A Few Thoughts About Mel Allison Sr We had been uprooted from cozy Austin when Dad got a job with Southland Corporation, the company behind all the 7-11s. This meant moving to Dallas, or Richardson actually, a tidy little city with concrete alleys and churches on nearly every corner. Or so it seemed. One of Dad?s coworkers at Southland was Martha Allison, a petite, energetic redhead who was good at keeping things organized. On the side she did people?s taxes. She did Mom and Dad?s taxes for years, even mine for a while, and I don?t recall her ever charging me a red cent to do them. She was generous that way. Martha was married to Melvin, a handsome guy with a full head of dark hair who seemed to know a good bit about a lot of stuff, although he wasn?t the kind to brag about it. Where Martha was bubbly and expressive, Melvin was laconic and dry-witted. He had a ready smile and laughed easily but softly at whatever irony was holding his attention at the moment. I want to say that he occasionally wore zip-front coveralls and drove a pick-up truck, but time has dimmed some of my memories of those days. What I do remember is that he was very good-natured man, and patient. Just good people is what they were. Friendly. No pretense. Mr. and Mrs. Allison had two children, Cathy and Melvin Jr. Cathy was older than me and had a budding interest in art. One of her paintings hung in our house for years; now it hangs in my sister Dannah?s house. Melvin Jr. was just Mel to me. He was my first friend after the move. People forget things like this now, but in the middle 60s we were still close enough to the end of WWII that a whole lot of movies were about that war, one that a lot of our dads had been part of. Combat, starring Rick Jason and Vic Morrow, was a TV show that came on every week and most boys my age never missed an episode. So kids in those days played ?army.? Mel, my brother Chris and I played army all the time, marching double-time to ambush locations in corn fields, small groves and vacant lots where we could shoot toy guns at imaginary Nazis. Later, in high school, Mel and I would tackle live opponents on the football field. Sometimes at practice Mel?s opponent was me. He was a hard hitter who didn?t hold back just because I was a friend. But the truth is, I didn?t really want him to. Because it was, after all, football. Melvin Sr. had a favorite fishing spot at Lake Lavon, and on a couple of occasions my brother and I were invited to go with him and Mel to fish for crappie. Chris and I weren?t new to fishing. We?d spent many an hour fishing with my mother?s dad, who was himself quite an avid outdoorsman. But my grandfather?s favorite freshwater fish was bass, so we?d learned the art of angling using spoons and top-water lures. We?d never even seen a crappie rig, and we certainly didn?t know how to set one up. That meant that poor Mr. Allison not only had to set them up for us but fix them when we got hung up as well. Which was often. Being used to our dad, whose many wonderful qualities did not include a great deal of patience, we kept expecting Mr. Allison to finally tire of having to take time from his own fishing to help us. But he never did. He didn?t get upset when we messed up the rigs. He didn?t get upset when we caught a whole bunch of moss. He didn?t even get upset when one of us ? who I?m pretty sure was Chris ? caught a cedar tree in his backswing. Each time one of us messed up, he would quietly take the affected equipment, reassure us that this was a difficult thing to master and narrate us through each of the steps needed to solve the problem. He never raised his voice or did anything but make us feel completely welcome and accepted. I did not know Melvin Allison well. He was my friend?s dad. But I knew him well enough to remember him fondly today. He was a kind and gentle soul, and all of us who spent time in his orbit were blessed. Love and condolences to his survivors and friends. Bob Peck