Why I have no plans to retire | Bob Shryock

Dad was a very young 60 when he died. Amazingly, I've already outlived him by 18 years.

Bob ShryockTimes file photo 

Dad often reminded me that he had no plans to retire.

"What would I do all day long?" he mused. "Listen to the Romance of Helen Trent on the radio? I'm no good at golf."

It made sense. Dad was a career journalist, like his only child would become, and merely the thought of him having no place to go on a daily basis, starting at 6 a.m., and frequently lasting until 10 o'clock at night, 6 days a week, bordered on the absurd as far as he was concerned.

But if the newspaper business was first in Dad's life, his family was a very close second. So one day he made a tough decision. On the day he became 60, March 31, 1969, he shocked his boss and the entire community by tendering his resignation. Although he confided it was the most difficult decision he ever made, his rationale was absolutely valid.

Mom's lingering illnesses made it apparent that she'd need a full-time caregiver and Dad felt he was up to the task even if it meant concluding his beloved newspaper career which had spanned more than 40 years.

The newspaper had a party for Dad. He received a gold watch, a $200 bonus, big money in 1969, and nice words from the publisher and two or three others. Mom's sickness kept her homebound.

A week later, Dad asked me to drive to Waynesboro for a day to "talk about things." It might have been the best day I ever spent with my father. The essence of what he told me that day: "Please make sure you take care of your mother if anything happens to me."

Odd for him to say that, I thought. Dad was invincible. He worked nearly 90 hours a week.

One week later, I was summoned again to my hometown via a Saturday morning phone call from a close friend of Mom's.

She was calm, but when she uttered the words "your dad is in the hospital with a possible heart attack. I'm sure he'll be all right, but, Bob, you'd better come home" I feared the worst.

And 15 minutes before I concluded my hurry-up 162-mile trip, Dad was pronounced dead by the family physician. The cause: Possible heart attack. I just missed seeing him while he was still alive.

The first thing I remembered when I collected my thoughts was Dad's repeated vows to not retire. It's unlikely that it would have made a difference, but the timing is almost too coincidental to discount. Basically, he'd call it.

There was a time I had four jobs at the same time and gave up all of them except writing this column three times a week. Like my Dad, I have a passion for the news business, warts and all, and I've told many they're going to have to carry me out of here...only half-laughingly.

That's because I turn a not-so-young 78 on Thursday.

With still no plans to retire.