Daddy’s Tears

My heart fell heavy with anguish. I felt as if it would break in two at any moment. There HE was:  My Daddy.  And He was crying… I felt his pain like a dagger plunging deeply into my chest, ripping my heart out and laying it bare before the world, on the living room floor. It was an indescribable, excruciating pain.

It was January 10, 1976–the day my hometown–Fremont, Nebraska–made history.  But, it wasn’t something I look back on with fond memories.  My Dad came home from work midmorning, something totally out of the ordinary for him. When he walked through the door, my eyes met his, and I knew instantly something was drastically wrong. He was visibly shaken, his face drawn and morose. His blue-green eyes were anxiety ridden and red and swollen, and I didn’t know why…  It was then that I saw them: THE TEARS. They began to stream down his face one by one. My heart winced with pain, and fighting back my own tears, I told myself Daddy’s aren’t supposed to cry. You’re my hero Daddy.   Heroes don’t cry.  Please, don’t cry!  I need you to be strong.  But he wasn’t, and I couldn’t expect him to be.  At my mere seventeen years of age, I wasn’t ready for this.  Time, it seemed, stood still.

At that moment, this big burly armed man, I called daddy, the haven that I ran to for safety and protection, all at once seemed weak; broken.  Utter helplessness encompassed me. He wasn’t the pillar of strength I’d always looked to. Not right then. I followed him into the back bedroom and stood in the doorway as his tangible anxiety fueled mine. He opened the closet door and pulled out his coveralls that he only used for working on the car.   “Daddy” I said… “What’s wrong” my voiced cracking? “Did something bad happen?” In a quivering voice, he consoled me gently, “Yes honey, something bad did happen. The Pathfinder Hotel exploded this morning. They had a gas leak. Rich and two other guys from the gas company were killed. I am going to go and help clean up the mess.” I stood there in shock and disbelief.   How could this be, I wanted to know? I just saw Rich. He can’t be d-d-ead. He can’t be. Is this some sort of an awful joke?

Rich Strong was one of my Dad’s best friends. He and the other two men that lost their lives that day were on call for the Nebraska Natural Gas Company. My Dad was normally on call and he was undoubtedly thinking, “It could have been me. I can’t believe it. I’m usually on call and the one day I wasn’t…” It had to have been a bitter sweet moment for my dad. Knowing he had escaped such a horrendous tragedy while grieving the sudden loss of two coworkers and one of his best friends. Had he been one of the ones responding to the Pathfinder’s call that day, how different life would have been for my brother, me and my mother. An explosion that destroyed several blocks of businesses and cars parked in the surrounding area, sending blocks of cement to the ground, glass and shards of metal high into the sky.

I remember my Dad’s friend, Rich, well. My Dad would take my brother and me with him when he went to Rich’s home to visit he and his family.    He was a jovial, dark-haired man, with a mustache and a gruff voice.  And he was never without a smile.  Rich liked to tease me and tickle me. He quickly won me over from a young age.

After I got my driver’s license, I would run into him from time to time in Fremont. One particular day, I ran out of gas. I must have been aiming for a record, as it was the third time that year. I called my Dad like I always did to come to my rescue. I knew I could count on him. Less than fifteen minutes had passed and here he came, with a gas can in tow.  Rich happened to be riding a long with him that day. (My Dad had obviously filled him in on my irresponsible teenaged escapades of running out of gas). They both got out of the company truck and stood side by side.   As my Dad tipped the red metal gas can up with the yellow nozzle to fill my gas tank, Rich teasingly chided, “Now you do know that “E” stands for “empty” and not “enough,” don’t you?”   He and I both chuckled.  Blushing, I grinned sheepishly.  He and my Dad got back into the blue company truck with the Nebraska Natural Gas emblem on the side, and off they went to answer more gas calls.

That was the last time I saw Rich before the explosion.

I’d never met a more jovial, warm-hearted, fun-loving guy. He and his coworkers were laid to rest that next week.

Having lost my Dad in 1992 to lung cancer, I have often thought that if fate would have had it, I may have lost my dad sixteen years earlier on that day. The day the black cloud of smoke and sadness descended on our small Midwestern town.  The day my hometown, Fremont, Nebraska made history and the Pathfinder Hotel exploded, taking the lives of three men, with wives and children left at home to fend for themselves.

I still think about Rich from time to time, and will always remember the last words he spoke to me. Many times while at the gas station filling up my gas tank, his last words come flooding back to me: “You do know that “E” stands for “empty” and not “enough,” don’t you?

