A Permanent Monument

It took roughly six weeks for the plaque to be installed. His ashes rest in the highest row, closest to the sky. It is difficult to reach; I had to stretch for my fingertips to brush the lowest part of the granite cover. I had to stretch a little further to touch the surface and hear small echos drum out from behind the stone.

So many have joined you this year, Dad. But for those of us still here, we now have a place to meet your memory and raise a glass.

Riverside National Cemetery
22495 Van Buren Boulevard, Riverside, CA 92518
Section CN Row F Site 19

Maps to the cemetery and to the columbarium are situated below the photographs

Rendering Honors

On 23 March 2015, one day after we would have celebrated my father's birthday, we rendered military honors and laid him at last to rest. It was a fine, bright day. Rifles cracked and a puffing breeze carried Taps and gunpowder out across the shaded grass and up into the blue.

Those who wish to stop by and reflect or pay respects can do so now in a public place:

Riverside National Cemetery
22495 Van Buren Boulevard, Riverside, CA 92518
Section CN Row F Site 19

Remarks on the Occasion of the Interment with Military Honors of Carl E. Rice at Riverside National Cemetery on 23 March 2015

At the most basic, we are here to remember and to honor my father, Carl Eugene Rice and his service while on active duty with the United States Air Force at Misawa AB in Japan, at Keesler AFB in Biloxi Mississippi, and at McChord AFB in Washington.



He has his Honorable Discharge and his DD214.

He has his flag and his plot.

He has the thanks of a grateful nation.

I know he wanted that thanks and he deserves it.

And I like to think of him here, as a new man, 20 years old, grinding out a cigarette butt and grinning as he slides into formation just in time for roll call.

Carl Rice has friends here. Buddies like John Metz whose daughter Lori married me, his only son. It is good to imagine Carl and Johnny falling out together, joking and jostling each other on the way to the club.

And we must remember and pass on his stories, like the one he told of being chased up a radar tower by the Misawa base commander's pet bear, later unceremoniously converted to a bearskin rug for the incoming CO's office.

Or of traveling to Japan on a troop ship as the last contingent of the post WWII army of occupation. Or a dozen other tales of Korean era military life.

But we also need to remember that his service to our country's air power did not end with the Korean War or bearskin rugs or KP duty on a swaying troop ship

Beyond that young man's glory days in uniform, we need to remember that his service started before he put on khakis and continued when he swapped them for a suit and tie.

Carl Eugene Rice was there at the birth of the United States Air Force. As a teenage aircraft mechanic's helper at Wright Patterson AFB in 1947, one of his first jobs was to paint over United States Army identifiers with those of the brand new and proudly blue Service arm dedicated to projecting strength and power into the dimensions of air and space.

After he mustered out in 1955, he used the GI Bill to earn a EE at the University of Michigan and start a 30 year career with McDonnell Douglas aircraft company. His work there made him a high tensile strength thread in the fabric of American aerospace history.

Remember that a part of Carl E. Rice roars and surges at the heart of every A-4 and T-34.

He pulses through the JP8 in the veins of every jet refueled from a KC10 Extender.

And every fighter pilot who has ever reached and will ever reach for the handles of an ACES series ejection seat owes a debt to Carl E. Rice for a shot at being able to see his or her family again.

Remember also that a little piece of my father's spirited orbits high above us, because Carl E. Rice was also a small part of the massive effort to put humankind into space and onto the moon.

We know that there were thousands, tens of thousands of American men and women who furthered the human dream to soar, to move above the earth and beyond the edge of this, our fragile island awash in the vastness of space.

We know and remember that Carl E. Rice was one of them and that he is special to us because he was our friend, our husband, our father.

But beyond those bonds of clan and kin, Carl Rice is forever linked with all of the wide world even if they never feel that link.

Because all of us who knew him know a secret the rest of that world misses. We know the secret of his voice in the whir of a spinning jet turbine, we see him in the glint of an airliner's fuselage as it streaks overhead, high and silent 7 miles up.

