Good guys, Gunsmoke, and my Dad

James Arness died on Friday.   The 6’7’’ craggy faced giant known to decades of Gunsmoke fans as, “Matt Dillon” died of natural causes at the age of 88.    James Arness died, and I immediately thought of my father.  For as many years as Gunsmoke was on television, my Dad would stand up at the beginning of the show and assume the posture of Matt Dillon, standing in the street, facing down a desperado in a fast draw duel.  Dad would, “slap” leather right on cue and then blow imaginary smoke from his index finger as he turned to the rest of the family and announced—every time—that he was, “…just a shade faster.”  God, how I miss my father!

Certainly Dad and James Arness looked nothing alike, but they shared so much that is crucial to character, that I have no doubt they would have liked each other in an instant.  First of all, they were Minnesota born Norwegians.  My paternal grandmother was immigrant Norwegian, a tiny woman who gave birth to nine children at home (my father being the youngest) and literally worked herself to death in a house with no running water and a wood cooking stove.  I think that Norwegian immigrants to this country can best be described as, “determined,” a characteristics that they passed on relentlessly. 

Dad and Mr. Arness also both fought in the Army in WWII.  Arness saw action in Europe, earning a Purple Heart after losing part of a foot at Anzio.  My father fought in the Pacific and returned home wounded in body and mind.  Yet they both healed, and went on to do what they were supposed to do.  They found jobs, married women they loved, had children and lived responsible, disciplined lives.  I certainly don’t know what kind of man James Arness was, but I know what kind of man the same geography, culture and history produced in my father.  Dad used none of his difficult early history as an excuse for failure.  He was not a perfect man, but his failings were his own, not someone else’s fault.  He didn’t resent people who had more and he didn’t look down on those who had less.  The man taught me more about tolerance and Christian charity simply by living those principles than any minister ever did by preaching them.   He taught me more about being a good American than any Civics book. 

Dad liked himself and he liked people.  He liked Gunsmoke because the good guys won.  He liked James Arness because he seemed genuine.  If Heaven is more than just an amorphous state of grace, I am certain that Dad, James and a few other good guys are sharing stories, smiles and congratulations on a life well lived.  It is a legacy we should all want, but which few understand.