Chapter Eight

I was dreaming the theme to The Magnificent Seven as I woke up and realized it wasn’t a dream but the phone ringtone my father had selected. The clock read 8:00 a.m. “That’s seven in the morning in Seattle,” I groaned. The caller ID read Prairie View Funeral Home. A wave of panic rolled over me when I remembered I had forgotten to write the obituary.

“Hi, Arnold, I’m sorry I didn’t get the obit to you yet. I’ll have it for you in the next few hours.” I’m an expert at writing for the deadline after an overly indulgent night.

“That’s great. I also wanted to let you know that I’ve sent your dad’s body to Great Falls for cremation. It will be completed by late this afternoon. Jill, I left his scapular on, you know, his Catholic necklace? Is that okay with you?”

The details of managing a death were starting to overwhelm me. “I think that was the right thing. He never took it off…at least, as far as I know. Is there anything else? I want to get started on the obit.”

“Not yet. Just know I’m here if you need anything, dear.”

A crash downstairs startled me, but I remembered Connie would probably be in the house by now. “I think Connie’s here, Arnold. I’ll have her help me with the obit. Thanks for everything.”

My head ached from the previous evening’s wine, and I dreaded facing Connie in all this postmortem drama. Connie had been our housekeeper since I was in kindergarten. She was the closest thing to a family member I had left since my family had no aunts, uncles, or cousins. I hail from a dwindled line of scurrilous ancestors, and it looked like the line would die out with me.

My room had its own bathroom, so I got into the shower to clean up my act before the inevitable emotional scene with Connie. I started composing the obituary in my mind as I let the hot water beat my face.

I threw on my old college bathrobe that Connie had hung in the closet. “Heh, still fits. You’re hangin’ in there, old girl.” I smiled to myself but then glanced in the hall mirror and saw my grandmother’s features in my reflection. Chastised, I headed downstairs to the sound of the radio in the kitchen.

“Hey, Connie. Any coffee made?”

Connie’s tough little body straightened as she turned to face me. She left the soapy casserole dish in the sink, threw the dishtowel over her shoulder, and ran to me. She grabbed me into a painful bear hug and cried muffled sobs into my bathrobe. We stood together, holding on, blubbering into each other for several minutes. As if a timer dinged in our heads, we stopped at the same time, pulled back, and gazed at our teary faces, a little embarrassed. Hi-Line folks were not much for showing emotions.

“I miss him already, Jill. I keep expecting him to walk in and tease me about my bad coffee that he drank every morning for thirty-six years. Who will I take care of now?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. “Did he tell you his heart was bad? Could you tell there was a problem?”

“Yeah, I knew. I found his pills, lots of them, when I cleaned his bathroom. That was three years ago. He’d been seeing some doctor in Great Falls. When I asked him about it, he shrugged. Lord almighty, he made it clear that it wasn’t my business and that I couldn’t tell you. He didn’t want to worry you, he said.”

“And knowing him, even if I did know, nothing would have turned out any different, so please don’t blame yourself.”

“I can’t help but think…if I’d insisted he see another doctor…”

“Don’t do that, Connie. The last thing you need to do is blame yourself.”

Connie swiped at her tears and shook her head. “I swear it’s something about that Martin farm that has…had…him on edge. Usually he took all his business deals in stride, barely nodding at them as they passed through his bank account. But there was something going on with this one that bothered him. He wasn’t his usual sunny self. And here’s something else that worried me, he hasn’t…hadn’t…stayed out all night in months.”

“What? Nobody? Not even once?” Even when he aged, my dad enjoyed women, as long as they had the tits he so appreciated.

“That lady sheriff came over one night last fall, all serious looking and such, just as I was leaving the house. I stayed a little longer, made them some coffee, and cut up some of my rhubarb pie, you know, the kind with just a few strawberries that he loves. Then I left. After that night, he was worried and wouldn’t answer me when I asked about it. You know how he is…was.”

“Connie, quit worrying about your language. I’m sure we’ll all get him in the past tense soon enough. And, yeah, he kept things to himself.”

“Sorry, honey. Anyhow, another thing, after that sheriff’s visit, your dad had maps of the Martin farm strewn across his work table for weeks. I’d pile them neatly when I cleaned, but they’d always be open and spread around the table the next day. After a while, I just left them alone.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll find out what that’s all about, Connie. And you’ll be one of the first to know.” I wasn’t thrilled at the possibility I’d have to visit the sheriff. There was nothing that annoyed me more than a closet case, and I was sure the sheriff was a closet case.

“Connie, I’m going to get my laptop and write the obituary. I’ll let you see it first to make sure I’ve got all the information right, okay?” Connie nodded, wiping at more tears. I marveled at a housekeeper who would know her boss so well she could be involved in writing his obituary.

