Tribute to Dad

Back
Come, Come Ye Saints. This song was chosen for several reasons. Dad loved that song. And as any of you who knew him, you will know how much Dad loved to sing and how much music was part of his life. He was born from Pioneer stock. But for those who know this song and know the words, you know that the closing refrain sings, “ ... all is well, all is well.” And when Dad passed away, that was the feeling in the room.

Dad was born April 30, 1926 to Thomas Franklin Sevy and Alice Church. He was the fourth child in a family of six children. He had one brother, and four sisters. He was named Arthur C Sevy. Family legend has it that his Father and Mother couldn’t agree on a middle name for him (his paternal-grand mother being a Crosby) so they compromised on C.

Forty-three years later, a similar naming conflict would take place. In December of 1969, Dad called Julene from the hospital to tell her that a new brother had joined the family. He had called to tell her the news, but to also inform her that he would be coming home for a “family council.” It seemed that Mom and Dad disagreed on what to name our new brother. During our family council, Dad told us that we were to vote on David or Eric, Eric being the name he preferred. Dad also stated that each of us would have one vote and he would have five. (To hear Mom tell it, Dad went back to the hospital to inform Mom that in family council, there was a vote and “we” {Mom and Dad} were out voted.)

We will hear from Eric later in the program, as Eric carries on one of the defining characteristics of Dad’s life: music and his love for singing.

Dad always told us about how Grandpa Sevy would gather the children around the piano on Sunday afternoons to sing together. Growing up, I remember our house was always filled with music. When you were invited to the Sevy house for a party, you needed to be prepared to sing something whether it was a hymn, a carol or a rehearsed show tune. While riding in the station wagon on family vacations, we would sing all the “Sevy” songs that Dad had taught us: “Sing a song of Cities,” You Are My Sunshine, the “Snowflake Song” and of course, “The Bulldog on the Bank.”

As children, Dad would sing us lullabies. I remember Dad rocking me to sleep and singing “The Buggy Song.” I would quickly nod off. He would finish the song and just when he thought it was safe to get up so he could put me to bed, I would instantly open my eyes, look up at him and plead, “sing it again Dad.” As much as I love “The Buggy Song,” nothing stirs deeper memories in my soul than the “Pocket Song.” (For those of you unfamiliar with the “Pocket Song”, you’ll have to remain in the dark, because I’m not about to sing it for you now.)

In preparing this talk, I found a personal life sketch, which Dad wrote, and I feel it’s appropriate to share some things from Dad’s life using his own words. Dad was born in Panguitch, a small town in southern Utah. He described growing up there as “wonderful” with many things to do. He would hike in the surrounding foothills and mountains; play army using homemade guns (traced from real guns); pulled small wooden boats on the ditches; swam in the rivers; played all sorts of marble games. In winter he would play in the snow and skate on the frozen streams and ponds. Dad recalls his daily chores as consisting “of feeding the pigs, chopping and carrying in the wood for the next day and milking the cow.” Dad writes, “As I grew older I had the job of milking six to eight cows night and morning.... It wasn’t so bad milking in the morning but in the evening after ball practice it was quite a challenge to ride my bike to the field, milk the cows and many times ride home after dark.”

Dad was always a leader. In his senior year of high school, he was captain of the basketball team and Student Body President. He was elected the most likely student to succeed. (And we believe he did.)

America officially entered World War II while Dad was in High School, and he joined the Navy before graduation but was allowed to finish high school before entering the Naval Training Center in May 1944. He did a tour in the South Pacific on an Air Craft Carrier, which was part of a Marine Corp Squadron. Dad writes, “We were in Guam, Okinawa and finished in Tokyo Bay when the Peace Treaty was signed.” Shortly thereafter, Dad returned back to the States where he was able to take some accumulated time off. Long before he entered the war, he began dating a girl from his high school and they became engaged before he shipped out. His girlfriend missed him so much, she even fashioned a female skirt suit from one of his dress blues and proudly wore it to school. During leave, Dad returned back to southern Utah where his high school sweetheart, Fern Slade, traded in her dress blues for some wedding whites.

Mom and Dad were married January 22, 1946 in the St George Temple. Just last week they celebrated their 58th Wedding Anniversary.

I love the story about my parent’s honeymoon. As it was still the war years, Dad explained how “things were pretty tight as relates to cars and gas.” To his surprise, Grandpa Sevy (Dad’s Grand Father) let them take the1941 Chevy Coupe so the new couple could honeymoon in the Grand Canyon. You have to understand that back then, this meant using his Grand Father’s gasoline ration sticker.

Dad’s love and respect for cars only grew. Many years later, on a Saturday afternoon, Dad announced, “Fern, I think the car needs some new tires.” Off he went. In a few hours he indeed returned with new tires ... new tires attached to a whole new car.

