Edward C Malone

February 15, 1925 ~ September 10, 2000

Bill’s Remembrances

How do words do justice to one of the greatest men that ever lived? How do you tell others of the love and faith you were taught as a young person? How do you relate the security you feel from a father’s love? How do you put into words a life that has impacted so many people, not just his wife and four children, but countless others as well? How do you explain why a man would bring into his home over the years many other children and never ask a dime from anyone for their support? How do you share the patriotism in the life of this quiet man? In this short document I will try to answer those questions and more and in so doing, give you a picture of the man I still call “Daddy”. All documents of any size need to have a disclaimer. One of the problems of telling stories years after they happened is that one may not always get the facts correct. One may mix details of stories together. One may even tell stories about someone that are not quite accurate. If that happens here, it is totally my fault. In telling the stories, I am sure that I will have stayed true to the picture of Daddy. If I am not totally accurate on some of the details, it is not intentional. It is only because I am trying to reconstruct stories years after the fact. The details may be somewhat inaccurate, but the intent of the story is not. What I am attempting to do with the stories about Daddy is to show you the kind of man he was.

His early life and parents

In a house outside of Cynthiana, Kentucky he was born to Harlan Malone and Zella Dailey on February 15, 1925. He had a brother, George William who was born February 22, 1923 and died just three weeks later on March 18, 1923. George is buried in an unmarked grave in Cynthiana. I know little of those early years except to say that his parents divorced when he was still very young. Following the divorce, neither of them wanted to take care of him so he found himself on the streets at a very young age. He spent several years sleeping wherever he could and stealing from local farmers just to have a meal which he would cook in an old coffee can over an open fire. It is no surprise that those early years had a profound impact on his life as an adult. During that time a local priest fed him a meal a day and a wonderful man in Cynthiana, Jim Moses, gave him a bed to sleep in during the winter.

His military years

It is no surprise that he joined the Navy as soon as he was old enough. He actually lied about his age to get into the Navy. He said “at least I can get a dry bed and three meals a day.” Little did he realize that by joining the Navy, he would end up trained in guerilla warfare and become the only WWII survivor of “Operation Charlie”, which was the forerunner of the Navy Seals. He said, “the worse part was the children...you expect adults to be killed in war.” We will never know the horrors in his mind that he carried to the grave. The Daddy I knew was so kind, gentle and loving. It is so hard to imagine the other side that had to surface as a partial payment for my freedom. A few months before he died, I was honored to be with Daddy one day at church. It was one of those Sundays where the veterans are asked to stand and be recognized. When I stood, I noticed that Daddy was standing to my right (the place of honor). That experience only lasted a few seconds, but it will be forever burnt into my memory.

His marriage

Following the war, he came home never to receive the honors he deserved. He did get one honor far greater that any the government could bestow—my mother, Eva Woodrow Varner. As they were washing dishes and talking, Eva asked him what he would like to have for his birthday.

“You,” he commented.

They were married on his birthday in 1949, a marriage that was to last for over fifty years until they were parted in death. To that marriage was born four children, William Dale and Robert Gale, born on April 1, 1950; Edwina Dow Alice born on October 2, 1952 and Harlina Joyce born on November 20, 1954. At the beginning of that marriage, Daddy made a promise to Mommy and asked only one thing of her. “Eva, I will keep a roof over your head. It may not be fancy, but it will be adequate. All I ask in return is that there is always food in the refrigerator. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, but if I wake up in the middle of the night and want a bite to eat, I want to be able to do that. I don’t want to ever go hungry again.” He kept his promise and she honored his request. When they married, Daddy weighed 135 pounds. One year later he weighed 250. He never dropped below the robust weight level of 200 plus until he fell ill at the end of his life.

What I saw in that marriage has continued to be an inspiration to me. Daddy and Mommy were not the kind of couple who were outwardly demonstrative about their feelings, but I never saw them part for work but what he gave her a kiss. It was not one of those long breathtaking kisses you see on TV or in the movies. It was a short one, but in that kiss was more love than you could imagine. By the way Daddy loved Mommy, he taught me a lot about how to love my wife.

