Dick loved decorating the Christmas Tree
. . .his annual battle with the lights was a family legend!
All who knew Dick have fond stories that they remember about his life.
Whether or not you witnessed the events personally, you found out that his
skill as a technical writer paled in comparison to his mastery of the
storytelling art.Click the links in this frame to select a story for
your enjoyment. Return by clicking on any link labeled
[Top of page]. If you would
like to share a story (or add your insight to one already posted) please
use this form.
Coming soon: How to Brush Teeth in One Easy Lesson,
Be Careful What You Ask For,
Yuletide Ninja,
Uncle Sam vs. The Goose,
Christmas in Arizona,
Wings,
Oil Change,
and Road Test.
boyhood innocence
Growing up in the first half of the twentieth century really wasn't any
different than growing up today. Mostly.
[Top of page]
Little Brother
Dick was the oldest of three boys, and because prenatal
care was less advanced, the only child for the first nine years of his
life. Peter was born then, and a few years later John completed the
family.
With so many years between them, Dick was more babysitter than brother in
those early years. John was a little boy, adorable and horrible as
those can be.
John himself claims no personal recollection of the events of the day in
question, but Dick's memory of the incident was always crystal clear.
Young Rich (as his parents called him) stumbled out of bed earlier than he
would have liked but later than his father thought healthy, and wandered
into the kitchen wearing his pajamas, searching for nourishment.
John had been awake probably for hours, for the young rarely sleep past
dawn. He must have been having a bad day - perhaps his mother had
scolded him, or he had just stubbed his toe, or his teddy bear was
missing.
As Rich walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his young
brother walked right up to him, mouth agape, and when at last he reached
his eldest sibling, he chomped down.
John was the perfect height to make sure Dick would remember that bite for
the rest of his life.
We may never know why John Ward committed such an act, but we do know that
he was never brought up on charges, and later was admitted to the Bar in
two states.
[Top of page]
Harried Husband
Tales of how a man learns to fit into a partnership that will last a
lifetime. [Top of page]
Connie Versus the Bee
It was the 1960s. Dick and Connie lived in
Moses Lake, Washington, in a cul-de-sac. On a sunny weekend day,
Connie, great with child, went off to take care of a few errands.
She got into the car, as was her practice, starting the car only after
adjusting the mirror, locating her lipstick, and organizing her belongings
on the seat.
Throwing the car into reverse, she was backing down the driveway when she
noticed her passenger, a honey bee. Being a lady of her times, her
comfort level with this additional, living cargo was fairly low, so she
made a quick decision and exited the vehicle. With it running.
And still backing out the driveway.
Connie was good at expressing her opinion about such events, and her
scream got the attention of Dick and one or more neighbors. Dick
quickly surveyed the situation: his pregnant wife, with no apparent
damage, was running from the car; the car, with driver's door open, was
backing out of the driveway. He quickly ran for the car, watching
all the while as the driver's door hit the rear bumper of their second
car, which was parked at the curb. The impact damaged both the door
and and the bumper, and turned the wheel of the moving vehicle, so it
began a long, slow loop around the cul-de-sac.
The car was only moving at the speed of idle, but it was backing up with
an open door. Dick had no difficulty catching up with the offending
automobile, but maneuvering around the open door proved more of a problem.
As both Connie and their neighbor Barb watched the action, he chased the
car around the cul-de-sac, trying to get inside to stop its mad, slow
dash.
The car itself resolved the issue by completing its loop and colliding
with the front bumper of their second car, still nursing its wounds from
being attacked by a car door. The impact damaged the rear bumper of
the runaway vehicle and the front bumper of the innocent one, and stopped
the escaping auto in its tracks.
When they called their insurance company, USAA, to explain how they
damaged both cars, they found that it was the policy of the company to
waive the deductible when both cars involved in a collision were insured
by USAA.
[Top of page]
Superhuman
Connie Ward, Dick's wife, was hospitalized due to
complications from a hip replacement in 1995. After a year of
surgeries, recoveries, battles with infection, rehabilitative therapy,
physical therapy, occupational therapy, and long-term care, she was
discharged into a home that had been massively remodeled, to a husband
that was, to his surprise, completely unprepared to care for her.
