Monty Dorian Wiseman

Monty Dorian Wiseman was born in Marysville, California on November 4, 1938. His parents, Neville and Enola, were farmers and fruit pickers, who just completed a long journey west from Thomas, Oklahoma following the Dust Bowl. He grew up as the fifth of ten children (Norma, Cletus, Lavalle, Erma, Monty, Idell, Dennis, Judy, Dwight, and Lawanda) in Marysville, Richmond, and Concord, California. He loved all his siblings wholeheartedly throughout his life, forming bonds with their children and treating each as if his own. His favorite memories as a boy were when movies were but 10₵, and how he enjoyed the anticipation of when the theatre became dark; his first bike as a birthday gift from his parents and enjoying watching his brother Dennis borrow and ride off with it; and salvaging material goods for the war effort.

Dad attended El Cerrito High School until 10th grade and then began work with Siemens mailing service in Berkeley. He changed direction and worked at General Motors (GM) in Fremont, California for four years and then was drafted to serve in the U. S. Army from 1963-7 with the 2nd Armored Division ("Hell on Wheels”). He was first offered the job of a tank loader—which he immediately refused—and worked himself into the driver's seat. He was stationed for training at Fort Hood, Texas, recalling “mowing over trees when I accidentally fell asleep,” and then navigating his tank through the "cityscape and beautiful countryside" throughout Germany, proudly stating, “I avoided destroying people’s cars, not like the other tank drivers.” Dad always loved to drive, especially, traveling over long distances (asking us after a family visit before we left, “Should we take the l-o-n-g or short way home?”). After returning home from Active duty, and resuming his job, Dad spent the remaining two years in the Army on Reserve duty at the Army Reserve Center on Willow Pass Road, in Concord, California. In 1967, Dad married Linda Stiles (Moore) and took up residence at a rental home in Walnut Creek, California where they raised their children Andrew (1969) and Kevin (1973).

Dad often commuted to GM with his father (his brother Lavalle also worked there as plant security). In 1979, the family moved to their first home in Livermore, California. In 1983, due to the auto economic crisis, the Fremont plant shut down and he was transferred to GMs Fairfax Assembly Plant in Kansas City, Kansas during one of the worst winters ever recorded. His brother Dennis and his wife Sharon (Oklahoma), surely were the emotional foundation during his time of hardship and was always most indebted to them for their support. In 1988, by signature of the judge, Dad was ordered to be divorced. Later in the 1990s, Dad was transferred to GMs Delco-Remy car battery plant in Olathe, Kansas, where he retired on January 1st, 2000, following 42 long years of service.

Dad was exceptionally fond of racehorses (later race dogs), enjoying their speed, power, and finesse. Never betting by a color or number, he didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to secure a sure bet on a horse when he felt he was somehow telepathically connected to and in possession of a “winner’s secrets” with the animal, only betting when "spoken to” by the horse in some sort of horse whisperer language. You could often find Dad studying a Racing Form and pouring over detailed statistics. Dad shared the following story: “Feeling I was smarter, I went to the race track and returned later where I found Dad was making my brothers and sisters pick walnuts to earn money for the family. I offered all my winnings to him so that they could stop working and I enjoyed watching his facial expression and everyone’s reaction.” He was on top of the world when he won—took it very disappointingly when he lost.

Andy’s personal recollections and reflections:

I knew from the very beginning I was in for it when I too often found myself in the most unusual situations with Dad. For instance (and one I will NEVER forget): Around age of four, Dad once excitedly led me outside from our rental into the complete darkness, where he then was adamantly pointing to something (“Do you see it?! Do you see it?!”), and all I gathered was that it was sure not worth all the fuss (“See what, Dad?! See What?!”). The next thing I knew—in one leaping bound—I was chasing after him (as fast as my little legs could carry me). I saw him holding something, and then finding ourselves inside again in the safety of our home. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I began searching my surroundings, and to my complete amazement, Dad managed to have collected a large Barn Owl, completely knocked out from the impact of flying into the side of our neighbor’s house. Mom, responding to Dad’s call, entered the kitchen, and as if a trophy, he proudly gifted it to her. She then fell immediately in love with the creature. Now holding it upright and around its wings, Mom agreed to buy time for Dad as he went off to find a box. Not three minutes later, being a foot away from something I’d never seen before, I realized I was now staring face-to-face with a creature who had its gaze set on me too. Mom, realizing the situation, and with all her strength, began to struggle with this huge bird who was vigorously trying to escape her grasp. Swiftly, the owl’s talons got a hold of mom’s hand, and instantaneously, began to crush her. Now, completely in shock, I am looking back at two pairs of eyes, both with astounded and astonished expressions! Dad, returning a few seconds later, saw the horror, and grabbed a large kitchen knife to kill it. Surprisingly, the owl released its grip, and thankfully so, as I am sure that would be quite the traumatic experience for a little guy in one night! The owl was placed in a box that night and then taken to a nearby animal rescue center the next day while Mom tended to her stitches.

