Happy Birthday Dad

The following was written to commemorate what would have been Dad's 80th birthday . . . I update and republish in tribute to what would have been his 90th birthday . . . and for my own happy reasons.


Today, November 21, 2021, Dad would have been 90.

Growing up, I always thought he was super lucky because his birthday was 11/21/31 – that someone could have that cool of a birthday must have meant that God had something special in mind for him. What was it?


He was born in Batavia, New York to Thomas and Mary Niedbala, second of four children in a household where Polish was spoken with frequency. Dad and his siblings were charged with helping with the garden and raising chickens in addition to schoolwork and other chores. I remember a childhood story that was recounted more than a few times involving the hazing of the lone daughter in the family – my Aunt Pat.

Electric trains were big entertainment for my father, Dick, and his older brother Tom. They had an HO scale Lionel and had set up a figure eight track in their family basement. No telling their motivation, but one day they bound poor Pat’s hands and feet and laid her across the track ala Snidely Whiplash. Apparently, Aunt Pat’s protestations went unheard – at least until Grandpa got home with the belt.

Dad began his collegiate career at Canisius College in Buffalo; he eventually was awarded a Navy ROTC scholarship and earned a chemical engineering degree at Penn State. With his officer’s commission, he went active with the Navy as a Seabee. Though his active duty was concurrent with part of the Korean Conflict, he (often saying “fortunately”) never saw action. As little boys, we envisioned dad loading the cannons to sink pirate ships – not so. He did, however, tell us of the time he sunk a bulldozer. There was an unfortunate and unnoticed sinkhole just offshore that swallowed the earthmover.

Dad sailed on the USS Missouri and had at least one tour through the Mediterranean Sea. It was during this tour that he and mom wrote regularly – he even managed to mail her a pair of gloves that arrived on her birthday. I’m fairly certain that was all luck. Mom once recounted that she was most impressed with his flowing prose describing sunsets over Tuscany and pristine beaches accented with historic villas. Apparently, dad did a good job transcribing portions of Foley’s Guide to the Mediterranean.

After my parents were married, they lived on a Navy base in Virginia where an iconic family story was born. Dad was first to shower one day and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. After a short while, he knocked on the bathroom door during mom’s shower and remorsefully reported, "Sheila, there aren’t enough Rice Krispies to fill your bowl." You can imagine the mileage we got from that story.

Dad was well respected in our small town: he served on various boards, filmed the high school football games for the coaching staff, participated in the annual “Goodfellows” newspaper sale, played golf, jogged, and was recognized frequently walking our basset hound, “Uncle Bill.”

He had a long career with Michigan Gas Utilities and, as a claim to fame, was one of the first engineers to specify plastic pipeline for natural gas transmission.

Dad has been gone nearly forty years. His large loving heart was unfortunately poorly wired – he had his first cardiac event when he was 39 with subsequent ones leading up to the fatal MI at age 50. His funeral was very well attended and an industry group memorialized him by naming an annual golf outing in his honor.

I do recall meeting so many strangers at the lunch following the funeral and each could tell me about things I’d done in my life. Participation in the high school band, attending Hillsdale, a couple of European trips – all were well reported by my dad to everyone he knew. I almost feel sorry for his friends – he must have been insufferably boring talking of his children. That something special God had in mind? That he got to be my dad and, more importantly, I got to be his son.  Happy Birthday.