This page publishes several of the remembrances delivered at the Memorial Service for Glenn A. Bergey at Hampden Congregational Church in Hampden, Maine, on September 24, 2011. The background painting is of Mount Chocorua near Tamworth, New Hampshire, where Glenn and Patricia began their family.
More photos are available here.
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Glenn at the Beach in 2010 |
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Glenn & Alicia in 1956, Tamworth, New Hampshire |
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Remembering Her Daddy 9/24/11 |
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My Daddy taught me many things --- How to sit quietly in the woods and see what happens. How to make a plan --- whether cleaning a basement or cooking Thanksgiving dinner. How to sing --- in the choir, yes, but also driving in the car, at a joyful party and at any job. How to change a tire and clean spark plugs (I could not drive a car alone until I passed inspection). How to make "soon to be famous" lasagna. How to body surf --- even with big, pounding waves. How to have a long marriage with your sweetheart --- my parents always hold hands. How to be respectful --- even in an argument --- and to be fair (But he did move those lines in beach volleyball on Lake Michigan). That any task should be done at your best effort --- cheerfully. That you must always be polite and kind --- he said "thank you" every day, even his last. That you should always help anyone who needed any kind of help in any way you can. Here is what my son John sent in a text message I received about 30 minutes after Daddy's death. I had told John that the care I was performing was the last thing I could do for my father, and he wrote --- "...it is the last thing you can do in person. I can tell you that I will be trying to do plenty of things the way he would want them done with my child. I'm thinking about Granddaddy a lot, not just because of where he is in his life, but because of where I am in my life. Many of the life lessons that I want to teach my children I learned watching him." Thanks you, Daddy, for teaching us all so much! |
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Glenn, Stephen, and Patricia at Stephen's Eagle Ceremoney |
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Thank you all for coming. When I've been to non-family funerals, I've always felt that saying "I'm sorry for your loss" was weak, insincere, or just a parrot. But, being on this side, first with Dale, my father in law and now Dad, I've found out it does help. We're here to celebrate Glenn's life. It was sad to see his decline from mid August till his passing, especially because I’ve always seen him as superman. At age 70, he could walk anybody at our hunting camp in Monroe into the ground and do it again the next day. No matter their age. His decline did give me a chance to tell him that I got my love of the outdoors from him and have been able to pass this on to my own son. I always liked going to work with him. He had an old Bronco- metal dash board with winches on both ends. In a remote swamp when he was looking for a survey marker, I saw my first sand hill cranes and a bobcat plus many deer in one day. I got my first gun when I was ten years old. February 4, 1967 - my mother told me it was all she could do to keep him from giving it to me at Christmas but I could not hunt 'til my birthday- two weeks later I shot my first grouse in West Virginia. He said "You got it, I don't believe it." Those were the days before we had dogs, he got me an outdoor life 1st bird pin which I have to this day on my hunting vest. I remember a 14-foot jon boat on a '68 Chevy II, right side up filled with camping gear (the five of us just fit, unlike Christmas of '69 with birdfeeders under our feet). My brother, sister and I survived the trip from Elkins, West Virginia to Cherry Hill, NJ. 8 hours. I was in the boat loading and walked to the front and had a wild ride down the hood. The tent was a Montgomery Ward’s surplus, missing one piece. Dad made one but it didn't quite fit. I had to sit on his shoulders, while everybody else held up a corner to get it together. Once it was up, it was a great tent---although our dog Rupert liked to lay on top of somebody, usually Mom---for the night. We would go for a week end or a week if he was in the bush that week. In first grade, we would go fishing with Mr. Wade, our neighbor from across the street in a a WWII surplus Willy's jeep. I got to sit in back on the metal bench seats as dad directed Mr. Wade up in very remote places in Virginia's National Forest. Mr. Wade always limited out and I always caught the biggest fish - my only one. When we moved to Michigan's UP, we got a German shorthair - Rupert. We'd hunt every Saturday and Sunday during the season. My mother made him buy a reloader because we shot so many shells. I'd do a box a day with a single shot 20 gauge. Limit was 10 woodcock and 5 grouse. Dad was always supportive of the Boy Scouts. I received my Eagle Scout badge after my fifteenth birthday. I think one of his proudest times was standing with me when my son received his Eagle award at Camp Roosevelt. He was always pushing to learn life saving. I worked as a life guard at boyscout camp and my son was in charge of the water front at Camp Roosevelt. It paid off when I was in high school and saved a classmate from drowning when we went swimming after hours at the town beach in Escanaba. After hearing about this, he told me that one of his men from boot camp had thanked him for forcing him to learn to swim. He saved three people when their boat was sunk in the Korean War. I started taking my son