My Papa Green was a great man, an inspiration to all who knew and loved him. Whenever I am down or feel like I can't do something I just think of him, try to gather strength and courage like he carried with him throughout his life. One of the biggest lessons I learned from him is to never give up, you CAN do anything! Just yesterday when I cut a piece of wood, the smell reminded me of him, every time I work with wood I will be reminded of my Papa.
I love you and will miss you Papa!
This was written by my Dad, Papa's oldest son.
MY DAD
A eulogy written by Dennis Green
Paul LeRoy Green was born on May 25, 1929 in Wilson, Wyoming. He was raised on a small ranch on the river bottom of the Snake River. Those who knew my dad as I did, know he was a great man. He was, above all, very devoted to family. His father was a devoted family man, and passed this down to his children, as my dad to his. He was most happy when he was with his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, nephews, and niece. This was evident by his broad smile when we could gather with him.
He was an exceptional athlete during his school years. He was quarterback and captain of his football team. His first love, though, was basketball. He was also captain of the basketball team. I’ve been told by many throughout the years that he excelled at both.
My dad was a very proud, strong and courageous man. He was severely injured in a car accident in 1956; he was only 25. His brother, first cousin, and friend all lost their lives in the accident and my dad was the only survivor. He came home from the hospital in a wheel-chair, and the doctors told him that he would never walk again. He and my grandpa disappeared into the mountains for several days. When they finally came back, Dad was bruised, cut, and scraped, but he was walking. He proudly raised a family of six children dragging one leg and then the other, working in the lumber and timber industries.
He thought the sun rose and set on my mother and always remembered her birthdays, their anniversary, and all the important days to her. He called her babe. She always seemed to idolize him as well, just as all six of us kids did. They were married for 62 years.
He raised us by example. He was extremely loyal to his family, very hard working, and as honest as the day is long. He started taking me and my brothers to work with him when we were at very young ages. He tried to instill his work ethics and honesty in each of us. The bar was set high for us all, brothers and sisters, and he always did his best to help us achieve our goals. My goal has always been to try to live up to what he was, and I have never felt that I could achieve it. I consider myself to be extremely fortunate to have worked side-by-side with him and grandpa, to be raised by them, and to be my dad’s son. God has been generous to me.
As the years have gone by, life has continually gotten harder and harder for Dad, although he rarely let on. I don’t know of anyone who ever heard him complain about being crippled or how hard things were for him. He eventually went from dragging his legs, to using canes and walkers, to being permanently restricted to a wheel-chair. In spite of his immobility and hardships, he kept himself busy with firewood, wood working, and of course, following the Jazz. He always heated his homes with firewood. He rigged up a cart that he could haul the wood into the house with by himself. He was always the one to build and tend the fire. He built a front deck with steps and a ramp on the front of his house, and he built a front porch with steps on the front of my sister’s house, all from an electric wheel-chair. He built work benches and tables in his small tool shop. He started building drawers in cabinets for Mom. Once he got started with the drawers, he couldn’t seem to quit. Behind almost every cabinet door in their house there are drawers, drawers, and more drawers.
He loved life. As I’ve stated, he loved his family above all else. He also loved the outdoors. He loved and loyally supported the Utah Jazz. He loved his little dog “Teddy” who he referred to as my little brother. He used to love camping, hunting, fishing, or just driving or riding in the forest. Every fall for the past several years him and Mom used to ride the Sheep Creek loop with me and Candy to take-in all the fall colors, and have a picnic lunch. He loved the forests and the timber. He loved working with wood, whether it be firewood, crafting something, logging, or the manufacturing of lumber. He took great pride in anything he did and insisted on the job being completed right.
I have searched my soul this last week to try to understand his untimely death. It is so inconsistent with the way he lived and loved his life. This just wasn’t him. I guess nobody will ever know or understand something like this, but I have my own theory. I think that he wanted to die the way he lived, with dignity and pride, and I know for a fact that he did not want to burden his family.
