I gave the life sketch of my father, Andy Anderson, today at his funeral. Here are the words I prepared and delivered:
I am honored to be able to share a little about the life of my father with each of you. It is a priviledge, and honestly, it is one of the remaining gifts I can give him. Please be patient with me, as this will be hard. My heart along with my families, and so many of yours, is broken. A daughter never expects to lose her father so early, so unexpectedly. Especially my dad. He was larger than life to me. I think deep down I still believed he was indestructible. I vividly remember the last time I hugged him just over a month ago. I was struggling and needed my dad & Joyce’s advice. Before he left he gave me a huge hug with that 6 foot four frame. I remember feeling his warmth and his strength. It was as though he passed it on to me, and helped me to know that I could make it through anything. Little did I know how much I would draw upon that last hug of his to make it through this trial we are facing now.
Dad would not have wanted to have me stand here and speak in sorrow. He would want a celebration. And boy, did that man love a good celebration. He would want this to be a celebration of his life. That’s exactly how I am going to structure my thoughts this morning, as a celebration of the life of Andy Anderson.
Dad was born March 21, 1942 in Logan, Utah to Clyde and Wanda Anderson. In fact, his mother passed away just before this past Thanksgiving, and as I watched him take charge in planning Grandma’s funeral, I felt immense pride in being an Anderson, and especially in being his daughter. He is the oldest of five children. His younger brother Ron preceded him in death, but he is survived by his brother Gordon, and his sisters Debbie and Maxine.
Dad spent the majority of his childhood and teenage years right in Salt Lake City. He learned hard and valuable lessons about life, himself, who he was, and who he wanted to be. As an adult he lived all over the Salt Lake Valley, in Bountiful, Park City, Farmington, London, England and his beloved St. George. Wherever he lived, his presence was felt and lives were changed. He didn’t barge into your life with a lot of fanfare. But once he was in your life, you knew it, and you wanted him there. Dad was someone who knew what he wanted, and lived that way.
Dad was a simple man, but at the same time, he was a man who had many layers. He was like a good book that you can’t put down for fear that you might miss something.
I’d like to share some of the many chapters of his life that made up who he was.
He knew how to love
When dad was in Jr. High he fell for a girl at school by the name of Kathy Morris. He didn’t know her real well, but he wanted to. She was actually dating one of his good friends. One day he showed up on her doorstep with his dog Sandy. She didn’t really know who he was or how he knew where she lived, but he kept coming back until she agreed to date him. He was so handsome and funny. They went to movies, had bonfires at Saltair, and took long walks just holding hands. It wasn’t until later that she learned dad had secretly followed her home from school one day to find out where that pretty blond lived. They were married shortly after high school and after many years of waiting were finally blessed with two (and might I add fabulous) children.
They divorced after 16 years of marriage, yet made sure that above all else their children’s needs came first. To this day I can honestly say that neither of them ever disparaged the other in my presence. That alone taught me a lot about my father’s character.
Thankfully, Dad found love again. And this time, it was the love of his life. After some prodding from friends, my dad, and even my mom – Joyce Bingham Willmore finally gave my dad a shot. He actually didn’t give her much of a choice. He called Joyce one night to ask her out, but she was going out to eat and dance with some friends. Well lo and behold - my father took matters into his own hands, and showed up at the restaurant anyway. He crashed their girl’s night out. She remembers him walking in, in his crisp white shirt, looking handsome as ever and asking her to dance. They danced all night, and it wasn’t long before they both knew that something special was happening. I remember hanging out with them at my dad’s little apartment in Bountiful and washing the boat. They splashed, flirted with and teased one another like they were teenagers. I was only twelve, but it still obvious to me that my dad had fallen head over heels in love.
They were married on July 20, 1983 in a gorgeous country wedding. Joyce had two sons, Eric and Terry Willmore, and on that day the six of us became a family. Now blending a family from two separate ones is not an easy task. Nor is it something that can be accomplished in a month, a year, or even a decade. But I thank God for the day my father met his amazing wife. She is his other half. His perfect match. And she brought my father back to me.
