Welcome everybody and thank you for coming this afternoon. We are here to celebrate the life of Jack Chandler Beach, or Joe to his friends. For those of you who don't know me, I'm also Joe Beach, Joe's eldest son. Unless of course, Dad and I are at the same place, then I'm Joey. Even now at 40, I'm Joey. The reason why I'm up here has everything to do with the fact that I am my father's son. Meaning that like Dad, I can't pass up an opportunity to tell stories. Which is what I'm here to do today. Dad lived a full and amazing life and I am going to try to tell the story of his life by sharing our memories of him.
Dad was born on July 9th 1945 in Glasgow Montana. While
taking my brother, Tony, and I on a trip to the old homestead in Glasgow, we
both learned that things are very different there. Take hunting for example.
Here in Washington, you have to pack for days in the woods. You get up at Oh My
God thirty and eat a hasty camping breakfast. You have to hang out in the woods
for hours and hours in hopes of seeing game. In Montana, you sleep in and have
a huge home-cooked breakfast. You jump in the truck and drive to the back
woods. And finally, you roll down the window and choose the one of many bucks
you see.
Dad was one of four kids; Older sister Karen, Older brother
Mick, and younger sister Mary Jo. Their childhood was pretty typical, they
lived on a corner lot so their house was the place to gather and play baseball
and football. There were bike races. Mary Jo credits Dad for making her a
tomboy. He gave Mary Jo her first baseball mitt and basketball. Mick and Dad
used Karen's bike to vulture parts from when theirs broke.
While growing up, Dad was into sports. Given the athletic
ability that Tony and I both exhibit, he must have been great. He played football
for Rainier Beach High School and I'm sure it wasn't his fault that they never
won a game.
When he finished his military commitment, he completed his
apprenticeship and worked for several steel fabricators in the area until he
finally found a home at Seattle City Light. His last twenty years were spent in
Construction Engineering as a field inspector. This was truly a job he loved.
After putting in 29 years into a company that he really enjoyed, Dad retired.
After his retirement, the light rail project seems to have hit a snag and
slowed down some. A coincidence I’m sure. Since Pops didn’t need it anymore, he
gave me his “I’m a Super Import Dude Because I Wear A Yellow Hard Hat” and told
me to go forth and cause mischief. Wearing that hat and carrying a clipboard
opened any door on a Seattle construction site. It was so awesome. No one cares
about a low voltage guy but a City Light Muckity Muck could go anywhere and see
anything. I eventually discovered a slightly bad side effect that would
manifest after people learned that I was in no way, shape or form a City Light
employee. I also learned from my father that the better part of valor sometimes
means just walking away. I now keep the hard hat as a memento for my father.
As I stated earlier, Dad had two boys: Joseph Anthony and
Anthony John. Junior Joe and TJ. Most of my earliest memories of Dad revolve
around sports. Sundays at Dad's place was all about the Seahawks. There was one
game in November 1984 where Dave Brown intercepted two passes and returned them
both for touchdowns. I think that is the game that cemented my love for the
Hawks. Tony and I learned math from Dad while playing darts. He would have us
figure the three dart double out before we took our turn while playing 301.
Dad's love of football wasn't just for his boys. George,
Mary Jo's husband, has a great story about their trip to the Rose Bowl in the
early '80s. The three of them drove down to Pasadena to meet Mary Jo's friend,
Stacey, and then stay at Stacey's cousin's place. One of the nights before the
game, they were hanging out and not much was happening. Of course this doesn't
sit right with my Pops so he asked George "Can I borrow the car tonight?"
He takes the car and heads out to bar that he had previously scouted out and
played some darts. After he had his night out, Dad came back to the house only
to find it locked up tight. If Dad was anything, he was a problem solver.
Seeing a trellis that reached an upstairs bedroom, he started to climb up.
While Dad could figure out solutions to problems, he sometimes missed on the
execution. So of course the owner of the house heard Dad, reached the logical
conclusion that someone was trying to rob the place and went outside to see
what was going on. By the time he got there, Dad was just entering the window.
Say what you want, but Dad always made an impression with people.
Being a Beach, I have heard all the Beach jokes out there.
Life's a Beach. Dude, as long as you aren't a Nude Beach! Son of a Beach. My
Mom really likes that one by the way. The best one, by far, is my Stepmom's
name: Sandie Beach. People just don't believe that it's a real name. Then I
tell them about the dog, Pebbles. Yeah, Pebbles Beach. Let that soak in for a
second. Almost my whole life there has been a doxen in it. Dad was gruff with
the dog but loved her like crazy. You don't lay on air mattress in the pool
with the dog lying on top of you while she drinks sips of beer that you pour in
your belly button if you don't love that dog.
Dad and Sandie have been together for 35 years. It was a
dart tournament that started it all. When Dad walked into the bar, he saw a
pretty young blonde. He then said "I'm going to win and I choose the blonde.