And, if we are lucky and quiet and hold ourselves still in the dark of a desert night, we can look up and catch a glimpse of his soul as it arcs beyond the stratosphere in low orbit, like a swift star on a path to forever.

And so, father, husband, and friend. I call you to fall in.

Rice, Carl Eugene, Air Force Serial Number 15443292,

Fall in for one last roll call, one last reveille, one last retreat.

Stand to as March ARB Blue Eagles Honor Guard renders a final and lasting salute from and for all of us.

Eulogy for Carl E. Rice, My Father

I know my father would have wanted to hear my eulogy before he died, but I doubt I could have written it. My words come from our 53 years together, catalyzed by the knowledge that we no longer have any more years, any more time to say again what we mean to each other. I framed the bulk of it as Lori I droned along the I-15 the night after I watched him go. I was driving toward my house and away from home. -kcr-

Daddy. 

I need your help. 

I am lost. 

You taught me everything. I told you this all through my life and said it again in our last hours together, and I know neither of us regret things unsaid or memories unmade. You taught me how to be a son, how to be a husband, how to be a father, how to be man, how to be a follower and a leader. You taught me how to die at peace with myself. 

I am wearing this uniform today because I know that you were proud of my accomplishments. We shared a love of all things aeronautical. You were there as an aircraftsman’s helper at the birth of the Air Force and now, 67 years later Need you to know that every stripe on my arm and every ribbon on my chest I owe to you.

You taught me never to be afraid of work. As a harness maker and steel foundry laborer and department store shoe clerk and radar maintainer and engineer and manager and director you taught me that it isn't the task that matters; there is joy to be found in every job well done.

You taught me to care about the details of even the most mundane work. A few weeks ago you watched through your phone and guided my hands as I wired a new outlet in our bathroom in Henderson. There is a table in our dining room and deck in England imprinted with our hammer blows and soaked with our mingled sweat and haunted by the echoing ghosts of our laughter and our curses. Together we built and repaired and worked our way around all manner of life’s difficulties.

But Dad, how can I spackle this cracked heart? How can I splice and insulate my frayed and stripped life? How can I solder this broken connection?

Dad, you had the rare combination of an engineer’s mind, a poet’s soul, and the very best friend’s heart. You managed to be both a parent and a friend, a guide and a confidant. 

How did you manage to make that hardest of transitions seem so easy? How did you carry me so well and so wonderfully from the little boy asleep in your arms, on through my petulant, struggling youth and then form yourself into the friend and lifelong mentor of a man? 

I am struggling to make this transition as your granddaughters grow strong and tall and independent. I need your advice now as much as ever.

After I saw you for the last time, I came exhausted back to your house in the pre-dawn darkness and our wives turned down the hall and prepared to pretend to sleep. I walked through to the family room and saw your empty chair, large and comfortable and lit by a single incandescent lamp. I bundled myself into it, weeping and begging for you to hold me again. 

A day before you died you clasped my hand and pulled me close and said,

“53 years ago, the nurse brought you out of the delivery room and said, ‘Mr. Rice, you have a baby boy.’ I reached out to hold you but she wouldn't let me; I wasn't cleansed. I want you to know that ever since that moment, there hasn't been one day that went by that I haven’t thought of you. You were my only son. My pride.”

Oh, Daddy, I know that. I knew that always.

Dad.

They need your help.

Their world is dimmed by your loss.

You asked me if it would be possible to see Fiona and Naomi again. I said I didn't know, but to hang on. In the hours before you slipped away, you were able to hear their voices and speak with them and tell them you loved them and they cried for you and you recognized their hearts transmitted across the ether from many miles away. 

I told you that we were working hard to get them out by the weekend. Your last fully coherent words to me were, “I hope they make it.”

Lori and Sharon were there with me as as you fell asleep and as the blinking numbers, green and red like some horrible clock counted down your last breaths and beats of your heart. 

What will they do now that the always laughing and generous Peepa and husband and father is gone? How will they move through this darker world?

