Counting Moments: The Legacy of Allen Joseph McClellan

Born: 05/25/1938 – Died: 06/07/2024

Allen Joseph McClellan - known as Son, Brother, Dad, Papa, Father, Al, Big Al, Morton, Wizard, and The Big Swinger - was a chronic optimist. On that quiet Friday morning, as dawn barely touched the sky, Dad took his last breath at precisely 6:07 AM, with our mom, Bonnie, silently by his side. In that moment, the reality of our loss became stark, showing how deeply grief can shadow the heart. It's hard to capture in words the depth of darkness that settles when we realize we will never see him again. His departure, marked by his characteristic precision with time, leaves behind a deep silence filled with memories and a final, knowing smile that hints at the heartrending nature of saying goodbye.

Dad harbored a deep passion for counting, finding immense joy in the precision and reliability of numbers. Every object, each picture, and all the windmills in his view were more than mere things; they were opportunities to engage with the world quantitatively. He delighted in declaring the totals of his countable conquests, celebrating every tally as a small victory in a universe governed by numbers.

As we bid farewell to our father, who lived 86 vibrant years, we fondly remember how he swore up and down he'd make it to 120, always bringing a smile to our faces even as we say goodbye. His words were more than playful humor; they were his promise of everlasting love, offering us comfort wrapped in the certainty of numbers. As he spoke of reaching 120, a quiet acknowledgment lingered among us, recognizing the fleeting nature of such dreams, yet cherishing the hope they embodied.

This brings us to the story of how our father lived throughout his life. Dad, the eldest of six siblings, was born in 1938 in Momence, Illinois. (Karen "Sis," Sam, Sharon (passed in 2020), Dennis, and Susan "Baby"), all of whom he adored. Our father lived a life as colorful and eventful as the books he escaped into—both as a child and an adult. Dad often spoke of his parents, Alvin and Susanna McClellan, as emotionally elusive, their own concerns imposed upon him. Though he seldom articulated his perplexity at their concealed emotions, his expressions—both spoken and written—revealed a deep yearning for acceptance and affection. In dad's earliest memories as a child, he found refuge in embracing the quiet canopy of the forest, a place where the world seemed to pause and breathe with him. There, with just a book in hand, he could immerse himself in other worlds, feeling the gentle rhythms of nature as everything else in his world fell silent.

Dad's connections to the natural world were not loudly proclaimed but quietly cherished through simple, solitary acts. He often sought comfort reading outdoors, where the rustle of pages mingled with the steady pace of the wind, rekindling the deep-seated peace he first found in the forest as a child. His adult life retained this silent communion with nature; even as his days grew busier, he always found time for the quiet contemplation offered by their sun-dappled backyard swing, expertly lining up a bow and arrow, throwing horseshoes, launching corn-hole bags onto boards he meticulously crafted or sitting with Mom in a peaceful corner at their home in Woodsmoke Ranch.
He found consolation and escape in books, and his introduction to reading began with stories about animals in the forest as a child. This informed his love of redemption, as he realized even woodland creatures had their tales of second chances.

It was through these books later in life that he discovered his admiration for authors like Louis L'Amour, whose stories of frontier justice and resilience resonated deeply with him. He adored Louis L'Amour, devouring every single one of his books repeatedly, each read-through uncovering new treasures in the well-thumbed pages.

In a twist of fate, Dad's final chapter read was penned with the words of Louis L'Amour's "The Shadow Riders," a tale that resonates deeply with the very fabric of his journey. Like the Traven brothers, who stood steadfast in loyalty and resilience, Dad faced life's trials with unwavering courage and an enduring commitment to family. Through the pages of L'Amour's frontier tales, he found comfort and inspiration, discovering in each story a reflection of his own battles and triumphs. In "The Shadow Riders," as in his life, themes of redemption and honor echoed profoundly, illustrating how literature can illuminate the paths we tread and the legacies we leave behind.

To share the essence of our dad, we gathered tales from those who knew him best because, let's face it, stories were his passion. Books were just one of his many love affairs. Dad had no problem serving up a transparent answer, but be warned: you'd get the unvarnished truth. There was something refreshingly pure about his honesty—you always knew where you stood with him.