I love my father so much that it is impossible for me to express it to that extent. I know one thing that is as sure as I am writing this: At the moment he died, he started running away from that wheel-chair and his crippled body, and is in fact still running as hard and as fast as he can go, shouting “look at me go babe….look at me go”. This is the way I ask you to remember him when he occasionally crosses your mind, as I will…..running with the wind with that broad smile on his face, because I know in my heart of hearts that is the way he would want to be remembered.
MY DAD
A eulogy written by Dennis Green
Paul LeRoy Green was born on May 25, 1929 in Wilson, Wyoming. He was raised on a small ranch on the river bottom of the Snake River. Those who knew my dad as I did, know he was a great man. He was, above all, very devoted to family. His father was a devoted family man, and passed this down to his children, as my dad to his. He was most happy when he was with his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, nephews, and niece. This was evident by his broad smile when we could gather with him.
He was an exceptional athlete during his school years. He was quarterback and captain of his football team. His first love, though, was basketball. He was also captain of the basketball team. I’ve been told by many throughout the years that he excelled at both.
My dad was a very proud, strong and courageous man. He was severely injured in a car accident in 1956; he was only 25. His brother, first cousin, and friend all lost their lives in the accident and my dad was the only survivor. He came home from the hospital in a wheel-chair, and the doctors told him that he would never walk again. He and my grandpa disappeared into the mountains for several days. When they finally came back, Dad was bruised, cut, and scraped, but he was walking. He proudly raised a family of six children dragging one leg and then the other, working in the lumber and timber industries.
He thought the sun rose and set on my mother and always remembered her birthdays, their anniversary, and all the important days to her. He called her babe. She always seemed to idolize him as well, just as all six of us kids did. They were married for 62 years.
He raised us by example. He was extremely loyal to his family, very hard working, and as honest as the day is long. He started taking me and my brothers to work with him when we were at very young ages. He tried to instill his work ethics and honesty in each of us. The bar was set high for us all, brothers and sisters, and he always did his best to help us achieve our goals. My goal has always been to try to live up to what he was, and I have never felt that I could achieve it. I consider myself to be extremely fortunate to have worked side-by-side with him and grandpa, to be raised by them, and to be my dad’s son. God has been generous to me.
As the years have gone by, life has continually gotten harder and harder for Dad, although he rarely let on. I don’t know of anyone who ever heard him complain about being crippled or how hard things were for him. He eventually went from dragging his legs, to using canes and walkers, to being permanently restricted to a wheel-chair. In spite of his immobility and hardships, he kept himself busy with firewood, wood working, and of course, following the Jazz. He always heated his homes with firewood. He rigged up a cart that he could haul the wood into the house with by himself. He was always the one to build and tend the fire. He built a front deck with steps and a ramp on the front of his house, and he built a front porch with steps on the front of my sister’s house, all from an electric wheel-chair. He built work benches and tables in his small tool shop. He started building drawers in cabinets for Mom. Once he got started with the drawers, he couldn’t seem to quit. Behind almost every cabinet door in their house there are drawers, drawers, and more drawers.
He loved life. As I’ve stated, he loved his family above all else. He also loved the outdoors. He loved and loyally supported the Utah Jazz. He loved his little dog “Teddy” who he referred to as my little brother. He used to love camping, hunting, fishing, or just driving or riding in the forest. Every fall for the past several years him and Mom used to ride the Sheep Creek loop with me and Candy to take-in all the fall colors, and have a picnic lunch. He loved the forests and the timber. He loved working with wood, whether it be firewood, crafting something, logging, or the manufacturing of lumber. He took great pride in anything he did and insisted on the job being completed right.
I have searched my soul this last week to try to understand his untimely death. It is so inconsistent with the way he lived and loved his life. This just wasn’t him. I guess nobody will ever know or understand something like this, but I have my own theory. I think that he wanted to die the way he lived, with dignity and pride, and I know for a fact that he did not want to burden his family.
I love my father so much that it is impossible for me to express it to that extent. I know one thing that is as sure as I am writing this: At the moment he died, he started running away from that wheel-chair and his crippled body, and is in fact still running as hard and as fast as he can go, shouting “look at me go babe….look at me go”. This is the way I ask you to remember him when he occasionally crosses your mind, as I will…..running with the wind with that broad smile on his face, because I know in my heart of hearts that is the way he would want to be remembered.