He was dedicated to his children
When we were young, Rhett and I remember going to be with our dad over weekends. He’d come pick us up in his big motorhome and take us out to his place. I remember Rhett sitting in the front passenger seat, and I would sit on a small ledge right beside the driver’s seat. I would have to pay attention, because if I didn’t Dad would grab my knee and tickle it every time I got distracted. When we arrived he would feed us what we thought was a gourmet meal of warmed up bean with bacon soup and smashed up white bread for dipping. Once he even forgot to feed me, but I was so darn scared of him that I didn’t dare tell him that I was starving.
As we got older, we spent great time together snow skiing and boating. The boys were the dare devils, I was the fraidy cat, and dad and Joyce kept us all together.
Once he made homemade macaroni and cheese just like grandma Anderson used to make. Rhett and Eric sat at the bar trying desperately to gag down their dinner. Finally dad said in his loud, gruff voice, “What’s the problem, my mom used to make this all the time and it’s delicious.” He then proceeded to take a bite, looked at the boys and pronounced the meal to be disgusting, and threw it all away.
Rhett remembers dad throwing thousands and thousands of baseballs to him while playing catch or for batting practice. He coached his little league teams, and when Rhett was in High School he would look beyond the edge of the field and find dad was there, watching him from his car for every single baseball practice.
Dad would not have wanted to have me stand here and speak in sorrow. He would want a celebration. And boy, did that man love a good celebration. He would want this to be a celebration of his life. That’s exactly how I am going to structure my thoughts this morning, as a celebration of the life of Andy Anderson.
Dad was born March 21, 1942 in Logan, Utah to Clyde and Wanda Anderson. In fact, his mother passed away just before this past Thanksgiving, and as I watched him take charge in planning Grandma’s funeral, I felt immense pride in being an Anderson, and especially in being his daughter. He is the oldest of five children. His younger brother Ron preceded him in death, but he is survived by his brother Gordon, and his sisters Debbie and Maxine.
Dad spent the majority of his childhood and teenage years right in Salt Lake City. He learned hard and valuable lessons about life, himself, who he was, and who he wanted to be. As an adult he lived all over the Salt Lake Valley, in Bountiful, Park City, Farmington, London, England and his beloved St. George. Wherever he lived, his presence was felt and lives were changed. He didn’t barge into your life with a lot of fanfare. But once he was in your life, you knew it, and you wanted him there. Dad was someone who knew what he wanted, and lived that way.
Dad was a simple man, but at the same time, he was a man who had many layers. He was like a good book that you can’t put down for fear that you might miss something.
I’d like to share some of the many chapters of his life that made up who he was.
He knew how to love
When dad was in Jr. High he fell for a girl at school by the name of Kathy Morris. He didn’t know her real well, but he wanted to. She was actually dating one of his good friends. One day he showed up on her doorstep with his dog Sandy. She didn’t really know who he was or how he knew where she lived, but he kept coming back until she agreed to date him. He was so handsome and funny. They went to movies, had bonfires at Saltair, and took long walks just holding hands. It wasn’t until later that she learned dad had secretly followed her home from school one day to find out where that pretty blond lived. They were married shortly after high school and after many years of waiting were finally blessed with two (and might I add fabulous) children.
They divorced after 16 years of marriage, yet made sure that above all else their children’s needs came first. To this day I can honestly say that neither of them ever disparaged the other in my presence. That alone taught me a lot about my father’s character.
Thankfully, Dad found love again. And this time, it was the love of his life. After some prodding from friends, my dad, and even my mom – Joyce Bingham Willmore finally gave my dad a shot. He actually didn’t give her much of a choice. He called Joyce one night to ask her out, but she was going out to eat and dance with some friends. Well lo and behold - my father took matters into his own hands, and showed up at the restaurant anyway. He crashed their girl’s night out. She remembers him walking in, in his crisp white shirt, looking handsome as ever and asking her to dance. They danced all night, and it wasn’t long before they both knew that something special was happening. I remember hanging out with them at my dad’s little apartment in Bountiful and washing the boat. They splashed, flirted with and teased one another like they were teenagers. I was only twelve, but it still obvious to me that my dad had fallen head over heels in love.
They were married on July 20, 1983 in a gorgeous country wedding. Joyce had two sons, Eric and Terry Willmore, and on that day the six of us became a family. Now blending a family from two separate ones is not an easy task. Nor is it something that can be accomplished in a month, a year, or even a decade. But I thank God for the day my father met his amazing wife. She is his other half. His perfect match. And she brought my father back to me.