Now, let's dive further into the story of a man who, to others, may have seemed just like any other, but to us, he was extraordinary. Loved and admired for his wit and humor, recounting his life is both hard and heartwarming, offering a glimpse into the playful, beautiful existence we shared with a truly remarkable man—our Father. As a young man, our father joined the Navy during the Vietnam Era, not out of patriotic fervor, but as an escape. The Navy became his getaway-car from home, a chance to find himself amidst the vast oceans. There, he began to sculpt the man he wanted to be, a far cry from the mold his upbringing seemed to cast. Little did he know, however, that this escape would eventually lead to his demise. The toxic exposures he encountered during his service silently etched a fatal toll on his health, intertwining his noble journey of self-discovery with an unforeseen, tragic end. Yet, even in pain, he managed to never let anyone see how difficult things were physically, masking his struggles with a quiet strength and dignity.

The sadness in this is profound, for he fought the pain inside, bearing it alone, and never seeking pity, showing us only his unwavering love and resilience. Truly exemplifying his life, as D.H. Lawrence so eloquently penned in his poem "Self-Pity:" "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A bird will fall frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself." This indomitable spirit, inherited and cherished by his kin, showcased a man who, mostly living without regret, passed on the wisdom of resilience and never sought pity. His strength and grace in adversity became a timeless legacy, engraved in the hearts of those he loved.

From a youthful Navy adventurer to a connoisseur of quirky phrases, Dad's journey was anything but ordinary.
Dad was a master of the witty one-liner, so it's hard to pinpoint when he started using "c'est la vie" as his go-to motto. Whenever life threw a curveball, he'd shrug and say it with a flair that only he could muster. This French phrase, meaning "that is life for you," became his way of juggling life's hiccups while keeping his cool. It wasn't about erasing the past but about striking a balance that let him keep going without missing a beat. If it wasn't "c'est la vie," it was "I'm fine"—his cryptic way of saying there might be an issue, but good luck cracking that code because he'd rather wrestle a grizzly than appear needy. And if we missed something glaringly obvious, he'd hit us with, "Does a brown bear crap in the woods?" Then there were his German catchphrases: "Das ist gut," often reserved for praising our mom's (Bonnie) perfectly brewed sun tea, a concoction he held in the highest esteem. "Was ist los?" to start a random conversation. And let's not forget his commentary on the weather. Mention it was hot, and he'd say, "Hot? Hot isn't the word for it." We're still searching for the right word.

As we delve into the fabric of Dad's life, it's impossible not to highlight his profound love for Bonnie, our mother, which beautifully intertwined with his boundless love for his children. This deep affection not only defined his role as a father but also the very essence of the man we so admired. I can almost hear Dad now, asking, "And what about your mother?" I promise, Dad, she will be highlighted with love and thoughtfulness in just a bit.

Dad's love for his children was as boundless as his dedication to preserving every scribble, craft, and lock of first-cut hair they had. First came Dawn Auld [Spouse-Larry Auld, Children-Josh, Nicki, and Larry] and Joe McClellan [with Cathy McClellan their children; Joseph and Ashley]. Dad often expressed his regret for not being as close as he wished, but his love for them was undeniable. Finding Bonnie, he later stated, was another way he thought of rebuilding his relationships with his first children. He spoke about Dawn fondly and kept everything Dawn ever gave him even down to clay art she made as a young girl. He cherished his conversations with Joe, looking forward to these moments as a cherished highlight, eagerly anticipating their exchange of stories and life updates. Jason McClellan (Welsch), whom he yearned to connect with more deeply, found that most of their interactions tended to veer toward gentle corrections. Yet, he always hoped for Jason to be more present in his life, a wish echoed in his heartfelt attempts at guidance. Christine Hunt, Mom's first child, was raised by Mom and Dad with care and support in the best way they could throughout her life.

Then with Bonnie, he welcomed Michelle Gomez (Spouse-Jorge Gomez with their children; Mariah Gomez-Atkins [Spouse-David Atkins], Gabriel [Partner Alexxis and child Wynonna], Alexander [partner Vylet and child Meilani], and Olivia). They then welcomed Marissa Harris (Spouse-Tim Harris with their children; Sophia and Violet), after the soul-deep loss of their firstborn, Shawn Allen McClellan, whose memory was engraved into their hearts. Dad had a deep love for all of his children and us girls too, and he never missed an opportunity to show his pride, whether in big accomplishments or small successes. From a newly developed skill to mastering a new recipe, he appreciated our efforts in his own heartfelt way. His support was steady and sincere, always there when it mattered most, making him a quiet but constant presence in our achievements.
Derik Hunt [Spouse-Shannon Hunt and son Hayden Hunt from the beloved and ever missed mother; Jamie Fetters], Mom and Dad's son, our brother, was enveloped in their profound love and steadfast commitment throughout his life—every milestone, graduation, and celebration a vibrant illustration of the extraordinary love they both had for him.

