Another Love Story
This story isn’t a fairytale, but in a number of ways, it is.
Dick Godfrey was a man of many accomplishments: he aided in inventing cruise control at Cornell University, served as an Officer at Fort Sill, and traveled the world from Bangkok to London for his work in engineering. He encapsulated the essence of what it meant to be a man in the Golden Age of America: a ruthlessly competent family man with wits sharp as a Japanese Katana and the bare boned tenacity of an offensive lineman.
The man’s cathedral
Phyllis Godfrey is a woman who is pragmatic as a 5-star war general. I once stumbled upon her gazing out the window in a state of mild anxiety. When I asked her what the issue was, she turned, leaned, and said in a hushed tone “Well, I told your brother I’d call him at 5:30, but it’s only 5:28.” She once left me a 60 second voicemail of her debating with herself on the optimal way to get me lunch. You would have thought the delivery of a turkey sandwich was a covert operation with the goal of smuggling nuclear warheads.
But for all her worrying and meticulous routine, she’s an incredibly sweet and supportive woman who is quick to laugh and fast to help. She’s the type you want on your team.
Dick and Phyllis met in kindergarten, clicked in the summer of 1952, and went on to enjoy 64 years of loving marriage. They went onto become a duo that rivals the likes of Jordan-Pippen and Drake & Josh. They were a perfectly aligned venn diagram that merged the best parts of themselves. He was the breadwinner who took her around town on the handlebars of his bike, while she was the loving mother who cared for him at home. After witnessing the widespread dysfunction that many relationships suffer from, I take solace in knowing that mutual, healthy, and enduring love is certainly achievable.
They lived in a state of harmony that ran like clockwork. He would slice up an apple for her at 4, and she would prepare salmon and crackers for him at 5. He would fix the leaking dishwasher, and she would hem his torn shirt. They would often enjoy a vodka tonic together towards the end of the evening, and despite having the money to live in Los Altos, the vodka often flowed from a plastic handle.
Dick and Phyllis raised two sons, a doctor and a lawyer, who have gone onto raise their own families. Dick and Phyllis soon became my Granny and Pop, and they’ve been the best grandparents a family could ask for. They lived in the same Los Altos home for 43 years, providing a headquarters for all matters Godfrey. They hosted us for countless family dinners, took us out sailing across the Bay, and provided a continuous bedrock of emotional and financial support.
And none of this would have been possible without the strength of Pop. Everything I cherish traces back to him, and not just because he’s my grandfather, but because he was such a damned good one. I find his story worth sharing because he provides such a wonderful example of taking hold of this strange life, and thoroughly, wholeheartedly, kicking its ass.
When thinking back on Pop’s life, I smile more often than not, and that’s telling of the memories he left behind. Despite the physical toll old age took on his body towards the end, my cousin and I often joked that one day we’d show up to his house and he’d be standing on the roof, shotgunning cans of Heineken and ripping backflips into the pool. Although Granny is yet to join him, I’m sure Pop is now sipping his vodka tonic in a better place.
Pop had his last good night kiss with Granny on December 12th, then passed early in the morning on December 13th, 2019.
