Maureen "Goldberry" McCauley

Dad, the precepts you have lived by are “to thine own self be true,” “a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,” and “never be afraid to take a chance.” All offer wise guidance, but you gave moral primacy to the call to always be true to yourself.

When occasion warranted, my tender age aside, you communicated to me that being true to myself was not just the right choice but the only one. Even though I had no idea how to assemble and operate your guidance, I sensed that I had been offered something akin to a key to the universe. There was no “Precepts for Dummies” available to consult; you believed that I would rise to the occasion (see “reach should exceed grasp”) and the struggle to get there would make eventual understanding all the sweeter.

You gave me clues over the years about who I was. You called me “The Little Stranger” before I was born, then “Maureen,” the name by which the world would know me. According to family legend, “Maureen” was a name you liked because of the mellifluous sound produced when paired with McCauley (how lucky I was to have a father who grew up hearing the cadences of great poets). As a beanpole seven year-old, I was “Skinny Minnie Fishtail.” During father/daughter driving lessons, I became “Snake Eye” as in “wheel ‘er in there, Snake Eye” following a turn I took on two wheels in the Beetle. After you read “The Lord of the Rings,” I was “Goldberry,” Tolkien’s Daughter of the River, long before either of us knew that one day I’d row and scull on Withywindle rivers. I cherish all of those names that you chose with love and care as the insightful bestowals of identity they were. They gave me a head start on seeing who I might be someday and many times were pole stars to follow in the dark. You honored me by believing that I could emulate you. But you’re a tough act to follow, even with shared DNA.

Accomplishment of anything you set your mind to—passing the marine radio officer license exam by typing Morse Code at 25 words per minute; becoming a Professional Engineer on your first try using “the McCauley Method,” and then helping other engineers to do the same thing; transporting a seven foot Christmas tree on the 32^nd and Market Street El, managing to get the tree through the turnstile and then transferring to a bus with the tree for the last leg of your journey home to Hill Creek (put that on the Navy Seal test)—might appear effortless to a casual observer because of your natural reticence. But your achievements are rooted in discipline and practice, the same qualities you bring to living by “to thine own self be true.”

I sent you a birthday card years ago depicting a golden retriever puppy looking up at her golden retriever father with unabashed adoration. The card read “Like father, like daughter.” I still feel the same way as that puppy. I am still looking up to you, my wise and loving father, my teacher, and seeing someone kind, generous, noble, and gracious, someone who has always been true to himself. Happy 100^th, Dad! And many happy returns of the day.

Love to the nth,