He was dedicated to his children
When we were young, Rhett and I remember going to be with our dad over weekends. He’d come pick us up in his big motorhome and take us out to his place. I remember Rhett sitting in the front passenger seat, and I would sit on a small ledge right beside the driver’s seat. I would have to pay attention, because if I didn’t Dad would grab my knee and tickle it every time I got distracted. When we arrived he would feed us what we thought was a gourmet meal of warmed up bean with bacon soup and smashed up white bread for dipping. Once he even forgot to feed me, but I was so darn scared of him that I didn’t dare tell him that I was starving.
As we got older, we spent great time together snow skiing and boating. The boys were the dare devils, I was the fraidy cat, and dad and Joyce kept us all together.
Once he made homemade macaroni and cheese just like grandma Anderson used to make. Rhett and Eric sat at the bar trying desperately to gag down their dinner. Finally dad said in his loud, gruff voice, “What’s the problem, my mom used to make this all the time and it’s delicious.” He then proceeded to take a bite, looked at the boys and pronounced the meal to be disgusting, and threw it all away.
Rhett remembers dad throwing thousands and thousands of baseballs to him while playing catch or for batting practice. He coached his little league teams, and when Rhett was in High School he would look beyond the edge of the field and find dad was there, watching him from his car for every single baseball practice.
I remember driving to Lake Powell, just the two of us, me and my dad, singing along with Neil Diamond and Sheena Easton. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. My dad taught me how to drive a stick shift in the Bountiful High School parking lot. He didn’t freak out when I smashed in the side of his van while I was in college, probably because I was freaking out enough for the both of us, plus it gave him something he could tease me about forever.
I remember him coming with Joyce and Grandma Bingham to pick me up when I was finished with my mission. I remember running into his arms and sobbing because I had missed him so much. We toured the countryside, met people I loved, and he cried every time I spoke.
Dad loved us kids. He wasn’t a gooey, mushy sort of dad – but we knew he was proud of us, that his love was real and would never waiver. When his grandkids came along, the love in his heart expanded exponentially to include them all. Whether it was golfing, swimming, fishing, or his abundant teasing, he loved to spend time with each of them. Grandpa Andy always was and will continue to be one of their greatest heroes.
He was an athlete
Everything about him made him an excellent athlete. His height, his build, his focus and determination. His willingness to work and work and work until he got it right.
Dad played baseball and Basketball in Jr. High and High School. After graduation he got into Fast Pitch Softball, and boy was he was amazing. For his first national fast pitch softball tournament my mom and dad borrowed my grandpa’s brand new car so they could drive all the way to Illinois to play. Rhett and I spent half of our childhood in the playground, dirt and stands surrounding the ball park watching our dad play ball. I remember him playing catcher, he was number 8, and they called him “Stretch”.
In 1986, he and a bunch of his buddies were inducted into the Utah Softball Hall of Fame. Dad was very humble about it all, and honestly didn’t talk about it much, but I know that he was thrilled to be honored for playing a game that he loved with friends that he loved even more.
Then there was golf. Oh how my dad loved golf. He read about golf, talked about golf, and when he wasn’t playing – I’m positive he dreamt about golf. When he was on the golf course he was in his element. He was so ticked that he couldn’t get out for a game the last few months. He wouldn’t have minded his back hurting at all, if only he could only get out and hit a few balls.
Anyone who ever watched my dad swing a driver definitely never forgot it. He could whip men half his age, including my husband and brothers. The funny thing too, was that everyone LOVED to play with him, from young kids to old guys, it didn’t matter. He was so fun to be around and he was GOOD. I mean, how could you not love playing with a man who wore orange golf shoes?
He was educated and well read
He felt that education was a life long process. Dad graduated from Granite High School in 1960, he attended the University of Utah and graduated with a Bachelor of Science in 1965, and received his Masters of Physical Therapy from Stanford University in 1966. The world was his oyster, and he wanted to learn all that he could from it.
Dad was always reading something. It didn’t matter the topic or genre, if it was a good book, then he was hooked. Reading was something he and I had in common. I loved to hunt and find the perfect books for him to read. I loved discussing the stories, ideas and philosophies we were reading about. He was incredibly intelligent and open minded.
