Bop

Two weeks ago today, at the age of 94, my grandfather passed away. He was Nola’s dad, and we called him Bop.

I am so grateful that both of my boys were able to meet and spend some time with him. Rory probably won’t remember him, but I think Riley will.

Kenny and I talked with Riley a bit about what had happened to Bop before going to his memorial service at our church the Saturday before last. He knew Bop had been sick and in the hospital. He also knew that I had been sad lately. So we just told him that we wouldn’t see Bop anymore because he went up to Heaven. Riley accepted that explanation pretty well, but I won’t be surprised if he asks every now and then where Bop is. I think he’s actually already asked Nola about him.

Bop was one heck of a good guy. Jeff and I will always remember spending the night at his and Grammy’s house when we younger. He gave us olives in the evenings when he and Grammy had their nightly martinis; he cooked a delicious fried trout dinner; and his breakfasts (including muffin bread!) were famous. He also once demonstrated how to bathe in a birdbath, and he didn’t hesitate to try out my new rollerblades one Christmas Day. At the age of 70.

Bop was also always ready with a story, sometimes retelling the same ones over and over and over again. (This will always be a running family joke.) But he experienced so many different things in his life that it was no wonder he had tales to tell.

Bop was born on March 29, 1920, on an army base in Fort Jackson, SC, where his father was stationed after serving as a band leader in World War I. He grew up in Wisconsin, where his love of the outdoors was nurtured. As a young man, he worked for a private phone company, a job he would come to regret years later, at the end of the war. He then moved to Detroit, where he began his long career at Chrysler. He started off on the automotive assembly line, soon moved into administration, and in 1961 was transferred to New Orleans to work on the Apollo space missions as a security administrator.

During World War II, Bop was a sergeant in an armed infantry division under General George Patton. In later years he would tell stories, not of the terror and bloodshed, but rather of the moments of humanity and humor: Camped in 1945 by a river in the German mountains, Bop and his men were tantalized by delicious trout swimming in a deep, clear pool. No matter how hard the men tried, the fish could not be coerced onto a hook. After much frustration, Bop finally threw a grenade in the river. “We had a great trout dinner that night,” he recalled.

And like everyone who fought at the siege of Bastogne, Bop also spoke frequently of the unforgettably bitter cold of that epic battle.

When the war ended, despite having earned the most points in his unit for discharge eligibility, Bop was tapped to stay in Europe for six more months. His phone company experience earned him a post leading a platoon tasked with picking up no-longer-needed copper phone lines laid across the continent by American troops. He once said of that duty, leading a group of recalcitrant GIs who just wanted to be home: "Not exactly fun."

In 1963, Bop, a confirmed bachelor at 42, married a young widow with three daughters and moved them from Michigan to New Orleans. He retired from Chrysler in the early 1980s, then immediately began work as a consultant for Martin Marietta (later acquired by Lockheed), working in the space shuttle program. He finally retired for good in the early 1990s.

Throughout his life, Bop was an avid fisher, hunter and golfer. He hunted pheasant in Nebraska, tied flies for trout fishing in Montana and played golf on courses from Louis Prima's in Covington to Indian Lake in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. He also was a crack skeet shooter; in fact, he took his bride to honeymoon at a resort where he could shoot skeet every afternoon.

Aren’t they so cute? It’s been hard for Grams, but she’s doing okay. We’re all doing okay. He lived a great life, and it was simply his time to go.

Bop, I hope you’re up there regaling everyone around you with your stories, fishing for lots of speckled trout, drinking Abita Amber beer, and making hole-in-ones left and right. We love and miss you, and we all feel privileged to have known you.

Note: Much of the background information and stories from Bop’s life came directly from his obituary, which QP had a main hand in writing. Thanks for letting me include those details here, QP.