My Dad Everett E. Pinon by Harley Pinon

        A few years ago, Randy Norman, a good friend of mine, and a member of the Venus Church of Christ at the time, said, "Harley, you should write a book about your dad."  That struck me as a bit unusual.  Why should I write a book about my dad?  Who would read such book, and why? Recently, my sister Alma sent an article about my dad's father.  I learned things about him that I had never known.  In fact, I knew almost nothing about my grandfather.  Then I realized, that maybe I haven't told my children and grandchildren about my dad, so there are some things that I can relate about my dad.

 

His Faith

        Dad had a great faith.  I don't mean the kind of faith that made him say everything was fine when we were involved in World War II, or when one of us was sick, but I mean the kind of faith that made him live the way he did.  Let me start late in his life.  In his later life, dad often owned his own service station.  Maybe I better explain that.  He rented the building from Phillips 66, Texaco, or Standard Oil Company as the case might be, but he owned everything in the building:  the stock and equipment.

 

            Dad worked long hours.  He usually opened at 6:00, or at least 7:00, and he kept the station open until 7:00 in the evening.  On Wednesday evening, there was a problem.  Dad stayed open until 7:00 and church started at 7:00.  That would have been reason enough for many men to say, "I just can't make it to church on Wednesday evening," but Dad always did.  He would take a change of clothes to work on Wednesday.  A few minutes before 7:00 he would go to the restroom and change clothes.  He began pulling in the oil displays, the air hoses, the water hoses, the chamois and everything left outside.  As 7:00 approached, dad would turn out the lights, lock the front door, and he was on his way to church.  Honestly, I don't remember his being late, but given the circumstances, I'm sure he sometimes missed the first song.  What is interesting is that I don't remember dad ever missing a service.

            

            I'm sure there were times when he was sick and missed church, but I don't remember that either.  I was born in Kansas.  It gets cold in Kansas!  It snows in Kansas!  But weather was NEVER a reason to miss church.  I remember waking up on Sunday morning and looking out at the beautiful newly fallen snow, and really thinking how nice it would be to just pull the covers up and snuggle up in a nice warm bed, but I knew without asking that it wasn't going to happen.  I knew we were going to church.  It was never a question.  We would go to church.

 

Bible Reading

 

            Dad was a great Bible reader.  I remember three things about dad's Bible reading:  (1)  He always read a chapter every day without fail, (2)  He loved his Thompson Bible and made it pretty clear that he thought it was the best, and really made it rather clear that he thought I should have one.  (3)  Finally, he insisted that nothing ever be placed on a Bible.  If you were sitting in a chair beside the small table where he had his Bible, you were not to put the cup from which you were drinking on dad's Bible.  If you did, he would remind you that nothing is to ever be placed on the Bible.

 

            It was many years before I ever bought a Thompson Bible.  That was my mistake, not my dad's.  I never really knew exactly why he was so fascinated with his Bible.  He showed me some of the different features, but what he showed me seemed too confusing.  I now own two, and a computer version as well, but dad never knew that I finally came to appreciate his favorite study Bible.

 

His Faith and His Children

 

            I think I was in high school.  It may have been college.  I was riding home with an adult friend of mine.  I told him of what dad had done for me when I was eleven.  He said, "Wow!  Your dad really made a great sacrifice for you."  I remember how it struck me.  I'd never thought of that.  I didn't really stop to think of what he had done for me.  As Paul Harvey would say, "Here's the rest of the story."

 

            When I was in the sixth grade, my asthma became so serious that I could no longer ride my bike to school.  I could no longer go to school.  My mother took me out of school.  I had a very noticeable limp as I favored my left leg and used it as little as possible to get around.  Mom came up with idea that we needed to move to New Mexico or Arizona to a different climate and perhaps that would help my asthma.  Dad would load my sister, Lila, and me into the car, and we would head out.  Each night there was a single question for me, "How's your breathing here?"  The answers varied,  "Better."  "Pretty good," and finally, "Fine.  I can breathe real good here."