It is fitting that we are here in this sanctuary with people who knew you. A place where you saw Lori and I married, where you married Sharon, and where you saw your new son and daughter-in-law married and where they brought their children to be baptized. How will Steven and Lisa and Shelby and Shannon and Sherrie and Sheryl and Tony be able to see as clearly? How will my mother?

You made so many friends. You would talk to anybody and never felt the need to pontificate or judge. You could as easily and honestly befriend an illiterate longshoreman as an aerospace executive. How will all those friends, known and unknown, from here to England and Pakistan and Bangladesh and Nigeria and Japan and Australia and all points in between, how will they move on through this dimmed world?

Doug Stiner, whom you first employed, became one such friend. He wanted to be here today, but was only able to send his words. I cannot match the tenor of his voice, but I am sure he speaks for many others who are kept from us today:

From Doug Stiner:

For Carl Rice

To simply say that Carl was a friend of mine would be a gross, under exaggeration. One thing that the man was never short of was the lack of people wanting his friendship. Carl stood 6’8 and weighed 330 pounds. When he walked in through a doorway, he truly blocked out the light. Now those of us that knew him knew that this wasn’t exactly the truth. 

The truth is when he walked into a room with that big, broad smile of his all eyes were focused on just that, and that smile translated into everyone else’s fixation. This alone blocked out everything else that surrounded him. His smile was also infectious. No one could look at him without smiling. Now I can only speak for myself, but Carl’s passing will not cause me to shed one tear for him. 

The man stood behind me through thick and thin, good times and bad and always showed his faith and respect in me. Many times he didn’t know what he was walking into. He had such distinguished features wearing his three piece suits, that all I needed him to do was to stand beside me and not say a word. 

He did this several times for me, and the idea was that the other parties would think that he’s my lawyer. This includes school districts, national organizations, and even the federal government. All he had to do (which came natural to him) was to stand there, look distinguished, not say anything, and keep my temper in check. 

The first three as I said were easy as pie for him. It was only my temper that ever had him worried, and yet he stood beside me each and every time. Always having faith that I would act accordingly to the way I should and never hesitated to be where I asked, when I asked. 

This man was my mentor, my boss, my friend, my confidant, and someone that no matter what was happening in my life, what troubles I had, and whatever needs that would arise, when I talked to him about it his answer was always the same. “We’ll figure something out.” 

To say that he was a good man would be knocking him down three notches. He had helped many people in his life and in no way because he had to. I used to get so upset because not only did these people seem not to appreciate it, but more often than not they did him wrong. Carl and I had a few secrets, well maybe more than a few. But I totally trusted him with mine and he trusted me with his.

My family and I, in no way, would've achieved as much as we did in our lives if it wasn't for Carl’s help when we needed it. The man never once told me no when I was in need. One day he told me he met a woman that he was going to start dating. Being honest, I was afraid she was going to take him away from me and somehow come in between our friendship. I never could’ve been more wrong. As you know, he ended up marrying Sharon. I couldn't have been happier for him than anyone else that knew him. I was there when they were dating, and I got to know this woman. She was strong, independent, very self-sufficient, and she truly loved my friend. I had no worries about him being in good hands for the rest of his life, because she was the type of woman that would make sure of it.

Carl had one son, I only hope that he knows how much Carl loved him and how very very proud he was of his accomplishments. He kept me up to date over the last twenty years. He had two granddaughters from his son, that I also knew everything about, starting with their graduations, one in the air force, and one getting married November 15th. He so wanted to be there for her wedding. He also had a step son and daughter. His step son had three daughters that were automatically Carl’s second set of grandchildren. 

We often joked of how we were glad we weren't Steve raising three daughters close in age. He thought the world of Steve’s wife, the way she pampered him when she was around, and her work ethic. No one that knew Carl is going to shed any tears for him, for one he didn't want that. He often said that he had a great life, and when it was to be over, it was over. 

He worried about a lot of other people and their futures, but not his own. He worried about his sister Millie and talked to her every week, just as I called him every week, not because either one of us had to but because we wanted to.

