Below is a poem my uncle Mike wrote for Bumper's birthday. It's very enjoyable, and gives you an idea about the entire 91 years of his life (yes, it's long, but how else is one supposed to fit an entire 91 years of life into a poem?!)
He says he’s not 91. He’s going by 90+ for awhile
OK, we’ll give him that, how can you resist that contagious smile?
Mom was caught by it 65 years ago, then turned his head with her guile
Soon they were dancing and smooching, and finally walked the aisle
But whoa, wait, hold your horses, that’s not where it all began
25 years had already passed before she met “the man”
In 1918, May 29th there was a tiny town called “Leigh”
In rural NE Nebraska, deep in “Colfax County”
A simple, humble farmhouse heard his first little cry
His Mother Mary held him close and Papa Joe was nearby
There was also his sister Leona and mostly Czech was spoke
His dad had a working farm but wasn’t content under that yoke
The tavern business became his thing, and they moved to Clarkson town
Then Weezer came along, which led to many a showdown
Rainold would stomp young Alden, until the inevitable day came
When Alden grew up and pinned him hard. They’ve never been the same
In the tavern, light or dark, they were badass, punk, pool sharks
Many a “wannabe” fell to their skills, and the air was blue with remarks
But the “Old Man” wanted an upgrade, so off to Schuyler they moved
A city boy now, of high-school age, his prospects were much improved
Mama Mary complied, if she could have her chickens and garden
A wonderful soul, a little shy, and always wearing her apron
She worked at endless chores, perfecting colaches and strudels
She even worked the café when needed, cooking oodles of meat and noodles
The “Old Man” now, was warm but strict; his hair lay black and slick
His talents came from Bohemian genes, he was serious Czech ethnic
Making a deal, serving a meal, playing a song or telling a joke
He’d hold your attention with a twinkly eye, and a fine smelling pipe of smoke
One high school year, young Joe took a job, and worked in a fine drug store
Christmas was nigh the ladder was high as he worked on the fancy decor
Some cutie walked by and caught his eye and the hammer slipped out of his hand
Down it crashed through the glass and perfume, he can still hear the reprimand
Dad moved them to Crete, no small feat, so Rainold could go to Doane,
Here he polished his talent to sing, and learned to make music his own
His Tenor voice, a gift from the gods, can fill a church with sweet sound
A touch of Divine will come to mind, you know the good Lord’s around
Then all life changed because of the war, so off he went to fly
Earned his commission and his wings, and waved his old life goodbye
Off to the South Pacific he flew, an unknown future beckoned
Until such time as he ended up in Alameda stationed
OK, we’re back where we started it seems, for now he met his Kiwi
A blind date or two, his freedom was through, ‘cause she kinda liked the Khaki
Here was class that rocked his world, sent him right to the moon
And he’d started out so humble, cleaning the saloon’s spittoons
They made a good life in the Navy, 20 years of challenging moves
Four kids kept them busy and growing, lots of work, parties and booze
They did several shows to lighten up the crews, Mom even did the hula
The “Princess Papooli” was a big hit then, something about her papayas
A pilot he was, but that’s not all. He worked for Naval intelligence
A contradiction in terms perhaps, but it did require some prudence
High-level clearance was part of the job, some talks were not allowed
He served the country long and well and of this career we’re proud
He retired back in Oakland but it wasn’t over still
With mouths to feed and lots to learn, they bought in the Oakland hills
Only in his forties now, smart and fully alert
He jumped into the insurance biz; it took skills and lots of effort
He kept the music going too, singing gigs and directing choirs
We all enjoyed it and got involved, practicing for hours
Music was a cornerstone, with Mom’s piano playing
When it was good and harmonious, it was just like praying
He had a client, Harry Ford, who liked his charisma and style
He lured him to the art school scene and made him stay awhile
The president’s “special assistant” he was, development was the gig
Besides the work, he later discovered that the artist within was big
Several years and off again to the College of Holy Names
They hired him away from CCAC; they needed his skills he claims
The view was better and the nuns were cool, but after some years he knew
That since he was in his sixties now, it was time to bid adieu
Retire he did, for sure this time, except when he worked for his wife
Bennett tours was the lucky group, he quit when she threatened his life
But exotic cruises were part of the perks, so fancy travel ensued
After many years of work and toil, he found his spirits renewed
What to do, what to do, here’s a man not meant to idle
Three careers, a masters, three languages and a mind far from addled
It occurred to him that with time on his hands he just might like to paint
So back to CCAC he went and studied without constraint
Water colors everywhere, you should see the portfolio fine
Grandma Moses’ got nothing on him, his command of color and line
He’s a true Bohemian spirit; music and art are his soul
He moved beyond the left-brained world and discovered what makes him whole
Thirty five years on Harbord Dr. and now just too many stairs
So they moved to Alameda, where their history began with such care
Eleven years here and age had its way with some major physical crises
Mom lost her marbles and he needed work on his carotids and poor knees
But science is a wonder and with meds and scalpels sharp
All returned to normal and neither are playing the harp
So another move ensued and off to Salem and Mel
At first it didn't go so well, Mom thought she was in hell
Then a cottage opened up, by a pond with swans and ducks
A beautiful spot, lush and serene, really quite deluxe
Much happier now, they both allow, ‘cause they’re really independent
They’re back to fat and sassy again and very much more vibrant
The painting’s on hold we’re sad to hear because of that bent up finger
And sometimes he gets dizzy spells that worry this old singer
But pool is ok, any time of day, don’t play him for money, you’ll lose
And one of his greatest pleasures is an afternoon’s sweet snooze
It’s a huge legacy he’s created with Mom; the numbers are off the charts
Four generations are thriving today, there’s nearly thirty-nine hearts
Four kids, sixteen grands, nineteen greats and in the oven three more
Its babies galore that make his heart soar, for their Bumper they adore
No one is more surprised than he, of this clan he and Mom conceived
If he’d been told as a youth that this would be the truth, he may not have believed
But here it is, for the world to see, and those in the know agree
It has to do with that contagious smile, this master of the "nosyninky"
Ninety plus years is ok, but we want a hundred and one
We just can’t get enough of him; he shows how life can be done
Sinner and saint, he’ll go sans complaint, when he gets the call from above
Sure in his heart and mind, that we’ll forever share in his love
