Eulogy

The following eulogy was read at his funeral mass by his granddaughter, Danielle Tellez. (More about Dad’s life)

Duane Overby, my grandfather, was born on May 14, 1935, in the tiny northern Minnesota town of Staples. This was the depth of the Great Depression, and Grandpa’s parents, Joseph Overby and Marie Fellman, struggled mightily to care for him and his older sister, Ramona.

In February, 1955, Grandpa married Ruth Jackson, my grandmother, who was a Staples neighbor and classmate at Staples High School. In the first eight years of their marriage, Grandpa Duane and Grandma Ruth would bring seven children into the world—Joseph, Ramona, Blair, Bruce, Jacqueline, Cynthia, and Carol. As young parents, both Grandpa and Grandma applied a superhuman work ethic to the task of providing for their very large family. In 1967, the couple brought an eighth child, Eric, into the world. They soon found that Eric had been born with a cognitive handicap, a challenge and an opportunity for both Grandpa and the rest of the family. Grandpa often said during his life, “I can’t wait to get to heaven and learn what Eric’s been thinking and feeling all these years!”

The 1970s were difficult years for the family, with the dissolution of Grandpa’s and Grandma’s marriage and the tragic death of John Jackson, Grandma’s younger brother and Grandpa’s close friend. But the decade ended with a miracle: the arrival of the couple’s ninth child, Matthew, in 1978.

In the mid-1980s, the final, glorious chapter of Grandpa’s life began when he met, befriended, and fell in love with Marjorie. The two were married in 1992, and in Marjorie, Grandpa found a life partner who filled him with new energy, marveled at his quick wit and facility for laughter, and stoked his innate curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

I’d now like to share a few anecdotes from Grandpa’s children that tell you a little about who he was.

In 1969, Grandpa put Aunt Carol on the back of his motorcycle the summer before her first-grade year at St. Frances Cabrini School, just to make sure she could find her way there when it came time to make the 2-mile walk on her own. Carol remembers being a little scared, but also thrilled to go so fast in the open air. Some of you may know that Carol went on to become fiercely, and at times, recklessly independent, a trait Grandpa would spend years battling to tame, but would eventually find himself boasting about.

In 1971, Grandpa agreed to play in a father/son basketball game organized by Uncle Bruce’s St. Frances Cabrini 7th grade teacher. On the way to the game, Grandpa stopped at a shoe store and bought a pair of sneakers—because he didn't own a pair at the time—and proceeded to play his heart out in a game he knew very little about.

Matthew remembers that the days when Grandpa would pick him up from preschool, in the early 1980s, were the happiest days of his life. He says he still feels giddy thinking about it. They’d go to the local liquor store, and Matthew would get beef jerky and Grandpa would get a Club Whiskey Sour, and they’d drive away in his very cool Mercedes 450 SL convertible.

From August to November of 2002, Aunt Jacqueline was in Walla Walla, Washington, without her family, who had gone ahead of her on their move to Argentina. Jacqui was left to handle all the final details of the move, all while working full-time plus overtime at the Post Office. She vividly recalls that one night, in her empty house, she thought to herself, “I need my Daddy.” It was something she had never thought before, and the next day, Grandpa showed up on her doorstep out of the blue. For just long enough to buck her up for the next chapter of an incredible life, every night he would be there when she came home. And, of course, he oiled all the doors in the house because the squeaking drove him nuts.

Also in the early 2000s, Aunt Cynthia was left with an empty wall space in her new condo, where she decided to put bookshelves. She couldn’t find any the right size, so Grandpa suggested the two of them build some together. She remembers learning so much during that project, and especially, that you should take a break when you start to feel frustrated. When the shelves were finished, they found that they were about three inches too long for the empty space. Cynthia would have been happy to live with that, but Grandpa wasn't having any of it. He whisked one away, modified it, and then delivered it back. It didn’t match the other one, but it fit the wall perfectly. Cynthia still treasures her odd pair of bookshelves to this day.

