First Name of deceased: Merle
Last Name of deceased: Rider
Date of Birth: 8 Mar 1926
Date of Death: 3 Oct 1991
Town: Harrisburg
County: Dauphin
State: Pennsylvania
Country: USA
*This is a collective effort, written by the surviving four of the five Rider Girls. With a ten-year age gap, memories and voices differ, and though Dad was the singer in the family, we will try to harmonize the telling of his story. One thing for certain, we can all sing his praises, as our dad was THE BEST!
Merle – our dad – was the second of three sons. Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about his childhood. We do know that Dad inherited from his dad (Pappy), his dark good looks, humor, and quiet demeanor; and to varying degrees, he passed those same traits onto his girls.
We can assume our paternal grandparents were not financially well off. Pappy was a mechanic and Mam-ma did not work outside of the home (did many mothers in the 1920’s and 30’s?). Pappy and Mam-ma had a large vegetable garden, so it is likely at home where Dad grew his green thumb and learned his way around car engines as a “shade tree” mechanic.
While we do not know if Dad played sports, it is unlikely. As an adult, he had little more than passing interest in sports, and at the time, organized sports would have been in their infancy. Dad may have been a natural athlete, as he moved with grace, enjoyed dancing at the Star Light Pavilion in Hershey (where he courted our mom…but that’s another story), and was a terrific ice skater. In later years, he taught his girls to skate on Laurel Lake, but as a boy, skated down the frozen Conodoguinet or Yellow Breeches Creeks. Another source of winter fun was for him and his buddies to grab the rear bumper of a slowly passing car, pulling them, on their sleds, behind. Sometimes they would travel this way as far as Harrisburg (today, about a 15-minute drive).
Dad and his brothers attended and graduated from Mechanicsburg High School; located at what is now the Simpson Street Apartments. Dad then apprenticed to be a barber at Neibert’s Barber Shop (located on North Market Street, a barbershop still), but then WWII broke out. Each brother eventually enlisted in the US Navy. Older brother Clarence, by his own admission, saw no combat and enjoyed a tropical vacation, somewhere in the Pacific; younger brother Gerald (Jerry) was a trumpeter in the Navy Band (Korean War), and Dad served in the Signal Corps aboard a supply ship.
We never knew Dad to be much of a drinker and nothing of a fighter, though believe he may have done a bit of both as a young man. Of his Navy years, there were scant mentions of flop houses in San Diego, rolling coins in their neck scarves to swing in self-defense, and getting drunk, but “never drunk enough to get a tattoo”.
Dad had a strong moral compass which may not have served him well in the Navy. Commanding officer or not, if he believed something was not right, you were called out on it. This sent him to the brig on at least one occasion, when he refused to clean out the kitchen’s grease trap on an Easter morning: He was not opposed to hard work, nor to cleaning a grease trap, it simply was not work that he would do on the day Christ rose from the dead.
After his discharge, Dad and Mary Lou (Mom) married. Did they have a long courtship? Had they been high school sweethearts? Did they date before the war? Did they meet at the Star Light Pavilion they frequented? Unfortunately we may never know the answers to these questions as Mom died in March 2020.
Dad worked briefly at the New Cumberland Army Depot, but quickly learned that he was not cut out for office work or following orders (you would have thought he remembered that from his stint in the Navy), and continued his apprenticeship with barber Harold Neibert. Shortly after obtaining his barber’s license he opened his own shop in a building that once housed a wheelwright business on Main Street in Shiremanstown; today, it is a hair salon.
The first born of the Rider Girls was taken home to a second-floor apartment on Frederick Street, Mechanicsburg. The first-floor apartment was occupied by the building owners, the Simmons. “Pappy” and “Simmons” seemed as if they were always old, and were not only Mom and Dad’s landlords, but also friends with whom we stayed in contact until their death.
In the mid 1950’s, at a cost of $9000, and with some financial help from the Simmons and Pappy Slonaker (Mom’s father), Mom and Dad purchased a house on East Main Street. It featured three bedrooms, one bath, a coal furnace and “bucket a day” coal burning water heater. They remained there until Dad’s declining health forced them to sell in the early 1980’s.
When Mom was pregnant with daughter number two, Dad contracted polio. Though too young to know anything about that, we understand that it was “touch and go” for a while. Perhaps it was in recovery that Dad developed his belief in the restorative power of afternoon naps. At the time, naps were necessary in his recovery, but it was a practice he maintained for the rest of his life. Dad’s health returned, and as soon as able, he again stood behind the barber chair, working long hours doing a job he truly loved. His routine varied little, adjusting only as necessary to accommodate his growing family.
