Ed Becker – His life

 March 30, 2011

Piedmont Presbyterian Church

Portland, Oregon With each breath we draw… With every smile we share. With each success we celebrate… With every heartache we endure. With each disappointment we overcome… With every relationship we treasure. With each expression of gratitude… We accumulate the seemingly invisible but magically real fragments that ultimately represent a life. The sum total of these fragments… the life we live is like a precious stone…it is a Diamond: it is rare…beautiful and individual. And when examined closely; a life reveals new things, inspiring and wonderful things that have been there all along. Like the rainbow of light that dances and radiates as a diamond or crystal is tilted and turned in bright sun light… when we examine the life of Ed Becker, bands of radiant, beautiful, bright color… a set of unique, wonderful experiences is revealed. And in this revelation, I find cause for celebration. My celebration of Ed Becker’s life… my slice of that colorful rainbow of his existence begins with a pile of sawdust in the basement of my grandparent’s house not far from here on Mississippi Avenue. My father, Roger and uncle, Craig had a much different relationship with the sawdust in the basement. Today you simply push a button on a thermostat to heat a house. But when the home on Mississippi got cold, Roger or Craig was sent down to the basement to shovel sawdust into the furnace and heat the house. Much less was demanded of me. I distinctly remember visiting my grandparent’s house in about 1962 when I was four or five; finally trusted to explore their house on my own and I wanted to go into the basement. “Oh, he’ll be fine,” I can recall my grandparents chime when my mom and dad tried to talk me out of leaving their sight. Down the steep stairs I went, past my uncle’s room adorned with really cool beat-nick art and musical instruments…the washing machine and dryer where much like the ones I had seen at home…there was a furnace and next to the furnace a narrow passage way into a darkened space. There must have been a light switch and when the bulb flashed on the most amazing thing was revealed: my grandparents had an indoor playground! It was an ocean like pile of curly whitish, faintly orange wood shavings. Wow! I climbed over a small rail and up on the pile where I dug and pushed and played in that furnace fuel; occasionally tossing small handfuls up in the air. I was having so much fun… until something happened. As I tried to stand, my foot sank onto the woody mire and I lost my shoe. I knew I was going to be in serious trouble if I didn’t find it, but as frantically as I dug I could not spot that shoe any where. Tearfully, and with a line of flaky wood chips trailing behind me, I returned upstairs to await my punishment. To my complete shock…there was none. Grandfather excused himself and did something that would leave me both in awe of him and in his debt – he found my shoe…shook all the saw dust out…sat me down…slipped it on my foot and tied it. “There you go, Tiger.” He said with a beaming smile. Then, of course, they installed a gas furnace and the saw dust went away for good. Still, I found something in my grandparent’s basement that would leave an indelible mark my life: It was the discovery of Ed Becker’s shop which had been concealed from my view just beyond the sawdust enclosure. It as well lit, clean and organized. There were power tools, tarnished hammers and saws; their grips stained with dirt and perspiration from years of use. Lining the shelves were dozens of coffee cans with words like “Stove Bolts…Washers…galvanized nails…penny nails…roofing nails…machine screws…sheet metal screws…toilet gaskets…” painted on them. There were fishing poles and a brown metal Sears tackle box… lengths of lead pipe and 2x4’s, faucets, worn brass sink valves, cans of paint arranged as either latex or oil based…in door or outdoor. There were well used but clean usable paint brushes and rollers and the faint, warm inviting aroma of the linseed oil he used to clean those brushes and rollers. As my eyes worked their way around that well ordered and decidedly masculine space, there was above the work bench a cream colored table top radio splattered with paint…a yellow Union Pacific railroad calendar featuring a picture of a giant locomotive churning its way along on tracks in a snowy alpine pass. I gasped when I discovered the Japanese sniper rifles his brother in-law, Ernie Rodgers, brought back from the South Pacific following World War II. I am also grateful he left them unloaded because I did pull the trigger. Not before or since have I ever experienced a place where I felt more welcome…humbled and whole. And then Ed Becker changed my life in an even more profound