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When I started writing this weekly column, my first idea for an overarching theme was “what would Dave do?” Though I decided against a theme, I have included Dave, my dad, in several of the few columns I’ve written.

Dave was a mechanical engineer, Auburn grad in 1965. Back then, you had to take math tests in pen, and if you were lucky you got to use a slide rule for intense calculations. He worked for NASA and helped – as a co-op student – with the development of the Saturn V rocket on Werner Von Braun’s team in Huntsville, and even got to design a critical component of the fuel system.

He worked for decades as a design and manufacturing engineer, running small manufacturing facilities often through contracts to improve productivity and efficiency. He was an early adopter of the Just In Time and Lean manufacturing principles. He also presided over a homebuilding company for a time, and designed and built many houses, including the one I grew up in, a large log chalet nestled in the woods.

He was also a deacon in our church, and known for giving thoughtful responses to questions of all sorts.

He taught me a ton not just about life, outdoorsmanship, fishing, and Auburn football, but about designing and fixing things around the house. If a contractor was called in when I was a kid, it was because he didn’t have time to do it himself. If our car went to the shop, it was because he didn’t want to fool with it.

Dad died in 2020, after making it 35 years past his first quadruple bypass.

Standing in the hollowed out space that was a guest bathroom in my house last fall, I found myself wishing I could call him to ask about my floor joists. He would have told me off the top of his head what to do. Instead, I was left with the momentarily paralytic question, which my wife presented, “What would Dave do?”

Since then, I’ve been applying that thought to many other things, and considering what his response would be if I could ask him a question. It helps. I can hear his voice in my head advising me, or laughing, or telling me to look it up.

Although I have the advantage of a brilliant dad who was one of my best friends in the world speaking in my head, I think everyone could benefit in times of struggle by asking, “What would Dave do?”

I got my floor joists fixed that day. We put down a new subfloor, installed a new tub … the whole works. And no, Dave wasn’t there to actually advise me. But pondering the question of what he would say made me stop and think instead of panicking or getting too angry to think. It made me think like Dave, and figure it out methodically, calmly, with sense and clarity.

As I leave you with this last column, I hope some of you may be left with this last thought that when things get tough, don’t panic or stress too badly. Whatever the situation may be, it will be okay. You’re still breathing and here to figure it out. One of his favorite pieces of general advice was to “hope until there is none.” So, take a breath and ask yourself, “What would Dave do?”

 

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