My Perspective of Dexter Harold Zintz (1923 - 2006)

I wrote this about my father in September 2006, but I wanted to put it here because, well, I'm thinking of him and I guess I want this piece to be preserved. (You can click on the images to view them in more detail). ~~~~~ My dad died this week. He actually died twice: once instantaneously in my mother's loving, helpless arms last Saturday (it was so quick, he hadn't even had the chance to tell her he was feeling a little funny!), and then again on Tuesday when all four of us--my brother, my sister, my mom, and I--were in alignment about ending life support and snipping the thin tether that bound him to his wrecked, oxygen-deprived body. His name was Dexter Zintz, and he was 83 years old. He was hale and hearty and the most loving man I had ever met. He was strong and active and extremely intelligent (always was). He was fiercely devoted to his family and would put himself to any kind of trouble (without a peep of complaint) if he thought it would pave the way for us or his friends (or even our friends). He was strikingly handsome and had an amazingly beautiful, smoky singing voice that only my family and I got to know about because he was so humble; he only sang to and later with us. He was politically progressive and that made him fun for me to talk to. Although he hated when people spoke unkindly about others, he had many choice words for our current administration. He was my political kindred spirit and he told me how proud he was of me when I'd go to Washington for antiwar marches and my Women in Black demos. Consistent with this, Dad was a true patriot, and he cherished the time that he had spent serving on board the USS Ocklawaha from 1942 to 1945; he was 21 years old when he enlisted, and--brilliant young man that he was--he learned to shoot the stars and was assigned to the ship as its navigator. He once told me that he got special permission to sleep outside under the stars in fair weather as long as he could clear all evidence by daybreak so the ship's commander wouldn't find out. He loved his country, and he hated to see where it has been heading lately. He was an artist, as is my mom, and together they established one of the first studio greeting card companies. It was called Saya Studio; she did the artwork, he did the silk screening. They thrived in that field for about 14 years, but a bad business decision lost them their business. They thought they might have to declare bankruptcy (a total disgrace in those days), but they managed to work together to pay everything off and not lose their house. Furthermore, they also ensured that we kids felt safe and secure during those worrisome, precarious times. Although he could have been anything he wanted to be career-wise, he chose to forego his career in order to support my mom in pursuit of hers. He offered to take care of things at home to allow her to climb the ladder to vice presidency and director of advertising for a corporation. That was back in the 60s when a woman's place was still in the home, not the boardroom. When she retired early, he continued to work as a silk-screener well into his 70s in order to allow my mom to enjoy a freer lifestyle. (Truth is, I was skeptical that he was harboring grumbly feelings about this somewhere inside him, but he told me in all sincerity that anything he could do to ensure Mom's and our happiness gave him happiness. Anyone else I might have looked at sideways, but I knew he really meant it.) What's more, he supported my very different-from-his parenting style. He was intensely practical and logical and had a strongly analytical mind (which made him a master at the card game bridge). He had his ways of doing things, and he had barely a sliver of tolerance for folks who did things differently than the way he thought they should be done (well, he wasn't perfect, you know). Nevertheless, he had to be biting his tongue a lot when I told him about my home-educating Liam. Or, when I would gently and diplomatically insinuate myself in their rare conflicts to protect Liam from Dad's sometimes silly insistence in people doing things his way. I know he supported me, even though I don't think he was absolutely convinced that my educational philosophy would "work." He never argued with me or told me I was ruining my child. Within the last year we, in fact, had a conversation on the phone and he confessed to me that although he understood the concept theoretically and it made sense, he still did not think it was possible for someone to learn to read and calculate without having the information rammed down his throat. He told me during that conversation, "You were right, Marji; I was wrong." He was proud of the way I had given Liam the trust, time, space, and freedom to acquire those and many other skills in his own time and his own way. He loved Liam and his other grandkids, Lauren, Ali, and Jessie, fiercely. I wish you could have met him; I wish you could have known him. He was THE best hugger in the whole world (not that I've hugged everyone in the whole world or anything like that, but I can't imagine that anyone could engulf another person in love more sweetly and warmly). He had the warmest smile, the quietest nature, the sweetest disposition, and the biggest heart. He had respect for and gave his time to folks no one else might have given the time of day to. We buried him yesterday, but I still feel that he is with me and always will be. He's that kind of guy; he would never ditch his wife and kids. Please, if you read this, please share your stories of him if you knew him. I would love to learn more about him through the eyes of the other people whose lives he had touched.