Well, thanks to you Rich Strong, I do. And, I’ve never forgotten it. You left a legacy of love behind in the heart of every person that knew and loved you. I will never forget the dear friend you were to my Daddy. Your name must have had a much greater meaning than even you knew, my friend. There was an untold RICHness in the love and every single smile you passed out generously and selflessly. Neither will soon be forgotten. Richer still was the friendship between You and my Dad.  The day of your death was the first time I saw my Daddy cry. Yours must have been a very RICH friendship indeed.

(I wrote this blog Jan 9, 2016 and I had it on another blogging platform. I feel it appropriate to include Rich’s families comments, as it touched them deeply):

Robin Fooken01.12.2016 AT 8:19 PM

Thank you Carole for sharing this beautiful memory so elegantly written, my heart aches every time I read it. I know our Dads are smiling down from heaven knowing their friendship was so dear and so strong that it has only grown so much stronger through us, their children. Your family has always been in my heart, you will always be my family thank you again

Rochelle Cook Meyer01.11.2016 AT 4:11 PM

What a great way to honor a special man. Rich also was a dear friend of my dad Don Cook. They worked on the police force togeather. My dad also went to help find Rich. It was indeed a sad day for the city of Fremont.

Jean Chisholm01.11.2016 AT 9:59 AM.

Well written, Carole. I remember that day well. Paul and I were dressing to go to Ann’s funeral, and I was sitting on the bed. Our house was three miles north of Fremont, and the blast of the hotel explosion shook the bed! You did a great job remembering. Not many people remember Daryl Benham, a neighbor, who was in town that morning. Daryl went to the aid of the people trying to get out of the top story apartments of the Pathfinder that were left standing. He said he was wearing his cowboy boots, a blessing, since the heels held his feet on the ladder rungs. He carried two people down to safety, and perhaps more. Daryl is dead now, but well remembered by all who knew him.

Susan Strong Ortega01.10.2016 AT 5:34 PM

Thank you all for sharing these wonderful heartfelt feelings for my brother Rich. He was a wonderful man and touched so many in his short life. He as all my brothers the Clint Strong son’s where all caring giving family men who lived full meaningful lives for God, family and Community. He is missed still today but we have been blessed with his beautiful kids Dawn, Rick, Hope and Robin who have carried on his values! Love to all! One day we will all be together again!

Hope Songster01.10.2016 AT 4:50 PM

Thanks Carole. You and your family are always in my heart. I loved your parents so much. I always called them Uncle Gene and Aunt Rosie. The Gas Company back then was an extension of our families. Truly every person at the company felt the loss. Sometimes in my grief I forget that I am not alone in missing my dad. Only in real life, E stands for enough, not empty because my heart filled with enough love and my head with enough memories to never feel empty even though he was here for such a short time and gone for 40 years. Again, Thank you.

Anonymous01.10.2016 AT 4:20 PM

Thanks Carole. You and your family are always in my heart. I loved your parents so much. I always ca
lled them Uncle Gene and Aunt Rosie. The Gas Company back then was an extension of our families. Truly every person at the company felt the loss. Sometimes in my grief I forget that I am not alone in missing my dad. Only in real life, E stands for enough, not empty because my heart filled with enough love and my head with enough memories to never feel empty even though he was here for such a short time and gone for 40 years. Again, Thank you.

Dana Sidorski01.10.2016 AT 2:06 PM

Thank you for sharing this memory of my brother Rich. He was the sweetest & kindest man, did love to tease with you, and is missed forever in my heart.

Joy Strong01.10.2016 AT 12:39 PM

Thank you for this touching story about your father and my Uncle Rich. I’ve always remembered my Uncle Rich as a very brave man knowing fully well that going into the Hotel Pathfinder could cost him his life., however, that did not stop him. He wanted to do whatever he could to try to find the gas leak and get it turned off. Uncle Rich truly loved and cared about his family and community. He was a man of character, and i see that same character and love in community in his children today. Thank you again for sharing your touching memory.

Charles Strong01.10.2016 AT 11:43 AM

How very thoughtful and touching! A profound thank you, Carole, for honoring the loving memory of my joyful uncle Rich and his true friend, your hero father. Though our feelings of loss are profound, so are our gratitude and admiration that continue in our memory and hearts.

Greg A Carlson01.10.2016 AT 11:29 AM

Very Nice story , a sad day in Fremont History , today 1/10/2016