Dad expressed his love in a myriad of ways, tailored to meet us at our points of need. Whether through words of encouragement, practical advice, or simple gestures, each act of affection was a reflection of his deep care for us. His approach might have varied, but each was imbued with the same loving intention, ensuring that we all felt valued and supported.

Dad always credited our mom, Bonnie, with teaching him the art of true love—a concept utterly foreign in his own childhood home, he'd state, where affection was meager and comforting words even scarcer. For him, learning to love not just his wife but also himself, and his children, was a radical transformation. Fatherhood provided him the opportunity to pen a new chapter, to become the emotionally present father he never had but always aspired to be. This evolution in expressing and sharing his emotions matured gracefully with age, marking a significant transformation in the later chapters of his life.

The birth of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren truly softened him, transforming him in ways we never anticipated. With each grandchild and great-grandchild, his tough exterior melted away, revealing a gentler, more expressive side. He doted on them, cherished each of them, lavishing them with the affection and praise he never received as a child. Each giggle and smile from them seemed to dissolve decades of his own reserve, ushering in a version of Dad rich with warmth and open-heartedness. Through them, he found not only healing but also a rejuvenated purpose. We witnessed the emergence of our father—a man who, having once been deeply stoic, now found the words to express his deepest feelings and the joy to share them freely. Through his grandchildren's eyes, their Papa's magic came alive in countless ways: monthly trips for Icees with enchanting bridge walks where his stories flowed as smoothly as the pond beneath, band concerts watched with pride, trips to Woodsmoke, always a willing audience for princess dress-up shows and impromptu dance routines, teaching the art around new skills, thrilling mower rides, berry-picking adventures, and the cozy ritual of cooking bread together.

Always excited to see them, he had a knack for turning ordinary days into extraordinary ones, making every moment a timeless memory. Through his unassuming presence and acts of simplicity and gentleness, their Papa's love was constant, always expressed in both his words and deeds, creating a legacy of heartfelt moments.

From a doting father who sometimes struggled to voice his affection to a granddad and greatgranddad who overflowed with love, Dad's evolution was marked by an excitement for showing them new experiences. Dad often reflected with a gentle sorrow that, in the scattered leaves of his family tree, not all had felt the steady warmth of his presence.

Dad's unwavering commitment manifested in many ways. Whether it was turning the simplest tasks into grand adventures or his meticulous care for every project he undertook, his passion was evident. Searching for something as mundane as a flashlight became a thirty-minute expedition through his endless collection, each with its own backstory and specific use case. By the end, you'd have forgotten why you needed it but learned more about flashlights than you ever thought possible.

This steadfast dedication was a hallmark of his Renaissance prowess. He could draw a portrait that belonged in the Louvre (in our eyes), build anything from bunk beds to gardens to toys like a master craftsman, and fix up his model cars with the enthusiasm of a kid. His favorites? The sleek Aston Martin and the classic Lincoln Town Car.

When he wasn't wielding a hammer or putting a pencil to paper, he approached research with the zeal of a detective on a never-ending quest for the ultimate clue. Whether it was naturopathic medicine or the mysteries of the universe, Dad loved unraveling the meaning behind everything.
Dad loved to laugh, make people laugh, and appreciated a good fart joke as much as anyone. In classic comedian style, Dad loved a good fart accusation, even when he knew it was him—He'd say, "Ma, did you just fart?" We all remember her sly tone and rebuttal, "Father."

To showcase his playful side, Dad would often call out in elongated, melodious tones, "Maaaa"—reminiscent of "Stewie Griffin from Family Guy." And when she responded, he'd simply say, "Love you." This little game was just one of the many ways he expressed his affection and kept the lightness alive in their daily lives. Behind every playful 'Maaaa,' there lurked a man who approached a misfolded napkin with a playful intensity of a general—a quirky comfort in his regimented universe.

