William Rissler Thayer 1924-2009

It is my sad duty to report the passing of my father at age 84, of complications due to Alzheimer's and rectal cancer. He died peacefully: he had just finished breakfast (he always loved breakfast) and went back to his room and just died, just like that.

We didn't always have a great relationship, particularly when I was a teenager. To be blunt, he hit me a lot. I used to think he hated me, but I understand a lot more about it, now. I was his oldest child, and he didn't quite know what to do with a pubescent and then teen boy, especially one who really didn't like to be told what to do very much (and still don't)and wouldn't necessarily always see his point of view. Our family situation was very volatile as well, due to my mother's mental problems and alcoholism. I don't think he really wanted to hurt me so much as he felt like he had to strike out at someone, and I was handy.

But, in so many other ways, he was a wonderful father. He was intelligent and well-read (as was my mother) and willing to discuss just about any topic with his kids, no matter what it was. I don't ever remember being told that I shouldn't ask about something, or that I was too young to know about a subject. He discussed things with me on a peer level, even when I was a child, and was tirelessly patient in his explanations of things.

He involved me and my brother in all manner of "projects". We worked on the family cars, did carpentry and plumbing and painting and were encouraged to build things and use tools. He helped me build my first stereo from a kit when I was 12. He took us on outings to all kinds of different out-of-the-way places to see things that he had discovered and found interesting. He had a tremendous influence in the formation of my intellect.

In later years, especially after my mother died, in 1997, we became very close. We spent a lot of time discussing politics, ethics and current events. He had a keen, incisive mind that could quickly cut to the meat of any question. I greatly enjoyed long talks with my Dad.

He was a veteran of World War II, and worked on the Manhattan Project, which developed the Atomic Bomb. He met and worked with people like J. Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi and George Kistakovsky. He was a great crusader for liberal causes. When the fundamentalist organisation Operation Rescue surrounded a local women's clinic in an attempt to shut it down, Dad took his two weeks' vacation to stand in the hot July sun and help defend the clinic.
That was my Dad. He detested authoritarianism in all of its guises, and was always outspoken about it. He saw no difference between the enemies he had fought in World War II and their modern counterparts, despite what they were calling themselves these days.

I lived with him and cared for him for about a year, before the Alzheimer's got too bad and he had to move to assisted living. It was heartbreaking for me to watch this splendid mind decay slowly into ruin. Alzheimer's is cruelest to those who love the one with it. He never once thought anything was wrong. He died happy.

As St. Thomas More remarked, when asked if he would go to heaven: "How could God refuse one who is so blithe to come to him?" My Dad was a man of strong faith. I know where he is now, and I'm sure he's stirring something up there, too.