I struggled over the obit while sitting at Dad’s big oak desk in his office. Every once in a while, I’d peer around, expecting him to come in and tell me to get away from his private stuff. I swear, if you believed in ghosts, you could believe Daddy was with me in that room. I knew that seemed ghoulish, but it wasn’t; instead, it was comforting. Like his body was gone, but he wasn’t gone. It was the first glimmer of peace I’d felt since I had gotten that phone call two days before.

His leather couch was back against the wall with a matching easy chair next to it at an angle. The bookshelves were jammed with valuable first edition hardback westerns, especially Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour, and Tony Hillerman. On the wall behind the desk chair, he had a satellite map of Montana with a penciled circle around the land just southeast of the central Sweetgrass Hill.

There was an original Charlie Russell on the wall opposite the desk and above the couch. Its lush colors portrayed a contented cowboy cooking over a small fire, his dog asleep next to him. The stars looked companionable and warm. That was an expensive piece I knew he hadn’t bothered to insure. I’m not a western art fan, but I decided I would keep that piece because Daddy loved it so much.

Above the long window that looked over the prairie behind the house, was a seven point elk’s head. Atop the bookshelves was a jackalope, the peculiar creature of taxidermic humor, a rabbit with antlers.

In between the desk and couch was the work table covered with farmland maps. The utilitarian table was mission style with four matching chairs. I kept looking up from my laptop, wondering about those maps. My desire to learn what Daddy was pondering before he died distracted my efforts at the obituary. But I was able to slog through it in ninety minutes, and while Connie checked it over for accuracy, I started scanning the maps. I wanted to think about something other than Daddy’s life history. Getting obits right is hard, I decided. It was depressing to learn that a life as colorful and prominent as my father’s could be boiled down into a short newspaper article. Dean Fitzpatrick O’Hara

July 29, 1937–April 16, 2009 The Prairie View community was saddened to learn of the passing of one of our most prominent citizens, Dean O’Hara. Mr. O’Hara has been a businessman and philanthropist in our area since he took over his father’s beverage distribution business, Hi-Line Distributing, in 1970. The O’Hara family has resided in our area since the early 1900s.

Dean O’Hara was born in Great Falls on July 29, 1937 to his mother, Margaret (Peggy) Shea O’Hara, and his father, Patrick Connor O’Hara. He grew up in Prairie View, graduating in 1955 from Prairie View High School where he was active in sports, chorus, Catholic Youth Organization and Key Club. After high school, Mr. O’Hara enlisted in the U.S. Army and served for two years, which included ten months in Korea. He was exceptionally proud of his service to his country and became an active lifelong member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, Post 6105, in Prairie View.

In 1958, Mr. O’Hara enrolled in Montana State University at Bozeman where he majored in Business and Economics. During that time, he participated in numerous organizations and was a member of the Sigma Nu fraternity. Upon graduation from college in 1962, he returned to Prairie View to work in his father’s business. When Patrick O’Hara retired in 1970, Dean took over the business and proceeded to expand it into the large company that exists today. His company has over 500 employees statewide and makes substantial contributions to the Prairie View economy and community organizations.

A lover of sports, Mr. O’Hara was an avid supporter of all local teams and often contributed uniforms and traveling expenses for our young people. He was also a devoted member of St. Brigit Catholic Church and Knights of Columbus. Over the years he served on the city council and school board and was president of Kiwanis for 12 years. He was one of the founding members of the Milk River Country Club and was single-handedly responsible for acquiring funding for its architecturally renowned clubhouse. Through his efforts, the clubhouse and golf links attract golfers from all over the northwestern United States. Mr. O’Hara was also a generous sponsor of many projects at the Taft County Medical Center and Hi-Line Nursing Home.

Mr. O’Hara was known for his caring for others and love of a good joke. He supported the arts and developed a renowned collection of Western art. He was beloved by his friends and employees. He is survived by his daughter Jillian O’Hara, a resident of Seattle, Washington.

He will be greatly missed.

A rosary will be held Friday night, 6:30 at the Prairie View Funeral Home to be followed by an open house reception at the O’Hara residence at 206 Hillside Drive. Everyone is welcome. On Saturday the funeral will take place at St. Brigit Church at 10:30 followed by interment at the Prairie View Cemetery. After the interment, there will be a reception at the St. Margaret parish hall, sponsored by the Altar Society Ladies.

Mr. O’Hara’s daughter asks that memorial donations be given to the Hi-Line Nursing Home for construction of its new kitchen. As much as I loved my father, I admit it was difficult to write this without inserting all the snarky comments that came to my head. But I was sure the folks in Prairie View had their own to add, so I left the fun up to them.