Monday, October 11, 1994

As delivered and written by his son Tom

Alan Yost at work for Bethlehem Steel.

Let me begin by saying that my mother, my sisters and I would like to sincerely thank you all for coming.   Your support means a lot to us at this difficult time.   Several weeks ago, I was idly reading from a small book of quotes which happened to be laying around my sister Kristin’s house.   In it was a quote from Yogi Berra that said “Always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t come to yours.” I had no idea that Dad had attended so many of your funerals!  I didn’t expect to be giving this talk so soon after reading that quote, but I am cheered by the fact that I know Dad is happy today, happy to know that he was loved and respected by all of you.

I feel a little presumptuous standing up here today, trying to sum up in a few words who Alan Yost was. I don’t think it can be done for any man or woman, and especially not for my father, who was a very complex man, and at times difficult to understand.  I don’t think I knew him very well at all. He never talked much about himself or his life, and I have only recently learned from him some things about his early years.

Alan and Bernie 1952

I can say that he was, above all, a good man, a good Christian family man in the truest sense of that phrase, a phrase which is often overused today.   I think I can speak for my family when I say that Alan taught us all the real meaning of Christian ethics, not by reading the Bible to us or by sending us to CCD class, although he certainly did those things.  No, he taught us not by words but by example, by the way he lived his live, and by his tremendous capacity for love.  Dad’s Christianity was never more evident than when he was doing what was most important to him:  taking care of his family.

Alan took his responsibilities as a father and a husband seriously,  and he always put the wants and needs of his family above his own.  He was a faithful provider and a tireless worker – as children, we wanted for nothing. When we moved to the country and had no place to play in the summer, he built a pool. When it came time for first dates, proms and other social events we always had a car – not always the best looking car – but then Dad’s taste in cars was not one of his strong points!  Yes we owned a Corvair, and a Pinto, and a car that died on the way home from the dealer.   We always had money for college, including the occasional $100 for spending money which, Dad always assured us was the last $100 to his name.  We grew up well-fed well-clothed, and well- educated, and in my mind that is no small accomplishment for a parent.

But Dad’s role as the provider was by no means his only role as a father, or even his most important.   He had a distinguished 30 year career in advertising at Bethlehem Steel, and after retiring, he worked another 10 years in his second career with the College Placement Council.   But all through the inevitable ups and downs at work, Dad never brought the office home with him.   His time at home was family time, and although I know he wished he had spent more time with us as we grew up, when he was home, he gave us his whole heart and soul, and that more than made up for the absences.

I’ll always think of Dad as the head of our family of course, but he was a role model, an inspiration, indeed a father to many others outside of our immediate family.   As my sisters and I were growing up, our home became a sort of extended family for many others who could sense the spirit of love and acceptance that came from my father and my mother.   Everyone was welcomed:  our high school friends including Kristin’s friend Trina who could never seem to pull into our driveway without hitting on of the cars; Tony, a troubled orphaned youth from Philadelphia who became a member of our family for many years; foreign exchange students like Wendy and Guillermo who still sends cards to his American Father and Mother;  assorted girlfriends and boyfriends, including one young Englishman who arrived at JFK airport with a lot of desire for my sister Mary Ellen, but without any money;  even a micro-bus full of hippies on their way to Woodstock!   None were turned away at the inn, all found a home under my father’s roof, even if for just a night.

Alan’s Christian spirit of charity and involvement extended deeply into the community as well.  He was active in St. Isidore’s Catholic Church in Quakertown, our home parish for many years where he helped out with CCD classes, and the Boy Scout Troop and many other things.   For years he was a driving force behind the Catholic Cursillo retreats in our area.  He and Mom counseled prisoners in the county jails.   He was active in local government, serving as a Richland Township Supervisor.   But without a doubt his most important contribution to the community was to Alcoholics Anonymous.   He devoted much of his life over the past 20 years to AA and helped many recovering alcoholics to deal with the disease that had robbed him of part of his life.   His sobriety was among his greatest accomplishments, but one which was probably not fully appreciated by his family, for the simple reason that to us, he was never a drunk.   On the contrary, he was always responsible and kind.   He effectively shielded us from the guilt and pain he must have felt when he was drinking.

Tom’s Dad on Vacation in the Caribbean. He sailed aboard the Queen Elizabeth II, a lifelong dream fulfilled.

Alan and Bernardine Yost in New Orleans.

Alan was more than a father, a provider, and a role model though.   He was a dreamer, a romantic.   That was his sensitive side, his private side, a side he rarely allowed us to see until recently. He dreamed of going to sea, he dreamed of owning a riding stable, he dreamed of being an entrepreneur, of selling real estate, of dealing in art. . . and he dreamed of owning a boat, of sailing the Caribbean and the Chesapeake.  But he did more than just dream, he acted.   Alan Yost was also a doer, a builder.   He built additions onto his houses, he crafted furniture, he constructed model railroads.   And yes, he did join the navy and go to sea at the age of 17.  He did own a riding stable.  He did wheel and deal in real estate.   He did open an art gallery, and  finally he did realize his dream to buy a boat and be a sailor.   Perhaps the greatest irony, and the greatest mystery of Alan Yost was that achieving his dreams never seemed to bring him any happiness.   For all he did, and all he built, to him it was never enough, never finished.   Indeed, it was the pursuit of his passions that brought him the most joy.

The last several years were not easy ones for my father.   He exhausted himself chasing unfulfilled dreams, things that still had to be done.  He became consumed with guilt:  guilt over his perceived failures as a father; guilt about being drunk during the precious years of child rearing; guilt about time spent at the office instead of at home with his wife; guilt about his inability to verbalize his love for his children and grand children; and guilt about pursuing and realizing his own dreams, lest he neglect the needs of his family.

Dad, if I can talk directly to you for a minute, you have no cause to feel guilty, you have not failed.   Providing a safe and happy home is not a failure.   Raising five healthy, happy, well adjusted and successful children is not failure.  Being a loving and caring husband to Bernie is not failure.  Your life was not a failure, but a monumental success.  I’m thankful that you and I had time to talk during the last several years and I’ve told you these things before.  I’m not sure you believed me.  I know you can hear me now, and this time I hope you believe.

Who was Alan Yost? He was a man of keen intellect, the most intelligent man I’ve ever known.  He was a terrific writer and speaker.  He was creative, he was a builder.  He had a work ethic second to none.  He loved nature and living things.  He once told my sister Miriam that was where he found God.  He was spiritual.  He was a man a great good humor, and a marvelous wit.  He was selfless, and he was sensitive.

But Dad was no saint.  He, like all of us had his share of faults and foibles, most of which I’ve inherited, I’m afraid.   He wasn’t very patient, he didn’t suffer fools gladly.  He had a quick temper.  He could be controlling, and manipulative, and moody.  But despite his flaws, and above all else, he was a good man, a good Christian family man.

Dad’s last summer. At the Rose’s 1994

On Holidays (birthdays, Father’s Day, and Christmas), we used to ask him what he wanted as a gift.  He always gave us the same frustrating answer:  “All I want is a happy home.” It made shopping difficult!  Today, Dad, we are not happy, we are sad, sad at your passing. But we will be happy again in time, because inside all of us, your family, we carry the spirit of the happy home that you gave us.  We miss you, and we love you.