Eulogy for Dad (11/15/33-6/5/07)

On June 5, 2007, my father passed away at the age of 73. He had a heart attack while napping at his home in Goldsboro, North Carolina. This was sudden but not entirely a surprise. Dad had surgery just last December in which he had a pacemaker placed in his chest. He was doing very well and was in better health than he had been in a few years. Following is the extended version of the eulogy I delivered at his funeral. I tried to capture my dad as he was; brash, funny, and irreverant:

"I read the obituary of Francis J. Lewis and did not recognize the deceased. Not that the author wasn’t accurate about my father. He was in the military, he loved bowling and golf, and he received several medals. This is all true and all great accomplishments but nowhere the measure of the man I knew.

First, I need to apologize in advance to those who expected me to speak with reverence about a pious man. Anyone that knew Frank, knew that he would’ve hated this type of eulogy. So I intend to share a few memories, tell a dirty joke, do an impression of my mom, say a few cuss words, and lightly offend a few people, including the minister and my mother I’m sure. By the way, don’t feel obligated to laugh at any of the jokes, I never did for dad’s terrible jokes either.

Dad did those great things in the military that are mentioned in the obituary but he often did them after a night of heavy drinking and smoking. He was much like every other military cowboy out there, flying planes in dangerous situations, living life on the edge, and coming home to a wife and kids left to pick up the pieces. Perhaps the greatest testament to his resolve is the day he gave up smoking. It was just a day as any other while we were still young. He was a true asshole for about a month, snapping at everyone and everything, and then continued on with his life as if he had never smoked to begin with. I tell you this to help you understand that he had his flaws like anyone else but he always considered himself a work in progress.

Dad really loved his family. He was married to Anna for 47 years, that’s longer than a life sentence. He often used to say, “You know what I did with my first German 50 cent piece?…I married her.” Dad was definitely the “Pull My finger” type of joker. Anna would always say “Oh, Frank! Dats not funny” secretly enjoying the joke at her own expense.

The two of them didn’t have an easy road. Dad married into a ready-made family. He dragged his ever growing family from military base to military base always popping in just briefly as he flew off to another mission. This was particularly hard on his German wife with four kids. Being discharged from the air force was difficult but I think it would’ve been more difficult for him to remain and be forced to take a desk job because of a heart condition. Through the tough times and the good times, mom and dad cried, laughed, fought, sacrificed and loved.

I don’t remember much about those early years but I do know the values from these military years are instilled in all of the Lewis’. The responsibility to one’s community wherever it may be, the value of hard work and sacrifice for the greater good, the appreciation of travel and broadening one’s perspective, and the importance of family even when they screw up. These things all came at a price but these values guide each of us in some way.

Growing up with dad wasn’t always easy. I’m not sure if it was on purpose or because of circumstances but dad really forced independence on each of us. To this day it is difficult for me to accept assistance with almost anything. Dad, at least to me, had the concept of tough love down pretty good. He never gave me anything I didn’t absolutely need. Everything had to be worked for…When I wanted to go off to college, he said, “We probably can afford to send a doctor or lawyer off to college.” I said I wanted to be a teacher. “Well, the military may be a good way to pay for that,” was his response. Today I look back at that through the eyes of a wiser forty year old. I say this not to point out that he could be a tough old buzzard but that his intent was to make me work for what I really wanted and that it was time to stand on my own, I know he had to stand on his own from early on.

Honestly, I hardly recognize the man his grandchildren call papa. That man spends money on the grandkids as if it were water and allows the grandkids to get away with just about murder. Many a times, my siblings and I looked at this man as if he were a stranger as he spoiled the grandkids to a point beyond excessive. It was nice to see this generosity from dad. Don’t get me wrong, dad loved playing with his own kids. He used to call Billy ‘Little manny’ and me ‘The disturbed professor’ as he would shadow box with us.

Unfortunately the grandkids will never know the man who had to work nights to ensure the house payments were made and food was on the table, who had to sacrifice going to the circus early in his marriage because he only had enough money for mom and Issy to go, or who ensured even after his passing his wife is cared for.


I’ve had lots of accomplishments in my life. Perhaps my greatest accomplishment came on my father’s 70th birthday. After having had a great meal and as we were all sitting around the fire pit making jokes, mostly at mom’s expense, telling stories about growing up, monumental fights, old grudges and those sorts of wounds only a family can laugh about, this man of few words turned to me and said, “No one in our whole family has ever been a doctor. I’m really proud of you.” Of course I laughed it off saying that I don’t have my doctorate yet, and I have a long way to go. Really, no job, no degree, no accomplishment has made me feel more proud than those few simple words. He was the kind of dad that you always wanted to please but never knew if you were pleasing him. I’ll never forget that moment, it’s emblazoned in my memory and my wish for my brothers and sisters is that they have had a similar experience with this quiet philosopher.

Dad collected baseball cards. I think he really enjoyed watching baseball in his youth so he tries to collect players from the Philadelphia Phillies around that time as well as lots of modern players. Although dad played football, I would rather think of him as the fourth batter in a baseball lineup. He wasn’t one of the first three batters, those batters that are all flash and panache. Rather, he was the clean up batter, always counted on for at least a single, often surprising everyone with a homerun. We’ll all miss him, those who have loved his faults, his accomplishments, and his humor. I entreat you to remember him, not in a suit in a coffin, something he would’ve been uncomfortable with at best, rather as the man with a 1950’s haircut slicked back with vasoline, never changed, a cheap watch with a tiger print band, and a shirt with a few stains from lunch on it. I know that’s how I’ll remember him."

Dad will be buried in Arlington National Cemetary at the end of this month. Thank you to all those people who came to the funeral, made food for the family, sent cards, sent flowers, called, and provided condolences and support. I not only loved my dad but I genuinely liked him too. Thank you so much for helping me honor his memory.