mr. weir

After we had been married about ten years, soon after our last daughter was born (we were 29), Mom and Dad moved “temporarily” from Idaho to Massachusetts.

Dad’s brother Mel was a promoter. He was a dreamer. I don’t remember any hint of anything illegal or unethical, but he pushed some edges. He survived because Aunt Virginia was a very capable school teacher who was always employed.

Once Mel had called and asked Dad to go somewhere to build some houses for him. The idea was exciting to me as a kid. So I asked if we were going to go. “Shucks, knowing Mel, it could be that he wants me to build dog houses.” But for some reason he took the Massachusetts hook and they moved.

Mel had invented or developed a set of portable ladders that could extend to 10 or 12 feet and yet could be hauled in the trunk of a car. The idea was that it was a perfect product for rental stores, to be used by people who only had a car but also had the need of a ladder. So the company was born.

Dad was to be production manager, and mom was offered or became the bookkeeper. The company did not do too well. Mel was a dreamer, but he was not so good at organizing and running a company. Mel left, Dad was in charge. Mom got a job at a private school as accountant and so on.

But Brother Ben, who was in high school, moved with them, went to college there and met Judy. Mom and dad had moved back to Idaho by the time Ben graduated from College there. After graduation he and Judy got married.

So, MIriam and I were I Washington State. Our sister Joyce was in graduate school in MIchigan for the summer. Mom and dad were in Idaho, and we all went to Massachusetts. My father’s (remember that is my biological father) youngest brother lived in the wedding town, so we saw him, and even stayed in his house.

Miriam and I were running a photography studio, so we were the photographers.

And now about Mr. Weir!

I was up in the room with the bride taking some pictures of her and her attendants when I looked out the window. We were in a 2nd story room. There he was Mr. Weir.

When we got married a dozen years before, Mr. Weir had been at the wedding and carefully told us the exact moment we were pronounced man and wife. But that was in Idaho and were were a long way away. But there was no mistake it was him.

Mr. Weir was a quiet widow who attend the same church as my family. He was retired. I have no memory of much about him, but it seems like he had been an accountant. His retirement thing was to attend weddings.

When Miriam and I got married he was there. When Cousin John got married in British Columbia, Mr. Weir was there, and here we were 3000 miles from home and there was Mr. Weir.


I called the bride to the window and pointed him out to her. “That man lives in my town in Idaho. He has been on the bus for days to get here. When he comes through the receiving line he will tell you the moment you were declared to be married. Make a fuss over him, just for me.”

Judy was a very gracious woman and, while I was not there to witness her words, she did exactly as I asked. Bless you Judy.

Today when I got to thinking of the interesting people in my life, Mr. Weir popped into my mind. He was not really a family friend. The only time he really shines in my memory is at weddings, but as I look back I admire. I am told, but do not remember, that he played the saw, you know a carpenters saw, made music out of that saw!

It was not what he did so much, but that he was so dedicated to his chosen task. My memory is that he died not too long after Ben’s wedding, but Mr. Weir, smiling, chubby, balding, little man that he was will always be in my memory.

Good memory, that is.