Dad and I loved to lie next to each other on the floor and watch Old Westerns and World War II documentaries. “FEE-FI-FO-FUM!” were thunderous and murderous calls of a giant—hungry for toes—that I often oh-so wearily found myself regretting to hear when Dad would return from work. When I turned five, Dad saved the day on my birthday! It rained hard that day, and although the track was closed, somehow, he arranged a “special day” for me with the management of the local go-carts track and had the place completely to myself! The next year, 1975, he took me to my first Raiders game, against the Vikings, who would later play again in the Super Bowl to win their first (the stadium was beyond electric—I was quite fearful—often wondering if the people were “okay?”). One summer, when I was married and my three children were still young, Dad drove all the way to our home in Temecula, California. For years, he continued to remark, and again just before passing, how much he loved that time watching my three children (all young then) swimming countless hours in our pool during as he ate sweet cherry after cherry. (That same visit, the kids always asked if “grandpa was okay?” because he liked to sleep outside each night in our backyard under the stars.)

Watching my Dad’s final breaths—passing away, peacefully—I witnessed the closing of a very special time and of a very private, dignified, loving and much loved man, who lived each moment to the fullest as only he knew how to, with integrity, compassion, and always with respect for others. Dad, you were an exceptional father and grandfather, and I will always hold you in my heart to the end of time…

Kevin’s personal recollection and reflection:

Some of my first memories of Dad, were strangely of his feet—I suppose because I was so low to the ground when I was little. I remember his feet with flip-flops on, tending the barbeque in Walnut Creek, and other times, with his work boots on, early in the morning, with the smell of shoe polish, polishing them just right.

I always relished the days when Dad was temporarily laid off from GM, and would come back to California and stay at Grandpa and Grandma Wiseman’s in Concord. During those long summers, I’d stay there with him we’d sleep in the twin beds in the back room. He’d entertain my passion for video arcades with deep pockets full of quarters, movies, and even several trips to the Mojave Desert, the Grand Canyon, and all the way to Big Bend, Texas, so I could catch lizards and snakes. There at the Wiseman’s, he’d taught me to play ‘Rook’ (especially with overbidders, who’s name might start with an ‘N’), drive a stick-shift and learned from his well-honed skills at defensive driving. After teaching me to drive, he set me loose with a trial by fire: driving his most precious cargo, Grandma Wiseman, 14 hours to Washington so she could attend her grandson’s wedding.

Dad once called me when a Marine Corps recruiter showed up at his door in Kansas and told him he needed his signature because unbeknownst to him, I was joining... “are you sure about this?!!” We later figured out that while we were in the Reserves, we had both ironically been stationed at the same red brick building on Willow Pass Road in Concord...

After his retirement, Dad would come out to visit, often making the 31-hour drive from Kansas without hardly stopping. He’d make the journey to my brother’s house in California or to his brother Dwight’s in Washington, where we would all gather and catch up. He visited my house in El Cerrito, just down the road from his old high school and drove me around Easter Hill and Seaport in Richmond to show me where he grew up. Dad loved taking his grandson Gavin to the park across the street and watch him riding his bike. He also got a kick out of sitting by the kitchen window, which overlooked the trail and crosswalk under the train tracks where he could people-watch and drink coffee.

We’d talk on the phone most Sundays and catch up about each other, family, work, and baseball. I am going to miss those calls so much. We couldn’t always be together, but I always felt his love and support. ‘The Duke of Olathe’ was such a good man and a great father to me. I will always be grateful and honored for the time I was able to spend with him throughout his life and here in Kansas during his final days.

We both agree our father carried a strong presence about him, a grumbly demeanor if something wasn’t right, and always a light and energy, his face glowing when around family and friends that were closest to him. It wouldn't be unusual to see him reach out a hand and greet a passing stranger with his big handsome smile, heavy confident voice, and a hearty chuckle. In most cases, he wouldn't hesitate to extend himself most comfortingly, and too, monetarily, to those he felt might need some help.

Monty passed away peacefully at his apartment in Olathe, Kansas, on Friday, January 27, 2017, at 2:45 am. He was 78, losing the battle to cancer. Fully aware, he openly accepted his last rights under the hand of Jesus Christ through his nephew, Reverend Brian Wiseman of Morrison, Oklahoma two weeks before. He is survived by his two sons (and four grandchildren), Andrew (Andrew jr., Katherine, and Noah) and Kevin (Gavin).

In closing, Dad, we are so terribly proud of you and it's difficult for us to let you go. From the starting gate, all the way to the finish, we see all the love through people who had the pleasure of knowing you and observe your resilience—it is such an honor to have been beside you and watch you charge into a gallop. Now, having found ourselves in the role as your trusted assistants, we are most honored and grateful to be allowed to escort you into the Winner's Circle which you so rightfully earned. We are all left with cheers from the stands and a thick plume of dust. It’s okay to rest now—we are stronger because of you—be in peace. Godspeed.

Arrangements under the direction of McGilley & Frye Funeral Home & Cremation Service, Olathe, KS.