Alfred Woodrow Kendall

Alfred Woodrow Kendall
Jan 26, 1914 – Jul 31, 2010

That’s what they called him all his life until one day in the fifties somebody looked up the birth record and found that the “Alfred” had inadvertently been left off of the birth certificate.
He used to quote from memory The Rubiat by Omar Khayyam. I loved prompting him with a line or a phrase that would start him off—WAKE! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night—and the singing. I often regretted that I wasn’t blessed with the perfect pitch mom had; rather, I carry the genes of dad who loved music and loved to sing and dance, but as far as pitch, that’s found under tree bark.
He was an inventor. He had lots of time to mull things over in his mind while he was driving truck all those years. The things he planned and drew on scraps of paper, napkins, grocery bags and such were so cool. Some of them actually came to life in the gate that he put across the driveway that opened and shut by weights and balances; the tools he made so he could use them to make something else; and who even knows what ever came of the rest of it? He thought big.
Having been born and lived a good part of his life in the Imperial Valley of California, he loved the Spanish language and shared what he could with me over the years—enough to give me a love for it also, and to pursue a better grasp of it for conversational purposes. Thanks, Dad. When we were in Mexico, everyone called him Tio Sapo, which means Uncle Toad. He loved that. We drank tequila and sang our hearts out—Adonde ir veloz y fatigada/la golondrina que de aqu se va—and as long as not too many people heard it, no harm done!
I was so blessed to know last year that a wonderful Christian friend, Eveline Temple, had led him in a prayer for salvation, that I can’t be sorry he’s gone now. He had told mom on her deathbed, “I’ll be along directly,” and I’m sure there were many of his loved ones there to greet him. So, Dad, here’s a line for you to finish—Oh darting swallow, speeding forth upon your way, What is the magnet of your steadfast course by day, its compass through the hours of night? I love you. Jenny