On January 28, 2004, my father-in-law Fred Blahut died of COPD, and not a day goes by when I am not reminded of him. I first met Fred in late 1985, when I started dating his daughter Joni. Shortly after we announced our engagement, Fred lamented to me:
Joni’s the nice one, and you’re going to take her from me.
Fred was a devoted family man, a hard worker, and a regular church-goer. He never missed a Sunday liturgy or a “Holy Day of Long Duration” because, he insisted, he was not a good person:
If I were a good person, I wouldn’t have to go to church.
Fred, of course, had his faults (a short temper and a sharp tongue being two of them), but when I think of him, it’s usually for the numerous witticisms he often said. Every so often, he dropped little sayings in appropriate circumstances.
Fred and his wife Ricky had many children (five daughters and one son), close in age, and Fred would often task them with doing some chore. Being kids, they did them reluctantly, or not at all, which prompted comments from him:
I know why no one wipes the kitchen table without being asked. Because if they do, they will go straight to Hell.
…and:
If you go any slower, you will back up into last Tuesday.
…and:
Take this dish into the kitchen ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNND come back.
…and:
There is a utensil on the floor…
Fred loved all of his numerous kids, but they did regularly exasperate him:
Don’t say “what?” when you KNOW “what!”
…and:
Your mother and I tried to sell you children to the gypsies, but they wanted too much money.
…and:
If I had wanted you to act like an asshole, I would have said, “[name], act like an asshole.” But I didn’t say, “[name], act like an asshole.” So, [name], don’t act like an asshole.
…and:
You buy ’em books and buy ’em books and all they do is eat the covers.
With so many kids, there was often family drama. Many times, Fred came home from work and found one or more of them spun up, prompting him to say:
I don’t think I want to know.
Fred made his stance on family issues plain:
I don’t want peace, I want quiet.
Fortunately, there was always a remedy:
I believe I’ll have another vodka martini.
When dealing with an obstinate part while performing one of his frequent home- or auto-repairs, he often said:
I refuse to be defeated by a fornicating inanimate object.
Fred spent every evening and most weekends watching television. If someone (usually a small child, of which there were several) stood on the invisible “X” in front of the TV, blocking his view, he’d shout:
X! X!
When not watching the Pittsburgh Steelers (his team), Fred was fond of game shows. He thought that the only way that Jeopardy could be improved would be to have the contestants stand on trapdoors above a pit of hungry alligators, with the trapdoor opening under anyone who ended Double Jeopardy with no money. Alas, this never came to be, but that didn’t stop Fred from cheering for it:
Alligator pit! Alligator pit!
Fred also enjoyed Wheel of Fortune, but the contestants rarely said what he hoped they would:
“I want a ‘Q,’ Pat!”
Whenever Fred and Rickey left the house without the kids, to run an errand, he put the big ones in charge and told them all:
Your mother and I are going to Cleveland.
He said it so often, and yet it never happened. Side note: as a young girl, my wife Joni thought Cleveland was an imaginary place.
Fred was an animal lover. Two of his favorites were Angus, his big black Lab; and Ajax, a little dog fond of nipping fingers when given a treat. He often addressed them in turn, speaking softly and patting them on the head each morning as he sat at the kitchen table, with them attending him:
Yes, you’re the big dog. Yes, you are. And you, you are the bat-eared piranha puppy.
Fred was a journalist, and very well read. As an English major in college, I was a kindred spirit, so sometimes, we discussed books:
You can’t understand American literature without reading Moby Dick. Moby Dick is terribly significant. Terribly boring, but terribly significant.
Fred had tried his hand at creative writing, including several long, humorous poems he recited from memory. One started:
“College student Beamish Frobin/Studied so much his head exploded…”
After we married, Joni and I regularly visited, and when we came into the house, Fred often said:
Well, hello, “Various” and “Sundry…”
…or:
Look, it’s Yog-Ken-ton, Lord of Chaos…
Fred was friendly, but didn’t suffer fools:
A born-again turkey is still a turkey.
…and:
Jump through this…
(Said while making the “OK” sign with the thumb and forefinger touching. Meaning: “screw you”)
Fred often got philosophical:
Other people have ordinary grandchildren, and I feel sorry for them.
…and:
You shall know the truth, and it shall give you a migraine.
…and:
What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his tripod?
Fred made up many of the frequent things he said, but some were from old TV shows, radio programs, movies, and Mad, back when it was a comic and not a magazine. Such as:
“The only thing we have to fear is…dormant gookum.”
…and:
“Pluck your magic twanger, Froggy! AUUUUGHH!!! You fool! Not MY magic twanger!”
No, this isn’t freaky and creepy at all…
…and:
“You’re getting weaker and weaker, Captain Tootsie, because you can’t eat Tootsie Rolls.”
…and:
“If you’re good, I’ll give you the top off my egg!” (Followed by, in a high-pitched voice): “I don’t want any…” (Followed by, in regular voice:) “There’s a smart kid.”
As an homage to Fred, I cribbed two of his sayings and gave them to Thad Anerson, the “dragontamer” in my novel Dragontamer’s Daughters. Those sayings are:
Honest to good God…
(an expression of exasperation), and
I’ll tell the world.
(analogous to “no kidding” or “believe it”).
The character Roy from my novel Lost Dogs is partially inspired by Fred. Like Fred, Roy was a combat medic early in the Vietnam War. These lines from Lost Dogs come word-for-word from Fred:
Guys in my unit dying in my lap. Thinking that just because I was the medic, they’d be all right. Me telling them they’d be okay, they were going out on the next chopper. Sometimes there was no next chopper. I knew that. They didn’t.
I’ll end with this. At gatherings of the large and rambunctious Blahut family, Fred often led a toast with a bit of dialogue from an old movie. This toast was done at Thanksgiving, at Christmas, and especially at weddings, with Fred pausing so that the rest of the family could bellow their line. No explanation was ever given to bewildered guests, because there is no explanation: it’s just a bit the Blahuts did together, and the tradition has lived on after Fred.
The toast goes like…well, maybe I’ll let Fred himself do it. This was recorded in Pittsburgh (Fred’s home town) in October 2003, a few months before he died. Fred was too ill to travel to the party that Joni and I were having to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary, so this is what Fred said:
We remember you, too, Fred. And we miss you. Still.
Kenton Kilgore writes books for kids, young adults, and adults who are still young. Follow Kenton on Facebook for frequent posts on sci-fi, fantasy, and other speculative fiction. You can also catch him on Instagram.
