My father, who was very important to me, died three years ago today.

Here, I share the eulogy I wrote for him and delivered at his funeral.  I invite you to get to know him and to help me carry on his memory.

Things My Father Taught Me

When I was a little girl, my father told me he was the smartest man in the world. And, because I was a little girl, and because he was my father, I believed him completely. In fact, I believed him so completely, that when my second grade teacher told the class that Einstein was the smartest man in the world, my little hand popped up to correct her. “No!” I declared confidently, “My daddy is the smartest man in the world. He told me so!”

Well, my father may not have been the smartest man in the world, but he was pretty brilliant. A member of Mensa, a man who was quite literally a walking encyclopedia of knowledge, someone many of us knew we could call on to answer our questions—no matter how obscure. You want to know how the pigs were judged at the Illinois State Fair? Ask my dad. You want to know which road to take to get to just about anywhere? My dad knew. You want to know the finer points of weather predicting? My dad was such a pro, that his friends at the flea market knew that if he started packing, they’d better follow suit or risk getting wet! He was one of the few remaining people in the United States who still knew the old-fashioned way of making wooden barrels, and I myself witnessed him teaching the curator of the historical society at Bishop Hill the use for tools on display in their museum. The tools were marked “use unknown,” so my dad filled them in, and they were thrilled! I was so proud.

And, besides having a ton of knowledge, he also had a ton of different jobs. Apparently he was a jack-of-all-trades, and even a master of some of them! Here is a list of the different careers he had. He was a:

Newspaper boy
Furniture mover
Clerk in a music shop
Gas station attendant
He went to college and became an industrial engineer
He was a draftsman
He owned a newspaper agency
He was a floor stripper
He worked for the Palos Heights water department
He owned a cleaning company
He was a window washer
He spent one day as a repo man, but, after coming face to face with the barrel of a gun, decided it was too dangerous!
He was a bardol salesman, an aluminum siding salesman, and an encyclopedia salesman

And, as all of you know, he was a flea marketer. For 39 years, he spent every weekend out at the flea market, earning a living and building friendships. He was well-known and so obviously well-loved out there, and we have been so blessed by the presence of so many of his flea market friends, both yesterday and today.

Thomas Blackburn was well-loved by so many people, and, most especially, by his children. Several years ago, he gave me a Christmas card, and part of the inside verse reads: “Most of all, I feel especially lucky to have a daughter who is also my friend—someone I know I can always talk to, have fun with, relax with, and enjoy.” I feel so blessed to have actually known my dad.

Because of his unconventional career choices, he was actually around a lot when Buddy and I were growing up. We spent weekends working at the flea market with him, we traveled with him extensively, we played with him when we were little, and we hung out with him when we were older. I had 41 years to get to know my dad, and that was such a blessing. He was always there for me. He picked up the phone whenever I called, he was there for me when I needed comfort, he was always concerned about my wellbeing. He was my daddy, and I love him.

So, in tribute to my father today, I will share with you some of the wisdom that he instilled in me and in my brother, and in the kids who worked for him, and in his and Bonnie’s grandchildren, and in many of those who knew him.

Did you know that my dad marched for immigration rights in Chicago? And I know there are a few people here today who he marched with, including his good friend German. He was a huge supporter of immigration reform, and would speak passionately about his beliefs. He would also work practically behind the scenes in whatever way he could to help people establish themselves in the United States. He taught me to always fight for what is right.

He also made it his job to speak to the management at the flea market when he saw things going on that were unjust. He would act as the liaison between the management and the other dealers. Often causing waves, but always taking a stand for justice.

I think one of the things that most impressed me was his story about meeting Caesar Chavez. Yes, that’s right: civil rights activist Caesar Chavez! My father told me that he was demonstrating outside a grocery store during one of the grape boycotts when Caesar Chavez stopped by to encourage the activists. Mr. Chavez kind of did a double-take when he saw my obviously white father picketing with a group of Mexicans. My dad said Mr. Chavez came up to him and said, “What are you doing here?’ “Boycotting grapes!” was my dad’s simple answer. And, at that, Caesar Chavez stepped forward and shook his hand and thanked him for his activism. That story makes me so proud!

My dad also joined the picket lines at the Harvey Chrysler Plymouth car dealership when the corporation was threatening to shut them down during a restructuring attempt. My dad was upset because this dealership provided important jobs in a mostly African-American neighborhood. So he—and my mother—joined the demonstration. Incidentally, that is also when he finally learned how to successfully barbeque! A couple of guys out there asked him to assist at the grill. When he told them that might not be such a good idea—he was notorious in our home for char-crisping anything he tried to grill—they taught him the finer points of being a grill master. So, in addition to learning how to prepare perfect barbecued chicken, he stood up for what he believed in and what he thought was right.

