Albert V. Story

Albert Vincent Story passed away on September 25, 2010 in Mesa, AZ from complications of Alzheimer’s disease and stroke. Memorial services will be held at Mariposa Gardens Chapel on Wednesday, September 29. A memorial service is also being planned in Minnesota for next summer and will be announced later.

Al was born January 28, 1930 in Richland Township, Rice County Minnesota to Lloyd and Martha (Heggedahl) Story. He graduated from Faribault High School in 1948. He went into partnership with his father on the family farm. He married Phyllis Brodie on July 24, 1954. All and Phyllis lived and farmed in Richland Township until 2006 when they moved to Mesa to be near their children.

Al loved farming, a true farmer who loved working the land and watching his crops mature. He was a steward of the land, receiving a soil conservation award in 1989. He was a good, honest man who loved his wife, children, and grandchildren. He never had time for hobbies, but he and Phyllis loved to travel. Yellowstone National Park was their favorite place to visit. They enjoyed winters in Arizona and finally moved there permanently in 2006.

Survivors include son Paul (Maggie) Story of Gilbert Arizona, daughters Joy Story-Perkins and Linda Groth of Mesa, Arizona, Grandchildren Sydney and Nick Story, Paulina and Rad Pinckard, Alyssa and Jared Perkins, and Alison and Ryan Groth. Sisters Carol (Orville) Culp of Brea, California, Barbara Hauck of St. Paul Minnesota. Brother’s James (Barbara) Story of Kenyon, Minnesota and John (Noreen) Story of Faribault, Minnesota and brother-in-law Al (Dorothy) Brodie of Faribault and many friends and relatives. He was preceded in death by his parents.

He will be greatly missed by all who loved him. Memorials to the Alzheimer’s Association or donor’s choice, condolences can be sent to Phyllis Story, 207 S. 72nd Place, Mesa, Arizona 85208. Please visit www.mem.com.

Arrangements were entrusted to Mariposa Gardens Memorial Park and Funeral Care, Mesa, AZ.

EULOGY

As most of you know in my previous career, I wrote hundreds of stories about people and their lives. And sometimes their deaths. The story I will try to tell you today is the most difficult one I have ever written. The story of my father, Albert Vincent Story. It isn’t flashy; there are no unbelievable twist and turns. No miraculous ending. But you are all here today because his life has touched you in some way.

Albert Story was born on January 28th, 1930, not in a hospital, but in a farmhouse in southern Minnesota. The oldest of five children to Lloyd and Martha. His sisters Barbara and Carol are both here today. His brothers John and Jim are both still living in Minnesota.

My father was born a farmer, and he died a farmer. To him farming wasn’t a job, it was a way of life, it defined him. In his final days lying in a hospital bed, many of my conversations with him involved checking on the cattle, fixing a fence, getting the hay up before it rained. His farm was hundreds of miles away and years ago. But in his heart and in his mind he was still farming. And I am sure he is farming again as we sit here.

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve working with Dad on the farm. From what I’m told, as soon as I could walk, I followed him everywhere. As I grew I learned to feed the animals, milk the cows, bale the hay, cultivate the corn. I remember I was so eager to learn new things and prove I could do things just like him. What I didn’t figure out until much later was that the more you learned to do, the more work you could do and the more work you were expected to do as the son of a farmer. Looking back, I should have learned to pace myself.

My sister Joy also loved helping dad on the farm. Given the choice between some simple indoor cleaning, or a full day project with dad she chose to be outside feeding calves with him, or handing him tools as he fixed some piece of equipment.

During the planting and harvesting season, days would go by when we would hardly see him as he worked the fields day and night. Joy reminded me what a treat it was for her to take him some lunch or supper in an ice cream bucket and ride the tractor with him because he didn’t have time to stop and eat. He needed to get the work done and provide for his family.

By the time I graduated high school it was clear to me that farming did not run in my blood like it did my fathers. I’m sure that disappointed him in many ways, but he never put any pressure on me to stay on the farm and follow in his footsteps. He always wanted what was best for his children and he was always there to support us when we needed it, even as we grew into adults.

After living in Minnesota for 70 years and farming most of them, Dad never really took to the idea of retirement and living in Arizona. It was always too hot. And then it was too cold. I guess he forgot how brutal a Minnesota winter can be. Anyway, what he did enjoy about Arizona was his grandchildren. Jared and Alyssa, Alison and Ryan, Sydney, Nick, Paulina and Rad. Sydney and Nick came into his world first, born when he was still in Minnesota, and in better health. I remember he would lift them up to shoot baskets, chase them around, and read to them. And everyone’s favorite, the tractor ride. Many hours were spent driving around the yard on that tractor with at least one grandchild on his lap. In fact “tractor” was one of Nick’s first words.

