Archie King McBeth was born to Zac and Estella McBeth on January 15, 1919, north of Martinsburg, Iowa. It was, and continues to be, a small (just under 300 people at the time of his birth), humble farming community. He was the 9th of 13 children. As a young man, he served in the US Army during World War II driving military vehicles in Europe. An experience he was rightly proud of, but never boisterous about.
After the army and over the years, he became the father of 5 girls and 1 boy. All of them were precious to him and a great source of pride, as were his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He also had a beautiful and tender love for my grandmother. He never ceased to be amazed by her ability to whip up a meal from nothing when guests arrived unexpectedly. And she made the best pies in the world in his opinion.
Grandpa was very involved with his church for most of his life, serving in church leadership for many years. His dedication to God, and Christ's teachings, was inspirational. He and my grandmother gave regularly and generously of their time and financial resources to their church. This doesn't mean he hesitated to speak up when he felt that things weren't being done right. This passion was reflected in his activity with his union at John Deere, where he retired from in 1976. Several of my favorite memories as a young child are of union activities that we attended when he was a retiree. His union brothers and sisters were a second family for him.
His generation of my family was, in my opinion, an glass half empty group. They were raised during the harsh realities of the depression and reserved in joy. It made the times when they smiled and laughed all the more precious. It also made them a close family. There were many family reunions over the years, always well attended. I guess that's not hard considering Great Grandpa and Grandma had almost 60 grandchildren that lived to adulthood. In his last years of life, Grandpa spoke with his youngest sister at least once a day.
Grandpa could always be counted on for encouragement and good advice. As I implied before, he wasn't shy about sharing his opinion. I had the privilege of living with him for a few months as a young adult. I credit my ability to make gravy to this time together and we had many conversations at the kitchen table. Like so many of us, I didn't ask the questions I should have, but I remember my interpretation of his essence nonetheless. Stand up for your beliefs. Never throw stones. Treat people well. Give what you can.
In June of 1999, at the age of 80 1/2, he passed away 25 hours after my grandmother. She had spent the last 6 years of her life in a nursing home following a debilitating stroke. His commitment to her never wavered. He visited regularly and purchased a wheelchair accessible van so they could still go on adventures together. He was proud that he had made it to 80 years of age, but I have no doubt that he was also ready to go when she did.
Even after almost 20 years, I still miss him quite often. Many of my beliefs and how I live is due to his influence. And, bringing a smile to my face, someone made me realize just a couple of weeks ago that I have "McBeth" knuckles. It's appropriate that, judge willing, next month I take his name as my own.
Thank you for all of the memories, Grandpa. And fooey, if you're not making me cry!
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