My Dad
My dad had a rule when he was International president that memos to him should be kept to one page. Anyone who ever saw his daily stack of mail understood why. So, while I could write volumes about the man and how he inspired me, I’ll try to honor his wishes and keep this short.
My dad loved people — people of all classes, races and nationalities. He moved easily between the plant floor and the boardroom. People knew that he loved them, and they loved him back. He knew how to work a room better than anyone, and he almost always enjoyed it.
One of his best qualities was his sense of humor. He loved to needle people. Unlike some though, he could take it as well as dish it out. He always had the ability to make fun of himself. His humor and his love of people made him a good friend to me.
He was also a great father. He demanded that my sister and I do our best at whatever we did. If an A was possible, a B was unacceptable and a C was beyond the pale.
But he supported us in what we did. We went to the baseball diamond every day during a Florida spring vacation to support my quixotic attempt to make the eighth-grade baseball team.
Twenty years later, when faced with a choice between greeting Nelson Mandela and attending one of my sister’s campaign events, he easily chose the campaign event.
He delighted in our accomplishments and never hid that delight. I remember how proud I was after my debate team competed for the state championship, because my dad told me that I could come talk in his union hall anytime I wanted. And, I remember exchanging high fives in the kitchen after I got an A+ in my Constitutional Law course.
He followed my sister’s high school pitching career with such intensity that I am sure her coach would have banished him from the games if she had had the nerve.
When I grew up, I became a union-side labor lawyer. My dad used to needle me about my career choice. He would remind me that I took Labor Law “pass/fail” in law school, and he would urge me to get into a line of work where I could make “real money.” I think he used to do this to make sure that my dedication to representing workers was my own decision instead of a move just to please him.
Somewhere along the way, though, we became co-workers in the labor movement. We both drew enormous satisfaction from the fact that we were working in a common cause together.
My dad taught us that it was important to help people, and my sister and I have tried to do that in our careers. My dad’s encouragement and dedication also helped instill a self-confidence in me that has stood me in good stead both in union halls and courtrooms.
Now that I’m a father, I work hard every day to make sure that my son has the same type of commitment to helping others and the confidence to make it possible.
I hope that my dad, wherever he is, helps me to do that.
Stephen A. Yokich and his wife, Mary Harkenrider, also an attorney, live with their son, Michael Stephen, in Chicago.
