I just came back from a trip to Modesto California to attend my grandfathers funeral. He was best one of us, he was kind, gentle, soft-spoken and generous. My grandmother often mistook his gentleness for weakness, let’s all hope she learns a lesson from that. Things were bitter, it was not a happy reunion, it was only a few minutes after everyone had assembled in town before people started fighting about the will. Tempers flared and mean things were said, and everyone dreaded the funeral, thinking it would be unnecessarily drawn out and practiced with too many long-winded speakers. Donald (Dundee), my grandfathers adopted son, who is also a Chaplin, led the ceremonies and gave a very warm, accurate, and loving memory to my grandfather, everyone was pleased, there was crying, and laughter as we recalled the funny parts of his life, and the mutual feeling of animosity was temporarily lost, it even seemed for a while that my grandmother, who until now has announced her intention to interdict the will and keep the money for herself, seemed like she would be moved to generosity and honor my grandfathers wishes and take care of his children like he would have wanted. I wanted to speak at the funeral, but Donald had done such an eloquent job, that I felt nothing additional needed to be said. So I will share what I wanted to say here; My grandfather was an extraordinary man, thrifty, hard working, and determined. He knew no envy or need, he always had, or found a way to get the things he needed or wanted. It was not until now that I realized how well so many perfect attributes came together into one man. In addition to being determined and hard working, he was kind and gentle, which is a hard mix to find anywhere. I have often thought how perfectly the image of a janitor suited my grandfather, even though he was never a janitor, but he took care of things, he made things work right, both machines and people. Sometimes in life we are called upon to be gods janitor, and a lot of us fail miserably, but never him. One time I remember was particularly fitting of this, once when my grandfather was younger, he got up before sunrise, as was his lifelong custom, and started his drive to work, he came to an intersection, and there was a car parked in front of him, running, but not moving. After a few long minutes my grandfather put his car in park, got out, and went up to see what was going on. The driver of the vehicle was dead drunk, parked at an intersection, with his car running, and his foot about to slip off the break. My grandfather put the mans car in park, scooted him over, and pulled the car over into a nearby parking lot, turned off the car, rolled up the windows, covered the man with his jacket, and locked the doors, and left the man to sleep it off. He had never met the man before, or after, but he took care of this perfect stranger, and I doubt the man ever knew that his life may have been saved by a total stranger. There are million ways this interchange could have gone, and in our modern world most of them would be bad, but my grandfather was made from different stuff, a valuable remnant of a different time. Everything good in me I have from him, and I’d be lucky if I wound up being half the man he was. I love you grandpa, you were always my hero, and I’m sorry I never told you so.