A Tribute to My Dad

Earlier this week my dad passed away. He was 87 years old and was in a nursing home and was suffering from dementia. It was difficult to see him this way as he was a very capable man throughout his life. Logically we know he is in a better place, but it is still a shock. When a parent dies, the wall of mortality breaks down a little more and slowly realize (for better or worse) that you're next in line.

George Voss was born August 23rd, 1921 at home in Chicago. He was the 8th of 10 children. He grew up on the South Shore of Chicago, a working class neighborhood where many of the residents worked in the steel mills down the road. He enlisted in the Army Air Corp (Air Force) after Pearl Harbor. Dad was especially proud of the fact that his service # started with a 1, as this number was reserved for the men who weren't drafted. While he was in the service he met my mom, Dolores Levin. After the war they got married and moved in with my maternal grandparents. Dad was a South Sider and mom was a West Sider, so dad defected from the South Side to the West Side. After my oldest sister was born, my parents moved out to the suburbs (Niles) where they lived for 34 years. During the early years of my parent's marriage, he drove a bus. Later he got a job as a route salesman for Hawthorn Mellody Ice Cream Company. He worked as a truck driver for most of his life, with the exception of working at McCormick Place on the loading docks.


After retiring from McCormick place, dad and mom retired to Las Vegas where they lived for 15 years. This was at this time when he started to experience dementia and was subsequently moved to California to a nursing facility where he spent his final years. We were fortunate that the facility he was in was wonderful. He was well cared for and comfortable in his final years.

Here are a few things about my dad that I will always remember:

1. He could fix anything ! Growing up I lived in mortal fear that I wouldn't survive adulthood because I couldn't fix anything. My dad could do anything. We never had repair people come to the house because we didn't need them. Dad did it all. I've discovered that the most important tool in my tool box is my checkbook.
2. He tried his best. I grew up knowing that my dad did the best he could. He was far from perfect and he had issues like everyone else, but despite that he never let that get in his way of doing his best for his family.
3. Dad always made sure we were proud of where we came from. Dad would always tell us that we came from "good German stock". Mom didn't always agree that our successes didn't come only from that, but the German / Irish / Swedish mixture seemed to have worked.

If I had one regret, it was that my children didn't get to know him as well as they could have. Dad's condition started several years ago so all they remember is him in decline. Fortunately my other nieces and nephews got to know him.

We're having the funeral for him on Oct 15th. He will be buried at a veteran's cemetery outside of Chicago. It seems strangely fitting that his final resting place is on the South Side. Dad was a South Sider at heart so we think he will be pleased.