He had a list of pet peeves longer than his collection of Neo Think novels (if you know, you know). First up, asparagus. He despised it with the intensity of a thousand suns. Onions? They were his sworn enemies, forever banished from his plate. And don't even get him started on liars; he'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard during a power outage (prepared, of course, with his flashlight collection). Crumbs in the crevices of tables were his arch-nemesis. Yet, strangely, he found joy in meticulously cleaning out each and every one. Milk in a carton? Blasphemy! Only a glass would do, and it better be spotless. Bacon was another battleground: not a shade underdone, nor a hint overdone. It had to be just right. Mini versions of Magnum Caramel Ice Cream bars were an abomination in his eyes. If it wasn't the original size Magnum Double Caramel Ice Cream Bar, what was even the point? Punctuality was his religion; lateness, a cardinal sin. He had a zero-tolerance policy for dirtiness, and a napkin that wasn't folded neatly was a crime against humanity. If you couldn't fold a napkin properly, you might as well have handed him a blue plate with a raw onion, a side of asparagus, and a carton of milk—culinary and color crimes of the highest order in his book. "And the smell of maple syrup? That was like waking up to a rotting asparagus field—enough to make a maggot gag," as he would say.

He was a man of particular comforts, a master curator of life's necessities. His side table looked like a downsized Swiss Army knife emporium (fitting, since he loved his knife collection), but with a touch of meticulously organized mayhem. Dad was never without his trusty Zebra brand pencil and pen set—sharp enough to perform minor surgery and always ready to grab a stray hair or two—neatly stationed next to his emergency toothpick compact (because you never know when a poppy seed might strike).

And don't get us started on his garage, where he collected every part known to mankind for those "just in case," Dad moments. All items perfectly labeled, in his beautiful calligraphy-style handwriting—a work of art in itself, a testament to his attention to detail and craftsmanship.
And then there was his meticulously curated side table—a veritable exhibit of Dad's quirks and essentials. First, the nail care arsenal: a file, clippers, and scissors, ready for any cuticle emergency. He'd regale you with tales of how each tool was indispensable, almost as if they were his prized possessions—move over, family photos! Speaking of which, there they were: a photo of him with his parents strategically positioned with his mom's face half-covered (typical), and one of our mother, Bonnie, with her legendary black hair flowing like a shampoo commercial. A picture of Michelle dazzling at Marissa's wedding, Marissa striking a pose in her senior portrait, and Derik with his family (including Ozzy, naturally). Surrounding him, of course, were snapshots of all his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, like a living tapestry of his legacy. Clearly, genetics were a proud topic of discussion for him.

And then there was his trusty watch—always snagging a few hairs, but he'd take that any day over those Apple watches. Seriously, he'd rather get his thrifted timepiece fixed by a guy named Bob in the back of a pawn shop than deal with a charging cable. His wallet? A bursting scrapbook of grandkids' photos, a treasure trove of discount memberships (does anyone actually know what an AARP card does?), and his cherished firearm permit—all meticulously organized, of course. But getting those cards out of the wallet was a scene straight out of "A Christmas Story:" "Flick da Flaudican doomcough!" And the napkins—oh, the napkins. A perfectly folded, impeccably restocked stack, with one pile slightly used but still deemed worthy of a second round of wiping. Disturb their harmony? Heaven forbid! He had a system, and it was flawless.

But the centerpiece of his domain? The "smooth" (inside joke) remote control. It had a place of honor beside him, ready to switch between NCIS reruns (Gibbs is eternal), classic "Carol Burnett Show" sketches (because Tim Conway's antics never get old), or a good ol' John Wayne Western (where tough guys were "tough" and even horses seemed on edge). He'd mimic John Wayne with a wink and a nod, cueing his inner Ryan Gosling as Ken—smooth, unflappable, and always in control, just like that remote.

And if you or anyone dared to ask him for a second, beware his quick wit. "One," he'd say, leaving you baffled, wondering if he meant one dollar, one minute, or one of anything. "You said one second," he'd clarify, with a mischievous grin that said he got you fair and square. Another classic Dad move: whenever Mom mentioned, "I'm going to run to the store," he'd say you probably should take the car, it'd be faster." He loved cracking jokes with his grandkids, much to Mom's classic disapproval shielding them from his antics. Dad would say, "I'm just a nose around here because all she does is pick on me," Mom would playfully state, "flick, smash, smear, those were my feelings on the floor." Their marriage was a delightful display of humor and camaraderie, with Dad serving up jokes and Mom effortlessly volleying back with her own witty and playful retorts.

