My father and Last Son of Krypton, Hugh W. O’Kennon Jr., went gently into this good night to be with God and help him with his comic book collection.  His passing was at around 4:30am on Sunday, January 15th, 2012, but he had been on his way for a while as Alzheimer’s slowly packed his bags for him without his permission.  He stubbornly fought his last fight,  tooth and nail and angry letters to the editor, as only an O’Kennon can do it.

My Dad came from a different time than I.  He worked in a corporate world where women mostly served coffee, and “casual Friday” meant you could hang your suit jacket on your chair while you worked.  He held down two jobs my entire life, even though he probably could have gotten by on one.  He sold collectible comics in an era when that was a specialized field.  There was no eBay, and you made your catalogs on a typewriter instead of on a computer.  He would routinely send a customer a $5,000 comic book with the understanding that if it didn’t match the description they would send it back, and if it did they would send a check.  Today you don’t even send someone gum without a paypal payment sitting in your account.

Dad was a classy guy, in his own geeky way.  He never used profanity, even when I sure as hell would have.  He believed that people didn’t need weapons to settle arguments, and a smart man could always out-think a bullet.  And when someone in high office did something he disagreed with, he would pull out his pen and write a sternly worded letter to the editor to get results.

He taught me that in business, everything was negotiable, and in religion only some things were.  When we bought my first car, I was  embarrassed at how ratty my Dad was dressed, then impressed as it dawned on me he had done it on purpose so the car dealer would think us poor.  Then when he had the terms arranged the way he wanted them, he whipped out his checkbook and bought the car outright, saving a fortune on interest and causing the dealer to almost stroke out right there in the showroom.

My Dad taught me that it was okay to like science fiction, that reading was well worth the effort, and even if no one ever looked at your novel it was fine to write it just the way you wanted to.  He was the Spock to my Mom’s McCoy.  He showed me that the British had some good television shows even if they talked funny, and Star Trek was worth watching no matter how many times you’d seen it (and it was okay to cry when Spock died, as long as you were sitting in the dark).

He had his faults, as we all do, but he was a big part of what I am today, good and bad.  He was a good father, a good friend, an outstanding geek, and he will always be the guy I think of when I get in a jam.

As Douglas Adams wrote when the dolphins finally decided to leave earth, “So long, and thanks for all the fish.”

Rest in peace Dad.  You’ve earned it.

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