James J. Tracy, 70 years old of Huntington Beach, California, passed away at Orange Coast Memorial in Fountain Valley, California. He was preceded in death by his wife Maxine and is survived by his daughters, Cindy Hill, Bobbi Gladden and son, Schorschi Decker. His grandchildren, Justin Hill, Trisha Bartlett, Stephanie Donahue, Erin Hill and Layla Rose Hill. Also, his sisters, Mary Ellen Vogel and Cathy Laughlin. He was a banker for Bank of a America for over 45 years.
Memorial Service will be held on Sunday, May 20, 2012, 2 p.m. at Montecito Valley View Chapel, 3520 E. Washington Street, Colton, California, 909.825.3024.
Some of you knew my Dad, James Tracy, some of you did not or only by indirect association. So, summarizing the achievement of a life, itemization of events, milestones and the like, is at best truncated, at worst, inaccurate. James Tracy, who even my Mother called 'Tracy' as a fond nickname, was my Dad since I was 9. It took years for me to get comfortable with the idea completely, Dad knew this and never made comment on it until I was 45 or so. Of course over time, we got comfortable with each other, but he would say, for him, it was instant and complete, the day he said to my Mom, “I do.” The following is the best way I know how to explain Dad, from my perspective. I often called him 'Pop' because it was a name no one else used, but me. Not to say my real father was not around or somehow horrible, but compared to Pop, Dad, the race was over, won and done, before it started, even if it took me a while to realize or acknowledge it.
Who, Dad was to me; I struggled with explaining, but a few events significant to me, and him, seemed appropriate. One event I only learned the details of, some 25 years after the fact, another event I recall in detail because of the lack of reaction on part of Dad, and the last event, surprised me, and disappointed me a bit, because it was another lecture of sorts, but given the context, my surprise and disappointment were irrelevant. I hope that you will find maybe a bit of inspiration, if not common understanding in each of these events, I am sure we all have had surreal events with our own parents. Of the 1000s events that comprise a life, these are the ones I will always remember.
Age 12, Reloaded, 25 Years Later
My Mom and I were driving back from San Francisco, while Dad was driving the motor home, the weather was bad, windy and rainy, so pulling the car behind the motor home proved difficult, and this explains the situation, of my Mom and I in a car and Dad driving the bus, the motor home. As was our long practice, my Mom and I talked and laughed at things, that Dad just did not agree with, be it sarcastic humor, a certain lack for authority, etc. For example, the first swear words I learned, were in French, from my Mom. So my Mom and I were having a good time, in spite of the weather. At one point, being serious, I expressed to my Mom, that I did not know exactly, what 'Tracy' thought of me, my career, etc. Typical son asking Mom, a question that maybe I should have asked Dad. It was then that my Mom explained to me, how Dad came face to face with my Cerebral Palsy, how it hit him hard, and without mercy. At age 12, I could not walk perfect, but neither was I, what I would call disabled. My Cerebral Palsy effects are slight compared to what they could have been or what others deal with. Without my entire Family supporting me, pushing me, etc. since I was old enough to walk until I was well into my teens, the side-effects would have been much worse than they are. I had major corrective surgery at 5 and 12. But before the surgery at 12, weeks of testing, using 8 and 12 inch needle probes, embedding hair thin wires into all the major muscles in my legs, toes to hips, was done. This was painful, but also exciting, because all the sensors connected to the wires, were connected to an Apple IIe computer, and I knew almost as much about the computer as the doctors and scientists using it. Even so I was still scared, and fearful, after the first session, because, it was not fun, and thrill of the situation was over. They were using ground breaking techniques, methods, at the time to determine which muscles I used and how when I walked, run and jumped. This testing would determine what specific surgical techniques were to be used. What I did not realize was the impact the long needles had on Dad. My Mom explained that every needle/wire probe, and there were as many as 60 or 70 per session, hurt Dad more than me. I at least got a bit of Novocain as the probes went in, it was when they came out, it hurt, and sometimes only hours later the wires removed, those were awful. The pain of removal was part of the analytical process, and measured as well. However, for Dad, each probe was horrible, going in or coming out. But he said almost nothing, ever, about any of this testing. Moreover, when I was in a wheelchair after surgery, the first time Dad had to carry me into the house, my Mom said, hours later, he was still upset, and all he said to her was, "This is real, how does he deal with it, how have you dealt with it like you have for years?" Imagine my surprise that I heard this only some 25 years later?
The Newest Vice President
It is no secret that my family has worked for Bank of America, that in some ways, it was the family business. At the time Dad retired, if memory serves, the combined years between Dad, Mom, Cindy, Bobbi and myself was over 100, if not a 110 or more, but don't quote me on that. The local BofA Excellence newsletter called it "A family Affair" or something to that effect. It ticked off and embarrassed Dad to some degree, because when we all laughed about the story and thought it nice, he gave us the pained look that said... "Not Funny."