My dad also believed in enjoying life’s simple pleasures. During the summertime, my father loved nothing more than a giant slice of watermelon. He’d chop off a two-inch slice for himself, doling out smaller slices to the rest of us, and then he’d dig in. And this was not a neat and tidy affair by any stretch of the imagination. By the time he’d eaten it down to the rind, both he, and the table, and the floor would be covered in juice and seeds.  

And the only thing he loved more than watermelon was a big serving of ice cream. In fact, he would often eat it straight out of the half-gallon container. Kemp’s rocky road, heavenly hash, and butter pecan were his favorites. And Dairy Queen—oh, how he loved their peanut buster parfaits! Often, on summer weeknights, he’d load us all into the car and we’d take a drive out to Kankakee—just for ice cream. He’d pretend to be driving along as usual, and, as soon as Dairy Queen came into sight, he’d start jerking the wheel back and forth, yelling “Oh, no! I can’t steer! The car is taking over!” And “the car” would pull straight into the DQ parking lot.

He enjoyed life’s simple pleasures: rain storms, floating around in a swimming pool, fireworks, fried walleye, fall foliage, his Christmas tree, carving pumpkins, talking with me, Bud, or his sister on Sunday evening on his way home from the flea market, spring flowers, county and state fairs, dancing to norteño music, a bonfire, walking in nature, a good Star Trek movie, a beautiful sunset, a conversation with one of his many friends, planting flowers, a little garden, getting a good deal, and the list goes on and on…

And speaking of getting a good deal, that leads me to the next lesson my father taught me: Never pay retail! Now, anyone who knows my dad, knows how much he loves a great deal. He loved using coupons and rebates and he loved a good sale. And he would brag—to my brother and me, and probably to anyone who would listen—about his latest deal, be it groceries for the house, merchandise for the flea market, a deal on oil changes for the car, or, and I think this might have been his favorite, a beautiful live Christmas tree for mere pennies. This next story might be hard to believe, and you might think I’m exaggerating, but I swear this is true: my father once went into a grocery store, loaded up two carts full of groceries, and, by using his coupons and in-store promotions, ended up with the store owing him two cents. I for one personally benefited from his bargain hunting. He made sure I had a steady supply of windshield wiper fluid, lithium batteries for my camera, pens and pencils for my studies, and the list goes on and on. Whatever it was that I needed or wanted, he could get it for me cheaper. “Oh, Lorelei,” he would say. “Why did you buy that in the store? I could have gotten it for you cheaper!” Haha! Oh, yes, my father loved a good deal.

But, as frugal as he was, my father was not cheap. As many of his friends know, he was incredibly generous. In fact, he was a lifelong donor to Pacific Garden Mission, and he regularly gave to the Salvation Army and other charities. But he also gave to people. People who needed a little help. People who had run into trouble. He gave jobs to relatives, cold weather gear to children, and school supplies to so many kids. He was extravagant in his generosity, as so many can attest.

And those of us who knew him can also attest that my father loved the Lord. And he taught us to “trust God against all odds and in any situation,” as my brother so eloquently put it. And he would pray for me and my brother often. When Buddy and I were kids, before we even pulled out of the driveway for a family trip, my father would ask God to protect us all. And, when I was going on a trip, even as an adult, he would say, “Let me pray for you!” And he would. He would stop what he was doing, close his eyes, and call upon God to watch over me, to lead me and guide me, to put angels round about me to protect me and to bring me home safely. He taught us to turn to God for all our needs, and to trust God, no matter what.  

Tom Blackburn may not have left a huge material fortune, but what he has left behind is far more valuable. He leaves behind a heritage in those who loved him…in those he loved. He’s instilled wisdom and lessons in all of us. And, as we move through our lives, and as we remember my father’s lessons, my father lives on. I am his heritage. We are his legacy. And we would do well to remember what he taught us:

Always fight for what is right
Enjoy life’s simple pleasures
Never pay retail
Love and trust God
Be unique
Don’t conform
Give people a second chance
Stand up for the marginalized and oppressed
Work toward justice
Seek out adventure
Value family and traditions
Stand your ground
Seek knowledge
Be extravagant
Be tough
Accept people as they are
Color and creed do not matter
Be happy
Celebrate life

My father’s unexpected and untimely death affected me in very profound ways.  In some ways, it feels like he died just yesterday, but, in others, it seems like he’s been gone for ages.  I’m sure you can relate if you’ve experienced anything similar.  I still grieve my loss, but with the expectation of seeing him again one day when I, too, go home to God.  Until then, I hold his memory close and keep his lessons in mind.