I have been avoiding this part of the updates. It's the part where I write about my Dad, his death, his memorial, and my birthday. I want to preserve the memories and my thoughts, but I don't know how to write about them yet.
Maybe the easiest thing to do is start with a copy of my remarks from the memorial:
I have had the privilege of spending the last week and a half here in Monticello with my mom, older sister, and younger brother. We miss our dad, but we have also felt peace and comfort. I have been impressed with your love and goodness as individuals and as a community. It’s evident in how you are caring for my mom and in the ways you remember my dad.
As the middle child, I’m kind of the observer, and that’s been some of my role over the last week and a half as we have talked about the many adventures of Scott Gudgel--his triumphs and failures. The funny things he said. The brave things he did. The ways he served and loved.
You wouldn't be here if you didn't know my dad in some way, but let's remember a few Scott Opposites together.
My dad liked people but hated crowds. He loved working in the temple but hated wearing a tie. He loved nature but got extremely nervous in thunderstorms. He was known to like the company of animals, but he didn’t want to be eaten by one.
Other favorites: His favorite color was green. He lived on peanut butter, Ritz crackers, and Gatorade. In fact, he hardly ever drank water. I always knew where my dad had been by the Gatorade bottles left around. In fact, at one point at the property, he created solar lights housed in empty Gatorade bottles to mark pathways. I only saw them up one summer, so I'm not sure what happened with them--did they melt? Sometimes his genius ideas were truly genius, and other times, well, they were experimental. One of Dad's favorite treats was barbecued ribs and homemade onion rings.
One of his scriptural heroes was King Benjamin. He took to heart the scripture in Mosiah chapter 2, verse 17: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
Many of you have benefited from his quiet one-on-one service. If he observed a need that he had the expertise to alleviate, he did it. Since he was so curious and determined to learn about everything from mechanical engineering to hydroponic gardening, he was qualified to help people in a variety of ways.
My dad rarely backed down from a challenge. Some would have thought him a dreamer or a risk-taker. Both of those were true, but he was also confident and consistent. Sometimes my mom would get frustrated when the to-do list was growing faster than last winter’s snow drifts, but he’d always say, “It will get done, eventually.”
When my parents bought that property out in West Summit in 2005, it was complete wilderness. My dad had dreamed of building an underground home off the grid for many years. I remember getting magazines delivered to our house as a teenager with names like "Building an Earth-Sheltered Home." The covers of these magazines showed ingenious architectural structures built in mountainsides or peeking out of a field of grass. In twenty years, you would not believe what my dad created out there at the Maryott (which they eventually named the property, combining the names Mary and Scott). Those lucky enough to be given a tour by him would quickly learn that he was an expert engineer and a hard worker. He seemed to know all kinds of things about all kinds of things. If he didn't know about something, he'd research and practice until it made sense. He designed and completed nearly everything you see out at the Maryott almost entirely on his own.
One amazing feat of physics and ingenuity he accomplished involved acquiring and placing I-beams to support the roof of the container house. When talking over the idea with my mom, she’d challenge him, “This seems impossible. How will you do it? He responded, “I’m going to think those beams into place.”
This is what Dad did:
He found out the trailers that move mobile homes can only be used a number of times before they are retired to the junkyard. He called a friend and said, “I want to buy some of those trailers.”
After the purchase, he disassembled the trailers on-site with a cutting torch. Even though the recycled trailers were broken down into individual beams and other parts, they were too long to transport out the property on any basic trailer, so, he built what we call “the long, long trailer.”
The next project involved getting the heavy beams onto the long, long trailer. He did this with winches and pulleys.
Once he got the beams to the property, he had to figure out how to maneuver them into place as roof supports. Guess what he did? He invented and built another tool which he called the "roller skates." These giant I-beam stakes were made with leftover trailer wheels and other parts and became the means for moving the beams around the property.
The most amazing feat of all, though, was getting these I-beams in place in the ceiling. He used jacks and a come-along. Inch, by inch, he moved the beams into place, climbed up on the roof, and welded them in.
It only took a year or two. But like he said, it did get done, "eventually.”
As Scott’s children, my brother, sister, and I have inherited a lot of great qualities from our dad. It’s kind of weird sometimes when one of us says or does something that we learned from him. It’s nice. I asked my brother and sister to share some significant attributes of their relationship with Dad that they value. We had a lot of commonalities.
Daniel found great joy in knowing Dad as an adult. Of course, he wishes for more of that kind of time now. They had many good hours out at the property--looking at the stars, and talking about life, science, nature, philosophy, religion, and more.
Cathy remembers always having a sense of wanting to learn from Dad. She liked working on projects with him. He trusted her to steer our big yellow van across the field to plant seeds when she was just 13. (Crazy for a California girl). If she had a question about something, he probably had an answer.
I remember Dad as a rescuer. Car trouble? Call dad. Don’t know why the water heater just leaked all over the garage? Call dad. How do I reset the breakers? Call Dad. Driving a daughter to college and the bumper on her car needs a zip tie? Dad will take care of it.
In fact, my habit of calling Dad when I needed help ended up quite embarrassing for a friend of mine who thought it would be a good idea to use a "broken down car" to ask me to the Homecoming dance. I drove an old silver Subaru I named Margaret. Sometimes Margaret was finicky, but it wasn't a big deal because the grocery store I worked at was close to home and, like I said before, Dad knew a lot of things about a lot of things, so I was rarely in a mechanical bind that left me stranded. My friend thought I knew more about cars than I actually did, so he thought it would be funny to disconnect my distributor cap and leave a note to me under the hood asking me to Homecoming. He thought I would try to start the car and when nothing happened, I would pop the hood to check out the problem and see his cute note and we'd all have a good laugh. Well, after a long frustrating shift, I went out to my car. I turned the key. Nothing. I just wanted to go home. I marched back into the store to use the phone to call my dad.
The boy intercepted me, "What's the matter? What are you doing?"
"My stupid car won't start. I'm calling my dad." I stomped by him.
He grabbed my arm, and with a look of pure panic, he said, "No, no, no. Don't call your Dad. Maybe I can help. Let's go out and pop the hood and see what can be done."
"No. It's fine. I'm tired. My Dad will come."
He broke. "I know what the problem is. I'll fix it. Please don't call your dad."
Dad was not just there as a physical rescuer. He also rescued me in other ways. He gave me some powerful and meaningful priesthood blessings when I was sick or battling a migraine. I remember a particularly interesting blessing of counsel and guidance before my senior year of high school. It meant a lot to me that he took his role as a spiritual guide and protector just as seriously as any of his other parenting duties.
My sister, brother, and I saw Dad as a rescuer, a source of knowledge, and an admired and respected companion. As other family and friends have shared their fond memories of time spent with our dad, similar themes have risen to the surface.
This scripture describing the sons of Helaman strikes a chord with me because I also think it describes my dad. (except maybe the part about being young).
Alma 53:20
20 And they were all young men, and they were exceedingly valiant for acourage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
The next song we will play represents Dad’s love of farming, animals, and country life. It also represents his deep care and concern for the welfare of others.
It’s called Wolves by Garth Brooks.
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