The training they had received in transferring Connie from her wheelchair
into their station wagon resulted, in practice, in a sore back for Dick
and great pain for Connie. They had to purchase a
wheelchair-life-equipped minivan to get her to her numerous doctor
appointments. Those doctors, overwhelmed by her many complaints,
added to her already long list of medications to the point where her side
effects outnumbered her symptoms. The wheelchair lift installed in
the house fell quickly into disuse, for Connie discovered that she
couldn't stay in her chair overly long without experiencing great pain.
The first year after she came home was a time of pain, confusion,
struggles to find sympathetic doctors that would be willing to find the
reasons for her various symptoms, and incalculable stress.
Over time, Dick's natural inclination to find the order in the chaos came
to light. He found Connie first a kind and talented internist in Dr.
Robert Clark, and then other specialists. Connie's medications were
brought to a manageable number, and Dick created a system whereby he could
track not only when each medication should be given, but when it must be
reordered from the pharmacy. Working with doctors and aides, he
learned better ways to transfer her into and out of her wheelchair, and
address her concerns like bedsore prevention. A complex schedule of
a routine came together, one that only a superman could maintain.
Dick provided Connie with care for nineteen or more hours a day, including
showering her, maintaining her medications, and helping her exercise.
Many nights he was lucky to get five consecutive hours of sleep. He
shopped, cooked, gardened, cleaned, and found time for two volunteer
positions each week. He baked for family celebrations and prepared
meals for visitors. He was on-call and willing to help in any way
for six continuous years.
Dick Ward, more than almost any other man you will encounter in your life,
understood the phrase, "'Til death do us part."
[Top of page]
The Dream Visit
Death did part Dick from his wife on June 16, 2005,
although they actually last spoke to one another on June 1, the day that
Dick fell and experienced a
subdural hematoma.
A blur of activity followed the accident, including two brain surgeries
and a considerable amount of skill applied to saving his life. It
culminated in a conversation with Connie and the kids about Dick's wishes,
wishes were finally carried out on the sixteenth of that month.
The caregiving routine that Dick had established with his wife was in dire
straits, and would be for some time. In addition, the entire family
was in mourning for this bedrock which they had lost. Typically not
much for pomp and ceremony, Dick did choose to intervene once more.
Perhaps a week and a half after his passing, Connie's youngest son Terence
was caring for her overnight. Outside of her normal routine, she
began to require the use of the bedpan quite early in the morning.
She called and called, but no one came to her assistance, and the pain was
building within her. Finally, in the darkness, she knew that someone
was there. Loving hands tended to her needs and relieved her
discomfort. The light was never turned on and she never saw his
face, but she knew that her husband had come to take care of her, and to
let her know that he was fine.
Of course, this didn't stop her from awakening still in need of the bedpan
- Dick may have been a good man, but he was no saint!
[Top of page]
Faithful father
Dick Ward loved being a father and adored
his children, whether or not he thought it was a good idea to admit it.
[Top of page]
Christmas Spirit
Christmas was not a season in the Ward household, it was a
cycle of enthusiasm and frenzy. The year began with lists and
careful preparation for sales, and the gift shopping (not to mention
wrapping) for the childrens' gifts was an ongoing process. With the
exception of paying the credit card bills, Dick's involvement in the
yearlong process was mostly minimal. The fever pitch that ensued in
November, however, involved the entire family, and because he was
frequently accosted with holiday-related agenda immediately after a long
day a work, Dick acquired (somewhat unfairly) a reputation for being a bit
of a Scrooge. This short recollection shows that, in his own way, he
enjoyed Christmas as much as anyone.
It was a December day much like any other, and shopping for the tree had
become the primary concern. With at least one child young enough to
be excited by the entire process, a trip to acquire a "real" tree was
still necessary. This was turning out to be a good year: no
presents had been lost, the cards had been sent out timely, and it wasn't
raining or forty below zero when it was time to go buy the tree.
With youngest son Terence in tow and armed with ample twine, they drove
off into the chill afternoon.
If you have never lived on Long Island or anywhere else in the shadow of
New York City, you may not realize that civility is not one of the primary
characteristics of the residents. This tendency towards aggression
is probably no better illustrated than a retail parking lot, in which
vehicles circle like sharks that have just come off their Lenten fast and
are eager for a spot at the trough. On this particular day, the
family was reasonably lucky to find an opening in short order, even as
nearby events reminded them of their good fortune. A woman had been
waiting for a shopper to leave, turn signal announcing her stake on the
territory about to open up. Even as the car backed out into her
path, another vehicle slipped past from the other direction and slid
neatly into the hole created.