Daddy taught me that love is much more than words. Love is shown with your hands. Daddy showed his love in giving Mommy a home to keep her warm in the winter and dry in the rain. It was never a fancy home, but it was home, not just a house. He bought a house that was unfinished on the second floor and did all the work himself to complete it. That home would have never found a place in Better Homes and Gardens magazine, but it did find a place in our hearts. There has been more than one time that I have just driven by that place at 2433 Eastway Drive on the south side of Lexington, Kentucky and just remembered. The love of two giants in my life changed that house into a home. It was a home for not only them and the four children born to them, it became a home for countless other children who entered that home for some length of time. As best we can remember there were almost two dozen people who lived with us for some period of time. They were people who needed a home for a while. Daddy would never turn anyone away. No one would go hungry or sleep on the streets if he had any control over it. He wanted no one to have to live the way he did for so many years. You see, his love extended far beyond the walls of that home and his blood children. There are many people who have called him “Daddy” over the years. I am proud that the influence of my Daddy has been passed on to me. There are ones other than my own children who look to me as a replacement Daddy, also. Daddy, your legacy lives on.

His drinking

Edward C Malone was an alcoholic. He was able to stop drinking when I was a small child, but I can still remember a little of it. The details I remember are not important but the way he handled it is. He quit. Just because he quit drinking does not mean that he lost his concern for others who were bound by that habit also. I remember one occasion in which Jim Tucker, his former drinking buddy was at our home and he was as drunk as a skunk. Jim got ready to leave and Daddy would not let him do it. Daddy took away Tucker’s keys and made him sleep it off at our home. The other and much more significant thing to me was the way Daddy stopped drinking. He did it over night. There were two things happening at the time. Mommy had told him that it would be the drinking or her. Combined with that was the church. His connection with the church had been through a priest in Cynthiana who had fed him a meal a day while he was living on the streets of Cynthiana and little else after that. When I was somewhere between six to eight years of age, Daddy gave up drinking over night. He laid it on the altar and that was it. We had been attending the Southland Evangelical Methodist Church, which was meeting in Clays Mill Elementary School where I attended. It was a Sunday night and we were meeting in the room, which served as the choir room during the week. Daddy was wearing a pair of black slacks and a gray tweed jacket. Following the service, as was the custom when making a spiritual commitment or seeking divine help with a problem, he went to the front of the room and knelt at the altar and prayed. That night God divinely delivered him from the addiction to alcohol. In later years, he told us that the next day, just the smell of alcoholic drinks made him sick. As best I can tell, that was the beginning of his faith journey which was to last for the rest of his life.

His employment

What did this man I call Daddy do to put the food on the table, pay the mortgage, put clothes on our backs and the hundreds of other things that a parent does with his money for no reason other than love? For a large portion of his working life he was a truck driver. He drove for more than one company, but mostly it was semi-local driving. From the time I was a small child until I was a teenager he was the driver for Martina Brothers Tile Terrazzo and Marble Company in Lexington. As a child I thought he had the most important job in the company. As an adult I learned that he did not have a job of great status there. He took the material to the job sites at the beginning of a job and cleaned up afterward. He was the company flunky, but he was the best flunky there ever was. He was proud to have a job that would feed his family. He may have been the flunky, but he was the only person there other than the owner who carried keys to the entire operation. His integrity was above reproach.

At the time I was born and later after I left for college, Daddy worked for Eastern State Mental Hospital. He was the first male Licensed Practical Nurse in the state of Kentucky and filled several state office positions. While in offices of leadership he organized a scholarship fund for men designed to get more male nurses in the field. He often stated that he wanted to see more long pants on nurses. This was during the era in which the only acceptable attire for women nurses was a white dress. He also served as the president of the Lexington district. He held those positions gladly and was very proud of his abilities as a nurse (a profession that both he and Mommy held.) He left the position when I was an infant because it did not pay enough to meet the bills, but did return to it later in life. There were other positions short-lived such as cab driver and security guard. All this is to show that he was not afraid to work at whatever it took to earn an honest wage to meet the bills and raise his family. What he taught me about work ethic was not taught in a lecture, but in the way he lived his life. Daddy, thank you.