One of his favorite things was learning to play the piano. How he loved that beautiful black baby grand that had been a gift from his sweet wife. He would practice for hours. He told me that his goal was to be able to sit down with any piece of music, and play it on the spot. He even took lessons while they were living in London. Once we had him over for dinner when he was retired and Joyce was out of town on business. He quickly started getting restless and finally gathered up his stuff and announced that he needed to get home. I asked why he was leaving so early, as it was only 6 pm. “I need to practice the piano” he said, “I’ve got two hours of practice I need to get in tonight”. Classic Andy.
He was a hard worker
I think he was born with the ability and aptitude for hard work built right into his genetic make-up. He simply didn’t know any other way to do things other than by working hard at them. He started a paper route at a young age, waking up before dawn in order to get all of his papers delivered. Making sure to get all of the money collected from his customers was his least favorite part. But he knew if they didn’t pay, he didn’t get paid, so he just did it. That was the story Rhett and I heard if we ever complained about something being hard. We learned not to complain pretty quickly.
He seemed to be able to do anything or be anything. He worked as a barber along side his dad while he attended the University of Utah. He started and developed two successful businesses; Active Marketing and Thread and Ink Design. He could fix pretty much anything that needed to be fixed. He was a man who knew the value of hard work, and he made sure that he passed that on to his children.
Rhett remembers asking dad for 20 bucks to go to the movies with his friends. Dad said “sure” and then had Rhett wash and wax the van in order to earn it. With dad, nothing came free, and if you wanted something, you had to work for it.
Dad was incredibly proud of the fact that he did not pay for his children’s college education. Now that wasn’t nearly as exciting of a prospect for us kids as we lived on ramen noodles, and worked numerous jobs to pay for school and the bills. But I’ll tell you what; there is an enormous amount of satisfaction that came from getting our degrees from our own blood, sweat and tears. He understood that when we couldn’t. We were pushed, and learned we could achieve anything by working hard and following our dreams.
He was a man who loved adventure
We spent a lot of time at Lake Powell over the years. Dad would always be a bundle of stress until we had that boat in the water. Then, magically, a different side of him would appear. We would travel the entire lake, looking for new canyons to explore and different hikes to take. Dad always, always drove the boat. He was the captain of our family in more ways than one.
Dad and Joyce traveled the world together. With family and dear friends, they crossed the globe seeking out new experiences and cultures. Dad climbed the Great Wall of China, stood in awe St. Peter’s Basilica, and wore his famous red shoes all over England and half of Western Europe. He not only read about life, he lived it, and he lived it with passion.
He was a man of impeccable character
He was full of integrity, loyalty and honesty. He said what he meant and meant what he said. And by golly, you’d better do the same. He was someone you could trust, someone who kept his word.
We learned that you should never ask dad his opinion if you didn’t want the truth. Because that’s what you’d always get from him. I don’t think the man knew how to lie. I remember going to him with problems that I thought were down right discouraging, and having him say so matter of fact, “Kristen, you can do that” o r “Kristen, everyone doesn’t approach this the same way you do, and you can’t expect them to”.
He was humble. When his business was honored for being among the 100 fastest growing small businesses in Utah for several years in a row, he was embarrassed. He felt awkward for receiving an award just for living his life the best way he knew how.
He was loyal to a fault. Once dad was your friend, he was your friend forever. And if anyone ever hurt you – then watch out – he was there to defend you and he did not forget easily. He had the sincere talent of making and keeping life long friends.
I will always remember and admire his loyalty towards Joyce. He was immensely proud of her and all that she had accomplished in life. Talking about her would always light up his face. He was a strong man who revered women, especially the woman he loved.
Our amazing husband, father, grandfather and friend, Myron Emil “Andy” Anderson, unexpectedly left this earthly life the afternoon of Sunday, January 3, 2010. He was truly a giant among men.
Dad, I miss you and I love you. The thought that I will not hear your voice, your laugh, or feel your touch again in this life breaks my heart in two. But I know, that your spirit lives on, and it will live forever. I know there is a God in Heaven, that He loves us, and because of Him I will see you again someday. Until then my sweet father, enjoy your new adventure, learn all that you can, I can only imagine the books you must be reading. Play golf everyday on those immaculate courses on high. We will all do every within our power to honor your memory, to live our lives with honesty, integrity and passion. To always seek out new and great adventures. Your memory and life will never be forgotten. Until we meet again dad.