Slam! The woman was out of her car. "You sonovabitch,
you saw me waiting for that spot . . ." she began, laying into the man
with the grit and venom that only many years on Long Island could have
taught her. Her tirade became more colorful and rose in pitch as the
Wards trundled past. Dick, born in the Midwest, was not so prone to
the New York mentality, and he'd been having a particularly good day,
which was evidenced as he strolled by, saying with a smile, "Merry
Christmas, lady."
The Open Book
Although Dick's primary focus was his
family, not his job, he still made an impact as a technical writer.
[Top of page]
What Am I
Doing Here?
Contributed by Phil Ferreri
When I graduated from the Academy of Aeronautics in
1974, I interviewed for many jobs, one of which was for a position as a
Technical Writer at Grumman. I accepted the Grumman job primarily
because it paid more ... but must admit ... I had no idea what a Technical
Writer even was ...
My first day on the job, I was introduced to my boss ... Mr. Dick Ward ...
After several days (which seemed like years) of reading and re-reading
specifications ... I began to wonder about what I had gotten myself into
... THIS WAS BORING!
Finally your Dad brought a telephone over to my desk and laid it in front
of me ... he told me to write a technical manual about that telephone ...
including Theory of Operation, Operating Procedures, Disassembly &
Reassembly Instructions, Troubleshooting, etc ... He helped me to see what
it takes to properly educate someone through my words ... and made the
learning experience educational and enjoyable ... and through all of my
growing pains as a Junior Tech Writer ... your Dad was always
professional, polite, wise, and above all ... a Class Act ...
That was over 30 years ago ... I am still earning my living as a Technical
Writer (at Computer Associates) ... I have always had fond thoughts and
memories of your Dad ... and would always seek him out at our various
Grumman reunion get-togethers ...
Just thought you would like to know ... that for me ... he has always been
and will continue to be ... a "Class Act" ...
[Top of page]
Lunch Hours
Work was not all nose-to-the-grindstone at Grumman .
. . sometimes, Dick and his coworkers would be allowed to go to lunch.
Here are two short anecdotes from his lunches:
There were several favorite restaurants that he would go to, and it's
believed that on this particular day he was with his friend Jimmy
McCormick, among others. It wasn't unusual to have a drink with your
meal, and Dick decided to have some drambuie. The drinks arrived,
and Dick raised his glass as they laughed over the foibles of the day.
The current joke must have been particularly good, because when he sipped
it went right down his front, as if he had been given a dribble glass.
Dick laughed over his own clumsiness and wiped himself with a napkin.
The lunches arrived, and they dug right in. Keeping an eye on the
time as always (punctuality never went out of style for Dick), he reached
to swallow the last of his drink, and again found himself wearing drambuie
down his front. Drambuie doesn't generally get served in large
glasses, and Dick had managed to get close to a third of it on his shirt.
Lunch was finished without further incident, and Dick got through the day
without too much ribbing from Jimmy and the others - which was especially
surprising considering the sense of humor Jimmy McCormick had. The
next day, however, when he got to work, Dick discovered what happens when
Jimmy was allowed to think about a thing overnight. Sitting in the
middle of his desk, without comment, was a cup:
No further comment on Dick's ability to
drink was necessary.
When the weather turned kinder, Dick was partial to encouraging his more
sedentary associates to join him for a walk. On one such an occasion
he was joined by two or three friends as they strolled the Grumman
compound on a fine spring day. It was the sort of day when the trees
were budding, the birds were flying hither and yon, and even the trucks
seemed to make a more pleasing sound as they rushed by on the many roads
of the Bethpage headquarters complex. Despite the relative warmth of
the afternoon compared to recent weather, Dick stood on tradition and wore
his sport coat when he left the building. The buds that signaled the
beginning of hay fever for many were only just bursting onto the scene
that day, and the birds were busily crafting nests and searching out food
after the lean months of winter. So hungry are birds at this time of
year that they can
eat many times
their own weight in seeds and other appropriate foods.
Presumably, this massive intake has an equally impressive output, often at
the expense of recently-washed cars. On the day in question,
however, the victim of the moment was Dick's sport coat, being quite
effectively targeted by the rear bombing mechanism of one of the
twittering flyers above. No pictures were taken on this occasion
(cameras not being allowed in such a secure facility), but we can only
imagine what the look on Dick's face was!
