My Redacted Life: Chapter 34 (Cont._3)

Somewhere about this time, I had the honor to meet Brenda’s Uncle Roy Bennett from Saint Louis, a bachelor and fascinating human. He actually lived in University City, a place well known to urban planners. It had passed the first “rental inspection” program in the state, maybe the country. It aimed at stopping the spread of blight as families sold their homes to slum landlords before moving away from the city core. Other cities have enacted similar programs that are still strongly resisted by a real estate profession that adopts the adage “if it’ll rent, it’s good enough.”

Roy was the youngest of two sons. Brenda’s mother Hazel had insisted that he leave the hardscrabble farm on which he was raised. After a stint in the Navy, he had hitched a ride to St. Louis after word got out that McDonald-Douglass, the aero-space giant was hiring. He got a job, slept in a friend’s car for a while, and entered into a long and fascinating career.

We hit it off immediately. We shared an interest in photography. He proudly showed me his Nikon F, the Holy Grail of amateur photography. Actually, he was interested in everything, from electronics to music. I would say that he was the most fascinated person I’ve ever known. Brenda adored him. The feeling was mutual.

His father had bequeathed the family farm to him in order that it would remain intact. His lifelong plan included returning there after retirement and perfecting the profession of piddling. To that end, he, over the years, hauled countless items of possible or potential value in piddling. Some of it still remains. I would never figure out how one man was able to haul it.

He shared the bass voice typical of that side of Brenda’s family, one she didn’t share. Like me, he loved to pick a guitar but never got very good at it. That didn’t dampen his enthusiasm a bit. That’s an attribute of perpetually fascinated people, or so I have found. They don’t have to be good at something as long as it fascinates them.

I quickly decided that I wouldn’t regret marrying into a family that produced a man like Roy.

Late in his career, he was assigned to the United States Space Program. There he worked on top-secret things, witnessed many historic events, and came to know, personally, some of the astronauts. Sometimes I can still recall his deep voice reciting some of their personal quirks.

For now, he had his trusty Nikon ready to photograph the wedding. We talked about it. I always thought he liked me. I surely hope so. As I say, he looked so forward to entering a second career of idle tinkering on the “postage stamp of native soil” where he grew up. I’m sure he would have entered the Piddling Hall of Fame.

It wasn’t to be. He would die from a massive heart attack just months away from retirement. At his funeral, a long-time neighbor described him as “always walking around whistling, with a tool in his hand, thinking of some project he was planning.”

That’s about as good a statement on a person’s life as I have ever heard.

We still miss him, a lot.