When that look appeared, warning, we all left the room, but Mom. The last thing I heard was my Mom saying “Tracy, it is…” in that, oh crap, tone hers. So now that you understand the context of our joint history with Bank of America, you can imagine how overjoyed I was, when I received my letter of recognition. That I was now a Vice President of Bank of America, which was an honor, since I achieved this at only 7 years of service, when it was common for be at BofA for closer to 15 years to achieve such, different time different Bank? After opened the letter, I ran up the escalator stairs, from my office on the ground floor next to the computing infrastructure vault in the Brea Operations Center, to the executive office on the 3rd floor, got waved in by his administrative assistant, Margret, without delay, since no one in the office, or any conference call, with Dad. With a big smile on my face, I presented the letter to Dad... not Executive Vice-President James Tracy, Command-in-Chief of one of the biggest line of business units in all of BofA, NCAG (National Consumer Assets Group), etc., etc., etc. After a few seconds, the entire response was... "That is nice.” Then, with a business like calm assertive tone, “Have you told your Mother yet?" Ok, I was floored, disappointed, even a bit ticked. Come on, I just got my Vice-President title faster than my Mom, and I think even one if not both of my sisters?!? What the heck? Then, a split second later, I realized, even though I was in a different command structure, a different scope, being in the information technology sector of BofA, the top of my group, answered to James Tracy as well, not Dad, so he had known for weeks maybe even months, that I had been nominated for title. I struggled for words, I was nervous and uncomfortable. With considerable effort I managed to say with a stable voice, "No, not yet." Dad, of which Dad appeared but for a few seconds with no hint of smile or pride, replied... "Maybe you should?" I left the office, faster than I entered, and if not for the big smile from Margret, his administrative assistant, as I walked past her, I think I would have mumbled a few choice words in German that would have been unprofessional, if not rude, at my expectation, that he would be surprised. Dad, was never Dad at work, I knew that, as we all did, but my excitement had got the better of me. When I did call my Mom a short time later, she both cried and laughed... She laughed because she had no clue about my nomination or receipt of title, Dad had kept it a secret it appeared. She cried, because she said it was not fair that I got my Vice-President title faster than she did. She even suggested I might have gotten mine faster than Dad had, as well, but neither of us was going to ask… ever. When I told my Mom, that I got James Tracy more than I did Dad, when I showed him the letter, her reply was, in classic sarcastic tone, at least for my mom... "Well Duh."
Lecture Sitting in Saint Marcos Square, Venice Italy
At the age of 12, just before I had major surgery, yes, as noted above, I went on a trip with my maternal Grandmother. There was some concern, given the aggressive nature of the surgery, that I might have trouble walking for long period after surgery, and may for the rest of my life have significant mobility issues. The surgery, if not done right or well, had the potential to be regressive, and take away rather than grant benefit to my symptoms of CP. So my maternal Grandmother, who liked to travel, took me on trip to end all trips, which spanned cities and countries from Great Britain to Greece, and much more in between, until finally that same summer to visit my paternal Grandparents just outside Munich, West Germany, as it was known then. I mention this, because we visited Rome, and other sites in Italy, Athens even the Acropolis, etc., and years later, with Mom and Dad, I got to visit many of the same locations just about 32 years later to the day. My mom had survived cancer for 15 years, but the test results showed it was back, and even with aggressive treatment, the fear was, this would not end well. Not being one to be negative, or avoid issues, my mom simply stated she wanted to visit a few places she had visited long ago when she had spent time in Europe as a student. This from the Woman that had visited Paris more times than I hazard to count, and has been to Mexico beyond count, as well as countries throughout Europe as though it was just down the block and a street over. If a cruise ship goes 'there' odds are she has been 'there' at some point, providing the ship had casino with acceptable slots, no doubt. So, I found myself sitting in a chair, at a small table... just about 3 meters... ah, 10 feet from a similar chair at a similar table at age 12, the real difference was, 32 years had passed, and this time, I was with Dad, not my maternal Grandmother. The square had changed only slightly, the weather was similar, given the similar time of year, if maybe a bit warmer. The mix of tourists was similar, if more German tourists than American tourists, as I recalled from 32 years ago. And Dad, as I drank mineral water, and he a soda, while watching my Mom bounce from shop to shop around the square, was lecturing me. On how I should take note, that my mom was a strong person, and deserved credit for that, given what we all knew was ahead of us. Now understand, I found this lecture odd, given the location, the situation, and timing, if the subject somewhat understandable. I did not point out that I thought his point was obvious, or that he only was discussing it when mom was far out of listening range. I just agreed with everything he said, there was no debate. With dread, I realized Dad was talking to himself more if not just as much to me. True, he was lecturing me, because he at sometimes felt I did not appreciate my mom, he struggled with the fact that my mom and I were sarcastic, sometimes rude, and even riotous in our association. My mom saw it as honest, he saw it as lacking respect. But there was a method to her tact or lack of it, my mom had to be hard on me, for my sake, so she was often blunt and direct, with me. This was by design when I was young, and carried through our entire lives. When I fell, she had to ignore it, when I failed at something athletic act, she had to wait and let me try again, again, and sometimes many times. She was told this just had to be, for me, dealing with my Cerebral Palsy, or otherwise I would never think or expect to achieve beyond my disability. Mom often blamed herself for my situation, and this direct or blunt approach only made it harder on her, when she wanted nothing more, than to be a mom, not a drill sergeant. Dad knew all this and more, but I realized as he lectured just how scared he was, how horrible it was for him, knowing what the future might, no, was going to be for them. Dad, the rock, the wall, was showing a small, almost invisible crack, but it felt as wide as a canyon from what I was hearing and where I was sitting. When my Mom returned to where we were, the crack was invisible, as through it had never been.
Thanks, Dad, For Everything
Though out my life thus far, there have always been examples of what to do, and what not to do... countless times, Dad was the example of what to do... I don't recall him ever being the example of what not to do. About the only thing Dad ever did out of character, was swear when deeply frustrated, and that was so rare, it was funny when he did swear, and that got us into trouble for laughing at his frustrations. Dad, was always bigger than life, he was a bit like the characters John Wayne always seemed to portray in films... calm, assured, comfortable, with who he was and the world, always willing to help, strong willed, and ever watching, protective of those he loved, especially my mom. He was never my step-Dad, just like my sisters, Cindy and Bobbie, have never been my step-sisters. He accepted me as his own, and I am sure because of that, my life changed, since I was 9 years old, in ways I may never realize.
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