Donald H Francis

Kansas City, MO by way of Rt. 1, Box 460, Clay County, MO

WARNING: This was written by his favorite daughter ( his ONLY daughter) and may be at least marginally biased. And if you know me, ya already know it’s gonna be long.

When our home phone rang, whoever among us in the family answered instantly knew who was calling.

If they asked for Doc, it was a neighbor in the rural community in which he’d lived and worked on his family’s farm all his life - as did generations before him the prior 100+ years.

If they asked for Don, it was family, church friends, or anyone he knew who lived outside a 20 mile radius.

If they asked for Donald, it was almost certainly a telemarketer.

The son of Brookin Kennedy “B.K.” and Ethel (Ramey), husband of 55+ years to Anna (McClung) (also known as “Anna Lee” or “Annie” - another telltale sign who was calling), a former deacon and then elder of the Claycomo Church of Christ (a congregation founded by his father-in-law), and father of two decidedly distinct, headstrong individuals (Carol and Raymond), Pops had many talents.

He could solve any puzzle, dismantle and rebuild any mechanical gadget, select traits among his cattle to develop a very fine herd of Angus, and fashion any of a number of different, inventive ways to open a gate without getting off the tractor. And all this without the benefit of any formal training or YouTube university. Pops is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known – Ivy league graduates and Nobel Prize winners among them.

Pops had a deep respect for all animals (snakes being a distinct exception - sorry, Steve). This may strike some as being at odds with his livelihood – but his approach was centered on being gentle. Never cruel. Plus, it’s a lot less work to train “the girls” (his beloved cattle herd) to come to him with a few honks on the ’48 International pickup’s horn than to chase them around on 30 acres.

Pops made people readily feel at ease. His calm demeanor, his pragmatic intellect, his reluctance to judge, and his dry wit - even and especially when the situation was difficult - drew people to him for his good company and often for his advice. Hundreds of winter hours were spent at the farm’s shop visiting with neighbors and friends … sometimes late into the night (much to Anna’s chagrin, since his dinner was getting cold).

Above all else, Pops was an issue spotter and practical planner. It informed how he lived all aspects of his life. If you’ve heard me brag on him (and I have done so a lot, whether you wanted to hear it (again) or not), you probably heard me boast that was the “model aging parent”. And at every step there was always humor to be found.

When he realized he’d soon reach an age when he could no longer manage 427 acres, Dad made the decision to sell his family’s farm. Land that had been in his family since 1866. “They ask me ‘How can I sell this farm?!! It’s been in your family for so long!’ Then I realized, well. None of those people are here to complain about it.”

When Anna fell ill, he embraced the challenge of cooking for the family. “I’ve got to keep my customers happy!”

After Anna passed, he alone - without any prodding - made the decision to move to a senior living residence. “I don’t think they’ll want me to bring my rifle. But ... do you think I can wear my bibs?”

And within his first years living at McCrite, while reluctant to participate in most all activities (“They keep coming in here to get me to do something. I know what’s going on. They think I’m depressed! They just don’t understand how many hours I spent alone on a tractor.”), he found he enjoyed baking. His biscuits and gravy became the talk of the potlucks – and he even placed third in the pie baking contest. “I think I made a lot of women angry at me!”

When walking became difficult, he took himself to the store, bought a walker and text me a photo. “Ain’t she a beaut?!? I call her my POP mobile - Pain Over Pride.”

When he fell in his apartment one weekend, he decided to move to assisted living. And when the dining room became too long a walk, he got an electric wheelchair. “It drives just like the Bobcat!”

And finally - the hardest decision of all - he sold his pickup. “I’ve got no business driving. “

Pops made the best he could out of whatever came his way, and always - ALWAYS - kept a positive, grounded attitude. Never (okay, rarely) cranky. Never unkind. Always appreciative.

Me: “I love you, Dad”

Pops: “Thank you.”

Pops NEVER liked to be the center of attention. So, no surprise, his post-life wishes are consistent with his lived life: a direct burial.

No visitation. No funeral. No celebration of life and “no yakety-yak-yak-yak and cracking jokes”.

As Dad requested years ago (in writing so as not to be misunderstood), a call has been made to Church-Archer-Pasley, a pre-selected, simple casket obtained, and the delivery of his mortal coil in that casket to the Francis Family plot in Fairview Cemetery, Liberty Missouri, to be placed next to Anna arranged.

An exceedingly small party (his son, (favorite) daughter, and son-in-law, Steve) will in near future visit the site where Pops made his last planting, place a set of dominoes and a copy of the Sunday New York Times, and say our respects.

Those who wish to remember him are invited to do so as they find best brings them comfort and peace.

Miss you, Pops. I’m glad you knew that I know you’re the best.