out hunting and fishing at an early age. I couldn't plan this memorial, but I have planned a week in the wilderness because of the training and planning he helped me learn. As a surveyor, compasses and maps were his life. I can read aerial photographs and follow a compass course. Good thing because when I was 17, we were hunting in a remote area in the U.P. I jumped a big buck and followed it and got lost. When I walked by the place I had eaten lunch a second time, I knew I was in trouble. I got my 2nd compass out- always carry 2- Dad's rule No. 1. I didn't think it was right but took his advice to follow your compass. With two you have no doubt. I walked out as dark was closing in. He was parked at the end of the chopping with the headlights on, as I walked up in total dark he says "I couldn't go home and tell your mother I left you in the woods but I knew you would be fine. Let's go home and eat." I was taught to drive in the 6th grade. We lived in West Virginia at the time. We were bird hunting in February. As we're driving along a car is in the ditch. We helped push them out and they pass Dad a Clorox bottle of moonshine. He has a swig and off they go. 100 yards 'til they hit the ditch again. We push them out and he has another swig. Then we jump in the car to get ahead of them. In the mirror, he says they didn't make it 200 yards. My driving lessons started shortly after. Dad always valued education and told me he was proud when I got a full scholarship to Michigan. He wasn't so happy when they took it away because he was transferred to Alaska. He'd drop in to Ann Arbor to see Alicia and I when he was in DC and take Alicia and Tony as well as my roommate Mark out to eat. "That boy (Mark) can eat more spicy shrimp than anyone I know. He doesn't even take the shells off." He was very proud that his grandchildren went to college and finished or are finishing now. I am glad Jordan finished her doctorate while he was alive. He was very proud of her. I hope these stories have given you a view of his life. He will always be Superman to me. |
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Glenn, Philip & Jeremy Bergey |
Philip Bergey |
Some of us knew him as Glenn... The man who sang in the choir, or the man who was always smiling and ready to help. Others of us knew him as "Granddaddy," the patient, supporting man who was always ready to attend family events. Whether it was sitting thru the Nutcracker for the 12th time, sitting in the bleachers on a cold October night watching Garrett play football, standing under a veranda for 3 hours in a cold Feb rain in California waiting for Lucy to swim a 2 minute race, or watching 27 wrestling matches to get to Jeremy, only to have him pin an opponent in 30 seconds. Others of us knew him as Daddy, the loving man willing to to help with any home improvement project. When he retired from the forest service he had a great many plans. The kennel of German short hair dogs turned into one very loyal German Short hair named Tristan. The plans for marketing rocking horses, which turned into making them for family and friends. The last count I heard was 62 rocking horses. Plus 20 some Adirondack chairs and about ten blanket chests. My father was once an actor and director, having worked on many plays in Escanaba, Michigan. He also helped engineer and dig an orchestra in a existing auditorium. Other roles he played included Smoky The Bear at the UP State Fair. He could never sit still. When Daddy came out to visit us in California, every morning the first thing he would do was go for a run/walk. Our Chocolate Lab soon learned that if she was by the front door when he left that she would be included on the morning outing. After breakfast he would go out and make sure no leaves had fallen in the pool. During his visits, our pool was always spotless. Then he would come into the house in his shorts and Bullwinkle T shirt to find out what the project of the day was. Mother would be perfectly happy sitting out by the pool reading a book, but Daddy always had to have a project. He had many useful sayings. "Tally-Ho the Fox," "Bright-eyed and Bushy-Tailed," and "Whatever Floats your Boat." You haven't experienced heart failure until you were awakened by his Moose call. We will all miss him in our own ways, but I know he will always be around. The next time I have a problem putting together one of his rocking horses, I am sure he'll give me the answer. He would want things to move along... So "Tally-Ho the Fox." |
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Glenn, Phil, and Tony Lentz Join Cabbage Patch Club |
Remembering Glenn Bergey |
Tony Lentz, Son-in-Law |
(I spoke at the gathering from notes, so as Thucydides wrote, I recorded the speech as accurately as possible.) |
We have to lighten things up! Glenn wouldn't want us to be unhappy celebrating a life in which he took such joy. Today I'd like to share a little poem that I wrote over a week ago when we first came to Winterport, knowing that Glenn would be leaving us soon. But first I want to share what I learned about my poem over the last week. I've been going through the "wanted poster" pictures on the wall, through the oldest of the family albums, trying to digitize the Bergey and Sellers family photos for posterity. As part of that effort, I realized we could share with you something of the man Glenn was through the pictures of him through the years. We'll have them rotating in a little picture show at the reception after the memorial. I scanned dozens of pictures. There were pictures of Glenn as a high school graduate, pictures of him as a rakish college student with a pipe, as an officer at trial in "The Caine Mutiny" at the Tamworth (N.H.) theatre, as a young father, as a man murmuring sweet nothings to his dog, as a grandfather, skier, ice skater, a fisherman, and a beach bum. There are pictures of him playing with grandkids, wearing pig hats, and proudly modeling cow slippers he got for Christmas. Looking at his face over and over, it strikes you after a while that this was a man who was sincerely and deeply joyful. I thought of Chapter 13 in First Corinthians about the nature of love, verses Alicia and I read at our wedding. If I do not have love, the writer said, I am nothing. And I thought, Glenn Bergey was certainly something. The smiles I saw were not the fake smiles of a model trying to make a buck, or a family member straining to make nice. They were the smiles of a man who was brimming over with love. You could see it in the eyes, eyes that were ablaze with love. He loved his work, he loved his wife, he loved his children, he loved his grandchildren, he loved the outdoors, he loved woodworking, he loved good food and good drink, he loved his neighbors. This love, I realized in my little poem, was a foundation for the family, a way of connecting all of us in a web of affection and fun that surrounded Glenn. Even when he had been in the hospital several times, and was too weak to participate in much of the Christmas holiday banter last year, he sat in his favorite chair beaming at his children and grandchildren. Over the years he displayed that love to our family in many ways. I'd like to share a few stories about Glenn and his Lentz grandsons that will help you understand the kind of impact he had on his grandchildren. First I have to remind you that he had an impish sense of fun that bordered on the outrageous. This manifested itself in terrible shaggy dog stories, a wild appreciation for bad puns, and the occasional childlike silliness that overtook him. Now, I have to preface this story by telling you my new philosophy of life after this picture-scanning project. I propose to live my life by the WWGD principle ---"What Would Glenn Do?' I say this because I'm going to tell you the story they told me not to tell you. (Laughter, moans from some of the family) Hey, Glenn woulda done it! (More laughter) When John and Chris were small, they came by themselves to visit Grammy and Granddaddy. Glenn had some flyer miles, and we got direct flights for them to Bangor from Newark. It was a great adventure, and they had a wonderful time with the world's best granddad. When they got home, we had a little surprise. My wife looked out the window to the backyard and saw John relieving himself on a tree. She dropped what she was doing, and in very energetic terms asked a surprised John what he thought he was doing. People, she explained, don't do such things in public. The puzzled child said, "But Granddaddy does it!" It seems John had spent a little bit too much time in the woods with Glenn. We explained that Granddad did that in the woods, not in a backyard next to a schoolyard where there was often an audience. But he still felt that if THE grandfather did it, it must be ok. John learned to love the outdoors, and we have since shared many happy days (and challenging ones) hiking and camping. The second story happened on the same trip. For background you have to understand that Christopher was an adventurous climber. One day when he was very small my wife thought Christopher had disappeared, but when she called him she heard him giggling. She looked all around the living room, dining room kitchen and hallway, but didn't see him anywhere. Then he giggled while she was near the kitchen, and she looked up. He was sitting happily on top of the big refrigerator, kicking his feet and laughing at her. Somehow he had climbed up on the counter using a stool, then clambered up on sugar and flour containers to reach the top of the "fridgerfreightor," as John called it. Well, Granddaddy's yard has several apple trees, perfect for climbing. Chris began working his way up to the top of one, and when he had almost reached it --- a branch broke under his foot. He fell a long way for a little guy, and had the wind knocked out of him. When he recovered enough he walked tearfully back up to the house and told Granddad about his scary fall. Granddad looked thoughtful for a moment, and said, "Well, then, there's only one thing to do. You're gonna have to go back and climb it again." So together they went back down to the apple tree, and Chris, with his watchful Granddad on guard, climbed to the top of the tree. Chris has always been very determined when he set his mind to do something, but Granddad reinforced his courage in facing challenges. The third story happened when my youngest son Andrew was a five-year-old kindergartener. He got a disease called Legg-Perthes that gave him serious pain in his hip. He went through several trips to the hospital, as the orthopedic doctor tried several methods to preserve his hip function. After one of these trips Andrew was in a cast that held his hip at a particular angle, so that as the bone started to heal it would be in the correct shape for the hip to work. The cast held his feet 42 inches apart, so he had to be in a wheel chair. Our elementary school, however, was not handicapped accessible. So he was facing six weeks without kindergarten --- he didn't fit into the doors unless someone carried him through. I was teaching in the afternoons when he was in school, and couldn't help until my own semester was over. This was a catastrophe. You have to understand that Mrs. Wilkerson was the best kindergarten teacher ever. My wife, having made a plan like Glenn would have, visited every kindergarten in the area before John was to start school. While in