Dad

Here is my story of my dad, Howard Clark Jr., who died in 1986 of leukemia at 49 years old.

My father was a journalist who grew up in Indiana and was the only one from his family to move out of Indiana to New York. He first worked for the Poughkeepsie Journal, and then was the bureau chief for the Associated Press in Albany. From there he was appointed as the Deputy Press Secretary for Governor Carey, and when he left office, dad was the Director of the Promotion of Agriculture for New York. Dad was also the New York State spokesperson for the 1980 Olympics in Lake Placid. But most importantly, he was my dad.

My father had chutzpah. He was someone who could talk to anyone, and charm the socks off them with his Midwestern accent, intelligence and great dry wit. He read about five newspapers a day (he was a newspaper man originally, after all), fell in love with photography, was a fan of hiking and biking and museums and plays and New York. He played piano every night and was a deacon at his church. He loved to bring us to Saratoga then "pretend" that he forgot where he parked so he could get us to walk a bit further. He taught my brother and sister how to drive and told them to put his standard car into first on hills and then see how they would figure out what to do when it stalled. He would laugh when I cried until I laughed myself. He called me "Little One" but really I think it was because he kept getting our names mixed up- Kristen Kevin and Kelly.

When I was 11 my father broke a finger and when the hospital took his blood, they found out that he had leukemia. I never really knew or understood what leukemia was- I was so young- but was basically told his white blood cell count was higher then his red cell count so they had to monitor it. I was told that he had chronic leukemia, and that the doctor said that if he lives five years with it, that he would live a full life with it and not die from it. To me at that age death was a very abstract concept, and my father being very private spared me the details. Not many people knew he was sick, and he lived his life to the fullest during that time, including going on trips to Europe, skiing, waterskiing, hiking, etc.

The summer before Dad died was one of the best summers of my life. It was my grandparent's 50th anniversary, and we spent two weeks in Indiana. I remember thinking that it would be the last time we would all be together, and crying on my dad's shoulder during the trip- and he just laughed until I laughed with him. I especially cherish that trip because I have a tape recording of my dad speaking at the anniversary dinner- I miss his voice so much, and it brings him back to me.

When I was 15, four years after his initial prognosis, Dad was walking with a cane because his white blood cell count was high (although I really didn't know what that meant at the time). He continued to live his life as normal as possible, then he fell and broke his leg while being the musical director for the LCA (Legislative Correspondents Association) show. When he went to the hospital I knew something bad was happening and I was hysterical for the whole night. Unfortunately when he was there his leukemia went from chronic to acute and he died three weeks later.

Unfortunately getting involved with the Leukemia Society opens up old wounds that have been buried under so many layers. Losing a family member is something you never really get over- I've cried for so many things, a job lost, a broken heart, but I've gotten over those things after a month or a year...but I've never stopped crying about Dad.

So that's my story, that's why I'm doing this, beating my body up to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I hate leukemia. I hate that it robbed me of my dad. I'm doing it so the money I raise for research doesn't rob other people of their family.