His love for all children

Daddy’s love extended not only to the children he fathered, but far beyond to many others. If you were to see us out as a family, you may think that you were seeing a couple who never learned what caused children, there were so many of us. In truth, Daddy and Mommy seemed to always have some other children in the house. They would never turn anyone away. There was almost always someone outside our immediate blood family living with us, Sam Gardner, Doug Mitchell, JoAnne Caster, Jesse Baldridge, Jesse Smith, and the list could go on. Each of them needed a home for a while. Then, there was his involvement in the Boy Scouts. Believe me, it was great to have my Daddy as my Scout leader. He couldn’t be there all the time because of the times that his job had him out of town, but he was there when it counted. I remember him trying to teach me the scout knots (I never learned them); teach me how to set a tent, cook a meal (that was usually consumable), teach me how to fish, how to build a campfire and a bond fire. Most of all, I remember the love as he taught all of us. As we would pack that old trailer with scouting stuff and head to the campsite there was always love. In everything he did all you could see was love. Each of those boys and girls that shared our home were loved as much as the four of us who held his blood in our veins. Maybe the best illustration of that love happened quite unexpectedly. One day when Mommy was at work she received a call from a judge in Lexington. He said, “Mrs. Malone, I have a young man here in my office, Sam Gardner.” She thought, “what is going on now? Surely Sam is not in some kind of trouble.” The judge continued, “Sam says that he would like to have you and Ed made his guardian. This is a rather unusual request.” Mommy’s response was, “We will take him and all of his siblings. Sam is already living with us.” Sam had gone to the courts on his own and made that request. Daddy and Mommy knew nothing about it until that phone call. The request was granted.

His humor

One of the things said about Daddy at the funeral and wake service was that he never lost his humor. That humor was an integral part of his life, a part that I only began to appreciate during the latter years of his life. Probably the best way to illustrate that humor is to tell a few of his life stories.

Daddy was raised in the era of our country in which a teacher could take a paddle to the backside and not have to fear going to jail over it. Daddy was not the honor student. One of Daddy's teachers had decided that he needed a spanking every morning just on general principles. If he had not done anything that morning that deserved a spanking, then he was surely going to do so soon. Every morning, the first thing that happened was that Daddy would bend over and grab his ankles for the morning swat. The teacher would always drop a $20.00 bill on the floor and tell Daddy that if his feet did not leave the ground he could keep the $20.00 bill. One morning when Daddy arrived before the teacher, he nailed his boots to the floor, stepped back in them and laced them up. When the teacher arrived Daddy said, “we might as well get it over with.” Well, his feet did not leave the floor. He never did tell us how he spent the $20.00. On another occasion, Daddy was instructed by the teacher to make a paddle for these spankings. He did. He sanded it properly; he form-fitted the handgrip; he put a nice finish on the wood, but he made it out of yellow poplar. The first time it was used, it shattered into splinters all over the room.

The humor was not limited to the schoolroom. On one particular day, Daddy and Charles Reidnard noticed that there was a wedding in town. They both knew that you were supposed to throw rice at the Bride and Groom as they left the church. It was then that they remembered that one of them had rice for supper the previous evening. That was the day that Daddy and Charles learned that the rice was not supposed to be cooked. Daddy and Charles enjoyed the episode. My guess is that the Bride and Groom did not find it quite as funny.

We regularly attended small churches in the Lexington area. It often fell to Daddy to function as the usher at the service. One of the responsibilities was to receive the offering in the collection plates. On one particular evening when he passed the plate, he did not get any money. He just passed it again. He got some.

One of the fleeting jobs Daddy held was work as a security guard. One day he was working in a tobacco re-drying plant. During the shift a couple of employees got into a fight which was grounds for immediate dismissal. Daddy went to where the fight was in progress and just stood and watched. It was not long before the foreman arrived and asked Daddy, "Malone, ain't you going to stop that fight?" Daddy's response, "No, I'm just going to wait until they are done and take care of the winner." The fight stopped.

One day after I was married, I was visiting with my family and we were all sitting around visiting and talking about the only new car Daddy and Mommy ever owned, a Ford Pinto. Mommy mentioned that the most difficult part would be the first ding on the car. Daddy said that would not be a problem. He just got out of his chair, left the house, went to his toolbox and picked up a hammer and walked over and hit the side of the car. At that point I am sure that Mommy loved him enough that the thought of divorce did not cross her mind, but maybe murder did.

