Remembering my Father

My Dad, William Arthur Boardman was born 11 Mar 1899 in Stillwater, Washington, MN, and died 11 Aug 1973 in Minneapolis, Hennepin, MN.

As a child, Dad’s best friend and fellow troublemaker was his elder brother Laurence. They would often pick fights with older neighborhood kids, and then to avoid a beating, run to their hideout, a brush-obscured outcropping on a bluff, or by running to their eldest brother Harry for protection. Laurence was working in Osceola, Houghton County, Michigan, in 1917, when he contracted meningitis and died.

In 1918, Dad enlisted in the U.S. Army for service in World War I. Completing training as an engineer; he was ready to leave for France when the Armistice was signed. In 1942, at age 43, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He was promoted to corporal in February of 1943, but the enlistment lasted only until 20 March 1943, when he was discharged to return home to his terminally ill wife Anna. Anna had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease. Anna succumbed to the disease in May of 1946.

In June of 1947, Dad married Grace (Reed) Hendricks, and a little more than a year later, I was born. He was 49 & Mom was 37. Thanks folks for the late in life parenthood!

Dad had a long career as a display artist for the old Scheuneman’s and Golden Rule department stores of St. Paul, Minnesota and owned his own sign company until his retirement in 1964. Painting in oils was his long time hobby. East European ethnic people (“Latvian Couple”, “Volga Boatmen”) were his favorite subjects. Of his many paintings, only six are known to exist.

About 1964, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and was unable to continue his career and hobby. In the spring of 1973, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer of the esophagus. He died 11 Aug 1973 at Veteran’s Hospital, Fort Snelling.

In the 1950’s we didn’t have the noxious morning cartoons, but rather reruns of B-Westerns from Republic Studios, several western TV series: “Cowboy G-Men,” “Annie Oakley,” “Fury,” & “Roy Rogers,” among many others. So, quite naturally, I was a little cowboy. With both parents working outside the home, each had their household chores in the evening. Dad was the chief cook & dishwasher, the kitchen his realm.

For little Jackie, he, while fixing dinner, became “Pecos Bill,” proprietor of the “Summit Café & Saloon,” and I was the Sheriff, comin’ in for the evening meal. It was great fun for me.

When I was a Cub Scout, Dad was Den 2’s “Den Father,” a then revolutionary concept—“Den Mothers” being the norm.

During my Boy Scout years, he contributed his time & talent designing & silk-screening a custom uniform kerchief for our troop, and hosted patrol meetings at our home.

Too soon, he became ill, I was but 16 when he became afflicted with Parkinson’s disease, and the combination of the disease and the medications he took, robbed me of the Dad he had been.

I was 25 when he passed away, my time with him too short, but his influence lives on within me.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!