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and at the same time filled with admiration and love for him.

These are painful memories yet the pain is tempered by the knowledge that he set an example for me. I often thought, "If Dad can do so much with one hand, how much more can I do with two?" Beyond that, the lesson became crystal clear: Struggle was the inexorable law of life and if I fought hard enough, as my father did, success could be expected. Many times, frustrated and angry in the face of some problem, the memory of his grim persistence spurred me on to make another attempt. I have had failures, but never for want of trying just once more.

With all his understandably volcanic temper, my father was gentle and tender with his family, especially with my mother. He would often say when he came in the door at night, "I've missed you today, Bess." And Mother, merry and irrepressibly impish, would pretend to be suspicious and say he must have done something wrong, something that would displease her when she found out about it. Yet she returned his affection in full measure. One morning he left home