When Aunt Carol visited Grandpa one Tuesday in his final days, he spoke passionately about the people of Gaza. As he spoke his eyes grew misty and he was visibly angered that our country was not doing more to help them. He had shared with Carol many times that seeing his own children suffer was the worst pain he could imagine. He also wasn’t happy that he had no wine to share with Carol and had to begrudgingly settle in with a "near beer."

Each story comes with its own lessons, and Grandpa, who spent his forty-plus-year career as a teacher, imparted many lessons on his family and those around him.

He told us that you can't go through life afraid of what might happen, because the quality of life you’ll lose will be greater than whatever pain you may have avoided by being afraid.

He often told us that there is great satisfaction in working hard and being productive, and that the work itself can be its own reward.

He was a boxer in his youth, and having lost his two front teeth as a boy, he often had to defend himself against bullies. He told us, even if you lose a fight, you just need to get in one good punch, and that person will probably never come after you again.

He told us that we should put ourselves out there and take risks, that we should be curious and explore how things work, and that we should be patient when confronted with obstacles.

Finally, the last time Matthew visited with him, Grandpa told a story about his own father. As a teen-ager, Grandpa was hitch-hiking to North Dakota to find construction work, and he stopped in at his father’s house. He got teary-eyed recounting for Matthew that his father had told him, “If an employer asks you what kinds of vehicles you can operate, tell them you can operate any of them.” Even if he hadn't done it before, his father was telling Grandpa that he knew he could handle it. And that affirmation from his own father could still leave Grandpa misty-eyed all those many years later.

There were a number of things Grandpa used to say frequently that reflected his core beliefs.

He would say, “People won’t really respect you if you never say No.”

He would say, “Misogyny is the greatest sin on the planet.”

He would say, “Why can’t we all be like Jesus and just follow the Golden Rule?”

He would say, “There are over 150,000 words in the English language, so anyone who uses profanity is just showing their ignorance.”

There are a number of traits that defined who Grandpa was, traits that we will always remember.

He was quick-witted. Meeting a stranger, or among family and friends, and even when he was alone with Marjorie, he had lots of quick comebacks and spontaneous one-liners, and he could remember and tell jokes at the drop of a hat.

He was tenacious. When he tackled something, even something as simple as gluing a broken cup, he was in for the long haul and could spend hours on it.

He was honest—sometimes to a fault. He candidly shared his feelings of doubt about his Catholic faith, and he had very little problem telling a host or hostess that he didn’t care too much for what she or he had just served.

He was very generous with donations to causes dealing with charity and justice. Marjorie expects to continue getting mail for years from organizations like the Southern Poverty Law Center, Public Citizen, Catholic Relief Service, St. Joseph’s Indian Mission, and perhaps some she’s never heard of.

During his astonishing life, Duane Overby was a man who would treasure every new loved one who came into his orbit and, in his own unsophisticated way, would show them his love. He was a man who would discipline his children, and even judge them harshly at times, but would never, ever let them go. And he was a man who, with all the great good fortune that God had bestowed on him, would never forget those less fortunate. He would immerse himself in empathy, he would inhabit their pain, and he would teach his children to do the same. The miracle of Duane Overby was that he had a hard life, but he was never hardened by it. He will be missed, but he will always be here.

Duane - A Poem

A poem written a few months before his death by his sister, Monessa Overby OSF.

DUANE   

  My little brother

       Now a man grown gray

     Whose life experiences need a book to tell

        Of joys, pain, adventure, agonies.

      Formidable in his steadfastness

         Meeting life head on.

       Holding fiercely those he loves

          With guarded tenderness seeping out in tears.

        Atomic, bionic, splenectomy challenged and more

           Life’s pain and isolation to befriend.

        Leaning into newness with passing years

            Letting go of fixing and knowing .

         Being cared for anew with fits and starts

             Surrendering gently to his evolving change.

           Brave of heart

                This man, my brother.