Some of the most fascinating reading in the paper can be in the obituary section. I worked at a weekly paper and regularly had to compose them from what people were telling me, others wanted to dictate long rambling treatises and though the paper makes money (Obits are a form of add, paid for by the inch) I would usually step in and suggest edits to smooth the content and make for better reading. No on was ever upset with the results, and sometimes they were incredibly grateful.

There was one in my hometown paper in 2008 that was simply so amazing it got lots of remarks from readers that amounted to "I didn't know him, but I'm so pleased to learn about his life." His name was John Wayne Dappen, and if the family ever search on his name and discover this posted on Mudcat, all I can say is that I also wish I'd gotten to know him and appreciate his humor and candor (and the kids' as well). I made a PDF copy and have just copied to past it here:

If you're reading this, my family did not take my advice and is wasting money on me
rather than giving it to someone who is alive and who could really use it. I'm a realist,
however, and know I'm likely to be overruled so I've written some things down. It is,
after all, MY life and, for once, I want the last word.

I was born in Kansas, raised in Iowa, graduated from Grinnell College (Iowa) in 1942,
and received a Ph.D. from the Institute of Paper Chemistry (Wisconsin) in 1950.
Interrupting my education was World War II and, for some of those years, I worked for
the Manhattan Project (Tennessee) as a cog in the machinery that built the bombs that
would end the war in the Pacific.

I leave behind my wife of 63 years, Glady; three children, Ann Manes (Bob), of Jacksonville,
Oregon, Alan (Sara), of Vienna, Virginia, and Andy (Jan), of Wenatchee,
Washington. My eldest son, Art (Linn), preceded me in death in 2006. Besides my
children I leave behind 16 grandchildren and 13 (and counting) great-grandchildren.
It's ironic that Glady and I worked for many years to raise money for Planned
Parenthood.

My working years were spent with Scott Paper Company and we moved quite often. I
lived and worked in Pennsylvania, New York, Mexico, and Pennsylvania (again). In
1968, I was sent to Everett where I spent the remainder of my career. Here some
claim I met my Peter Principle managing the pulp mill. Others say my bluntness finally
caught up with me because I was quick to call a spade a spade and a bad policy a bad
policy.

After retirement my worst mistake was taking that bluntness into Glady's kitchen
where a little constructive criticism landed me the job of cooking for 20 years. One way
to minimize that chore was volunteering with the International Executive Service Corp—
an organization that sent me on three-month stints to help improve paper or pulp
operations in other countries. I worked in Brazil (twice), Egypt, Slovakia, and
Zimbabwe (several times).

Throughout my life I've never been much of a joiner of organizations, churches,
groups, or clubs. I'm so much of a non-joiner that I won't be attending the party that
has been promised for my birthday. Those who knew me and feel inclined to eat,
drink, and say a few final words – good or ill-- are invited to attend.

Also save your pennies on symbolic gestures like flowers which, to me, are wasted
money. If you feel compelled to give something in my memory, donate to Planned
Parenthood of Western Washington or Providence Hospice Care of Snohomish County.

Kids' Addition:

It's hard to be totally forthright when writing about yourself, so we're not going to give
Dad the last word. For starters, it is true our father was quick to declare what he
believed or thought best—usually in an elevated voice. Nonetheless when others
disagreed or acted in a way that defied his logic, he had the humor and grace to accept
people's differences without bitterness or ill will. He rarely judged and he never
harbored a grudge. And while he might question a person's sanity to his face, Dad did
not speak poorly of others behind their backs.

Some people knew our father to be a cheapskate and he cultivated that reputation by
gleaning the food sales each week, fixing possessions with tape and glue, and wearing
the same clothes year after year. He earned a good income and could have matched
the self-indulging purchases of his peers. Instead, he paid for the undergraduate
education of all his children at expensive liberal-arts colleges. He funded the graduate
education of those of us who desired it, helped financially with the education of other
children, helped support the family of his missionary son, and loaned money at belowmarket
rates so his kids could afford homes. He gave generously to charities he
believed in. Our father was stingy with himself, not with others.

Dad was also scrupulously honest, even in those situations wherwhere many of us turn to
white lies for help. Ask him about religion and he'd say, "I don't know if there's a God,
but I also don't know of a better code of behavior than Christ's example or the Golden
Rule."

At least two of us kids remember learning about the Golden Rule in Mexico after we
were hauled before our father for throwing stones at the workers building a home
down the road. The Rule and its principles were patiently explained. We admitted that,
had our positions been reversed, we would not have wanted stones chucked at us. And
then a spanking seared that lesson to memory in a way we two still remember 50
years later.

Every father has anecdotes he's remembered by and here is one of the many that
always raised a laugh in our family. After the creation of a new national holiday, Dad
got in a heated 'discussion' with his kids who enjoyed these 'pseudo' holidays. "We've
got too many darn holidays already," he argued. "What we need is a national get-backto-
work day."

Our father believed in hard work and he did all his jobs well, whether that was making
paper for Scott, cooking for his wife, or raising his kids. We, his children, admire his
many sterling qualities and we laugh together over his storied quirkiness. We will miss
this sometimes odd but unusually wonderful man. And while we will miss him, we
needn't go far to visit him. Whether the cause is nature or nurture, our spouses
comment on our own values and quirky behavior with the quip, "You're just like your
father."

A birthday party to celebrate Dad's life will be held from 2 to 5 p.m., on Saturday,
October 25, 2008, at the family home. We hope to see his friends and neighbors there.