Public and Civic Club Talks
MY FATHER, EDWARD W. ENSLEN
[Talk by John E. Enslen, in tribute to his father, Edward W. Enslen, at a social gathering in honor of Edward W. Enslen, which was sponsored and hosted by his good friend, Wilson Patterson, at the community center in East Tallassee, Alabama, on October 6, 1977.]
(Following a short introduction by Mr. Wilson Patterson)
I would like to thank Mr. Patterson for allowing me this choice opportunity to say a few words about my father, Edward Whiteman Enslen. That’s what the “W” stands for if you ever wondered. I specifically requested Mr. Patterson to allow me to do this a few moments ago, and he graciously consented. I would also like to express appreciation to Mr. Patterson for his great kindness in putting on this gathering in honor of my father and his friends.
I realize, of course, that there are many noble souls among us here tonight who are equally worthy of recognition in their own right, but the man of this hour is my father and I wish to honor him with a few words.
I believe many of the things which I say tonight could be said by you about your fathers, or could be said by your sons about you. I like true father-son stories. They seem to indicate something about our characters. This afternoon Mr. Reneau was telling me that when Bob, his son, was about three years old, he took him to Demp Thrash there in Wetumpka to get his hair cut. When Mr. Thrash finished, Mr. Reneau looked at Bob and said, “Would you like to thank the gentlemen?” Young Bob replied, “Why? You’re gonna pay him, ain’t you?”
As I grew up, my father was to me a giant and a hero. He was also a great Santa Claus, though it was unknown to me most of the time.
He had a knot somewhere on his leg since removed by surgery. As a small boy, I could mash that knot and make his leg do all sorts of magical tricks. Of course, now I know it was him and not magic.
I guess I probably thought he was a millionaire, at least he always had a nickel when I needed it, and it never crossed my mind that there was a big mortgage on our house.
Once I was going through his trunk and found a Good Conduct Medal he received while serving in the Merchant Marines during the latter part of World War II. That Good Conduct Medal was as good as the Congressional Medal of Honor as far as I was concerned.
He told me that he played tackle on the high school football team, and I imagined him to be the defensive star of every game. It was not until many years later that my image was shattered by an older classmate of his who said he was as awkward as an octopus and weighed 135 pounds. Nevertheless, he made a famous long-distance call to a friend following one high school football game and said, “We beat Tallassee, 6 to 6!” That really meant something back in the Tallassee Hot O’Brien heydays.
I’ve known my father now about 31 years and during that time I have come to know some of his likes and dislikes. I would like to tell you about some of his likes first. Now this is not an exclusive list because there are some things he likes that I would not consider appropriate to discuss. But I will name a few which are appropriate. With age he has become more moderate in some of his likes and dislikes, but most of the following remain true to a great extent.
A hot meal when he comes home from work is almost a necessity.
He likes “A’s” on report cards and “100’s” on tests. Departing from high school each day, his usual final words to me were, “Make a hunnerd.” That is spelled H-U-N-N-E-R-D. He wanted a good education for his children.
He likes to tell how hard it was when he and Mama grew up—how far he had to walk to school—when he got his first pair of shoes—working all day for a dollar—and how Mama could not resist him.
I think he liked seeing my sister Emily in her first formal dress going to the prom, and he liked seeing the grass get cut without telling me to do it. He has always liked kids, especially his own, that say “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.” And when I would do something good, he would like to say, “That’s-a my boy” which is a phrase he plagiarized from an old TV serial you may remember.
He likes homeruns and touchdown passes, and he must have liked watching me play ball, because he would drive 300 miles one-way to Clemson (South Carolina) just to watch me practice on Saturday and then go back the next day. He supported me when I decided to retire from college football after two years, although my only statistical record of note was for the longest, non-scoring pass completion in an annual Orange day game—86 yards, a record which still stands, but is of questionable worth.
He likes kisses from my sisters and Mama. He has always enjoyed hunting on a clear, crisp, fall day, or fly fishing with a white peck’s popping bug about daylight, especially if the willow flies are hatching.