[Top of page]
The Diplomat
Contributed by Joe Molfetta and Dick Wood
Dick was a supervisor and manager for many of his years
working for Grumman. In addition to the basic skill of translating
Engineer into Pilot, he had to be able to coordinate among several
writers, engineers, and Naval officers. This involved interpersonal
skills beyond those one can find in any of the current management books on
the market.
One such time a group was to work together on a project under Dick's
supervision. He was told by two of his regulars that one of the new
additions, Tony Stauber, was a known "pita" (Pain In The
Ass, one of Dick's favorite acronyms) who was more likely to make
things difficult than make things happen. Anyone who knew Dick on a
personal level might imagine him locking horns with this potential problem
and bringing a small amount of his not inconsiderable temper to bear.
However, Dick the Supervisor knew that a different approach was necessary.
He took Tony aside for a private conversation. As Tony has since
passed away, no one left alive knows what passed between them. We
know that no anger was evident, and no one was fired or quit. We
also know that Tony did not create any difficulty or put up any
roadblocks; in fact, with Dick's leadership "he would knock down walls to
get the job done and not because he was robotic or anything; but because
your father always did the right thing by us so we did right by him,"
according to Joe Molfetta.
Some secrets of management never make it to the books, you see.
[Top of page]
Role Model
Contributed by Joe Molfetta
Let me tell you what you already know, your Dad was a
very smart and admirable man. His family values were beyond belief.
Your Dad was a very intelligent man and it's evident in his children.
Your father was my mentor at Grumman and there could be no better. I
still rely on things he taught me today. I'm sorry I did not stay in
touch with him.
When we worked together I looked forward to seeing him every day, and I
loved getting his point of view on things. He made work a pleasure,
never a chore. I met your Dad when I was 28, I'm 47 now. You
know the saying, "Who do you want to be like when you grow up," I wanted
to be like your Dad; he had fine qualities! That is the truth.
Your Dad had an easy way about him, yet he commanded authority.
Rightfully so, we called him Colonel. He never made anyone feel
uncomfortable. When I started there I was a rookie and your father
treated me professionally and respectfully. I felt like your Dad was
my Dad, only better! He was that good! Your father and
I sat together the last few years before he retired. He was
unquestionably a model employee and deserved much more than they ever gave
him, but was content. Being content is the secret of happiness;
another thing I learned from him!
[Top of page]
Funeral Mass of Richard A. Ward
St. William the Abbot R.C.
Church
Homily – Rev. Eric R. Fasano
This morning, we gather together as a family. These
last few weeks, the family of Dick has kept vigil with him and his beloved
wife Connie at his bedside and at their home. You have done so in
shock and in sorrow, but even more so in mutual support and love.
You have kept a vigil of prayer.
This morning, you come together in the heart of Dick’s
spiritual home, the Church, and fittingly so because Dick was very much
at home here. This is something I wish to emphasize in
particular. For years this has been Dick’s spiritual home, not just
because it’s a nice parish or a convenient spot, but because above all
else, Connie and Dick are a couple of faith. They know that they are
God’s children and that this is their home. This is where they
receive our Lord’s own Body and Blood in the Holy Eucharist, to which Dick
was so devoted. It is your home as well, and it is a place of hope.
All of the ways that Dick’s family describe him bear
witness to what I have experienced in the privilege of getting to know him
and Connie these past three years. Dick is indeed a man of honesty,
integrity, service, self-sacrifice, and courage. He is a man who
loved others and cared for others; family, friend and stranger alike.
Many of you know of the great deal of volunteer work that Dick has done
after retirement. That is why I chose this particular Gospel for
Mass this morning (Matthew 25:31-40). I can imagine Dick saying to
our Lord, in that gentle voice of his, “Lord, when did I do all that
for you?” Our Lord would answer him, “So many times, Dick, so
many times.” In all of those outstanding qualities, Dick truly
was a child of God.
There is one thought that I would like to leave you with.
Shortly after Dick went into the hospital, Connie said to me that she was
most upset because for years Dick was there for her when she most needed
him, and now she could not be there for him. That simply was not so.
Not only was Connie herself there for him these past few weeks, but she
did the most important thing that she could have done to prepare for this
moment. She and Dick together raised this wonderful
family of children and grandchildren that has come together in faith, in
unselfish mutual support, and in love. That is the greatest
reflection of the love of their mom and dad, and it is one of the greatest
gifts a man could hope for.
May this good and gentle soul find
eternal peace with the God whom he loved and who loves him, until we meet
again.
[Top of page]
Little
Brother