A Man and His Dad

I always joke with my good friend, who happens to be the author of the article below, that he's an "Old Man". In fact, he's 61 years old--the same age as my father (Dad was born in 1947--so they're close in age, anyway).

Indeed, almost every piece of electronic coorespondence I send him, I conclude with a good-hearted insult or two (I'll spare our more prudish readers from the insults I've thrown his way). Believe me, though, the old man gives as good as he gets. Almost always, I'll finish my email with an affectionate: "Later, Old man".

I wanted to share a piece he wrote today for the Columbus Dispatch. You see, John's father, "Sig" Meyer, died two years ago today. I remember stopping at calling hours on my way back from Cleveland that evening--and i was suprised to see just how good of a mood John was in. He was upbeat, he was happy--he seemed content. I didn't understand that at the time, to be honest. After reading this article, some two years later--I now understand. John and his dad had a special relationship. They spent alot of time together, just the two of them, working, talking, sharing--and sometimes I imagine, just being together and not needing to talk. So John, I presume, knew his dad lived a good life--and was content himself. I only pray I'm as calm and content the day my father passes. As usual--John was an example.

Mr. Sig Meyer raised a good boy. I remember since the day I met him (John), he's always treated me with respect and was a great mentor when we worked together (for some 5 years). I'm proud to call him a friend---just as I'm sure Sig Meyer was proud to call him son.

With pride, dedication, surveyor served city

Saturday, March 28, 2009 3:10 AM

By John Meyer

First Person is a weekly forum for personal musings and reflections from readers.
My dad went to work for the city of Columbus in 1949, eventually becoming chief of the field-survey crews.

His work took him to all areas of the city -- where he and his crew mates staked out new streets, road widenings and water and sewer lines.

"Sig" Meyer toiled in plain view, yet few people probably ever noticed him or what he was doing.

Still, he woke up faithfully on weekdays and battled the elements -- including baking sun and bone-aching cold, ankle-deep mud, nasty insects and thorny brush, not to mention speeding cars and angry drivers, unfriendly dogs and unappreciative property owners.

Dad's work played a key, if largely unrecognized, role in the city's incredible growth of the 1950s and '60s. As the Columbus boundaries burst outward in all directions, he was among the front-line workers who carved the shape of things to come.

To help make ends meet, he moonlighted for three decades with a private engineering company.
Along the way, when I was attending Columbus North High School, he decided that I should join him as a moonlighter on Saturdays.

At age 15, I was essentially allergic to labor and didn't find his line of work all that interesting. Even now, I can't shake the memories of those Saturdays when Dad would flip on the upstairs lights and head toward my room to drag me out of bed. (Sometimes I fell ill with a sudden cough, but I can't recall Dad ever buying the ruse.)

Into my college days, I worked on the survey crew full time during the summer. Vanity enabled me to appreciate the bronze tan I developed each year, along with the slight definition that swinging a 16-pound sledgehammer added to my puny frame.

Later, after I began teaching at a Columbus high school, I continued to moonlight with Dad on weekends and in the evenings. Often, we worked alone -- just the two of us.
As I matured into my 20s, I came to realize how fortunate I'd been to spend so many extra hours with my dad: Despite his sometimes-gruff German demeanor, he was one of the sweetest, kindest souls I've known.

Eventually, with my sister and me both out of college and age catching up to him, Dad stopped moonlighting.

He continued to work for the city until 1985, when he finally hung up his plumb bob, 100-foot measuring tape and work boots.

Dad passed away in March 2007 of prostate cancer.

During the previous summer, I'd picked him up one August day and driven him to some of the sites where his work had taken him -- a final victory lap for the old surveyor.
He basked in the opportunity to relate stories about the rigors he had faced, the pranks he and his buddies had played on one another and the way the city had looked back then.
We even visited a few places where he and I had surveyed together.
The day is one I won't forget.

Sig Meyer genuinely loved his job. He took pride in what he did.
And he knew that he'd made a difference, even though few people noticed.

John Meyer, 61, of Worthington lost his father two years ago today.

--G