Fathers Day is celebrated next weekend and I want to honor, in my estimation, a great man, my Dad.

William McKinley Wentz was born to Elizabeth and John Henry Wentz 129 years ago in a log house at Ore Hill. William McKinley was the U.S. president at the time, hence the name. Dad was the seventh of eight children. He was educated through the fourth grade, which was all the formal instruction available at the one-room school he attended. Until he took a job at the Daniel M. Bare Paper Mill about 1913, he worked at farm chores and carried drinking water for road gangs building highways in the area.

A fortunate thing happened while working for Bare. He met the woman who turned out to be my mother, then Pearl Moore of near East Sharpsburg, whom he married in 1915.

In 1917, he became a car repairman in the Pennsylvania Railroad shops at Altoona. At the time, the PRR was considered to be highly desirable employment — offering higher wages than most other jobs and the possibility for advancement. He remained there, becoming a machinist in the Juniata air brake shop, until retirement in 1959.

In the 1920s, my Mom, Dad, brother Mel and sister Alma moved to Hollidaysburg. I arrived in 1934, clearly an after-thought, since my brother and sister were 18 and 16 years older. I was raised as an only child.

Dad took great pride in his money management. “I paid all my bills when due, even during the depression. When you were born,” he boasted, “Dr. Andrews was paid in cash for your delivery, much to his delight.” We always had a car and a hot meal every evening.

My sister was killed in an automobile accident in 1942. I was seven. I watched my parents undergo terrible anguish and grief. It was Dad who maneuvered my mother out of depression. He was strong, patient and caring.

We moved back to the Cove in 1947. They became very active in St. John’s Evangelical and Reformed Church at East Sharpsburg, Dad eventually becoming a deacon. But, it was his pioneering work in establishing a cemetery association for perpetual care at the East Sharpsburg cemetery that was his lasting contribution to the area.

My father wanted me to avoid employment in “the Altoona shops,” as he called them. He challenged me to “think big” and paid my early tuition to Penn State, nagging me enough about mediocre grades to ensure my graduation.

My mother died in 1965 and Dad was remarried to a wonderful woman, Rebecca Burns, the following year. Unfortunately, he fell while taking a shower in 1969 and was largely confined to a wheelchair until his death in 1976. My stepmother made his life pleasant and bearable during his final years.

Dad is buried at East Sharpsburg, between Mom and sister Alma.

As I was leaving him on what turned out to be our last meeting, he looked me in the eye and, instead of his usual “I love you” said, “I’m proud of you,” to which I replied, “And I’m proud of you, too.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.