Honoring the Memory of my Dad. Clarence Paul Steiner, was born in Clarksville, Michigan on April 17, 1902.
I only have a few photos of Dad, since he was the photographer in the family and was not in many pictures. But I have several “heirlooms” and mementos I inherited from Dad. The first one I want to mention is his pocket watch.
He always carried it with him. I believe he got it for his years of serving the New York Central Railroad. I wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost. So, I recently and happily gave it to our son Justin as a keepsake. Dad also had this billy club.
Now, most of you probably don’t know what it is. But it’s a wooden stick the policemen used to carry. I personally have never seen one used in a disciplinary fashion.
Dad was too young to serve in WWI and too old to serve in WWII. Also as a Mennonite who practiced peace Dad was a conscientious objector. So during the war he volunteered in civil defense and had a downtown Cleveland Auxiliary Police beat close to the YMCA where he lived.
The civil defense served as the police since most young policemen were all serving in the war effort. When he was on duty, he wore the civil defense badge.
Having never yet been married, after work Dad had time on his hands and was glad to serve. I’m glad that I have these mementos of his service in Cleveland during WWII.
But today I want to thank my dad, and honor and give thanks to God that he raised me to be God-fearing. From an early age he taught us boys from the Bible, taught the value of hard work, taught us to honor and respect our mother, and also instilled in me an appreciation for model trains and being a good steward of my earthly possessions.
This is significant when you consider that he passed away just over a month after I turned nine years old. But I remember Dad well and the trips we took together as a family in our ‘49 Oldsmobile and on the NYC passenger train across several eastern states.
We sang as a family quartet, too — Dad played his guitar and sang — his lovely resonant bass voice belting out the low notes.
Dad taught us how to safely whittle wood and peel potatoes, how to fish, play checkers and chess, build a crystal radio, how to use a hammer and saw and wrench, solder wire, sharpen tools on his grinding wheel, how to mow grass with a push reel mower, rake leaves, burn leaves safely, weed the garden, shovel snow, tie knots, tie our shoes, and even tie a four-in-hand dress tie. We learned all this before I was nine.
Dad prayed over us nightly, too. We always ate together as a family; and Dad would lead us in saying grace. Dad hugged us often and told us how much he loved us.
After school John and I would often walk to the bus stop a block away to meet him when he came home from work in downtown Cleveland. And he would hug us and rustle our hair as we boys skipped home — just happy to be with our dad.
Clarence loved people, and many people loved and appreciated him. He was faithful to God, to our mother Bernice (who he affectionately called Bea), and was a wonderful financial provider who worked at the same railroad job for 39 years.
Dad also loved our cocker spaniel Pepper. Each night John and I would bring in Pepper from the doghouse outside, have Dad’s slippers, and the evening newspaper ready for him to come home from work so he could sit in his living room chair and while waiting for dinner listen to recordings of symphonies on our Victrola. And our job as kids was to feed Pepper and then to vacuum our carpet (nearly daily). Dad cared for us and wanted to provide the best for us. We always ate well, and ours was a peaceful and safe home. I don’t ever remember hearing our parents argue or raise their voices. Dad was quiet and reserved and truly a gentleman, loved and admired by many.
But one interesting memory I have was when we were all riding in our car down our neighborhood street, and a kid hit a baseball that slammed into the door of our Oldsmobile. Dad quickly stopped the car, got out, grabbed the boy by the arm, asked him where he lived, then marched him right up to the door and explained what happened to his mother. Of course we rolled down our windows and could hear him sharing how dangerous it was for kids to play in the streets. That’s about it. But the memory stuck with me.
Well, to summarize, this chapter has been a perfect opportunity for me to give honor to Dad’s memory and legacy. Dad passed away on November 9, 1957, exactly eleven years to the day that he married Mom. That was many years ago; but I’m so glad we’ll have a heavenly reunion someday with him, our mom, and then an eternity with our Lord.
"'Honor your father and mother’ (this is the first commandment with a promise)" ~~ Ephesians 6:2 (ESV)
“Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be prolonged in the land which the Lord your God gives you” ~~ Exodus 20:12.
"God said, 'Honor your father and your mother'” ~~ Matthew 15:4a (God's WORD).
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