From Dad's funeral, February 8, 2007
| Homer Menzies 1920 - 2007 |
I’d like to tell you a little about my hero.
His name was Homer Menzies. He was my Dad.
Dad was born a long time ago, way back in
1920 and grew up just in time to join the
Great Depression. However, even during the
Depression Dad found a way to demonstrate
his entrepreneurial skills—he was a golf caddy.
Dad actually slept on the greens so he’d be
first in line for work the next morning.
Homer Menzies was a gentle man but was not
afraid to step forward when the situation called
for it. One compliment I heard about my father
was from the late Dwight Lawson. Mr. Lawson
said that as a young man when a fight would
occur, Dad would step aside. But when our
country needed soldiers for war, Homer Menzies stepped forward.
Dad honorably served our country for 21 years. He was in World War II and the
Korean conflict. Most of you know he was an Air Force pilot of large planes, small
planes, and then very, very fast planes. That may be why Dad was sometimes a fast
driver—he was used to traveling about 500 M.P.H.!
It was a custom in military aviation during the war years to paint a picture of something
on the nose of the plane, hence the term “nose art.” If you examine nose art you’ll
notice much is lewd. My dad had art painted on his jet. On one side were the words,
“Martha My Darling” painted under a lightening bolt. The other side was painted, “Glad
Tidings” underneath another lightening bolt. Martha My Darling—that’s my Mom,
Martha Menzies. And Glad Tidings meant Glad Tidings Assembly of God—that was our
church. They may have sounded kind of corny to many but that’s what faith and family
meant to my dad.
Dad spent many years in the Far East. He loved the Japanese people and even learned
some of their language.
On January 24, 1952, during the Korean War, on what was supposed to be a routine
mission, became a flight he never forgot. His squadron of jets were lost from radar and
crash landed. It was in the middle of the day in Korea. Halfway around the world in
Springfield, Missouri, it was still night time. My grandmother, Blanche Menzies, was
sleeping. The moment my dad’s jet crashed, his picture fell off her bedroom wall. The
clatter awoke my grandmother, but instead of rolling over—she rolled out—and began
praying in the Holy Ghost for her son. Dad walked away from the crash.
The last plane Dad flew in his military career was the C-124 Globemaster,
affectionately known as “Old Shakey.” It was big enough to load a Greyhound Bus in its
belly and fly non-stop from Kansas City to Hawaii. Dad used to tell mom he wanted to
be buried near the airport so when Old Shakey would fly over it would rattle his bones!
A favorite childhood memory I have of my dad, when he was leaving town, would
break all rules of military aviation and fly the big 124 Globemaster over our farmhouse
at treetop level. If we were in the house and the walls started shaking and the dogs
barking, we’d run into the yard and start waving hands and towels while Dad “waved”
back by dipping his huge wings back and forth before taking off into the wild blue
yonder. I can’t begin to tell you of the “rush” I got as a small boy just thinking that my
dad was flying the big plane. Sometimes I could almost hear Dad say in his best
Japanese, “Sayonara little family, I’ll be home soon.” And just like that, he was gone.
Dad stepped forward to provide leadership to the Gospel Publishing House in the
1960s. His start there in the late 1930s almost didn’t happen. He applied for a job firing
the furnace. His employment application questioned whether he attended the skating
rink. He answered he did and the interview was over. Human Resource manager, Mr.
Ramsey, tore up the application. He told my dad there was no way anyone could work
for the Lord at the Gospel Publishing House and attend that hell-hole at Doling Park
roller skating. Dad didn’t tell Bro. Ramsey that many of the employees frequented that
hell-hole on Friday nights. Dad returned to the interviewer and said he would quit
skating—and he did. He was told to report to work the next day.
After being employed there for approximately 35 years, he had worked as a furnace
man, letterpress operator, offset pressman, estimator, production coordinator, and
reached Executive level of General Manager.
Dad was often called upon to fly one of the Assemblies of God Executives to a speaking
engagement or fund-raising activity. One of his favorite passengers was Rev. C.M.
Ward, the speaker for the Assemblies of God radio program—Revivaltime.
One typical flight on short notice was to Arkansas. Bro. Ward assured Dad there was a
landing strip in the tiny town. Arriving by air to the small town they discovered there
was, in fact, NO airport. While still flying Dad spotted a pasture not far from the church
where Bro. Ward would speak that night. A low pass across the pasture scattered the
cattle so Dad could land. Upon landing they were greeted by an angry farmer shaking
his fist and swearing because of the frightened cattle. Bro. Ward exiting the plane
introduced himself and explained he was the speaker at the local Assembly of God
church that night. The farmer exited his truck and said, “Well bless God, I go to that
church!”
Dad took his leadership skills seriously. As a teenager I remember my Dad reading the
typical books like, “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” He took management
courses and attended a school or two on management. But something he did that most
managers don’t do—he loved his employees. Dad put people first and often preached to
those who would listen—employees are the greatest asset to a company.
