The Hazard Chronicles

My grandpa was my truest hero, and it is my greatest hope to live up to his quiet confidence, his resolve, his kindness, and his integrity. He had the rare gift of being able to separate people from their ideas, with the former being far more important. He was highly accomplished in all areas of his life; He had a doctorate from Stanford, was recruited for athletic talent and had various medals to show for it, was a major in the Marines, traveled the world to six different continents, and knew each of his grandkids and great-grandkids on a personal level. And yet, if you were to meet him, you wouldn't really know any of this- he was just that guy who was always there, pretty chill, doing what he could to make the world a better place. He was the guy who liked Coca-Cola, and drove the shuttle on the river, and sang softly to himself as he strolled with his arms folded behind his back, probably counting his steps. He was the grandpa who rocked babies, and said "Humm baby, humm," and played the piano by ear, and still danced in the kitchen with my grandma after 73 years of marriage. He could talk with anybody and make them feel like the most important person in the room. He was probably the best man I will ever have the chance to meet, and if there is anything that I am proud of, it is the fact that I get to carry on his name.

I am going to miss him.

A few key memories:

His house in San Jose is a mainstay in my childhood memories. Building the deck. The hot-tub. Building a treehouse in his front yard. Catching pigeons. Picking his tangerines off of his tree, and then selling them back to him. Riding bikes and rollerblades. His garage full of National Geographic magazines. Locking him out of his computer by changing the passwords. Playing Nintendo. Looking through his books about the Old West, or through his old athletic equipment under the stairs. And the smell- juniper trees and cologne and old wood. I probably have as many memories there as I do from my own home during that time.

When I was 12, he took my cousin and me on a long road-trip over the summer. We rode in his red truck, usually in the back, and ate sweet tarts and played cards. On one moment during this trip, everyone was asleep except for him and me, and I was in the front, and we were talking about US history, and he told me that everyone feels like they are justified and right, but that only the winners get to write the books we learn in school. I still think about that a lot.

When I was a kid there was a ski trip to Dodge Ridge with just me, him, and my dad. The weather was poor and we were going to go home, but when he saw how bad I wanted to ski he offered to pay for a little one-room cabin for the night, allowing us to go up the next day. That evening we ate split-pea-soup, I think because it was free. It was good, and to this day, I think of that trip every time I eat pea soup. I even go out of my way, sometimes, to eat pea soup, not because of its taste, but because of the feeling of this memory.

He drove shuttle on countless river trips. I would always know we were getting close to the take-out by the silhouette of a man reading a book or a newspaper, usually sitting under a tree. Even thinking of that image makes me smell neoprene and feel the chafe of a poorly-fitted life jacket.

When we lived in Cleveland he came out to visit us and we went on a long road-trip to some historical sites. It was in the early days of GPS navigation, and he insisted that his maps were better. He was stubborn enough in this resolve to take us different directions, I think, just to make a point. I will always be able to reproduce in my head the exact intonation of when he realized that we had gone off-track: "Delaware? We can't be in Delaware!"

As I became an adult, I started realizing (as adults do) that the world is far more complex than I had once thought. He was always there to listen without judgement, but never really to tell me what to think or do. He was good at handling complexity and contradiction, and his insight was vast. I will cherish the many deep conversations we've had over the years. There is no doubt that I am who I am because of the man he was.

I will forever remember the last time I saw him. It was just before his decline, and our family was in Utah for a ski trip. We spent the entire evening in conversation. We ate pizza and played games and laughed at how bad a judge he was at Scattergories. He lit up when Evelyn said she is considering the University of Idaho (his alma mater), and he sang the school fight song with such gusto that it surprised everyone. We talked long into the night, and he probably stayed up later than he should have, but you could tell that he didn't want to go. When he finally went to bed, we all got extra long hugs. A week later he was in the hospital for the last time. I am so grateful for that night.

He was buried in a military cemetery. He was one of the most patriotic men I know, but in the old-fashioned non-obnoxious way. He simply loved his country and was proud to be a Marine without needing these things to mean any more than what they were.

I was honored to be one of the pallbearers

I accompanied Rick at the funeral for a tribute song to this great man

Lindsey wasn't able to go with us because she was in the middle of filming for a dance thing. Also, you might recognize an "orange" theme. This is intentional, as orange was always Grandpa's favorite color. 

Funerals also serve as impromptu family reunions. The day after the service, we had a pickleball tournament in Grandpa's honor. Our family had to buy some paddles and watch a video on YouTube to learn the rules, but we had a lot of fun.

You can see how serious we are about this game

Most people stuck with the orange theme

My grandma is amazing.

Besides this pickleball thing, we had a family dance. It was really good to catch up with people I haven't seen in a long time.

Evelyn and Addy got up early one morning and went on a hike to this waterfall

Here are some of my favorite pictures of Grandpa:

This is from a backpacking trip we did in the Tetons. Grandpa never thought he needed water. Sometimes this came back to bite him, and by the stories told at the funeral, was the source of many family stories. This trip is one of those stories. Just drink water already- sheesh! This man is a legend.

This was last year after a ski trip