Mrs. Wilkerson's room for 30 minutes, Alicia heard her say something encouraging to every child in the room. We had warned Mrs. Wilkerson she couldn't retire until Andrew finished her class, because we had bought our house in that neighborhood because of her! So this was an unmitigated disaster. When Granddaddy heard the sad tale he said simply, "I can help out." So he moved to State College for six weeks, and went with Andrew to school every day. The local paper called him the Guardian Grandpa. He didn't keep the clipping on his desk (that would have been a little too much boasting for Glenn). He did, however, display the class picture that the children sent him, thanking Grandpa Glenn for all he did with them that Spring. Not only did he help several children by reading to them and spending special time with them, he got Andrew to work on our weight machine. He taught Andrew to work hard to be strong, even in the face of terrible challenges. He learned to push himself around on a little dolly Glenn made, and to swing himself into the back seat of our Caravan, 42-inch cast and all. Now he's working out as a college man, and lifting more than his own weight. So all of these things went through my mind this week, and I began to understand that love was the strong foundation that Glenn provided under all our lives. I began to see how my poem made sense, and I'd like to share it with you now. The Granite Gardener of Rocking Horse Hill The old man lay dying in the house he had built, |
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Diane Bergey with Glenn at her Wedding |
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Glenn Bergey was a man of substance. He had a big voice, a hearty laugh, big strong arms, and a big heart. And that heart was certainly in the right place. Mostly what he said these last days was 'I love you guys." And he was including all of us. As I got ready to write something down to share today, I kept getting mixed up with opposites. He did have a big voice but he also could be incredibly quiet. He stood for hours in swamps, totally silent. He listened silently, intently, to whatever someone was telling him. He was an outdoorsman, a hunter, a surveyor, a trudger of swamps. But he was also an avid reader, spending happy hours in his comfy chair next to Pat. He was straightforward and down to earth, speaking and living simply, but he was a lover of the higher arts---music, theatre, even opera now that we have Marisa in our family. He was a common sense kind of guy, but valued higher education above all. He was so proud of all of us when we got degrees---his own children, Pat, me, and now his grandchildren. He was incredibly frugal; recycle and reuse was his motto well before it became a fad. But he was also incredibly generous, thinking of ways to give to others, no matter what. He was a gentleman, sincerely chivalrous; at the same time, he was a rogue. He was a carpenter, building the sturdiest things I have and maybe will ever see. Big, thick, pine with lots of glue. Lots is always better. But, also, a tiny doll house with fussy little shingles and real lights. He was strong- so strong- but could also be gentle, soothing a baby or a puppy within moments of his touch. His hands, rough from work, held ours gently and firmly in just the way that lets you know you are loved. He was predictable and steady but could unexpectedly surprise us all, taking on cartoon characters- Snaggle Pus, Smoky Bear, and Yogi --- and later Cookie Monster to lighten a situation. He had a great sense of humor, but never took himself too seriously. He would say out loud as he bumbled or dropped something, "way to go, Glenn," clean up the mess and keep moving. However, he could be very serious when needed. He took his responsibilities seriously. And, I think, responsibility, according to Glenn Bergey, was taking care of business. Making a plan and getting right to work on it. Doing his best at it, with honesty and integrity. Taking care of others, loving his family. And, boy, oh boy, didn't he do just that? I say "Way to go, Glenn!" |
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Glenn & Jordan Dance at Her Wedding |
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I wanted to tell a story. A story that would show how kind, generous, thoughtful, and loving my grandfather was, a story that would encompass his whole life. But I struggled to find the right one. I was left with little moments. No one great story but hundreds of snapshots. And that was the thing about granddaddy. He was constant. He was a steady presence. He showed his love over and over --- always there, always present. He built me an intricate doll house, complete with wood floors and many different types of wallpaper because my eight year old self cared deeply about interior design. He watched Mr. Magoo's X-Mas daily, because it was asked. He danced with me even when I worried about his stamina. He built many sets of bunk beds that could withstand a hurricane, literally. His pride in the trails through his property that we all helped cut, naming each after a grandchild. He built enough rocking horses and blanket chests for many families in many states. He always let me flip the pancakes, even if I was not patient enough to wait for the right moment. He attended many recitals (which were sometimes painful), football games, concerts, swim meets, and graduations, always proud. He was there, showing us all how much he cared constantly, consistently, dependably. So Granddaddy, thank you for all your kindness and generosity and Tally-ho the Fox. |
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Tony M. Lentz
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