Rex C. Stinchcomb Jr.

He is survived by Frances Helen Stinchcomb, his wife of 63 years. Together they lived a rich life few ever get to enjoy -- a love affair that included quiet times together, raucous family celebrations (with grandchildren everywhere), thousands of golf rounds, numerous travels around the USA in their truck and trailer and many ocean voyages (including Alaska, Mexico, Hawaii, and South and Central America) with loved ones.

His nine children include Steven, David, Terri, Ann, Catherine, Michael, Susan, Dennis and Jeff.

He also leaves 21 grandchildren Jennifer, Jessica, Justine, Jillian, Jason, Erica, Kristyn, Sarah, Laura, Janeen, Paul, Erin, Alyse, Kera, Katie, Dana, Alexandra, Zac, Casey, Emma and Lillian. Astonishingly, Dad also leaves eight great-grandchildren -- Declan, Rory, Jacob, Isaac, Nathanial, Christian, Matthew and McKenzie.

He is also survived by his brother Jim and Jim's wife Leni, of Junction City, Oregon.

Until last week, Dad had lived in relatively good health. In the days and hours before his passing, our family came together to be with him and share our love and memories and shower him with affection. (We broke every hugging / kissing record ever set.)

Dad was born in Kenmare, North Dakota on January 23, 1929, the son of Lillian Elizabeth Matilda Stinchcomb and Rex C. Stinchcomb Sr.

His father was a WWI veteran, and later a haberdasher and grocery store owner. He and Grandma Mimi ran two markets, The One Horse Store and The Two Horse Store, which featured a gas pump. (The first mini market? Who knows?)

Dad could be a headstrong person. As a boy in North Dakota, he once hopped a moving freight train that ran past his backyard -- just to see if he could do it. He would have escaped without injury, except he was turned in by his own grandfather and received a lecture -- and probably much more -- from Rex Sr.

He left high school at age 17 and joined the Navy just prior to the end of WWII. He became an adept Navy corpsman and loved serving his fellow sailors and Marines. (He also looked devilishly handsome with his uniform and white sailor cap, which he wore rakishly, in clear violation of Navy regs.)

He earned his GED while in the Navy.

Dad was the kind of corpsman who took his turn carrying the M-60 (if that was the heavy crew-served weapon of the day) when on maneuvers -- a fact that put him among the best docs any infantry squad can have, according to numerous Marines.

Over the years he overcame several serious health challenges -- including more than a yearlong hospitalization due to tuberculosis, contracted in the service to his country and which, sadly, ended his Navy career.

Later in life, Dad also battled a degenerative brain disorder that affected his speech and his balance but not his intellect. Nearly 20 years ago, doctors gave him 5 to 8 years to live, but he was too strong, or stubborn, to let this stop him.

The medic in Dad was never far from the surface, and many of us benefited from his calm, reassuring manner in the face of blood and trauma. Time and time again, he tricked us into accepting iodine disinfectant on scrapes and cuts, labeling the hellish red liquid "Tickle Medicine."

Following his time in the Navy, Dad became a court clerk in San Diego, running the courtroom of Judge Mack P. Lovett, among other judges. Ladies at the courthouse often called referred to him as "sexy Rexy." (As of Jan. 8, flags in the typing pool have been flying at half mast.) No joke, many ladies cried -- and so did Dad -- the day he retired.

Dad had this amazing sense of humor, even at the end: The doctor asked him what his goals were -- "To live forever," he quipped. "We'll see how that goes."

For some reason dogs loved Dad more than all other mortals combined, so we are sure there are a lot of wagging tails in heaven today. (With Dad's arrival, our family dogs, Blue, Rough and Stormy are now truly in heaven.)

As many of you know, Dad struggled his entire life with a sweet tooth that would be the bane of any dentist or dietitian. He also suffered from an acute addiction to Julian apple pie -- steadfastly refusing any and all treatment options.

Dad was always looking for his golf swing, which both he and Mom seemed to misplace often. His driver sometimes failed him, but his short game was feared by many facing him on the links. (Except when it deserted him, as golf swings invariably do. Ask Phil Mickelson.)

In all truth, Dad sometimes displayed a hard exterior, but was generally soft and sweet like an Oreo cookie.