 

            That was it!  That's what mom and dad wanted to hear.  We returned to Hutchinson, Kansas and the folks began go sell things.  They sold our home.  They sold our business.  They purchased a two wheel trailer.  I wish I could remember the dimensions.  It was something like 6' x 8'.  There were only side boards, and a tarp to be tied over the top.  On that trailer and into our four door '42 Ford went everything that would go to Carlsbad, New Mexico.  Everything else was sold at an auction.  All our furniture, everything that couldn't be loaded on that two wheel trailer and we traveled to Carlsbad, New Mexico.  In the entire state, we did not know a single person.  Here was my dad.  He was 49 years old without a high school diploma and without a job and without a home.  Besides the money from the sale of our property, everything we owned was on that trailer. 

 

            Dad bought a home for us.  It was 24' x 30'.  I think I could still draw the plan.  It was two bedrooms.  One was 9' x 13' and the other was 9' x 11'  The single bathroom was 5' x 8'  There was a living room and kitchen which also had an additional hot water hose bib on the outside wall.  That let it serve as mom's "utility room."  Her laundry consisted of a wringer washer and double rinse tubs. 

 

            The house we bought was brand new.  I believe the price was $3,000.  It was moved to our lot and set on cement blocks.  It was "finished out" inside with sheetrock only.  There was no plumbing.  It was wired.  When dad got off work each day, he would work on our house.  He had a plumber rough in the cast iron sewer pipe.  He hired someone to dig a cesspool.  He did  the plumbing.  My mom, sister and I finished the hardwood floors.  -- Well, I guess you get the picture.

 

            The point is, dad never even hinted that I should give thought to what he and mom had given up for us.  Dad always picked my sister, Lila, and me up from school for lunch.  One noon as I came to get in the car.  Dad said, "Harley, I didn't notice you limping.  Is your leg okay?"  I'd forgotten about that leg.  Yeah, it was fine. 

 

            Dad's been dead for many years.  Never do I remember ever hugging my dad or thanking him for the tremendous sacrifice he made for me and my sister Lila.  She had asthma too, but mine was more severe, or at least I thought it was.  Mine affected me in that it was extremely difficult to draw air into my lungs.  Hers affected her with long bouts of coughing.  For me to be well and Lila to be much better was very satisfying to my parents.  They were now hundreds of miles from our nearest relatives.  They had given up so much, but never one time did Dad or Mom ever say to us, "Do you have any idea how much we have done for you kids?"  No, they never did!  It was years later that a friend said, "Wow!  Your dad really made a great sacrifice for you."

 

But there was also my brother, Don

 

            My folks moving to Carlsbad was not the first experience of this kind for my parents.  The year was 1945.  My brother Don had "fallen in love" with a young woman who was a great concern for my parents.  Don had just finished his junior year in high school.  Dad had done well with his service station business in Hoisington, Kansas.  He had purchased a beautiful two story home.  It also had a stairway to the attic, and was complete with a basement, so we had four levels in our home.  It had a double garage and a cellar.  It sat on a huge lot and was quite a home, but dad had serious concerns about Don's girl friend.   What do you do?  I know what dad did.  He sold his station and our beautiful home, and he moved across the state of Kansas to Yates Center where he purchased an OK Rubber Welders tire shop. 

 

            Don was pretty upset.  It's hard to date your high school sweetheart when your folks have moved you 200 miles away and you lived in the days before freeways and the usual speed of travel was 55 and you travel through all the towns with stop signs, speed limits, etc..  Well, yes, there was the US Mail, and the telephone, but long distance wasn't cheap in those days, and not quite the same as being able to put your arm around her and give her a kiss.

 

              So what's the rest of the story?  Well, maybe I need to get Don's version, but I know that Don is very grateful to Dad for what he did for him.  Did Don thank Dad for what he did?  Well, I don't know about later, but not at the time.  I know that today he is very thankful that Dad turned his life around.  He is so glad that Dad saved him from the life he would have had without his intervention. 

 

            Dad was a great dad.  I'm sorry I never expressed the thanks he so richly deserved for what he did for us kids.  The rest of the story?  Well, there's much more as you can guess, but if this is all I ever get said, it's some of the most important things that Dad did for us.  He lived his faith.  He sacrificed for his kids, and he loved his wife and his God.

 

Bible Study with Harley