My Dad - A Tribute

I’ve written this before but unfortunately it was before I saved such things. This is a tribute to my dad.

Azell Leroy Harris was a man’s man: a police officer, Cub Scout Pack Master, Boy Scout Assistant Scout Master, served in the Army Reserves, a deacon in his church, father of 5, husband of one wife.

He could fix anything. As far back as I can recall he helped others. He did all kinds of household repair for the widows in our neighborhood.

He helped out at the Little League Ball Field as coach, umpire, concession stand volunteer, etc.

He wore Old Spice, had a flat top, and used foot powder. He had a rough beard.

I cannot remember a time when he even threatened to be violent with any of the kids or with my mom. I only remember one argument between he and my mom. Afterwards he was out working on something in the backend of the old panel truck that he had fixed up. I went out to watch him. I asked, “Daddy, are you leaving?” I’m not even sure why I would ask such a question. I don’t remember anyone ever getting a divorce. He looked at me, with what I remember to be tearful eyes, and said, “No.”

He always had a project. He bought a school bus and turned it into a camper. Yes, we were THAT family on the block. I can only remember making one major trip in it. We went to visit my aunt (his sister) in Maryland. On the way there we wrecked it in Virginia. I didn’t know then, but my mom was seriously injured. The people in the other vehicle were nearly killed. I was around 6 years old.

He used to work the games at Legion Field. He took me to a game once. It was Tennessee vs. Alabama. I sat all the way at the top of the stadium under the scoreboard. I thought I was on top of the world. Tennessee beat Alabama like a drum that year (sorry Bammers).

On Sunday, May 4, 1969, I was at my sister’s house. I spent the night with her. I remember the phone ringing early that morning. I knew it was bad news. I heard my sister answer the phone, and very soon after that there was a scream and the phone dropped. My dad had been shot.

We rushed to Caraway Methodist Hospital on the North side of Birmingham. Ironically, it was the hospital where I was born. As a young 9 year old the whole thing was quite surreal. I don’t know that I fully grasped the gravity of the situation, but I knew it was not good. Friends, family, and clergy quickly gathered in the waiting room as we hoped for some good news. None ever came. Instead they rounded up the family and took us to a room where my mom was lying in a bed, basically unconscious from the stress of the moment. Someone (a doctor, a preacher, I can’t remember) came in and told us dad was dead. I remember crying, but only because everyone else was so upset. Little did I realize that my life had changed drastically in that moment. It took about 30 years for me to fully understand how much.

The middle child in our family, Tim, was lying in a hospital bed at a different hospital that morning. The day before he was hit on the nose with a high and tight fastball. He had gone through a surgery to reconstruct his nose, which was now stuffed with gauze. They were going to wait to tell him because of the difficulty he would have trying to cry with sinuses stuffed with gauze. Unfortunately, no one thought about the television news. He found out before any of the family spoke to him.

The following events of the funeral and burial were impressive to me. I had never seen the number of police officers that attended the memorial service. The honor shown to my family, and for my dad, let me know that many loved and respected him. I was touched.

Since that time I have had opportunity to speak to several folks that knew my father much longer than I did. Everyone spoke of his kindness, willingness to help, and faithfulness to the task. He was a good cop, a great friend, loving son to his mother, and a great dad to his family.

I miss him greatly. There were many times growing up that I wished he were there. Now that I’m a father I realize how much I missed by not getting to experience life with a dad. I feel I might not have messed up so much if I had his example to follow.

So on this Father’s Day, if you have a father still living, find a way to spend time with him. If your relationship is not what it needs to be, take the initiative to restore it. If your father is no longer alive take measures to remember his life. In this information age look up every piece of information you can find on him. Talk to others that knew him. Celebrate his life.

Happy Father’s Day!