Dad had a knack for brightening people's days. His favorite pastime? Turning a routine store visit into a comedy show with his grandkids, finding creative ways to make cashiers crack a smile or burst into laughter. It was his personal mission to spread cheer, one witty remark at a time.
Behold, let's not forget Dad in the doctor's office waiting room—a maestro of laughter amidst the mundane, and an unabashed admirer of female beauty. Picture this: Dad, with his distinguished demeanor and classic taste, perched in a corner of the waiting room like a seasoned observer at a museum. Except, instead of ancient artifacts, he was studying the latest in female beauty. His knack for finding the light-hearted side of any situation kept the waiting room buzzing with laughter and the occasional snort of amusement.

In his world, every item had a purpose, every moment a punchline, and every second a chance to remind you just how particular and playful life could be when you were with him.

And through it all, amidst the playful banter, was Dad's love for Mom, remaining the anchor of his charm. She is the queen of his heart, a beauty unmatched and irreplaceable. Mom reigned supreme as his ultimate muse and the love of his life.

The women in his life were plentiful, much like the AWOLs he used to collect in his pursuit of them. He had a penchant for intelligent, self-assured women who could hold their own and right any wrongs; mom held this esteem, of course. Dad had been married three times before mom, though he liked to joke it was "before Bonnie" and "after Bonnie" because she changed everything. He was captivated from the start and admits he'd never been so persistent. When Dad set his mind on something, he was a force of nature.

He vividly recalls the moment he first laid eyes on Bonnie our mom—just 24 years old, with flowing hair that seemed too perfect to be real, and a sweetness that felt almost surreal. Bonnie became the epitome of love for him, teaching him its true essence. When asked about Mom, his response was always laced with humor and affection: "Are you kidding me? I adore that woman—your mother—more than words can express." They've been married for 51 years, rarely apart for more than a week, and he credits her for showing him how to truly love.

As we wrap up the story of our life with Dad, here's a little gem from one of his countless love letters to Mom:

"My loving, loved wife, my love, my lover, my friend, especially my friend, she brightens my day, it is a pleasure to know, to love, to be loved by, to be the partner of this beautiful, wonderful woman, love you my beauty, you will always be that wonderful 24-year-old, I married such a short time ago. May you have and get everything you have always wanted as you have satisfied my personal needs so wonderfully. Thank you, my love, for a wonderful life.

Your love

P.S. I Love You "Two" Pieces"

As we all grapple with grief, we are drawn to a metaphysical perspective on death, to find reconciliation with our father's passing. Dad did not lean in any one direction on the matter. We believe he might have viewed death as a return to the earth, or the physical universe, embracing the profound interconnectedness of all life forms. This perspective brings comfort, suggesting that his essence has seamlessly woven back into the fabric of existence, part of the endless cycle of life.

Our father now joins those cherished souls who preceded him in rest—Mom and Dad's beloved son and our brother, Shawn Allen McClellan. He reunites with his forebearers, Alvin Woodrow McClellan and Susanna Josephine McClellan (née Sluis), and his dear sister Sharon McClellan Kimbro. Alongside them, his precious grandchildren, Roberto Julian Cintora Barbosa and Jennifer Damaris Cintora Barbosa-Chavez, whose memories bloom eternally in our hearts, embracing him with love lost and found again.

Throughout his life, Dad faced challenges with unwavering courage. From his adventurous spirit in the Navy to his enduring love for our mother, Bonnie, life with his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; Dad approached life with a rare blend of strength and humility. His final days were a testament to this resilience. Like the sea, which leaves its mark on those who brave its depths, the scars of his service have now ended, just as his watch has ended. Fair winds and following seas to our father, Allen Joseph McClellan.

For those moved by our father's brave battle with one of many afflictions stemming from military toxic exposure, consider channeling your generosity into a cause that resonates deeply with us. Donations to Alzheimer's Awareness can light a path toward healing and understanding. Alternatively, embrace the spirit of boundless curiosity he cherished: find a quaint bookstore nestled in the heart of your city and enrich its collection with a novel, perhaps one that once broadened your own horizons. Maybe even inscribing his name within the pages, wherever it finds resonance. Each contribution, whether it nurtures minds or soothes forgotten memories, keeps his legacy alive in the most profound ways.

Dad, we'll carry your stories with us, always. Until we meet again, c'est la vie…

Love you "Two" pieces,

Beauty, Peanut, Button Nose, and Spoody Doo