Mom and Dad returned to Washington, where Dad was stationed. Dad was discharged in June 1946. Dad applied, and was accepted to BYU for the Fall Quarter. He graduated in 1949 with a Bachelors Degree in Physics and Mathematics. Dad went on to complete all his course work for a Masters Degree, but as fate would have it, he was unable to obtain some equipment needed to complete his thesis and a work opportunity opened up in California. His work career led him from Convair as a Dynamics Engineer to the Naval Ordnance Laboratory, the Naval Weapons Center and the Naval Undersea Center where he retired as Head of the Dynamics Division.

Work moved the family between Upland and Escondido, where many, many friendships were made. As Dad’s work career was taking off, so was his Church career. For Dad, life revolved around the Church. He wrote, “Everything I have been involved in has depended on how it would affect my church responsibilities and activities.” Dad served as a High Councilor, Bishop, Stake Executive Secretary, Gospel Doctrine Teacher and Choir Director, to name just a few of the positions Dad held in the Church.

A couple days ago, President Haynie stopped by the house and shared how much he admired and had learned from Dad, especially Dad’s knowledge of the Temple. “The wonderful thing about your Father,” he said, “was how he would lead you along, but not give you the answers too easily.” It made me reflect on the great men whom my Father so admired and became his mentors while we lived in Upland. These men influenced and added to Dad’s natural ability to convey a lesson.

Being a teacher was another one of Dad’s gift. Often you were being taught, without knowing a lesson was taking place. When we were kids, Dad would take us out to shoot guns. Bruce was rather rambunctious. He remembers shooting Dad’s semi-automatic pistol (and really liking it). Dad purposely gave Bruce a limited amount of ammunition, warning him to not shoot too fast and waste the bullets. Dad knew Bruce would be out of rounds in two shakes of a lambs tail, and he wasn’t about to give him any more. With all the rounds shot, Bruce reflects on being taught self-control and patience.

Grandma Henry (the woman who raised my Mother) would always tell Mom, “That Arthur Sevy is a very good boy. Look at the way he treats his mother, because that is how he will treat the mother of his children.” Where did that adoration come from?

Dad used to tell us the story about how his knowledge of reconnaissance among his 10-year old peers got him elected to the position of lookout for a candy-stealing caper. When Grandma Sevy found out, and Dad saw the sorrow and disappointment in his mother’s eyes, he vowed he would never do anything to displease his mother again. He always treated his sweetheart, our mother, with loving care and respect – not as a princess, but as a queen. Even last week while Dad was lying in the hospital bed, I will always have this image of Mom and Dad holding hands and him looking up at her and saying, “How would you like to go on a date?”

I’d like you to take a moment now ...

Imagine a large clipper ship moored at the dock of some distant port city. Imagine a passenger boarding this ship and moving to the railing where he waves to those on the dock. The anchor is retrieved, the sails unfurl, a gentle wind fills the sails and the ship lunges forward. The ship begins to move toward its destination – another haven far away. Those left behind on the dock watch in forlorn silence as the ship fades away until it is but a speck on the horizon.

Now imagine, if you will, another port with people crowding the dock and the same clipper ship growing in size as it approaches. The ship reaches the dock and drops anchor. With the gangway in place, the lone passenger can now disembark. He travels down the walkway and is greeted with the sounds of singing, rejoicing, well wishers, friends and family. It is a happy and joyous occasion. Still, our traveler pauses and looks back toward the horizon from whence he came.

On an occasion like this, we are saddened by the loss of our loved one. A painful void has been created and it hurts. It’s so natural to miss them. However, we need to remember the door swings both ways, and by this, I mean how much they will miss us. This came to light on Saturday evening. Douglas lifted each of his youngest boys, Matthew and Jonathan, up over the bedrail so they could kiss Grandpa goodnight. “I’m going to miss you Grandpa,” they each insisted. Dad smiled and replied, “I’m really going to miss you too.”

And to that I have to say, “I miss you too, Dad. We all do. We miss you already.”

Arthur C Sevy: 30 April 1926 – 1 February 2004.

Master of lullabies and rocking-chair rhythms. Soother of scraped knees, earaches and childhood ailments. Purveyor of peanut-butter fudge and home-made candies. Taker of pictures and super-8 memories. Pitching coach, bicycle mechanic and childhood hero. Scholar, physicist, manager, leader. Tenor, soloist, choir director. Teacher of Gospel Principles, Counselor, Bishop, Sealer, Missionary, Example. More than just a father, we called him Dad. Your children will miss you: Douglas, Julene, Bruce, Michael and Eric. Husband, gentleman, companion, friend, The Friday-night Date. You will be missed most by your loving wife, Fern.

We are now going to play a song, which Dad recorded as a Christmas present for Mom in 1998. This is a song about love, about fear, and fear of rejection. It’s also a song about facing that fear, conquering it and the wonderful rewards that result from such courage.

Remember when ... dad sang "Remember When" (note that this is a large file - 1 meg)

Michael Sevy, Wednesday 4 February 2004