The Road of Paradise

It’s all too sudden; shocked, grieving, frozen in a moment of “what just happened?”. I think that I am alone when I say that I am not ready. I’m not ready to stop talking about the good old days with the trustees. I’m not ready to stop thinking that if I need someone to work with wood, I know just who to call. I’m not ready to stop bracing myself for an argument at the men’s breakfast. I’m not ready to stop hearing the large, loud, bearded man talk about “the situation.” I’m not ready to stop being cared for and thought of by a travelling grandpa that always kept his friends in mind when he stopped at the fruit stand with the sweetest corn in the valley. I’m not ready to say goodbye to Richard Conrad; are you?

Once again, God has laid out a life before me that makes me feel so lucky – all I have to do is participate. It occurred to me that I should visit the Conrad house because the men at the breakfast meeting were concerned about their friend Richard. What a magical day. Richard was in good spirits because the medicine that he was given dried up some of the excess fluid around his heart that was making every motion difficult. He was excited that there was marked recovery in his energy. It was this day that I began to learn about the 62 year journey that has been the shared life of Jeannine & Richard.

It all began like a chapter torn right from the pages of John Stienbeck’s, “Grapes of Wrath.” Jeannine’s family was on the move. It was 1947 and pa was a United Brethren preacher in search of a permanent pulpit. The family had answered a call from California and decided to head for Paradise. In Paradise, California there was a United Brethren Church that was looking for a preacher. Little did anyone know that the road of paradise would wind and turn in such beautiful ways. I am sure that a car packed with every possession in this family’s world and the whole loving, struggling, restless, anxious clan would be like a spring loaded jack-in-the-box, daring to burst with energy at every bump and turn in the road. A journey like that is probably more fun to remember than it was to experience.

Paradise couldn’t hold on to Jeannine’s family, so they kept to what they knew – they stayed on the road. The road is not such a bad place. That’s why I call it the “Road of Paradise.” Who says that Paradise is a destination? Jeannine’s family landed in Reedley next. The church there was a little bigger and Jeannine’s preaching pa would find a perch for a time. That’s where Richard joined the journey. He wasn’t much for church in those days but some friends told him that the preacher’s daughter might make the whole adventure worth a look/see. That was seventy-three years ago. I guess those friends were right. 

Richard was a farm boy; helping his family who grew grapes and stone fruit. As “luck” would have it, Richard had a taste for adventure. He went to college just to find a little direction. Someone suggested that when he graduated he might consider teaching. It was moments like this that would define Richard – he was known for his “I can do that; why not?” attitude. All he had to do was hit the road (the Road of Paradise). A college was growing in the Imperial Valley (it was a junior college – a great way to narrow the gap of privilege). It was here that a career began; but more importantly, Richard built a relationship with a senior faculty member. It wasn’t long before that senior faculty member was enticed into starting a new college at the Fair Grounds of Merced and needed help from someone with a can do attitude. The Road calls and the Conrad’s answered once again.

It was the early sixties; I think that was the “miracle grow” decade. Everything grew in the sixties; churches were busting out at the seams, neighborhoods were sprouting like weeds, service clubs became a necessity because people needed a venue to spend all the pent up power of volunteerism and benevolence. What the world needed was builders, action people, planners/workers that could bring a vision to life.

 I think the road took a few laps around Merced (thank God). The college was built; temporarily at first. Then, it was built again at its permanent home on Yosemite Avenue. The College would need a stadium; guess who supported his family by building the stadium in his “spare time”? The college was going to need to produce knowledgeable tradesmen for all of this building. Richard would build a department that taught Ag science, welding, mechanics, electronics, engineering, carpentry and more. By the eighties, the college was going to need to join the computer age. Richard would take on the learning curve and start the college’s first course on computer added drafting. Curves were no problem. I think if you told Richard that the Road of Paradise had a lot of curves, he would remind you that the curves are the exciting part.

I was so happy to hear Jeannine tell me that Richard’s retirement lasted more than twenty years. They still had a lot of road to travel. The road was always travelled with friends. They would find their way to Panama; explore the wilderness of Alaska, and journey by train to the performance Mecca of Branson, Missouri. Hobbies popped up everywhere. Jeannine and Richard golfed together four or five days a week. It would never surprise Jeannine to find herself on a strange road, looking for signs, winding through neighborhoods; just to find that beyond the next curve was another golf course. Richard liked guns; so, he built his own musket. Richard was amazed by the craft of needlepoint; so, he set to learning and ultimately created a piece of art worthy of framing. Is it any wonder that Jeannine lights up like a Christmas tree when she remembers the Road of Paradise? What a gift.

I am not ready to say anything like” last words” for Richard, but maybe we can say the words written by John Stienbeck –  the words of Preacher Casy at the burial of Grampa Joad in The Grapes of Wrath – This here ol’ man jus’ lived a life and jus’ died out of it.  I don’ know whether he was good or bad, but that don’ matter much.  He was alive, an’ that’s what matters.  An’ now he’s dead, an’ that don’ matter.  Heard a fella tell a poem one time, an’ he says, “All that lives is holy.”  Got to thinkin’, and purty soon it means more than the words says.  An’ I wouldn’ pray for an old fella that’s dead.  He’s awright.  He got a job to do, but it’s all laid out for 'im, an’ there’s on’y one way to do it.  But us, we got a job to do, and they’s a thousan’ ways, an’ we don’ know which one to take.  An’ if I was to pray, it’d be for the folks that don’ know which way to turn.  Grampa here, he got the easy straight.  An’ now cover ‘im up an’ let ‘im get to his work.

Enjoy the Road of Paradise.

Enjoy God,

pg