He never complained about taking care of Mom. He never stopped hoping or looking for a cure for Alzheimer's. Unlike the title of the classic George Jones song, "He Stopped Loving Her Today," Dad never stopped loving Mom. I don't think that he even noticed that she had aged. To him she was still the prettiest girl that he had ever seen.

In 1943, Dad and a friend of his were driving down Broadway and the corner of 12th when he first saw Mom crossing the street. He told his friend that he was turning around to ask her for a date. His friend said, "you're craze man, she probably married to some Fort Benning officer."

Undaunted, Dad followed her into the soda shop. He thought he'd trick her into thinking they'd met before. He suavely walked over to her and said, "How have you been?" as if they were old friends. Mom gave him a no-nonsense hard look and said, "you know I don't know you!" Dad said, "Well, now you do, my name is Frank Chambers," and that was that.

Had Dad not been drafted, they were going to get married in 1943, but they decided to wait. Dad didn't want to go off to war and leave Mom tied down for an indefinite period of time or even a widow at such a young age.

WWll ruined so many lives, but Frank Chambers' was not one of them. He often spoke of all the poor boys who had to fight and died there, and how lucky he was to be in charge of the supply warehouse and was also the Colonel's personal driver.

He was able to tour all over Holland, Germany and England. He probably had the best time of his life. Europe was a lot different than Hatchechubbee, Alabama. For him it was a real eye opener.

As a staff sergeant running a supply warehouse after the hostilities had ended. Dad felt sorry for the German children, so he gave them candy and food rations. He gave some to ~ one ~ kid one afternoon. The next day there were 8, then 12, and so on. When his unit was pulling out of town, all of the families came to say goodbye to Dad. One man sent the one thing left he had of value, which was a silver pitcher with a note inside that said, "to the kind-hearted GI." Dad said he had no idea what that food had meant to them. He didn't realize until then that they had absolutely nothing. We still have the pitcher and note.

Europe was different than Hatchechubbee, but that doesn't mean that it was ~ better ~, just different. Dad said "Hatchechubbee" meant "Happy Trails" in Indian. (We didn't know Dad was bilingual.) To hear Dad speak of his childhood there, I'm sure Hatchechubbee means "Happy Trails" in English too.

He was the youngest of 10 siblings. Morgan, Lewis, Canny, Grover, Jim, Dad, Lucille, Madie, Qawice and Mildred. They lived in the house their dad built himself, and had a very close-knit family. Our Dad lost his father when he was 18 years old; he was very proud of his dad as a husband and a father, raising 10 kids. He was proud that as sheriff, his dad upheld the law for all citizens, rich or poor, black or white, at a time when justice did not always prevail for all.

Though Dad didn't talk much about "Papa" as he referred to his father, he always talked about his mother, referring to her a "Mama darling." He was the oldest "mama's boy" we've ever known...as a matter of fact, two mamas, his and ours.

Like so many of his generation, he never got over living in the Depression. Even in his later years, after becoming financially stable, he was tight. We mean that in a good way. He would give a lot but didn't like to ~ spend ~ a thing. He remembered vividly year after year not having a steady job, sleeping on top of an air compressor motor in a gas station, and working for 50 cents a day in Columbus.

But as a kid in Hatchechubbee, they had chickens and cows and sweet potatoes (his favorite), etcetera, and never knew they were poor. He and his brothers and sisters ran barefoot in the fields and over the hills behind their house, swam naked in the Hatchechubbee creek (but not with his sisters), rode bareback on cows, ate watermelon, listened to real bottleneck blues guitar on Saturday night down on the corner, went to a one-room school during the week, and a one-room church on Sunday.

Except for the train, all the roads to Hatchechubbee were dirt. Most of the technological advances that we all take for granted today come into existence during his lifetime. He saw a lot. When electricity came to Hatchechubbee, Dad and his brothers wired the grocery store they owned themselves. THEY DID NOT KNOW WHAT THEY WERE DOING. They wired up10 BIG LIGHTS thinking they would only burn as bright as candles. They technically created the first tanning bed. When they turned them on they were blinded, and quickly tuned them off; they needed only one.

Those of you here that knew Dad knew he never met a stranger. Once on a vacation in the mountains we were walking down a path. There was a man approaching us, coming the other way. He said, "Hi," to Dad, "My name's Frank." Dad said "~ my ~ name's Frank." The man said, "My name's Frank Chambers." Dad smiled and said, "~ my ~ name's Frank Chambers." The man gave Dad the benefit of doubt that we was not a fruitcake or stalker and said, "well, I'm from Columbus, Ohio." Dad said, "~ I'm ~ from Columbus, Georgia."

Dad had a good sense of humor and didn't mind laughing at himself. Once while on his sales route in Phoenix City, he took Jimmy with him. Jimmy was 7 or 8 years old at the time. The merchant Dad was visiting asked Jimmy, "Young man, is this your father?" Jimmy replied, "Yes sir, but I can't help it."

As with anyone, there's no way to say everything you'd like to about them, especially someone whose life spanned the 20th century, or thank everyone who was or still is a friend to you. We can only thank God for the time we had together with Dad and the memories we will carry with us wherever we go. It's our prayer that Dad is now with his loved ones in Heaven and that we will all see each other again someday.