Posted by Michael Neilond on October 18, 2006:

You can take the measure of a man from the commitments he held in life, and my Dad held his commitments passionately--but none more so than the two symbolized by the rings he always wore. First and foremost, the wedding band representing his commitment to marriage--his relationship with Jeanine, of over six decades. That dedication, as well as to family and fatherhood, was absolute. From an exuberant courtship in postwar Brussels, through a painful year's separation during Korea--not knowing if they'd see each other again--through so many postings in the South and overseas, through thick and thin, that relationship endured. I've not been so lucky in love, but he modeled for me how it could be--and I thank you for that, Dad. And then of course, worn to the nub, his class ring--West Point, Class of 1944--representing his lifelong commitment to the principles he learned there of Duty, Honor, Country. Those principles served him well through his brilliant 30-year career, but also served as a basis in his efforts to guide me. I remember so well his emphasis to never lie, cheat, or steal. And also a lesson drawn from Shakespeare: "To thine own self be true, and thou cans't not then be false to any man." Dad thought I never really "got" Duty, Honor, Country--but deep down, I really did, though perhaps from a different angle--maybe Duty, Principle, Community. By whatever names, he modeled those core values for me, and I thank you for that, Dad. There was a third key lifelong commitment Dad had, from a very young age: to travel and see the world. He was able to do a lot of that during his career, and we all benefited as a family as well. Sometimes I imagined I saw Dad most through the rear-view mirror, from the back seat of all those cars, on all those cross-country trips from one posting to another, or through Spain and Morocco, for weeks on end . . . and sometimes I wonder if the family wasn't drawn closer together during those travels than at any other time. There was a speech my Dad loved of Gen. Douglas MacArthur--I remember clearly he and Mom listening to a recording of it--with its line, "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away." But though the Colonel was willing to withdraw gracefully to private life, when it came to travel, there was no fading away. After retirement, he and Mom launched into what was essentially a second career of another 30 years, traveling the world to see all the places they'd missed, and their favorites for a second or third time! Dad would plan these trips exhaustively, like a batallion commander laying out a campaign, so passionate was he about travel, up to the very end. And he implanted that wanderlust in his children, Kathleen having taught overseas in three countries already, and me constantly looking for where the grass might be greener. I trace my fascination for American history to the trip we made to the battlefield of Gettysburg; my interest in international relations to living in Belgium, Germany, and Morocco; and my continuing passion for theater arts to our visit to Roanoke Island to see the outdoor drama, "The Lost Colony." For all those travels, all that curiosity about the world, and all that passion, we thank you, Dad. Beyond marriage, career, and travel, my Dad also had a commitment to the "joie de vivre." He was a very sensitive, talented, fun-loving guy with a wicked wit. He played trombone when young, and a mean bongo drum later--he was surprised I picked it up, but I got that sense of rhythm from him. He loved his Benny Goodman and swing-era jazz, playing tapes on the old Telefunken; perhaps it was no surprise that I became a disc jockey for a while. Dad loved to tirelessly debate and discuss with Mom over the dining room table, so of course I was on the high school debate team for two years. Dad was addicted to reading huge stacks of magazines and books, and I follow suit. Dad loved his Scotch whiskey, and threw the best dinner parties on the diplomatic circuit, party games and all; later I modeled my theater cast parties after them. Dad had a natural histrionic bent, and I'm sure my lifelong avocation toward theater acting started there. The older I get, the more I see in me, my father's son. But I would never match him as a prankster--who can forget that Chinese puzzle of a Christmas present to Erin, the box within the box within the box . . . or his huge society matron hat, the winning entry on a transatlantic shipboard hat contest . . . or his design of our 6th-grade Halloween Carnival Haunted House, where instead of skinned grapes and spaghetti in the trays to mimic body parts, he secured real animal innards from the local butchers in Rabat, and what reactions the kids had when they removed their blindfolds! For all those memories, and for showing me the fun and joy in life, I thank you, Dad. And what links all these aspects of Dad's commitments? I suspect the answer lies in the bedrock values that so many in this "Greatest Generation" absorbed as their birthright: midwestern values from the America of a simpler time, the values found in the stories of Mark Twain and Booth Tarkington, whose books Dad handed down to me. The values of his father, Earl Starr Neilond of Minnesota, whom Dad tragically didn't know after the age of 4, but in whose career footsteps he was determined to follow, and did, so successfully. The values of his mother, Hazel Ruth Moore Neilond of Iowa, who as a single Mom during the Depression raised Dad with firmness and high expectations--and he became the man she expected: a good man, a decent man, stoic, honorable, devoted. They just don't make them like that much any more. That's the vision my Dad tried to fulfill: holding up his end of a sacred bargain with his country by rising to America's expectations. He was a good man, a prince of a man. And so I offer my final salute to my Dad with another quote from Hamlet: "Good night, sweet prince, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." --Michael Neilond, your loving son

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