When a particular company Dad worked for was being sold back in the 1970s, Dad was
to receive a fee once the deal was finalized. The fee amounted to several thousand
dollars. It would have been an easy thing to simply close the transaction, take the
money, clean out his desk, and walk out the door. But that’s not the style of Homer
Menzies. He assumed the position of his “brother’s keeper.” He balked at the deal until
he had secured the new owner’s solemn pledge that not one employee would lose their
job. Only then did he finalize the closure of the sale. Very few managers would risk easy
money for the sake of their employees.
Things always seem to work out for my Dad. I don’t believe that was an accident. For
years he had a small plaque on his desk that read, “As long as he sought the Lord, He
made him to prosper” (2 Chron. 26:5).
Time and space prevents me from sharing more stories. If you want to hear more just
take me to Nakato Steak House and I’ll tell you more.
Dad taught me many things in life.
He taught me how to correct a slice: If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask my brother David—he’s a golfer.
He taught me how to tie a swivel knot. If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask a fisherman.
He taught me how to patch a blanket. If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask a printer.
I will never forget this: He taught me how to pick a hickie. The kind of hickie I’m
talking about is a tiny speck of dirt attached to a printing plate on a huge steel cylinder
whirling around at 10,000 R.P.H. The tiny speck leaves a dot on a printed sheet
surrounded by a white, microscopic halo. To retrieve this speck of dirt a pressman
must ever-so-gingerly place his thumbnail on the moving plate and scrape the speck
risking thumb, hand, or entire arm, just so you the reader will not see the hickie.
Dad wore many hats in life. He was:
A Christian
A husband, father, and grandfather
A golfer
A pilot
A printer
A manager
A salesman
A leader of military men
A fisherman
An entrepreneur
A soldier
A neighbor and friend
He excelled at them all.
Dad broadcast on the ham radio with the call sign NØLGB—No Lost Golf Balls. As of
Monday, February 5, 2007, he became a silent key.
When my brother and I arrived at Christian Health Care to see Dad after he had passed
early Monday morning, the first thing my mother said to us was, “You boys have every
right to be proud of your Dad.”
After we cleaned out Dad’s room, I went home and was reading the Bible. I found the
following passage in the “Old” Bible. “Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man
fallen this day…?” (2 Samuel 3:38)
Oh, I know. His name was Homer Menzies. He was my dad.
We say to you today Dad, we were always proud to be your sons. You were a prince and
a great man.
You fought a good fight,
You finished the course,
You kept the faith!
Henceforth there is laid up for (you) a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the
righteous judge, shall give (you) at that day: (2 TIM 4:8 KJV)
Have a good flight!
I salute you, Dad.
—Bruce (#2 son)
His name was Homer Menzies. He was my Dad.
Dad was born a long time ago, way back in
1920 and grew up just in time to join the
Great Depression. However, even during the
Depression Dad found a way to demonstrate
his entrepreneurial skills—he was a golf caddy.
Dad actually slept on the greens so he’d be
first in line for work the next morning.
Homer Menzies was a gentle man but was not
afraid to step forward when the situation called
for it. One compliment I heard about my father
was from the late Dwight Lawson. Mr. Lawson
said that as a young man when a fight would
occur, Dad would step aside. But when our
country needed soldiers for war, Homer Menzies stepped forward.
Dad honorably served our country for 21 years. He was in World War II and the
Korean conflict. Most of you know he was an Air Force pilot of large planes, small
planes, and then very, very fast planes. That may be why Dad was sometimes a fast
driver—he was used to traveling about 500 M.P.H.!
It was a custom in military aviation during the war years to paint a picture of something
on the nose of the plane, hence the term “nose art.” If you examine nose art you’ll
notice much is lewd. My dad had art painted on his jet. On one side were the words,
“Martha My Darling” painted under a lightening bolt. The other side was painted, “Glad
Tidings” underneath another lightening bolt. Martha My Darling—that’s my Mom,
Martha Menzies. And Glad Tidings meant Glad Tidings Assembly of God—that was our
church. They may have sounded kind of corny to many but that’s what faith and family
meant to my dad.
Dad spent many years in the Far East. He loved the Japanese people and even learned
some of their language.
On January 24, 1952, during the Korean War, on what was supposed to be a routine
mission, became a flight he never forgot. His squadron of jets were lost from radar and
crash landed. It was in the middle of the day in Korea. Halfway around the world in
Springfield, Missouri, it was still night time. My grandmother, Blanche Menzies, was
sleeping. The moment my dad’s jet crashed, his picture fell off her bedroom wall. The
clatter awoke my grandmother, but instead of rolling over—she rolled out—and began
praying in the Holy Ghost for her son. Dad walked away from the crash.
The last plane Dad flew in his military career was the C-124 Globemaster,
affectionately known as “Old Shakey.” It was big enough to load a Greyhound Bus in its
belly and fly non-stop from Kansas City to Hawaii. Dad used to tell mom he wanted to
be buried near the airport so when Old Shakey would fly over it would rattle his bones!
