Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Donald Campbell Taggart Jr., 1918-2005
My grandfather died early this morning, 87 years old, down in St Petersburg, Fla. He went quickly and I hope peacefully...not to mention probably 10 to 15 years later than I would have bet.
I have some fond memories and some that are sad and disheartening, but that melange represents who "Soup" was -- a man full of humor, contradictions, addictions, an offputting lack of tact and a long history of struggling with unknown personal demons. Well, that last part is my interpretation; I would like to think there is some explanation for his lifelong failure to overcome alcoholism...a disease run rampant in my family (I think we nipped it in the bud in my generation) that brought a lot of misery to his life and his family's life.
So, this is not your standard eulogy, obviously. Campbell was a polarizing figure, and the sadness I feel is more for my father's loss than my own. My sister basically wrote Soup off after he said some loutish things to her. My uncle (my father's half brother) had a real love/hate relationship with his father -- for example, he encouraged Campbell to move to Florida, and then often wouldn't return the elderly man's phone calls (that probably bordered on harrassment). My dad would go to Florida on vacation...and not even tell his own father he was in the state.
I last saw Campbell in 2002, when I was in Florida on business. I hardly recognized him when I walked into the room at the VA hospital. The visit before, in 1998 (I think), he was laid up in a nursing home with a broken ankle and begged me to smuggle in some booze. I refused, clinging to some moral high ground about not feeding this feeble man's addiction. Looking back...what would it have hurt? How many pleasures did he have in life at that point? Betty, his wife (my father's stepmother) died in 1986; Campbell made a close woman friend in Florida, only to have her die suddenly. He was lonely and physically and mentally deteriorating...the alcohol's cumulative effect finally coming home to roost.
Well, I come to not to bury Campbell, but to praise him. He loved Frank Sinatra and used to tap along to "New York, New York" with a pair of drumsticks. His beagle Chan was fun to be around as a kid; you'd say the word "walk" and he'd tear off around the house, literally -- doing laps around the outside perimeter and baying loudly. He and Betty (who was born in Alameda, where I now live) were good to Kathy and I as kids. I can't remember too many more specifics, and that's a shame. I asked him a bunch of questions about the family in 1998, and I don't even recall the answers.
He was my last biological grandparent -- my last close blood link to that generation of Taggart and Forbes, McLean and Cueman. Rest in peace, Campbell.
(P.S. My apologies for repeating some of the same stuff I wrote on 9/18. I knew it felt familiar, but sometimes you can't remember why it feels familiar.)
I have some fond memories and some that are sad and disheartening, but that melange represents who "Soup" was -- a man full of humor, contradictions, addictions, an offputting lack of tact and a long history of struggling with unknown personal demons. Well, that last part is my interpretation; I would like to think there is some explanation for his lifelong failure to overcome alcoholism...a disease run rampant in my family (I think we nipped it in the bud in my generation) that brought a lot of misery to his life and his family's life.
So, this is not your standard eulogy, obviously. Campbell was a polarizing figure, and the sadness I feel is more for my father's loss than my own. My sister basically wrote Soup off after he said some loutish things to her. My uncle (my father's half brother) had a real love/hate relationship with his father -- for example, he encouraged Campbell to move to Florida, and then often wouldn't return the elderly man's phone calls (that probably bordered on harrassment). My dad would go to Florida on vacation...and not even tell his own father he was in the state.
I last saw Campbell in 2002, when I was in Florida on business. I hardly recognized him when I walked into the room at the VA hospital. The visit before, in 1998 (I think), he was laid up in a nursing home with a broken ankle and begged me to smuggle in some booze. I refused, clinging to some moral high ground about not feeding this feeble man's addiction. Looking back...what would it have hurt? How many pleasures did he have in life at that point? Betty, his wife (my father's stepmother) died in 1986; Campbell made a close woman friend in Florida, only to have her die suddenly. He was lonely and physically and mentally deteriorating...the alcohol's cumulative effect finally coming home to roost.
Well, I come to not to bury Campbell, but to praise him. He loved Frank Sinatra and used to tap along to "New York, New York" with a pair of drumsticks. His beagle Chan was fun to be around as a kid; you'd say the word "walk" and he'd tear off around the house, literally -- doing laps around the outside perimeter and baying loudly. He and Betty (who was born in Alameda, where I now live) were good to Kathy and I as kids. I can't remember too many more specifics, and that's a shame. I asked him a bunch of questions about the family in 1998, and I don't even recall the answers.
He was my last biological grandparent -- my last close blood link to that generation of Taggart and Forbes, McLean and Cueman. Rest in peace, Campbell.
(P.S. My apologies for repeating some of the same stuff I wrote on 9/18. I knew it felt familiar, but sometimes you can't remember why it feels familiar.)
// posted by Bill @ 10:21 PM 