Dad probably spent the most time with Alison and Ryan over the last few years. He also loved Alyssa and Jared. The young ones seemed to have a keen awareness of Grandpa’s health problems. Alyssa always asked if he still had his teeth and often crawled into bed with him to check on him after he had gone to sleep. She would also take his hand when he would walk from the table to a chair. Alison was always on alert when grandpa got up, wanting to see where he was going, and making sure he got there safely.

Paulina and Rad, I know you didn’t know Grandpa Story as well. Rad I wish he would have seen you fly on that skateboard. I think he would have found it so crazy he would have really liked it. Ryan and Jared, Grandpa enjoyed watching you learn to ride scooters and bikes on the patio. Nick, you know he loved watching all your games, though sometimes he would call you Paul as he was sitting right next to me. Sydney he watched you grow from a curly haired little girl with a sometimes surly attitude, into a beautiful young woman full of sweetness, and just a hint of attitude.

He was very proud of all you children, and loved you all. Even as his memory would come and go in the last few years he always remembered the grandchildren. No doubt they were the best part of this final chapter in his life. A hug from them always brought a smile to his face.

Of course there would not be grandchildren or children without a wife. At least that’s the way it worked way back in the olden days when Al Story and Phyllis Brodie met some 60 years ago. It started with mom needing a ride home from the roller rink. It certainly would have ended a long time ago if Phyllis’s parents had their way. Al was older and maybe going to the military. Phyllis was still in high school, and her family was Jewish. Shirley Brodie (my mom’s mom) was determined to find her daughter a good Jewish boy. She set up dates with boys in St. Paul; she even sent Phyllis to California after Dad proposed, hoping she would change her mind.

In a letter Al wrote to Phyllis in California quote: “remember that I love you very much and want to get married as soon as you get home, love and more love, Al”. Phyllis knew he was the one, and he still is. And over time her parents understood she was right as they saw the good man he was. Along the way Al and Phyllis raised three children, enjoyed the company of good friends and loved ones, and lived a happy life.

If the farm was Dad’s favorite place, Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming was probably his second favorite. We took many family vacations there growing up. What some of you may not know is that in between Faribault, Minnesota and Yellowstone is a lot of long hours and uninspiring miles in a car. 1084 miles to be exact, I looked it up. Seemed like more back then. Children, imagine no I-pods, no cell phones, no d-v-d to watch. Of course there were a few highlights along the way. Mount Rushmore, the badlands, and who can forget the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota. In the end, the natural beauty and the animals of Yellowstone made it all worthwhile.

Joy and Dad shared a special love for the park. Joy later worked out there for several years. So when mom and dad came to visit, her challenge was always to find something for them to do that they had never done in Yellowstone before. A vacation to Yellowstone in the dead of winter when the only way to get around is by snowmobile and snowcab was certainly memorable as was a hot air balloon ride in the Grand Tetons.

When my wife Maggie and I first met back in 2001, we took our four children and met my family in Yellowstone. It is still one of my favorite trips ever. Dad took his last trip to the park last summer with Mom, Joy and her kids. It was a precious time for Joy to see Alyssa and Jared share that with grandpa. At the time Al said he wished he could go again.

Over the years there were also a few trips to Glacier National Park, a lot of drives along Lake Superior, an R-V trip to Alaska, and also El Golfo, Mexico with Uncle Al and Aunt Dorothy. Maggie shared her love of Rocky Point with a couple times. Mom and Dad also endured an east coast heat wave to see some historical spots a few years ago.

To most people my father was a man of few words. And at times that was certainly true. Part of that may be due to Mom’s ability to carry a conversation. But all it took was the right person to bring it out of him. He could stay up half the night talking to cousin Myron Heggedahl or friends like Dale Morsching, Bob Meyer and Kenny Shaske. They’d start in the living room, make their way to the kitchen table for a meal or snack and just keep talking. As a child I can remember wondering if these people were ever going to stop talking.

As far as dad goes, my sister Linda may have said it best in this way: “Albert Story was a man of few words, but one was wise to listen to him. When dad did speak, his words were always well chosen and he was often humorous in his stories or observations. Dad never said a bad word about anyone, he wasn’t a gossip, and he was usually right.” And he didn’t need to say much, for his family to know he loved us.

My father was hard working, honest, a man of character and integrity. He lived 80 years, most of them very good years. Most of those years holding the hand of his wife Phyllis, even in his final hours. While his body has left us, his heart, his spirit and his soul will always be with us and we are better because of him.

Thanks Dad, Love You.