Sure enough, he won the tournament and to the victor goes the spoils.
Dad’s favorite
baseball player was Nolan Ryan. Whenever the Ryan Express came to Seattle, Dad
would take us to the game. While he loved watching Ryan pitch and hearing the
smack as the ball hit the catcher’s glove, Dad above all, wanted to catch a
foul ball. Game after game and nothing but disappointment. Not even one ball
was hit close to us. Then, when Dad started to believe he would never get a
ball, one was hit to us. It seemed as if the dream was finally going to be
realized and it was going to be ours. The ball kept flying over our heads and
landed two rows above us. Some guy reached up to catch it only to have it slip
between his hands, bounce off his head and landed in Dad’s lap. Sandie saw that
the guy was bleeding from a cut above his eye and asked Dad if he was going to
give the man the ball, Dad answered “If he wanted it, he should have caught
it.” We also witnessed history. We got to see the last pitch Nolan Ryan ever threw
in a Major League Baseball game. The last hit Ryan
gave up was to Mariner Dann Howitt, a grand slam. Don’t worry if you don’t
recognize the name, I Googled Dann Howitt to see what he is doing now but
Google didn’t know either.
As Tony got older, Dad started to introduce activities which
they could do together. The almost annual fishing trip to Sekiu was one
of them. Tony would stay the night at Dad and Sandie’s the evening before
they left, and get up really early the next morning to beat traffic for the
long drive. Dad, always hoping for a nice dialogue on the way up, would
mostly be met with silence as Tony would knock off before they hit
Tacoma. After a few years, Dad tried different tricks to keep him awake.
But Tony, who didn’t yet drink coffee, and possessing the Beach talent of being
able to fall asleep anywhere, thwarted them all. Cranking up Paul Harvey at a
high volume is like white noise to a teenager. The drive was long
for Dad and a refreshing nap for Tony. While at Sekiu, the victories were
many as plenty of fish were pulled out of the straits of Juan De Fuca, even as
other things didn’t go as well. There was crashing the trailer into the diner.
Accidentally sending an older couple, who were lost in the fog, back out to
sea. Getting seasick, or as they called it “chumming the water”. Losing
expensive tackle to the bottom of the ocean because let’s face it, the cheap
stuff never gets lost. But most importantly, enjoying the gentle sway of the
waves, the sound of the seagulls and the nervous anticipation of yelling FISH
ON!
Twenty some years ago, Dad bought a 1966 Ford Mustang. He
spent those years loving restoring that car. He recruited Bill to help him out
since he is a Ford Fixing Ninja and those two tinkered, chromed and made that
car beautiful. So beautiful in fact that she won six car show awards. We’ll
just gloss by the fact that they were all second place awards. Getting second
builds character they say. It’s also been said that second place is the first
loser. I believe that we all know where dad fails in this argument.
Dad also introduced golf to Tony. When dad picked up
the golf bug, he naturally tried to hook his sons. While I didn’t take to
it, Tony couldn’t resist. As Dad got more involved, so did Tony. Each time Dad thought his clubs were the problem, Tony got Dad’s old set. Needless to say, Tony upgraded from a starter set to very nice golf clubs in a
few short years. They would play courses all over, but the Lake Chelan
golf trip was the best. It was Tony’s introduction to the golf vacation,
a trip specifically to play many rounds at many places over many days. During one of these trips, dad pulled off a mini miracle. While
struggling through the front nine of a beautiful sunny day, dad put his tee in
the ground on the 10th hole. Trying to pick dad up, Tony said
something to the extent, “new nine holes, start it off well.” Dad pulled
out his best swing of the day, driving the ball into the sky. As the ball
climbed in elevation heading straight down the fairway, a bird flew across the
flight path intersecting exactly with the speeding ball. The bird and
ball collided and feathers went poof fluttering down to the ground. Unfortunately, the ball also went straight down. For all of Dad’s perfect
swing execution, the ball went 100 yards and didn’t make the fairway. It
was Dad’s only birdie of the day. Golf is still very much a part of
Tony’s life. Golf trips like the ones to Chelan are still part of his
life. I know Tony is going to miss teeing it up with Dad.
Christmas Eve at Grandma’s there was a tradition that the
youngest child has to sort the presents. Tony and I hated it. When you are a
kid, you just want to open the presents. Who cares how they get to you? Well
now that we have kids of our own, this tradition doesn’t seem so bad. One of
the best things that I got to experience over the summer was bringing my family
to hang out at Dad and Sandie’s house, with Tony and his family. Once again the
house was full of kids running around and playing in the pool. The look at
pride on Dad’s face was something I will carry with me forever.
On September the 21st, Dad passed away quietly
with a pretty blonde girl holding his hand. The same girl that he met 35 years
ago, on September 21, at a dart tournament. Goodbye Dad, you will missed by
many people. The world is a little less funny and a little more quite. We love
you.
