Tribute To Dad
By Steve Goldhahn

(Read at Dad's Memorial Service, December 14, 2003)

I am Stephen . . . the twin brother of Sioux City Sue.

Growing up in the 50's at 7236 Grays Ave. the name "Dick Thomas" was, well, just a name my dad was known by in the outside world. To me he was just, "dad". In some ways, a man before his time. Before country music was "in", he performed it, and helped popularize it. And before "family values" became a cliché of the media and the politically correct, he embraced and exemplified it's true meaning. Dad was a man of principal and high moral character. While not a religious man in the traditional sense, he deeply valued the tenets upon which many base their faith, often siting the Ten Commandments and Golden Rule as the way to pattern one's life. He strove for honesty, and respected and responded to honesty in others. He abhorred hypocrisy. His most revered commandment was to "honor your mother and father". He did that in his life. And that is why we are here today. To give honor and tribute to our father.

A strong figure of a man. Loving. Caring. Dad was a disciple of "self-discipline"; and he was as quick to chastise himself as he was in correcting the actions of his children. He often spoke of wrestling with a volatile temper as a young man, which he was able to overcome with "self-discipline". Smoking, a habit he picked up in the Army, vexed him for 20 years before he was finally able to conquer it with, that's right . . ."self- discipline".

I recall on one occasion growing up, with the family all seated around the dinner table. We were all still living home at the time. I believe it was Ron, the youngest, who, reaching across the table accidentally knocked over his glass of milk. Dad, of course, was quick to jump on him. A quick discourse on proper table etiquette, "self-control", on how not to reach for something, but to ask. Well, in the course of delivering his lecture, dad proceeded to knock over and spill his own cup of coffee. With momentary pause, Dick, Jr. then overturned his glass. And one by one we all followed suite, as the table erupted in laughter.

Some of my favorite memories as a boy growing up on Grays Avenue were the soft ball games in the back yard. You see, our yard was a kind of magnet for the neighborhood kids. The "Goldhahn Playground". I guess we'd have close to two full teams taking to the field. And out of the house would come dad, with his baseball glove. He would be the "steady pitcher" for both sides. And umpire and coach. I really treasure those memories. As I got a little older dad would pitch hardball to me, and show me the curve ball he was famous for in high school. Not much of a fast ball pitcher. But he had a great changeup curve.

As I grew older I began to appreciate dad's wisdom. What was it Mark Twain said? Something like how when he was 14 his dad was so stupid. But when he turned 17 he saw him in different light. Amazing how much smarter dad got in just three years! I began to appreciate his talents too. As a kid, my friends would sometimes remark how great it was to have so much music around, when they'd hear dad practicing on the piano in his music room. Ah yes. The Music Room. (that's all one word, as in "musicroom"). Dad's inner sanctum. And what would later become the favorite gathering place of my highschool and college friends. No matter how messy. The messier the better. The music room was just a neat place to be.

Dad could turn a common experience into an adventure. On snowy days he invented reasons for having to get in the car and venture outside. Gotta get the paper. And he'd show me how to make a 180 degree turn on packed ice at the end of Grays Avenue. Before the salt trucks came by to ruin his fun. Power outages were a favorite too. An opportunity to dust off the kerosene lantern and go inspect the "south 40" of our Grays Avenue ranch. Or just to sit around telling ghost stories in the dim flickering shadows of lamp light. An opportunity to reminisce about his childhood days. And perhaps a history lesson thrown in. "Now, that's how Abraham Lincoln had to study", he would say. We would joke "you mean, he had to watch TV by candlelight?"

Dad always had a taste for travel. Though he never did make it to Europe, or back to the "fatherland", as he would sometimes threaten to do after a drink or two. But he was well traveled in the States. I have many fond memories of our auto trips to Canada, Skyline Drive, Virginia, Washington D.C. and of course the Jersey Shore. Dad taught us to use the map when we traveled. And you won't get lost, he said. That habit's stuck with me ever since. In 1966 he took his three sons to Gettysburg. The first of many pilgrimages for me to that very special place.

In later years dad was always there to lend a hand, listen, and offer good advice. He loved to tell stories. Especially after mom passed away. Stories of the road. Of his Mickey, and how they met. Now, I'm sure he's sharing them with her, and other loved ones gone before.

But what is dad's legacy? Of course, there is, and always will be, the music. We all grew up with an appreciation and love of music and will take that with us. How could it be otherwise. But more importantly, there is dad's love. The love of a husband for his wife, and a father for his children. He taught by example. How to be a good husband, a good father. I would hope that this part of him would continue in my life, as I love and teach my own sons by way of example. This is the legacy I would hope to pass on to our two sons, Kevin and Michael.

And so, dad, for your love and devotion to family, and the many lives you lovingly touched along life's way, I salute you! And say, goodbye. Till we meet again.