Sherry's Tribute at Tom Tate's Funeral

For those who were not able to attend in person, Sherry has shared a copy of what she said at Dad's funeral on April 26, 2006.

Dad's Legacy

First of all, thank you to everyone who came to share with us in this Gathering to Celebrate the Life of Tom Tate. This is NOT a funeral -- he didn't want one. He DID want the sounds of Dixieland -- the music of his childhood -- and you heard Dixieland as you came in this morning. We will sing a song in English and a Psalm in Hebrew, from the land of Israel, where he lived for five years and a place that was always close to his heart. We will attempt to express our enduring love for him: some of us will share our thoughts about who he was and how he made us laugh, how he made us think, how he inspired us all.

Thomas Marion Eugene Tate was born in West Eminence, Missouri on June 10, 1918, the firstborn son of Harry Richard Tate Sr. And Hazel Elizabeth Orsborn Tate. He and his younger brother Richard grew up in the south. He graduated from McKinley High School in St. Louis in 1936 and, in answer to his country’s call, volunteered for the United States Army Air Corp in 1940. He married the only love of his life, Carmella Emily Rizzo, on July 3, 1943 in Tampa, Florida. He flew a B-26 in the European theater of war during World War II until his honorable discharge with the rank of Tech Sergeant in 1945. He then returned home to his devoted wife, our mother, and together they began to create a far-flung family that includes, at this time, five children and their spouses, 18 grandchildren and their spouses and 7 great-grandchildren. He also created strong and lasting friendships that have weathered the stress of time and distance, as evidenced by the faces I see before me now and the faxes, letters and emails we have received in the last few days.

I have just related the barest facts of his earliest years and life. But there was so much more to him – and a tiny fraction of that is what we’d like to share with you now. One of my greatest treasures is a letter he wrote to me when I was only 11 months old – and with your permission, I’d like to begin this Celebration by reading his own words:

December 24 1947
Dearest One:

This will be our first Christmas together. It will mean more to me than any Christmas to come. A year ago you were gathering strength for the struggle of birth, receiving power from your mother to breath and see and hear. You were coming into a world that fought for lasting peace ... peace we fought for on the battlefronts. Now you are a person, a child smiled upon by fortune. A little girl about to grow up in a Promised Land. These are my thoughts for you up through
the years.

I hope that your youth will never fade away, that you keep a blithe spirit. That you look for treasures beyond the horizon -- the truths, the wonders, the reasons.
May you have great abilities to hold faith and belief -- tempered by a judgment that keeps vigil over what you believe. That you develop an instinct for right and wrong ... An ever-sensitive conscience. I hope that you will face every day smiling, with an eye to the adventures. That you find the joys of friendship; that you know well your friends. I hope to see you grow with a deeply rooted tolerance for the good; a strong intolerance for the bad. I hope you will never put your ideals on the shelf to be looked at occasionally, that you keep the spirit and thought that go with Christmas with you all the days of your life.

Love,
Your Dad

The attributes that he wished for me perfectly describe the man we all came to know and love over the years: a blithe and adventurous spirit, a seeker of truths, a lover of beauty and wonders, an educator and a life-long student, an incurable romantic and a loyal friend – but most of all, an honest and everyday idealist who held himself to the highest moral and ethical standards.

I remember the stillness and wonder of a forest dawn when he and I hand-fed a tiny fawn, and the magic of my first “grown-up” dinner with him in San Francisco. I remember the times when a quiet glow of pride shown in his face whenever one of his children or grandchildren would begin to blossom forth with their own strengths. I remember earnest philosophical discussions and hearty silly laughter.

One of our last conversations was the day before his surgery, when he took me into his ceramics studio to show me some of the clays and glazes he was planning to use during his recovery period, to create yet more humor and beauty in the world. Tom Tate lived life fully, every day. And THAT was his legacy to all of us.

Sherry