the inventory. The business was always about family.
So who was Orville, the Dad?
He was the guy I watched in the store and learned about threading pipe, glazing window panes, replacing spokes on bikes, shoveling coal and snow, making sales (and counting change), the value of awnings, and the absolute best part was when the shipments came in before Christmas. I think he purposefully had me help unpack those shipments, knowing that for me, it was like having Christmas twice.
In my younger summers, he would call home to say he was on the way for lunch. After a quick sandwich, we were off to the river, gingerly stepping over the power plant cinders and having a quick swim. Dad liked swimming and I really enjoyed those times we had together at the river, and the pool, and the Garrison reservoir. I guess I’d have to agree my sisters and brother that I was a bit spoiled. For my last six years at home, I had Mom and Dad all to myself. It was a great time and I was very blessed to have their time and attention. There were no distractions when Dad taught me to drive, gave me encouragement and hints on how to stay one step ahead of the other guy on the basketball court, and of course, my eventual introduction to his world of music with the Elks and Legion bands was incredible.
Now most know that Mom ran a pretty tight ship around the house, which was great for Dad. But as sure as kids will be kids, we all found our opportunity to stretch the rules a bit too far. The trick was to just not go so far as to get Dad involved. Not only did we not want to disappoint him, because he really was a soft touch, but if Mom pulled Dad in on a situation, we knew it was serious. Dad never left any question about where he stood on issues.
But overall, Dad retained some kid inside. He enjoyed watching our pleasure at Christmas and birthdays. He lived vicariously through us and our school activities. He loved his cars, even though he had no idea about their inner workings. And talk about the obsessive car washer . . . I wish a bit more of that would have rubbed off on me!
Coming home for visits, after the initial hellos were complete, he’d inevitably move back outside to our cars with his bucket and start scrubbing off the bugs.
But there was still more to Orville…
The Holtan Store holds a great place in the history of Washburn. When it closed in 1971, it must have had a huge impact on Dad. But true to his roots, any wistful feelings were not shared and he settled in with KG Men’s Store in Bismarck. Thinking back, besides his love of working with people, there was only one thing that he brought with him from the Holtan Store, and that was his whistle. I’ve got to believe that a person who whistles is a happy person. So, my assumption today is that he was a content man.
But the whistle was indicative of much more- his deep love of music. Dad’s love of music is pretty legendary. As you may have noticed on the picture boards, music was a big part of his life. As a bugler for his anti-tank company early in World War II, the 164th Infantry Regiment’s band master heard Dad sounding bugle calls. Soon he found himself a regular member of the band. Friendships made during those three years in the South Pacific lasted a lifetime. Returning home, Dad’s musical outlets that you’d heard read kept him busy several nights a week. His cornet was always handy and it was a rare day when it wasn’t played. He delighted offering an opportunity to the young nieces and nephews, and later grandkids, to toot a note on his horn. At a time when dollars were scare, he even started Bruce playing on his horn, . . . as a third grader. It was great how Dad could share his music in many ways. Dad was an awesome player. It was years later when we realized just how wonderful he and his musician friends were. It made us proud to say “That’s our Dad.”
In retirement, he continued playing with groups in Mesa, Arizona. One day about five years ago, he mentioned how he lined up to play a big fat D with a full-sized dance band. When he played the note, it didn’t sound right to him. He looked closer and saw that the note was actually an E. Well, “That was it for playing,” he said. If he couldn’t read the notes anymore, it was time to quit. With the same nonchalance as when he walked away from the family store in Washburn, he gave up 70 years of playing his horn. It made sense to him and that was it; there was no looking back. What an amazing ability to move on. I remember him doing the same thing when he decided to quit smoking. He just flipped a mental switch.
Obviously, Dad’s music had a big impression on all of us and for that I’m grateful. I’ll never forget his playing of Taps every Memorial Day. In my job, I’ve heard Taps played countless times. But my memory of Dad’s playing is different. You see, to Dad, the sound was everything. If it didn’t sound wonderful and full, why bother? Up at the same cemetery we’ll visit shortly, I heard in his playing, a commitment to those people he knew. Dad was a great friend, a wonderful Dad, a loving husband, and an awesome musician.
Traditionally, Taps is played on military installations at 10:00 o’clock, signaling the end of the day; lights out. The other common use for Taps is of course as a veteran’s final tribute when laid to rest. The melody has had several verses written to go along with the music.
The verses words have a good “end-of-the-day” message, and metaphorically, are just as appropriate at the end of a life. I’d like to close with the words of one of those verses. I think you’ll also be able to hear the melody as I read:
Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake,
From the sky.
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.
Yes Dad, God is nigh, . . . all is well, . . . safely rest.
(Other verses)
Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,
May the soldier or sailor,
God keep.
On the land or the deep,
Safe in sleep.
Love, good night, Must thou go,
When the day, And the night
Need thee so?
All is well. Speedeth all
To their rest.
Fades the light; And afar
Goeth day, And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well; Day has gone,
Night is on.
Thanks and praise, For our days,
‘Neath the sun, Neath the stars,
‘Neath the sky,
As we go, This we know,
God is nigh.