A favorite childhood memory I have of my dad, when he was leaving town, would
break all rules of military aviation and fly the big 124 Globemaster over our farmhouse
at treetop level. If we were in the house and the walls started shaking and the dogs
barking, we’d run into the yard and start waving hands and towels while Dad “waved”
back by dipping his huge wings back and forth before taking off into the wild blue
yonder. I can’t begin to tell you of the “rush” I got as a small boy just thinking that my
dad was flying the big plane. Sometimes I could almost hear Dad say in his best
Japanese, “Sayonara little family, I’ll be home soon.” And just like that, he was gone.
Dad stepped forward to provide leadership to the Gospel Publishing House in the
1960s. His start there in the late 1930s almost didn’t happen. He applied for a job firing
the furnace. His employment application questioned whether he attended the skating
rink. He answered he did and the interview was over. Human Resource manager, Mr.
Ramsey, tore up the application. He told my dad there was no way anyone could work
for the Lord at the Gospel Publishing House and attend that hell-hole at Doling Park
roller skating. Dad didn’t tell Bro. Ramsey that many of the employees frequented that
hell-hole on Friday nights. Dad returned to the interviewer and said he would quit
skating—and he did. He was told to report to work the next day.
After being employed there for approximately 35 years, he had worked as a furnace
man, letterpress operator, offset pressman, estimator, production coordinator, and
reached Executive level of General Manager.
Dad was often called upon to fly one of the Assemblies of God Executives to a speaking
engagement or fund-raising activity. One of his favorite passengers was Rev. C.M.
Ward, the speaker for the Assemblies of God radio program—Revivaltime.
One typical flight on short notice was to Arkansas. Bro. Ward assured Dad there was a
landing strip in the tiny town. Arriving by air to the small town they discovered there
was, in fact, NO airport. While still flying Dad spotted a pasture not far from the church
where Bro. Ward would speak that night. A low pass across the pasture scattered the
cattle so Dad could land. Upon landing they were greeted by an angry farmer shaking
his fist and swearing because of the frightened cattle. Bro. Ward exiting the plane
introduced himself and explained he was the speaker at the local Assembly of God
church that night. The farmer exited his truck and said, “Well bless God, I go to that
church!”
Dad took his leadership skills seriously. As a teenager I remember my Dad reading the
typical books like, “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” He took management
courses and attended a school or two on management. But something he did that most
managers don’t do—he loved his employees. Dad put people first and often preached to
those who would listen—employees are the greatest asset to a company.
When a particular company Dad worked for was being sold back in the 1970s, Dad was
to receive a fee once the deal was finalized. The fee amounted to several thousand
dollars. It would have been an easy thing to simply close the transaction, take the
money, clean out his desk, and walk out the door. But that’s not the style of Homer
Menzies. He assumed the position of his “brother’s keeper.” He balked at the deal until
he had secured the new owner’s solemn pledge that not one employee would lose their
job. Only then did he finalize the closure of the sale. Very few managers would risk easy
money for the sake of their employees.
Things always seem to work out for my Dad. I don’t believe that was an accident. For
years he had a small plaque on his desk that read, “As long as he sought the Lord, He
made him to prosper” (2 Chron. 26:5).
Time and space prevents me from sharing more stories. If you want to hear more just
take me to Nakato Steak House and I’ll tell you more.
Dad taught me many things in life.
He taught me how to correct a slice: If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask my brother David—he’s a golfer.
He taught me how to tie a swivel knot. If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask a fisherman.
He taught me how to patch a blanket. If you don’t know what that means you’ll have to
ask a printer.
I will never forget this: He taught me how to pick a hickie. The kind of hickie I’m
talking about is a tiny speck of dirt attached to a printing plate on a huge steel cylinder
whirling around at 10,000 R.P.H. The tiny speck leaves a dot on a printed sheet
surrounded by a white, microscopic halo. To retrieve this speck of dirt a pressman
must ever-so-gingerly place his thumbnail on the moving plate and scrape the speck
risking thumb, hand, or entire arm, just so you the reader will not see the hickie.
Dad wore many hats in life. He was:
A Christian
A husband, father, and grandfather
A golfer
A pilot
A printer
A manager
A salesman
A leader of military men
A fisherman
An entrepreneur
A soldier
A neighbor and friend
He excelled at them all.
Dad broadcast on the ham radio with the call sign NØLGB—No Lost Golf Balls. As of
Monday, February 5, 2007, he became a silent key.
When my brother and I arrived at Christian Health Care to see Dad after he had passed
early Monday morning, the first thing my mother said to us was, “You boys have every
right to be proud of your Dad.”
After we cleaned out Dad’s room, I went home and was reading the Bible. I found the
following passage in the “Old” Bible. “Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man
fallen this day…?” (2 Samuel 3:38)
Oh, I know. His name was Homer Menzies. He was my dad.
We say to you today Dad, we were always proud to be your sons. You were a prince and
a great man.
You fought a good fight,
You finished the course,
You kept the faith!
Henceforth there is laid up for (you) a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the
righteous judge, shall give (you) at that day: (2 TIM 4:8 KJV)
Have a good flight!
I salute you, Dad.
—Bruce (#2 son)
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