My heart fell heavy with anguish. I felt as if it would break in two at any moment. There he was. He was crying. I felt his pain like a dagger plunging deeply into my chest, ripping my heart out and laying it bare before the world on the living room floor. It was an indescribable, excruciating pain.
It was January 10, 1977. My Dad came home from work midmorning, something totally out of the ordinary for him. He walked through the door, my eyes met his, and I knew instantly, something was drastically wrong. He was visibly shaken, his face drawn and morose. He blue-green eyes were anxiety ridden and red and swollen from crying. It was then that I saw them: The tears. They began to stream down his face one by one. My heart winced with pain, and fighting back the tears I told myself, “Daddy’s aren’t supposed to cry. You’re my hero Daddy and heroes don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. I need you to be strong.” But he wasn’t. At that moment, the big burly armed man, the haven that I ran to for safety and protection, all at once seemed weak. Utter helplessness encompassed me. He wasn’t the pillar of strength I’d always looked to. Not right then. I followed him to the back bedroom and I stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his anxiety fueling mine. He opened the closet door and pulled out his cover alls that he only used for working on the car “Daddy” I said, “What’s wrong?” my voiced cracking. “Did something bad happen?” In a quivering voice he consoled me gently, “Yes honey, something bad did happen. The Pathfinder Hotel exploded this morning. They had a gas leak. Rich and two other guys from the gas company were killed. I am going to go and help clean up the mess.” I stood there in shock and disbelief. “How could this be? I just saw Rich. He can’t be d-d-ead. He can’t be. Is this some sort of an awful nightmare?”
Rich was one of my Dad’s best friends. He and the other two men that lost their lives that day were on call for the Nebraska Natural Gas Company. My Dad was normally on call and he was undoubtedly thinking, “It could have been me. I can’t believe it. I’m usually on call and the one day I wasn’t…” It had to have been a bitter sweet moment for Daddy. Knowing he had escaped such a horrendous tragedy while grieving the sudden loss of two coworkers and one of his best friends. Had he been one of the ones responding to the Pathfinder’s call that day, how different life would have been for my brother, me and my mother. An explosion that destroyed several blocks of businesses and cars parked in the surrounding area sending blocks of cement, glass, and shards of metal high into the sky.
I remember my Dad’s friend Rich well. My Dad would take my brother and me with him when he went to Rich’s home to visit him. He was a jovial, dark-haired man with a mustache and a gruff voice and he was never without a smile. Rich liked to tease me and tickle me. He quickly won me over.
After I got my driver’s license, I would run into him from time to time in our small town. One particular day, I ran out of gas. I must have been aiming for a record as it was the third time that year. I called my Dad like I always did to come to my rescue. I knew I could count on him. Less than fifteen minutes had passed and here he came, with a gas can in tow. Rich happened to be riding a long with him that day. My Dad had obviously filled him in on my irresponsible teenaged escapades of running out of gas. They both got out of the company truck and stood side by side and as my Dad tipped the red metal gas can up with the yellow nozzle in my gas tank, Rich teasingly asked, “Now you do know that “E” stands for “empty” and not “enough” don’t you?” He and I both chuckled, I grinned sheepishly and blushed shyly while looking down. He and my Dad got back into the blue company truck with the Nebraska Natural Gas emblem on the side, and off they went to answer more gas calls. That was the last time I saw Rich before the explosion. I’d never met a more jovial, warm-hearted and fun loving guy. He and his coworkers were laid to rest that next week.
Having lost my Daddy in 1992 to lung cancer, I have often thought that if fate would have had it, I may have lost him fifteen years earlier on that day. The day the black cloud of smoke and sadness descended on our small Midwestern town and the Pathfinder Hotel exploded taking the lives of three men, with wives and children left at home to fend for themselves. I still think about Rich from time to time and will always remember the last words he spoke to me. Many a day at the gas station while filling up my gas tank, his words come flooding back to me: “You do know that “E” stands for “empty” and not “enough,” don’t you? Well, thanks to you Rich Strong, I do. And, I’ve never forgotten it. You left a legacy of love behind in the heart of every person that knew and loved you. I will never forget the dear friend you were to my Daddy. Your name must have had a much greater meaning than even you knew, my friend. There was an untold richness and strength in the love and every single smile you passed out generously and selflessly. They will not soon be forgotten. Richer still was the friendship between you and my Dad, for the day of your death was the first time I saw my Daddy cry. Yours must have been a very rich friendship indeed.
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