An old Clark Gable or John Wayne movie provides him with much enjoyment, but not as much as shooting a double on a duck hunt, especially if they are mallards. Speaking of duck hunting, he’s the champion wader of Speigner Swamp. He once told one of my visiting college classmates while we were trudging through that miserable mire on a dark, cold night that “You’re not a man until you’ve waded Speigner Swamp.”
He likes telling about his first hole in one. Of course, it’s his only hole in one, but he figures he’ll get several more. He’s always been an optimist—sometimes beyond reason. I guess that’s why he took up farming. He likes playing farmer on his new blue Ford tractor.
You have probably noticed that he has showmanship in his blood. He likes showing off on a snow-ski slope. He takes pride in the fact that he was the only man on Lake Jordan to slalom behind a 12-horsepower Wizard that was half-owned by Billy Skinner. I didn’t say anything to him, but I was proud of him when he learned to kick off the other ski instead of just holding it up in the air with his free leg.
He likes helping out the unfortunate. You might call him a common man’s man. You should see some of the characters that drive up in his driveway late at night to ask him to go on some relative’s bond.
He likes to draw and draft, and he has a talent for it. You ask any lawyer in town and he’ll tell you that he has produced the best tax assessment plats in the State of Alabama. I’ve not been all over the state, but they’re the best plats I’ve ever seen. And in his mind is more knowledge about who lives in Elmore County, where they live, what land they own, and who they are kin to than any other ten people in this county combined.
He likes to play general contractor and has a nice house and two barns to demonstrate his personal ability. (Thanks also to Ben Jones.)
He is also a poet of no small proportions. One of his favorite compositions is:
“If you want to know how you look,
Just have your picture took.”
He likes to see a pretty fire in his fireplace, and one of his favorite entertainments is to watch the Crimson Tide tear up the War Eagles, and he has been well entertained over the years in this respect.
He has a special knack for being able to fall asleep at any time, any place—especially at a friendly, social gathering, and more especially if he’s the host.
Now there are many more likes and attributes I could mention, but let me mention just a few dislikes.
He doesn’t like snow skiing anymore.
He never liked getting beat at anything, but he’s a good sport and pays his bets. You might keep that in mind if you ever play golf with him.
I believe the number one all-time dislike was for Mama to come get him at the pool hall by sending me inside and asking him to come home, but that has not happened since the late 1950’s. That would have to be number one unless it was for Emily or me to sass Mama.
He never has liked neighbors’ dogs that mess in his yard, or a shotgun that jams on a dove shoot.
In recent years he’s developed a dislike for people who throw litter on the highways, or who talk with derogation about our county garbage system, as you may have read in the newspapers.
He’s not crazy about leftovers for supper, and about 90% of his daughters’ boyfriends could not seem to measure up to his requirements.
Three-putting a green, ranks pretty high on his dislike list. You can imagine how he feels when he four and five putts a green, which is not that rare of an occasion.
Through all of this I still see some good in him. But I admit, I’m prejudiced. It could justly be said that I was born of goodly parents. My father’s accomplishments would make quite a list. He has many good works laid to his credit. He is a self-educated man in the purest sense of the word.
One of his golfing friends, perhaps Kendall Smith, I don’t recall exactly, who once said, “Edward Enslen is either playing hard, working hard, or sleeping hard.”
My father is literally the best friend I ever had. He has never let me down.
He has taught me the value of hard work. He has instilled in me the importance of being honest, and because of this in great part, my partner, Mr. Reneau, when he finally goes home at night, can relax because he knows I’ll never steal a penny from him.
I truly pity, in a sense, fathers who place more value on financial or social success than having a happy home. “The greatest work a man will ever do is within the walls of his own home.” (Quotation from Harold B. Lee, former President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) Good fathers are the hope of this world. Perhaps we would have better fathers if we said thanks more often. I wish I had; that’s my Dad.