He was by far more of a father to me than I could have ever dreamed of having. I myself will not cry for Carl. I will not shed a tear for him, but I will do for everyone, which i hope everyone does for me, and we will cry for each other, but only for each other, for this fabulous man that has left us.

He truly left an impression in everyone’s left that he touched. Those impressions will live on as long as we do. To all his friends and family, I shall weep over the memories that we have separately and even those that we have shared. Please weep for me too. May God bless us all, and help us to go on.

His beloved friend,

Doug

Dad, you kept a calligraphed, framed text on your office wall that is often misattributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson. But regardless of its source, it was your credo and it is printed for those here to read and consider.

To Succeed

To laugh often and much;

To win the respect of intelligence people 

and the affection of children

To earn the appreciation of honest critics 

and endure the betrayal of false friends;

To appreciate beauty;

To find the best is others;

To leave the world a bit better, 

whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, 

or a redeemed social condition;

To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived.

This is to have succeeded.

It is as if this was written for you, about you. I will transfer that framed text to my office wall and look at it from your desk and your chair and work to live to your standard, to always make you proud. You have succeeded. 

In all ways. 

In every way.

Goodnight Dad. 

And because you can't say your love now, I will say it for you.

Goodnight Buddy.

Interviews with Carl in 2013

I am glad Lori and Sharon urged me to interview my dad and make a video record and allow him space to make a video record of some of his experiences. I regret not having continued these interviews in more depth. It hurt to have to think of why I was making them. -kcr-

Carl's Speech at his 80th Birthday Celebration

The audio in this video is fairly weak, so I transcribed my father's words below:

About six weeks ago I was making out a birthday card for my wife, Sharon, and it occurred to me that I was enjoying a really great life based on failure. In 1982, my marriage of over 30 years failed but out of that failure, I was given a son of who I am very proud and whom I love very much. And he, with a little help from his wife, gave me two beautiful granddaughters [indistinct]. More than that, I was set on the road to find my wife today, Sharon, whose love and absolute dedication to the care and feeding of Carl left me with a feeling of warmth and a sense of well-being for these, my next 80 years. And she brought with her two full-grown children ready for me to love, additional children for my life. My only daughter Sheryl and another son, Steven. Steven went out and found a helper in Lisa and together they gave me three beautiful little granddaughters. And so I look today and see all my friends and my family and I know that I've been blessed. And I thank you.

A Song for My Father on the Occasion of His 80th Birthday

I wrote this song late one lonely evening in 2008 while Lori was at work. At first, I had no intention of sharing it with anyone, but then decided I needed to sing it to my father and as his 80th birthday approached in 2009, worked with Barry Wood to hack it into something reasonably presentable.  

I make no apologies for the quality of these two video recordings; they are acts of love, not of polished art. I encourage anyone who wishes to make more professional recordings and share them with this memorial blog's audience. In the interest of any future endeavors in that direction, however improbable, I include the lyrics and basic chord progression at the bottom of this entry. -kcr-

Song for My Father on the Occasion of his 80th Birthday

C F

My father held me in his arms

C F

When I was just a babe

C F

No bigger than his forearm’s span

C F

and lighter than the day

My father pulled me to my feet

My own weak legs collapse

He told me, “Son, you’ll be a man,

And this pain too shall pass.”

CHORUS

G D

How fortunate that I have been

C G

To have my father’s love

G D

When I see children everyday

C F

Who never get enough

I sat quiet in the dark

And watched the street lamp’s glow

Waiting for a brightening

My father’s coming home

I raced quickly down the hall

Pulled shoes from his tired feet

I polished them on Saturdays

I polished them for free

CHORUS

My father watched me struggle with

My own identity

Patient with my platitudes

And longing to be free

My father watched me leave the drive

My eyes on distant skies

Suddenly it all rushed back

What did he realize?

CHORUS

My father jokes about my hair

How it is turning grey

My own two daughters growing up

What more is there to say?

Memorial Service Video, Program, and Invitation

The service in its entirety, for those who were unable to make the journey, but were there in spirit.