Dr. A. Patrick Riggins Jr.
Delivered as a eulogy March 22, 2010
John 1:43-51
Nathanael and my dad both had plenty of enthusiasm, but lacked guile. Both were true Israelites, men called into faith by God. Men who walked their talk. Jesus welcomed Nathanael into his inner circle. I believe Jesus has welcomed my dad into his eternal presence.
My dad never stopped generating enthusiasms. He was a sucker for every tool, gizmo and gadget. He fell in love with the American west during his college years, when he worked as a fire spotter in the Oregon wilderness, and remained smitten right through to his summers with mom at Custer State Park in South Dakota. He loved the land. He loved the look of a well-ploughed field, of a snow-covered mountain, of England's green. Dad made himself into a crackerjack carpenter. My brother told us that as recently as three weeks ago dad gave him clever advice on how to complete a project. He loved the smell of pine sawdust, the feel of a perfect dado joint, the look of finished walnut—the rich, dark grain he brought out in the cradles he made for his grandchildren from a tree my brothers and I climbed in our boyhood.
Of course, dad's greatest enthusiasm centered on mom. Home on Christmas break from college, he met her on a caroling outing. Their flame burned brightly for almost sixty years. It will continue to shine in their hearts and, I believe, still has its fulfillment to look forward to. Many are the younger people who learned from observing their marriage. They showed us one of the deepest meanings of love.
Dad had a life-long drive to learn. He had to know everything. He had to be the first with the right answer. Was there a practical topic on which he was poorly informed? One of his last cogent conversations covered various types of anaesthesia with his doctor—who was mightily impressed with the breadth of his knowledge. He knew a great deal about locomotives, chemical compounds, Indiana history, chimpanzees, early jazz and corn production. I do crossword puzzles. I'm pretty good at it. But I have always had a rule: when truly stumped, call dad. He never failed to fill in my blanks. I suppose now I'll have to use Google. I doubt this will work as well.
Dad was blunt. Dad was honest. In this spirit I must tell a story. At the start of our freshman year at IU, I broke up with my now-wife Linda. When he heard about it, he literally called me out to the shed (the tin shed on the third driveway out on the ridge). He said, “Mike, you're a horse's ass. If I could choose one of you, it would be Linda.” I chose Linda, too. At times dad's candor could seem unsophisticated. More nuanced people occasionally struggled with this, but eventually his integrity won over most of them. Among his friends he counted professors, state and national politicians, research scientists, Rotary Scholars from around the world: and dirt farmers, loggers, the alternative radio crowd of unusual suspects, owners of pets he last treated a quarter-century ago, and preeminently, children. Children of all ages.
Dad tried hard to walk his talk. He would not cut the corner on a sidewalk. He would not walk on somebody else's grass because it was the wrong thing to do. He was generous, a literal shirt off his back for those in real need kind of guy. He strongly believed in taking responsibility for his own life—and in providing for his family. He held staunch conservative policitcal views yet he never met a stranger or saw another human being as black, white, poor, rich or any other superficiality. My ninth grade bastketball team practiced at six every morning. Dad volunteered to drive me and two of my teammates, whose parents did not own cars, every day. One was Chinese, the other African-American, and both were very poor. I never thought of them as anything other than David and Jon. I was raised to think that way. Thank you, mom and dad.
Earlier this week I took a flight on which the pilot banked sharply during take-off right over the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. For a few seconds I enjoyed the view of the pagoda, the golf course, the totem pole scoreboard. Then it hit me: dad took me there over forty years ago to watch qualifications. I blinked back tears. Then we broke through a scattered layer of thin clouds into brilliant sunlight. I know it was cliched but I thought of heaven. And I realized that dad took me a lot of places in life. Most of all, he took me into manhood. He took four of us into manhood and he has helped take his six grandchildren into responsible, caring lives. He did this the way he did everything: enthusiastically, honestly and above all, by walking his own talk. I thank God for his love and his example. May we all learn from the life of Pat Riggins to become, as it were, true Israelites. People called into faith in Jesus. People who walk their talk.
