As my Dad’s oldest child, I felt it important that I stand up and say a few things about him

My Dad

By Steve Doolen

As my Dad’s oldest child, I felt it fitting that I stand up and say a few things about him. I have no surprises about his character or personality, as he was a man of whom it could truly be said, “What you see is what you get”.

Ben Doolen was born April 19, 1922, just outside Kinmundy, IL, in an old farmhouse that still stands within sight of the Doolen cemetery, where he will return today. Like most from his generation, he grew up knowing hard times and hard work. As my grandmother, Ruth Doolen, once told me, “We were poor, but we didn’t know we were poor, because everyone else was poor too.” Something you may not know about him is that he won a marbles shooting contest when he was about 9 years old, and went to St. Louis to compete. Back then he wore thick glasses to compensate for near sightedness, but later was able to discard the glasses. He was a good student, and a good high school basketball player, baseball player, and also ran track. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, he quickly volunteered for service in the Navy, but was refused due to dental problems. He had some dental work done, and enlisted on 10-8-1942. Although he never served in combat, that was through no doing of his own. He served most of his duty on the West Coast, expecting to ship out to the Pacific at any time. While in training at the Great Lakes Naval Station, he met and became romantically involved with my mother, Pauline Purcell. One of our families often told stories, is of their growing up in Alma and Kinmundy and not knowing each other, then meeting and falling in love in Chicago. They married on August 29, 1943.

After the war, he and my mother returned to Illinois, with me, their first born, in tow. A short time later, in 1947, my sister Terri came along. My Dad worked several manual labor jobs in those early days, including managing the Salem ice plant, and working in the oil fields around Southern Illinois for the Haliburton Oil Company. I remember once asking him how he got started in the insurance business, and he said that it didn’t take him long to figure out that selling was a lot easier than lugging heavy oil field equipment around. In 1952, our brother Bill was born. We lived in several towns in southern Illinois and Indiana, as Dad learned the insurance business, always improving the family’s fortunes with each change.

Starting in 1973, he went through the long struggle my mother fought with cancer, one that would go on for almost 10 years. He was a rock of dependability and strength for her, as well as the rest of us during that time. I saw him cry only once but because of that, it touched me all the more.

When he started seeing Pola, he came to each of his children, one at a time, and sought their approval before proceeding. I can say for all of us, that we are so thankful and happy that this union occurred. He became the father figure that her family had been missing for so long, and he gained many new children and grandchildren. He was readily accepted into Pola’s family, and we saw him become more openly affectionate and expressive, like their family. He treated all her children and grandchildren like his own. He loved all children, and made immediate friends with each one he met. He and Pola lived life to the fullest for every minute they were together. All their children often spoke about how they couldn’t keep up with them.

OK, he wasn’t perfect. He was sometimes stubborn, argumentative, and opinionated. These traits, that could be so maddening at the time, have become the stuff of stories that bring smiles and laughs in reminiscence. I’ve been told these are traits that have shown up in Doolens, both before and since, so we will forgive him for that which he inherited.

I have never felt I was nearly as strong, smart, or dependable as my Dad. My brother recently remarked that even though he was internally so sick, he had never seemed so astute, wise, or perceptive as recently, while fighting the cancer, and I agree.

What a fighter! From the moment he was first diagnosed with cancer, he had a positive attitude and a confidence that he would improve and lead a normal life. When told he had a month to live, he lived eight more, and with a quality of life no one could have imagined. One day last fall, when visiting him at his house, he remarked that he thought travelling around by motorcycle, like I often do, seemed like a lot of fun, and he wished he had done so when he was younger. I didn’t think a lot about it at the time. A few weeks ago, when it was obvious he was declining quickly, he said, “When I get out of here, and get better, I’m getting a motorcycle”. Pola was obviously surprised, and said, “Now Bennie, you don’t need a motorcycle. Maybe a little scooter”. “No” he said, “I want a real motorcycle”. He never gave up hope, and always expected to get better.

In the end, when there was no turning back, he left with grace and in peace. He opened his eyes, smiled, and for a moment, we thought he was making another amazing comeback. Our moment of joy coincided with his last one, as we suddenly realized he was gone. For the seven of us who were in the room with him, it was a wondrous and comforting experience, a mystical moment that we may each explain in our own way, but none can understand.

I would like to thank everyone who visited, called, sent a card or flowers, or prayed or thought about Dad while he was sick. I assure you, it meant a lot to him. As our grief gradually fades away, I hope you, like me, will think of him with a smile on your face, a laugh in your heart, and if a story comes to mind, I hope you will share it with someone. He will now join my mother, his parents, and several generations of Doolen ancestors, at the Doolen cemetery, having come full circle from where he was born. When you are in need of a quiet moment, a peaceful vista, a slight breeze, and the need of talking to an old friend, I hope you will stop by. My wish for each of you is that when your time comes, you are surrounded by as many loving people as he was.

Dad loved to drive, and I suppose he must have driven well over a million miles in his life. Please listen to a song about the highway of life, that makes me think so much of the way he lived and died. The song goes like this:

Pilgrim

(words & music by Steve Earle)

I am just a pilgrim on this road boys,

I am just a pilgrim on this road, boys,

This ain’t never been my home.

Sometimes the roads been rocky along the way, boys,

Sometimes the roads been rocky along the way boys

Sometimes the roads been rocky along the way, boys,

But I was never travelin alone.

We’ll meet again on some bright highway

Songs to sing, and tales to tell

But I am just a pilgrim on this road, boys,

Until I see you, Fare Thee Well.

Ain’t no use to cry for me, boys,

Somewhere down the road you’ll understand.

Cause I expect to touch His hand, boys,

I’ll put a word in for you if I can.

We’ll meet again on some bright highway

Songs to sing, and tales to tell

But I am just a pilgrim on this road, boys,

Until I see you, Fare Thee Well.