His faith

There are many things that can and will be said about my Daddy, but the most important and significant in my life has to be his faith. He was a man of God. When you talk about men of God you sometimes tend to discuss the well-known TV personalities and evangelists whose names are common knowledge in most American households. Edward Malone is not one of those names. When you think about the persons who will receive great recognition in the halls of heaven, Edward Malone will be on that list. How can I make such a bold statement? I can make it because I have seen him do the things for others that Jesus promised would be rewarded. “If you give just a cup of water in my name, you have done it to me. If you visit the sick and imprisoned, you have done it to me. If you feed the hungry, you have done it to me. If you are a friend to the homeless, you have done it to me. Daddy did all of this and more.

You will remember that I mentioned earlier that his childhood times when he lived on the streets had a significant impact on his later actions. It was his faith and earlier life that prompted him to open his home to people who needed a place. It was his background that caused him to always have a place at the table for someone else. Never once did any of us children need to hesitate to invite a friend home for dinner if we wanted. Most of the time those invitations were extended out of childhood friendship, but sometimes they were extended because there was a need. I can remember more than one time when a childhood friend of mine questioned if it would be ok if he came to my house for supper. “Don’t you have to ask your Mom first?” The answer was always the same. “Of course not. You are welcome.”

Our times of public worship became very important to us and to Daddy. There were few things that would interfere with Sunday morning or evening church. On one particular Sunday morning as we were ready to leave for church, company arrived. Charles Wagoner, Daddy’s stepbrother, arrived at our house with his wife. Daddy invited them to come and join us at church for worship. They declined the offer and Daddy just said, “Make yourself at home. We will see you when we get back from church.” And we left. They stayed and when we got home from church, lunch was on the table. Bertha had made herself at home in the kitchen.

We were always told that our Sunday playtime would not interfere with church. We were welcome to do as we wished (within reason) on Sundays, but we had to make sure we were home in time for evening service. By the time we got home from church and had lunch, it would be about 2:00. We had to be ready to leave for church at 6:00. How much trouble can you get into in four hours? A lot. If you were a Malone kid, you could get into trouble. I think it was genetic. The interesting thing is that we often chose to spend those four hours at home (often with our friends there). Daddy and Mommy have always said that they would rather have their grass destroyed with all of the kids playing in our yard. At least that way, they knew where their children were.

When we went to church, we always had to have our Bibles. There were many times in which we were looking for those Bibles at the last minute because we knew we had to take them. If we had friends or relatives there who did not have their own Bibles, Daddy would find them one. And when we got to church we had better know where to find the passages of scripture. We always attended small churches. In a small church everyone is needed. We could not hide behind the masses of people. Not only did our Sunday school teachers know each of us by name, they knew if we liked that name or not. And on more than one occasion, the teacher knew a lot more than that about us. Sometimes Daddy or Mommy was our teacher. As a child I felt embarrassed to have them as the Sunday school teacher. Today, I am proud of that. There is no greater legacy that can be left by parents than a spiritual one. Daddy was really a man of faith. He studied his faith; he practiced his faith; he taught his faith.

His Legacy

What kind of legacy has my Daddy left me? He has left me with a great appreciation and enjoyment of good and sometimes not so good humor. He taught me that not only is it ok to laugh, it is ok to laugh at yourself, but it is never ok to laugh at someone else. He taught me that humor is best when it is subtle. When I remember his life, I remember an easy-going attitude toward things. He rarely let things get under his skin. When problems arise, as they always do, Daddy was able to let things just roll off and take it in stride. He taught me how to love. We never had one of those sit-down talks about love; I just watched him and learned it well. He taught me that love does not come from within, it comes from above. It comes from God. He taught me a work ethic of which I can be proud. He showed me through his life that no job should be an embarrassment if it is honest work. Most importantly, he taught me faith. I know I have already talked about this, but it cannot be said too often. From my Daddy I learned my faith. He and Mommy together led me to the foot of the cross of Jesus and while there they taught me how to love and worship Jesus. If you remember nothing else about Edward C Malone, I want you to remember that he was a man of God.