Each morning began with a cup of cold coffee which he sipped while he shaved at the kitchen sink (five girls, a wife and one bathroom…he adjusted) and waited for the day’s fresh pot to percolate. He polished his shoes while seated at the head of the kitchen table (his seat), tied his tie, and went off to work. He’d return home each day for lunch, a quick nap, and on his way out the door at one o’clock, would kiss each of us in turn saying, “I’m the luckiest man in Mechanicsburg; I get to kiss six women before returning to work”.
The barber shop was closed on Mondays, but that did not mean Dad took the day off. This day, he packed his barber kit and visited with home bound men, for a haircut, shave and conversation. And once a month, he went to the Methodist Home for Children and cut the hair of the young boys who lived there.
Dad enjoyed gardening and maintained a large garden at home and another behind the shop in Shiremanstown. Be it vegetables, flowers or daughters, Dad was a nurturer and enjoyed helping and watching things grow.
Evenings were spent with the family, working in the yard, or visiting his parents. It is said that parents do not have favorites among their offspring, but we all know that is not true; at any given time, one child is favored over another, for whatever reason. Dad was his parent’s favorite; perhaps it had something to do with that strong moral compass mentioned earlier.
Dad enjoyed fishing and small game hunting. Rarely returning home with fish or game, he took simple pleasure in the bubbling brooks and quiet walks. He also had a knack for finding treasures when out in the wild: a cow bell, record player, six packs of beer (found, NOT purchased), and one time, a freshly killed fox that he had made into a stole for Mom. He was so pleased with that gift…everyone else thought it hideous. He also loved annual vacations to the beach, especially Chincoteague, VA, where he could often be found crabbing by the water’s edge.
Dad had a good, quiet humor about him. Once, when wearing shorts and dress socks, one of the girls said “Dad, you don’t wear dress socks with shorts”…so he dropped his shorts.
Dad also had a beautiful singing voice, always singing around the house: hymns, popular music of the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s, and old favorites such as “I love to go swimming with bow-legged women . . . “, “loverly bunch of coconuts”, and “there was an old shanty…”. Relatively late in life, Dad made a friend in the then minister of his church. His work schedule precluded him from singing in the choir, but frequently Dad and Pastor Steve would meet at the church where Steve played the piano in accompaniment to Dad’s singing.
Dad rarely approved of the boys/men his girls brought home, not that they were bad (well, most of them weren’t); perhaps he just wanted only the best for us. Regardless, he sure was a proud papa when he walked his daughters down the wedding aisle.
As children left the house and started families of their own, he loved to spend time with the grandkids. When the oldest was pregnant Dad was certain she would have a girl, and in preparation bought “her” a Raggedy Ann doll; after nearly 10 years, and six grandsons later, Dad gave that doll to his seventh grandchild…finally, a girl! In our collective memories, we never remember Dad with hair. This bald barber gave all the grandkids (including the girl) their first haircut and they all laughed when he would remove his toupee and comb it on his knee (an acquisition made in the 1970’s, when he began selling them).
Dad was still a young man (late 40’s) when diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. This, coupled with post-polio syndrome, made day-to-day activities difficult and painful for him, still he did not stop doing (working, gardening, being) and was determined to keep moving as long as he possibly could. This lifestyle, coupled with the sudden death of his middle daughter, Robbie, took a toll on his health. Dad closed the shop in 1990 and himself, died a year later: Far too young.
He did have the opportunity to hold each of his eight grandchildren (seven boys and that one girl with the new/antique Raggedy Ann doll) and saw them through childhood. Unfortunately, they know him mostly through our memories, as he did not witness any graduate from high school. He would be so very proud of the young men and woman they have grown into and the next generations they have and are creating.
Dad had other unrequited dreams: He wanted to see Alaska (4th daughter has and says it is AMAZING), and he always wished that he could have given all of us more. While he was not able to give us more “stuff”, he gave each of us very much more: more quality time, more love, more memories, more awareness, more teachable moments, more kindness, more appreciation, more recognition of that which is right, and perhaps most of all, the total awareness that we were, each of us and AWAYS, most loved.
Perhaps Dad was put on this earth to raise daughters; we know he was the best and to this day, adult girlfriends and cousins (both male and female) often say “your dad was the best!”. We could not agree more and know how very fortunate we were to have him as our guidepost: He took pride in all that he did, was a man of integrity who always followed his moral compass and spoke against injustice, he was well respected (and well dressed), a great listener, patient, kind and affectionate. He adored his family and the Rider Girls adored him too.
When we want to measure success, we look to our dad as the yardstick.
Dad was THE BEST and is still very much missed.
Published 19 June 2020