In Memoriam: Charles H. Farrar

Dr. Charles Farrar was my scoutmaster and my friend. Chuck, as I came to know him, died late Wednesday morning. We lost his son Chris, my longtime best friend, two years ago in June. I’ve been thinking about that now with Chuck’s passing, but I’ll talk about that later. I want to share a little of who Chuck was to me.

That's Chuck front left.

First, I have to admit that “Chuck” seems so familiar and informal that I’ve found myself questioning my use of that name. His wife Lee and son-in-law John call him Charles. It sounds so much more respectful and dignified; and he deserves that. Somehow I adopted “Chuck,” perhaps through hearing others in Scouts use it. I’m not sweating it; I don’t think he minded.

Anyway, I met Chuck through Boy Scouts. He was scoutmaster of Troop 213, chartered through Corpus Christi Church and later the Knights of Columbus. Ironic. Chris was my pal, introduced through band and the carpool that made transportation a little easier on our parents. He invited me to join the troop and I loved it.

Chuck was a hell of a scoutmaster. He was an enthusiastic educator. I remember learning rope-making, knot-tying, woodcraft, canoeing, cooking and a host of other skills under his tutelage. Oh boy, cooking. My first and strongest memory of Chuck involves cooking. My first campout with the troop found me on cooking detail right off. Trial by fire, so to speak. I don’t recall who was my fellow chef, but I learned a solid lesson about cooking for a group that night. As we slopped together the ingredients for goulash or something akin to it, I did what I thought a good cook was supposed to do – add seasoning. A dash or two of salt is a must, right?

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” roared Chuck.

I explained the obvious. Chuck then explained the, to me, not so obvious. Not everybody likes it that way. Leave it basic, let the individual salt to taste. Yes, sir.

Chuck’s enthusiasm for Scout skills was impossible to rein in. Even when we teen boys lost interest in building our own dog sled for the Klondike Derby as the project wore on and lamented that none of the other troops were constructing their own shelter, he urged us on. He was teacher and cheerleader. We awoke to ice on the water bucket, frost on the ground, my sleeping bag half out of the back end of the lean-to and my glasses broken. But what a memory. And I always carried a sense of pride for having done it the hard way, the roughing-it way that others missed out on.

Chuck is second from right in the front row. Dig that soup-strainer.

Later Chuck led a contingent of Scouts, including Chris and me, to Philmont Scout Ranch, the BSA’s premier high adventure camp, located in the moutains of northeastern New Mexico. Chuck drove his monster van out there, loaded with boys and gear, accompanied by the legendary Vern Coates, another Scout leader and longtime rifle instructor at our local camp, the now defunct Fellheimer Scout Reservation.

In those days Chuck was often found puffing on his pipe. Now, I’ve got to tell you, he smoked some pleasantly fragrant tobaccos. But smoking is smoking and it took its toll. As we hiked the winding trail from Baldy Town toward 12,441-foot Baldy Mountain, Chuck grew winded. Before we reached tree line he begged off, telling us he’d wait for us on the return after we summited. We felt bad leaving him behind, even at his insistence. What a joy it was to look down from the summit and see that he’d marshaled his forces and made it to the “saddle” below the rocky peak. Perseverance.

It was Chuck who kicked Chris and me in the butt to finish the requirements for the Eagle Scout badge as the pull of high school and band drew us away from Scouts. We got it done, just under the wire.

Chuck, for me, was synonymous with Kmart and Radio Shack. He bought loads of miscellaneous camping supplies from Kmart back in the day. And it was at the Farrar house that I was first introduced to the home computer – a TRS-80, complete with cassette drive. Chuck was into computers from the start, perhaps because it was useful in his work as a psychologist. Maybe he just liked “noodling around” on it as my dad would say. 

From Courtney's FB pix. Chuck in the Air Force.

I called on Chuck a dozen or so years ago for a story about the rise of the home computer. The Register-Mail was doing a year-long weekly series of stories to commemorate the impending arrival of the new millennium. One of the stories I came up with was on home computers. As it turns out, Chuck had kept pretty much every computer he ever owned in a home museum in his basement. Most of them still functioned!

A few years later, it was Chuck who called on me. He presented me with the opportunity of a lifetime. As a member of Galesburg’s Noon Rotary Club, Chuck was looking for someone to send to Sweden. He may have guessed at my affinity for blondes, but I don’t that really had anything to do with it. He was recruiting a team for the Group Study Exchange. That’s a whole other story, but I was honored and humbled that Chuck would recommend me for the program. I passed muster and spent April of 2004 in Sweden and Denmark. Thanks, Chuck.

When Chuck’s daughter called me Wednesday with the news, my thoughts quickly turned to Chris. Not that I abandoned Courtz, John and Lee, but I entered a strange world of supposition and curiosity. Not so much the world of “what ifs,” but the world of “I wonder.” I wonder why the Farrars should be slammed this way. I know, it’s life and death and it just happens to all of us eventually, but who doesn’t question the grand scheme in times like this, even if only briefly? I wonder what it would be like if Chris were still here at this time. I wonder if Chris and Chuck are reunited? There are so many varied beliefs on the afterlife, even within the confines of Christianity. I wonder how that works? Interesting that these questions should arise with the approach of Easter. I doubt the answer will come to me this Sunday, but it’s interesting nonetheless.