Edwina’s Remembrances

What do you say about a man that you spent 48 years respecting, idolizing, loving?

He was a man of courage. He fought in WWII protecting our country to help enable us continued freedom. I asked him once about his feelings of killing during the war. He commented, “I didn’t look at it as killing; I looked at it as survival. Otherwise I would not have made it home.”

He was a man of honor. He was the type of man that if he found a bag of money—knowing that his family needed something, he would have returned it all because it was right and he would always try to set the best example for his family. Also he would say, “The other person may be worse off than we are.”

He was a man of Pride. Proud of where he came from and what he made of himself because of it. I remember the day he walked me down the aisle. His chest was puffed out like a papa bird with a smile from ear to ear.

He was a protector. On my wedding day he told Ronnie, “I’ll say this as nice as I can. She’s your wife now but she’s still my daughter. If you ever hit her, I’ll kill you.” And I truly believe that he meant it.

He was a man of humor. There was the time that mother asked him to help clean the house. She said, “This place is so dirty I can write my name in the dust.” Very calmly (on his way out the door) Daddy replied, “At least you can write—some people are not so lucky.”

He was loving, giving, sharing. If he knew of a child that may not have a hot meal or a warm bed, they were welcome in our home.

He was a man who loved God, his country and his family and took pride in each and would fight for them all.

It’s hard to put into words all my thoughts and feelings about a father who, in my eyes, was just about perfect.

Daddy, I miss you and love you. Edwina

Joy’s Remembrances

There is so much in my heart that could never go into words but I have tried to put some of it down on paper. I’ve never known anyone who showed his gentle love better than my father. I remember as far back to before I started school. I woke up in a hospital room with a big tent over me. There beside my bed, watching and waiting, was Daddy. I discovered later that he was waiting for me to improve from pneumonia. All through my childhood I was protected and loved in a gentle way by a giant of a man. I only saw our father mad twice and both times was because someone hurt one of his family, and never when we were children. I knew from early childhood that our father was special. When we found the boxes of pictures from the war and asked about them, Daddy’s comment was, “When you’re good at what you do, you don’t have to brag. Others will sing your praises for you.” That comment has followed me ever since. As we all grew up, I watched a man work every day, keep his own home up and also keep his parents’ home up. This taught me the love to put aside my wishes and wants and do everything I can to care for my parents. They have always been there when I needed them.

The physical and emotional help our parents gave when I lost Al. Our father left work to be at the hospital with me the day Al was operated on. Daddy didn’t want me to be alone even though we all knew Al had inoperable cancer. Through the months that followed, our father was at our home any time I called and told him I needed help. Our father went with me and stood beside me when Al passed and I had to make final arrangements. In every bad time in my life, my sickness, my long ordeal with burns, illness with my girls and my husbands, the loss of our home, our father was there. He never complained of being tired or having something else he needed to do. The good times in our live he was there as well. As a child, when I went in the truck with him, then our fishing trips on the weekends. We go fishing on Friday night and Saturday, but by midnight Saturday night we quit fishing. Sunday is God’s day and we were in church on Sunday morning. The love and gentleness lasted to the end. Our father wouldn’t let me stand alone when George died. After sitting in dialysis all day long and not even able to walk, our father came to the funeral home to be with me. Daddy and I had some time together before he left. He was very sick and didn’t feel like talking much, but we were there. The last Saturday Daddy went to the clinic, he said on his way out “Joy, I may not be back.” Daddy knew he was leaving us. That night at the hospital the first thing Daddy asked was, “How did you get off work?” Still thinking of others and their lives until the end. I hope and pray as I get older that I can still learn from our father to be more patient and kinder to my children and grandchildren, as well as to others I meet on the road of life.

A MILLION TIMES

A million times we’ve missed you.

A million times we’ve cried.

If love alone could have saved you,

You never would have died.

If all the world was ours to give

We would give it, yes, and more

To see you coming up the steps

And walking through the door.

To hear your voice, to see your smile;

To sit and talk with you a while;

To be with you, the same old way

Would be our fondest day.

A heart of Gold stopped beating;

Two smiling eyes closed to rest.

God broke our hearts to prove to us

He only takes the best.

Sug,

September 10, 2004