The Storyteller

Published in the Bellevue Reporter
Aug 24 2010

My mother had five sisters and one brother. Although he was younger by six years, Mom and her brother, Walt, had a special bond. They had both served in the Navy during WWII, and when Mother and Dad married near Washington, D.C., in the winter of 1945, Uncle Walt gave the bride away.
There were so many things to admire about Uncle Walter. He had all the qualities of a gentleman: he was bright, sincere and kind. But the thing my mom loved most was that the Kelley history and lore resided in Uncle Walt. He was the storyteller. We only needed to ask, and he would regale us around the big table as long as he had time and breath to speak.
One of my favorite stories had to do with “The Power Truck.”
When Uncle Walt finished serving with the Navy, and after he graduated from the University of Washington, he began a long career with the Montana Power Company. As a young, unmarried man, he was given the task of taking the train to Chicago, and driving a brand new utility truck back to Montana. He decided that the perfect partner for this expedition was his dad, who could drive just about anything. They arrived in Chicago in the midst of a blizzard. By the time they took possession of the new truck, they realized that they were about to be snowed in, so they quickly decided to head west.
On the way out of Chicago they found themselves stuck behind an idle snow plow. My grandfather said, “Say! I could drive the snow plow, and you could follow me until we get out of town.” Knowing that time was precious, Uncle Walt agreed.
My grandfather, the traveling salesman turned furniture and hardware store owner and father of seven, climbed into the snow plow to make a way for the new truck. Uncle Walt helplessly watched as the plow shot waves of heavy snow into the building, breaking every window in the second story along each block.
Now, the teller of the tale would be able to relate how this situation was resolved, but since I am a storyteller-once-removed, I can’t say with any certainty how restitution came about. I only remember the visual of my dapper grandfather bouncing along on a piece of heavy machinery, bringing the first air conditioning to the second story of several Chicago buildings – in November.
Uncle Walt ran out of both time and breath this summer. I sat with siblings and cousins after the funeral. We all expressed that we felt a little panic upon realizing that the keeper of the stories was gone.
We will miss his kind and mischievous spirit forever, but if we were paying attention, his stories are anchored in our hearts.