At first, our grandmother Nathalie Still did not approve of Dad -- he was a not Catholic, after all. Later in life, many of us realized that Dad had become perhaps her best and favorite friend. (It didn't hurt that he had been baptized at St John's in 1991. But really Dad had just charmed her over the years.)

He and Mom took meticulous care of Grandma in her waning years and, even after her stroke, she lit up like a candle whenever Dad was around.

Dad was old fashioned and not above giving a spanking when necessary: Once, he felt that grandson Paul needed a brisk swat on the butt to get him back in line. "Thanks Grandpa," Paul told him, "I needed that."

Both Dad and Mom could be pretty strict with the older kids but by by the 9th child, Jeff, they were basically relaxed, parenting ninjas. Consequently, the older kids' escapades were more akin to "The Great Escape" while the youngest kids' were more comparable to "Home Alone 3."

Dad loved all of his children -- so much so that he once dug a huge hole in the backyard to install a Doughboy pool. It was for the kids, he said. But on at least one afternoon he was discovered skinny-dipping with Mom, a bottle of red wine sitting nearby.

The love affair never ceased.

Dad adored Mom and often took her camping at the local state beaches, despite his dislike for camping at any beach, state or otherwise. (Getting a nicer trailer helped ease his suffering...)

Truth is, Dad loved Mom so much, he went AWOL to marry her. How he accomplished this and escaped the brig is hardly a mystery: Either his commander or the unit's chief petty officer served as best man. Mom and Dad were married at the lovely white Chapel that still presides over Naval Training Center Point Loma.

Dad was always a sharp, tasteful dresser. His own father had been a haberdasher and taught Dad to buy only quality clothes, even if it meant buying fewer clothes. (Shares prices of the local Highlander dropped steeply on news of Dad's passing.) He was never seen wearing a ratty pair of jeans and no man ever wore a golf sweater with more aplomb.

When Dad and Mom took us to the snow, Mom would end up wearing most of Dad's jackets, leaving Dad with just his signature black golf sweater and a cigarette. (The kids wore sandwich bags on their hands and between the layers of their socks.) Later, Dad tried to throw out that black sweater, but Jeff rescued it and wore it during his college years -- thus ensuring Jeff didn't date much in college. (It had a moth hole in the arm.)

Dad paid attention to the details. When courting women -- particularly Mom -- he was one of the few sailors in post-war San Diego to wear brown shoes while on liberty. (Local girls knew that black shoes were a dead giveaway that you were an E-3 at best - but Dad convinced them he was in Med school.) Smart man.

We all have great cars we regret selling: Dad had a 1930-something coup with a rumble seat. He never forgave himself for letting her go.

For our family, Thursday nights were always commissary nights and therefore "hot-dog-and-beans night." Dad could make dogs and Vandicamps look like they were prepared at a five-star Michelin Guide eatery. Again, he was a detail man.

Either nicotine or a small tolerance of piety compelled Dad to take some of us out for a cigarette during Mass on Sundays. Who gets to have their Dad push them on a swing during Mass these days? Kids have no idea what they are missing. (It was better than Xbox.)

It's important to note that Dad quit smoking in the 1980s after seeing the life of a friend -- and family man -- cut short. Dad flushed his Bension and Hedges down the toilet and never smoked again. He wanted all the time he could get with Mom.

Dad faced his death with courage. When told that his condition was terminal, he asked simply: "How much time have I got?" He nodded at the doctor's reply, which was: "Count every moment. Have every conversation. Take every visitor."

In his final hours, there were many times we believed he might slip away -- but our sister Terri had not arrived yet. He simply refused to go without seeing all of his children.

His final night was a tough one, following a blessed day we spent together. Our bodies can be stubborn but they can't keep up with our souls. Dad broke free after the struggle we all dread but must ultimately face. Again, with grace and courage.

He was never alone.

________________

We invite you to honor Rex Charles Stinchcomb Jr. during a Funeral Service, scheduled for Tuesday, January 15 at 10 a.m. at St. John of the Cross Catholic Church (8086 Broadway) in Lemon Grove.

Memorials may be made in Rex's name to Father Joe's Villages - 3350 E. Street - San Diego, CA 92102. (my.neighbor.org)

-- Jeff