Dear Old Dick

Ellie and Dick, circa 1953

My dad, Dick Watson, was quick with a quip, gifted with words and the life of the party.  An award-winning advertising copywriter, he rode his motorcycle to work in Manhattan from our home on Long Island, NY.  As his first child and only daughter, I got the best of his affection and adoration, although he was not a demonstrative man.

Dad died in 2004, in his sleep, as he always said he wanted to.  I miss his playfulness with language, referring to Stark as Stork Street, or calling every natural food store The Food Fern; the way his friends were given nicknames like The Plaid or Weird Peter.  When I was a child, he called me Snooper or Babbo with Bleach, with great affection.  I'm sure my love of words is a direct inheritance from his genes.

I was pleased to find among my letters a handful that Dad wrote to me when I was an undergraduate at Vassar College in the mid '70s.  Typed on Henderson Advertising Agency stationary, they were posted from Greenville, South Carolina to my Terrace Apartment (#30) on the Vassar campus in Poughkeepsie, NY.  Unlike his jovial in-person demeanor, his letters are straightforward and full of valuable history, like this from April 24, 1976:

Dear Laurie,

     I sent a check to Vassar last week -- so don't worry, you'll be able to graduate.  We're all looking forward to the big day -- May 16th.

    Enclosed is the check for $25 you requested -- for your final bills and expenses.  I am also enclosing a dividend check you received in the mail last week -- for 33 cents.  Don't spend it all in one place.     

     Everything at home is fine.  Papa seems to be recovering from his operation very well -- and expects to be well-enough to attend your graduation.  We went to Andy Effron's bar mitzvah last night, which was very nice.  Tonight is the party, at Perone's, which should be a lot of fun.

     We'll see you on the 16th.  Good luck on your final exams.                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

An endearing element of the letters is the inclusion of love from the cats (Tiger and Spookie) in his closure, as well as news of their doings.  I had to laugh when I read this story in a letter from Jan. 31, 1976:

The cats are both fine.  Spookie caught and ate a bird the other day, and left its remains in the garage.  Mommie wouldn't touch it -- so, after a few days, I scooped it up and threw it away.

After a few days??  Dad never was a fan of unpleasant tasks.

Grandpa Dick and Nana Ellie with Alex and Emily, 1990

But he certainly took on the role of Grandpa Dick with passion, lavishing love on his first grandchildren, my twins, Alex and Emily.  Trips to Mexico and Hawaii, excursions to Seattle and California, and a luxury cruise to Alaska became part of our shared family history, thanks to Dad's generosity.  Those travels together are precious memories.


None of us can forget Dad's gusto for life: a race car driver who gave up racing but never stopped loving fast cars; a Republican who loved Bob Dylan and rock and roll; a world traveler whose most unusual journey took him to Antarctica.  Dad's big dimpled smile was infectious, his sense of humor silly but irresistible.

I miss you, Dad.  Thanks for those letters, and everything.