My Beloved Pop: A Eulogy and Tribute to My Unsung Hero

Grief, Support, and Regret

He’s the first thing I think about when I open my eyes each morning and the last thing I think about when I close my eyes each night. Throughout my life I have known sadness, and I thought I had known grief, but I was wrong. I have never truly known grief until now.

My mind still wrestles with the permanence of Pop’s absence, wanting to reject it all, but this is the new normal, a harsh reality.

However, a counter to our sadness is the support of so many people who loved my Pop. I am so thankful for each and every family member and friend who have helped me, my mom, and Izzy as we are still learning to cope with the loss of my Pop.

Childhood Memories of My Dad

On some level, I guess I knew that my dad was kind of a big deal, but when I stopped to take the full measure of his life, I was saddened to discover that I had never fully appreciated all that my Pop accomplished in his 77 years of life.

These days, my first memories of him often tend toward simple, everyday things that he excelled at — the world’s best chicken cacciatore and grilled teriyaki wings, for example. It’s easy to remember that he loved pepperoni rolls and classic cars and football and NASCAR.

My thoughts then effortlessly travel to when I was eight years old and he taught me to swim in a friend’s apartment pool just after we had moved to Atlanta.

I might even stretch my mind to summon up a memory of him doing Donald Duck impersonations for both me and Izzy when we were kids. I will always think about the time a bull chased him and my Uncle John in my grandfather’s pasture; John jumped a fence, but Pop was too short to scale the barbed wire, so he climbed a tree. My grandfather laughed so hard he cried. And we all still laugh about it.

But many of these stories are memories mostly for me and my mom to share. It would be easy to stop with the well-known stories and easy memories to summon up. But if I didn’t let my thoughts stretch out and encompass more of who he was, I’d be overlooking so much of his amazing life.

Dreams Vs. Reality

It astounds me that I only recently discovered that my dad originally wanted to be an air traffic controller in his professional life. However, the Air Force had other plans for him when he enlisted.

That man really loved planes!

I have fond memories of Pop taking me and Mom to see the Blue Angels in Washington. When he and my mom were dating, he took her to the airport because he really loved planes. She thought it was just an excuse so they could go “parking.” They did go parking alright — in a parking lot near the airport with a radio so Pop could listen to the air traffic controllers. Turns out, when he said they were going to watch planes take off and land, he meant it literally.

A Different Time

My parents met in Washington, D.C. in 1967. They lived in the same apartment complex. It’s hard for me to imagine younger versions of my mom and dad rushing home from work, cooking a quick hamburger, getting ready to go out, and then driving to Georgetown to look at the hippies or listening to live music in clubs.

It’s tough (but fun) to envision my dad waiting for her at the airport with flowers after she returned from her home in West Virginia. Their lives were forever intertwined from that moment on, working, traveling, raising me, picking up Izzy from school every single day.

I like to think of them walking hand in hand through the decades together, experiencing the ups and downs of life, doing and seeing more than they had ever dreamed possible.

White House Days

I had to dig deep to discover the story of how my dad became a photographer. It didn’t work out for him to be an air traffic controller; however, he did become a photographer because that’s what the Air Force decided for him.

And wow. Who knew he would be so good at it and that he would get to work in the White House photo lab with LBJ’s photographer, Yoichi Okamoto. Midnight film runs, a Christmas party at the White House, and a Presidential Service Badge followed.

And just a few years ago, my dad gave a presentation about his time with Okamoto at the Booth Museum in North Georgia. My pop even had a press pass to be on the tarmac for the inaugural flight of Concorde into Dulles Airport in 1976.

Pop followed Okamoto to Image, Inc. in Tyson Corners, VA, and worked there for several years before he and my mom moved us all to Atlanta. He worked at a couple of different places here — Miesel, Color Reflections to name a few. Pop made prints for commercial use that ended up all over Atlanta, even in Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.

A young Jim Bice shakes hands with Lady Bird Johnson at a Christmas Party circa 1968.

Retirement

I am so happy to add to my memories that my dad was able to retire and devote time to the things that mattered most to him. He and my mom spent every afternoon with Izzy from the time she was four until she went to middle school.

He pulled her around the house in the laundry basket, took her for walks, and generally doted on her the way he thought she deserved.

Pop created magnificent vegetable gardens every year, and we all benefited from the bounty of his harvest.

He went fishing some, not as much as he would have liked though.

He and my mom cruised and traveled and lived life on their own terms until my dad got sick. They made the most of the time they had together, and I know if anyone had asked, he would have said he had a good life. A really good life. But they just ran out of time.

Grasping at Faded Memories

I know that I am blessed to look back on a childhood spent in security and love. Since Pop has passed, I find myself gravitating towards music from the 70s.

Initially I thought those songs made me think about my dad, but I’ve come to realize that they transport me to a time when I was riding in the back seat of my parents’ car or eating tomato soup and grilled cheese in front of the fireplace, a time when I felt safe and unshakeable in the world, comfortable in my own skin because my mom and dad were young, vibrant, and healthy and made me feel so loved and treasured.

And those songs that I love so much are also the ones that bring me to tears now because that time is gone and so is my Pop.

It’s painful for me to recall the last year of my dad’s life; quite simply put, his body betrayed him. He persevered and exhibited more strength than I ever could.

He rarely complained. Pop approached his sickness like he approached most things: keep your head down, don’t cause anyone any trouble, and don’t be a burden.

Towards the end of his life, my mom said, “Sometimes we didn’t know what to do with Pop Pop, but I sure don’t know what we’re going to do without him.” We really don’t. I really don’t.

All of these memories are wonderful and painful at the same time.

In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Victor’s mother has just died, and he muses: “The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth, had visited, and its dimming influence quenched our dearest smiles.” I profoundly feel Victor’s sentiments right now with the loss of my dad.

My attachment to the world is lessened because he is not here. In fact, it’s hard to view life the same way now that he’s gone.

His Farewell Tour

Pop often joked that so many things for him were his “farewell tour” — his last trip to Disney, his last visit to an overpriced restaurant, any final visit somewhere that he didn’t care to return to.

My greatest hope is that my dad, wherever he is, had a great farewell tour, an easy journey, and a blessed reunion with those he loves. And that I’ll see him again one day to let him know how very much he was and is beloved.