way. I was mesmerized by the magazines he kept in a big stack beneath his work bench. There were recent copies of Popular Mechanics and Popular Science magazines with lively, vivid cover illustrations of space ships and racing cars. There was Flying magazine with photographs and stories about sturdy Cessna 150’s and sleek Piper Cubs. Golf Magazine, however, did not appeal to me. While I could not yet read, I pulled those magazines out onto the floor where I sat and poured over them. I was so engaged I did not see or hear him come down the stairs. I scrambled to put them back when he entered the room. “Well…” he smiled. “Why don’t you take some of those magazines home with you…” he said as he bent down, pulling out two or three of the Popular Science magazines he had finished reading to give me. I was stunned at his generosity. I felt valued. I felt like somebody other than my parents really did think I was worthy and important and capable. He believed in me. His magazines changed my life because I had a hard time learning to read. The Sally Dick and Jane stories at school were boring and meaningless. But I wanted to know about the things in those magazines he gave me. What were they about? How could I do those things? Grandpa Becker gave me a REASON to learn to read. He gave me something I wanted to work at and I haven’t stopped reading since those days in the basement of that house on Mississippi. Grandpa was unique in other ways. …I am certain my experience was different than dad or Craig’s but I do not ever recall a time that he raised his voice at me. Well… he did get firm once when I did a sloppy job of jacking the car up while we were putting new shocks on my GTO… A few years ago I asked him how he developed such a positive attitude about life. He chuckled and said “Oh if I get three square meals a day and eight hours of sleep, life’s pretty good….” Last week following Pearl’s passing he added, ‘breathing,” was something else he found worthwhile and contributed to his sense of well being. Still, as my mother, Jeanne shared when she learned of his passing, Ed Becker had this warm, friendly outlook. She recalls riding his bus on a hot summer day many years ago. The bus was packed and as even more people piled on board and he would call out, “let’s everybody cuddle up a little closer!” My grandmother, Edris told me once that he would have the same passengers for years and would set a goal for himself to get a smile or a good morning out of even the most surly commuter. It did sometimes take years… but he was almost always successful. My grandmother’s story is also a reminder that Ed did not let other people’s negative attitudes bother him. My brother David, who is a year younger and much better looking than me, is not able to be here. He asked I share the following of his recollections: When I was about 4 or 5 we were at the house on Mississippi... I had fallen asleep on the front room floor and didn't want to move when dad tried to wake me up ( he probably fell asleep waiting for me to find my shoe!). Grandpa scooped me up like a small bag of flour and took me to the car. In the age of no car seats, no seat belts, he just set me gently in the back seat. When I was 35, Jason and I (ok mostly Jason) cut down a bunch of trees in my back yard, and I knew Gramp was still using his fireplace in the house on Dunkley. So I called him up and told him if he brought his trailer over I would load up the wood for him. He said he would come by on Saturday. I said I was working until noon so come by at 1 or 1:30 and we would load him up. By the time I got home he had already loaded a trailer full and was back for more. I asked him if he wanted me to split it before we loaded another trailer full. He said no, he had a splitting maul at home... He was 85 at the time... Last week Jason, Steve and I helped carry him into church in his wheelchair, and helped get him in the car when the memorial service was over. As I buckled him in he said "I owe you one". I told him he had paid his dues to me several times over. He still had a firm handshake, a warm smile and a few chuckles when he was remembering, with mixed success, the events and people around him at the reception at the church. He was surrounded by people who loved him and Pearl. He was a talented, kind and giving person. That memory will never leave me. I love you all, Dave So what was it that made Ed Becker the loving, kind energetic person he was? The answer is a lot of things. But here is some of my own speculation: A few months ago on a business trip to Ritzville, Washington I walked through the beautiful Mission style train station that now serves as a community museum. Ed Becker lost his mother very early in life and at about 4 or 5 years of age he was put on a train