The original disciplinarianI am saddened to learn of the passing of the Captain. I know he lived a full life and was probably ready to join Mimi.
He was truly one of a kind. He may not have been very tall physically, but when he spoke with that booming, commanding voice he was at least 6 feet 6 inches.
He was the original vocabulary builder before anyone else showed any interest in one's vocabulary. I had never heard anyone who spoke the way he did. Some of the words required a trip to the dictionary. Some were commonly used by sailors and were quite familiar to me, as they were used regularly in our household.
He was the original disciplinarian. There was no one whose authority was any more undisputed, even William Ingles. I don't know if he was feared by his children, but he was sure feared by the Ingles, at least during our youth.
His legacy is substantial. Seven interesting children flung about the world is legacy enough. I doubt that there is anyone who met the Captain who will not remember him. I remember Pollard Park best and the years at Pollard Park. Larry smoking in his room. Joe beginning to paint. And Danny. How could such a gruff man make such a fuss over a dog, even if the dog did bear a resemblance to Winston Churchill?
—Breckinridge Ingles, 2 March 2006
The father I never really hadMy first memories of Captain have to do with my awe at the way the room seemed to shake as he pounded his fist on the dinner table, and, to my horror, his constant and insistent queries about the location of my feet.
Despite these rather inauspicious beginnings, Captain and I eventually got along quite well. Swimmingly, you might say. He was the father I'd never really had before.
We had an easy banter that included, to my initial surprise, a lot of laughter. I think that it's this, even beyond the gorgeous rhythm of his voice, that I'll remember. There was the amused chuckle, the self-satisfied chuckle, and the derisive snort that most of the rest of us seem to have inherited. But the laugh I liked best was the one that seemed to start from his stomach and echo through his whole body until it came out as an almost-shout. It was, like most of his other expressions, forceful, but also joyful.
I think that's one of the most powerful things I'll take from him: the intensity of emotion he allowed himself. The explosive laughter, the beaming smile.
His obsession with the fig trees and the weather forecast and the tree labels, the way that he demanded things rather than asking for them. The way he looked so pleased with himself after he said something he thought especially clever.
The way that he held your hand tightly as he shook it, like he meant it. The way he said "I'll miss you," and you knew that he really would.
—Sarah Ellyson Rohrbach, 18 March 2006
A self-aware manI have many memories of my grandfather, but these are just a few words that I have prepared with the help of some of my more literary-minded relatives.
The Captain had a reputation for being set in his ways — you might say stubborn — and I won't argue with that. There is certainly no denying that he was a man of strong opinions.
But I also see him as a self-aware man. He knew what he liked: He loved his wife. He loved his family. He liked bulldogs. He enjoyed the cocktail hour… And I was keenly aware as a child that he liked his tractor.
I remember being put to work around Atholl — weeding the garden, raking leaves, and doing other odd jobs. But I one thing I was definitely never allowed to do was drive that tractor. I remember being allowed to stand on the trailer hitch, just behind the seat, when either he or Mimi drove. But that was it…
I also remember that when the tractor broke down so badly that even Charles Stisted couldn't fix it, Captain went out and bought another forty-year-old tractor just like it.
There's something to be said for knowing what you like.
Captain also had a highly refined sense of order, which he shared — some might even say imposed — on everyone around him. If you violated his sense of order, you'd better expect him to read you the riot act very loudly and very eloquently. You might even be threatened with the sausage meat machine or various other instruments of torture.
Consider the elbows-off-the-table rule.
I remember countless times as a child when I would rest my elbows on the dinner table. Before I even realized what I was doing, I would catch one of Captain's well-aimed spoon thwacks on the tip of my offending elbow. To this day, I still flinch when I realize that my elbows are on the table, thanks to Captain.
I will not remember him for bringing me to tears or causing me to howl in pain, though. I will remember him for teaching me that there is a right way and a wrong way to do things (and, oh, by the way, if you do things the wrong way, it may be painful).
Long after I got over my fear of his occasional bellows, I came to the realization that he was really just looking out for us — getting us ready to go out and thwack the world on the proverbial elbow. And for that, I, and all of his other progeny, owe him a debt of gratitude.
Here is a final thought that I hope will convey how much he and this family have meant to me: I was born Nathaniel Brown, and I lived for a while as Nathaniel Rohrbach, but when given the choice — and the Captain's blessing — I chose to become Nathaniel Court.
Thank you, Captain. Your presence will be felt for generations to come.
—Nathaniel Brooks Court, 18 March 2006
When Captain arrived in HeavenCaptain's children and grandchildren have been putting together a list of Captain's immortal witticisms. Some of them are printed on your programs. Everyone here has a favorite, I'm sure. Mine is, "fixin' to start to commence to begin to get ready…"
But whatever your favorite, based on that list, I think we can all imagine what might have happened when Captain arrived in Heaven:
First, of course, he was reunited with Mimi. He greets her with a mischievous glint in his eye, and says, "Mi-Mi, Fe-Fe, Do-Do — now that we're here, aren't you glad I saved you from Perdition?"
To which Mimi replies, "Really, Johnny! We're not the only ones up here. Behave!"
Captain looks around and sees all the other people in Heaven. This is an obvious opening. Not missing a beat, he says, "Well, I guess Hell really ain't half full yet!"
Always the gentleman, though, he adds, "May I proffer anyone a small libation?" And that sets the tone for what follows: "a most salubrious and felicitous occasion."
Above the jocular din of that gathering, Captain's voice is always heard, roaring with that distinctive, snorting laughter — and every now and again he sets the stage for himself by saying, "Let me say three things:"
At the end of the evening, with Mimi on his arm, Captain makes for the door. He waves over his shoulder, saluting the crowd with a hearty "Bon soir!"
—Randolph Harrison Court, 18 March 2006
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