Marvin Lee Traylor, Sr.

I stand before you today filled with grief, but it is my honor and privilege to say a few words in rememberance of Papa Sam, our patriarch.

Since we found out he was ill nearly one year ago, I've thought about what I might say if I was asked to remember him in this way. Believe me, summing up the life of Papa Sam is not an easy task. As his favorite granddaughter ... I know, I'm his only granddaughter ... I have a lifetime of memories with him.

Knowing that most of you wouldn't understand my musings about being forced to watch Hee Haw or enjoying big bowls of popcorn on a summer's night while listening to the Cardinals on KMOX, I can tell you what a wonderful, genuine, caring, thoughtful and intelligent man he was. And, as you'll see, I truly believe he was placed on this earth to look after us all -- as a brother, husband, father, friend and grandfather.

As a brother, he was one of a kind. Dale, Earl, Kenny and Gary have all told me about growing up with Papa Sam, and the common theme to all of those stories was this: the man was their role model, a man who strived for excellence and always seemed to achieve it. He was pretty straight-laced, would rather study than play football. His teachers loved him, which made academic life a little tough on his somewhat-less scholarly brothers. "What kind of guy volunteers to take calculus and trigonometry?" his brother Dale asked. As a role model, he provided the best example possible to his younger brothers, causing no trouble, helping with the chores, stepping up when his dad died so unexpectedly. "We couldn't have picked a better brother," they all told me. And he felt the same. After nearly 75 years of looking after his baby brothers, he needed a favor. He needed a ride to Springfield every day for six weeks to complete his chemotherapy at St. John's Hospital. They all chipped in, and a few days after his treatment was completed, he sent them all thank you cards he had designed on his computer. At the bottom, he handwrote this note: "When you are young, little brothers can be a pain. When you near 80, they are one of God's blessings."

As a father and husband, Papa Sam was the epitome of a family man. His family came first ... from walking from Schram City to Taylor Springs every day via the railroad tracks to court his future wife June ... to attending every baseball game, dance recital and piano performance of his children, Marvin Lee Jr. and Mary Beth. My grandfather was a testament to unconditional love, working through tough times, giving more than you receive and staying faithful to your beliefs. He didn't give up when things got tough, and he felt others should do the same. His family was everything.

As a friend, Papa Sam was the best. As evidenced at last night's visitation, hundreds of people were touched by his kindness, his humor, his intelligence, his hobbies. We all know the basics: he was president of the Class of '39 ... he was a World War II veteran ... he worked for Illinois Power for 42 years ... he served as a school board president and volunteer firefighter ... he loved to golf, work in his garden and orchard ... and watch his beloved St. Louis Cardinals and Fighting Illini. But, did you know he was also: Class of '39 Homecoming King ... a man who narrowly missed becoming a casualty of war thanks to a perfectly timed dental problem, but was still able to perform his heroic duties at Normandy on D-Day ... an apprentice under his father at Illinois Power who later supervised his own brothers, all without one cross word ... an excellent baseball player who was so speedy his teammates called him Bluejay ... in fact, he was so quick, he'd often run in from left field to help his brother Dale, a catcher, with pop fouls behind the plate ... fluent in German ... a skilled woodworker, quilter and beekeeper who believed sings were good for arthritis, until the day a few flew down his shorts ... a man who built his own home, that of his brother, and assisted with the construction of a new church for his parish ... a true Republican, an honorary graduate of the Rush Limbaugh Institute for Advanced Conservative Studies ... a man who taught himself to play golf by hitting 150 balls a day, every day, while he perfected his swing ... a man who would read every word of every article in the newspaper every day. He was a man of boundless energy with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Finally, as a grandfather, Papa Sam was everything to me. He helped my mother raise me during my first year while my father served in the military. He was my friend, mentor and playmate when I would spend my summer vacations in Hillsboro. He was the first thing I thought of when I needed to make a big decision, and fear of letting him down helped me make most of the right ones along the way. He was the only person in the world who never, ever let me down. After 30 years of taking him for granted, of just assuming he'd always be there, Papa Sam is gone. But I've got memories ... watching him do somersaults off the diving board ... seeing him prowl the yard for squirrels with his shotgun ... trying to learn how to play golf right-handed, only to have him break down and buy me a set of lefty clubs ... taking time out of a horrible day at work to send him an email and realize he'd put everything into perspective ... opening his Christmas presents wrapped in newspaper and signed "from his golfing buddies" ... sitting on his lap as he'd read me the funnies ... seeing him in his car at the Raymond-Hillsboro exit off I-55, making sure I didn't get lost on my first solo trip to Hillsboro at age 16. I thought he was the smartest person in the world when I was six and he would whistle every time we drove a mile in the car. Ten years later, when I discovered a little thing called an odometer on my dashboard, I wasn't fazed. He was still the smartest man in the world. He was also a man to whom my future husband would be compared. As a child, Papa Sam would always butter my bread at dinner. As I got older and began dating, the boys all flunked my test -- none of them buttered my bread when they took me out to eat. In fact, most of them looked at me as if I was learning impaired. But Eric didn't. He just smiled and buttered away. When I told Papa Sam this, he said it sounded as if I'd found someone to take care of me. I thought so, too. As Papa Sam laid in the hospital last week, we all took turns holding his hands and stroking his forehead, telling him we loved him and it was okay for him to go. I took great comfort in telling him that he'd done his job, he'd looked after us well, and that we'd all take care of each other from now on. I truly believe he left us late last week, when he pointed his hands toward heaven, his eyes a clear blue, his brow unwrinkled and a smile upon his lips. We reached for his hand, but he swatted us away. He was reaching for his angels -- his mom Myrtle, his dad Sam, his brother Murl, his dog Angie. As he waited for his body to catch up with his spirit, he watched us in that room, taking turns staying up all night. And in the end, like he did his entire life, he watched over us ... and left us only when he knew we were all safely asleep. Now he's my guardian angel. I mourn his passing, and I bid him goodbye. I will never forget him, and someday I'll tell my children about my Papa Sam, a man who loved me, inspired me, accepted me and took care of me until the early morning of March 14, 2001, when he died, holding my hand.