in Portland, alone, and sent to live temporarily with his uncle John and Aunt Kate and their 5 or six daughters in Ritzville. We spoke several times about his childhood… his earliest recollection was of walking out of church one day in Ritzville and being presented with a pony – It was a gift but the horse also became his responsibility. On another occasion he described going into the barn where he would crane his head up to marvel at the giant black draft horses used to pull the combines… their broad moist nostrils spewing long dense columns of steamy breath in cold, dry winter air. There was the time they rode a wagon pulled by horses back to the farm from town and as Ed and his uncle John were preparing to lead the horses into the barn, a spooked coyote concealed in high grass near-by let out a loud, long chilling howl that caused grandfather to race at full speed into the house and under his bed. He told me Aunt Kate became the angel of his existence for overruling Uncle John’s demand that he go back outside and see first hand a coyote is nothing to be afraid of. There was no TV, no radio, no Internet. He could not go to the fridge for leftovers. He would not live in a house with electricity until he was 14. Grandpa described a life where after dinner, when the meal was cleared and the dishes cleaned, he would join his cousins at the table where in the bright glow of an oil lamp they would do their homework. As they worked, Uncle John read the newspaper and Aunt Kate read the Bible which was probably in German. Imagine a life where the only distraction or entertainment was each other. I believe Ed Becker found the unconditional love of a mother in his Aunt Kate – He was embraced as a son by his Uncle John to the point they tried to adopt Ed. The effort was vetoed by Ed’s father Carl who had no intention of giving up his son despite the loss of his wife. Carl himself was orphaned as a child and essentially hitch hiked to the United States from a German community in Russia. Ed had tremendous admiration and affection for his father who was a master carpenter and craftsman. He described how his father would frequently make things without written drawing or plans – he made all the calculations in his head and could craft beautiful wooden objects with ease. In Ritzville, Ed Becker learned what it was like to be part of a community. He learned about the rewards of hard work. Back in the days before I-90 sliced through town, Ritzville was a remote place. Its 60 miles west of Spokane and the Great Northern rail line was the most reliable way in and out of town - people had to survive on their own. When something broke – they fixed it. They had only each other to turn to in a time of need. They cooperated and took care of each other. And they were good at it. By 1933, there was more wheat loaded onto grain cars in Ritzville Washington than any other place in the WORLD. By then, a lot of sturdy draft horses were let out to pasture for good. It occurred to me as I stood in the railroad station where Ed Becker was greeted by John and Kate and their children in 1917 or 1918 that he was shaped by the values of a community that put the community first. And in that community he may have discovered the more he did for others…the happier he became. Looking back on his life, I see a man who found living a successful life was actually quite simple – you just had to work really hard at it. In mathematical terms the equation is something like effort squared , times Attitude cubed equals unlimited results. He also appeared to have learned that grudges…anger and resentment were a waste of time and a barrier to the full experience of life and family which ultimately brought him great happiness. None of us really knows what happens when we die but I believe it is something good. We go back to the place we came from. We are each here to experience life…to discover happiness in unexpected places…to forgive and be grateful all which our grandfather, father and friend did very successfully. But if you accept the conventional explanation I am quite sure the gates of heaven were open wide for Ed Becker and he immediately experienced the warm loving embrace of God. And as he was being embraced, Grandpa looked around heaven. “What is it, Ed” God must have asked. “You know,” Ed might have responded. “That looks like a great place to plant some roses over there… and maybe some gladiolas and Iris’ over there…a couple of fir trees would be nice in that corner. And that house over there really needs a new coat of paint… the gutter needs to be replaced…and those two broken panes of glass need to be repaired…There is a lot of work to do here.” And God smiled as he looked at Grandpa and said, “Yes, Ed. I know. We’ve been waiting for you…” Thank you.