On March 20, 1999, I lost a friend. He was also my father. There is much to say about this man but I can sum it all up by saying he was a gentleman.

Women saw something in my father that often had my mother and I laughing. Women just "loved" Dad. I don't know why. Maybe because he always smiled. Maybe because he was always courteous. Maybe because he never fully lost his Norwegian accent and, because of it, seemed so civilized. Maybe because he spoke softly and listened intently.

Men saw my father in a different light. He was a friend. He never took advantage of a situation. He was strong but at the same time he demonstrated that he cared. His friends, many of whom I knew growing up, would mention to me that I had a "great man" for a father.

Dad became my friend in 1964, about the time I left home. I didn't realize how much of an influence he had on me until, during one crisis or another, I found myself asking how my father would deal with the situation. Although I know that I couldn't do quite as well as Dad, I tried. And when I succeeded, it was because of him.

Many people think that I have done quite well in life. But my father did much better. Arriving in the US when he was 19, he worked for relatives in Alaska guarding salmon traps. His uncle told him that he should go to work in New York. Dad moved and became a messenger for the American Coffee Company (the company that produced A&P 8 O'clock coffee). He worked hard and went to school at night to learn accounting. He retired after 40 years as the Treasurer of the company (having turned down the presidency many times because he just "wanted to be an accountant").

My father and mother met on a cruise. Mother always kept a diary of each of her trips. In 1933, they met on a trip to Scandinavia. Mother's diary shows that she had no feelings toward him. As a matter of fact, Dad didn't even make it into the "Interesting People I Met" section at the end of the diary! Three years later, my father and mother married. The union was one of love and respect.

When I was grown, I realized something that separated my parents from most other married couples. They never argued. Never once, during the 24 years that I lived at home, did my father raise his voice to my mother nor did my mother raise her voice to my father. Never once!

If my father did anything wrong in raising me, maybe it was not allowing me to speak Norwegian. I think that Dad was always so proud of being an American that he felt that his children had to speak the language of his new country. Some of my friends with immigrant parents tell me that they too were not allowed to speak their parents' native tongue.

Something that my father felt strongly about was family. Not only his family in Norway and Europe but also my mother's family here in the US. Dad was very proud of his father's contributions. Professor Gustafson was the archeologist who was deeply involved in the unearthing and restoration of the Oseberg Viking ship.

I miss my father. There are many occassions, even today, that I would like to seek his advice. But I am really glad that I got to know him and that he was both my father and my friend.