User:Klosterc/Andrew Amyx

AMYX Andrew - Harold Amyx, 77, Venice, died November 29, 2005. Andy, the oldest of four children, was born to loving parents Loy Brack and Elizabeth Amyx on January 19, 1928 in Middletown Ohio. Andy moved to Venice from Grand Rapids, Michigan in 1976. Andy was a graduate from Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois in Advertising. Prior to his broadcasting career he served as Boy Scout Executive for the Boy Scouts of America. He was a market research manager and promotion director for TimeLife Broadcast stations WOODTVAM/FM Grand Rapids, Mi and WFGA in Jacksonville, Fl. He served in the US Navy on the USS Doran during the W.W. II emergency program. He was a member of Variety Club International, Rotary, National Association of Broadcasters, Advertising Club of America, Whose Who in America in Advertising, Venice Elks, the Board of directors for South Venice Fire Department and Myakka Pines Golf Club. On TV he portrayed Bozo the Clown, Pedals the Clown, Chico the Clown and was a TV spokesperson for Sunbeam Company. Andy, was an author of a humorous book and other articles of human interest. He was a Catholic and a member of the Epiphany Cathedral Church. Survivors include his devoted wife and best friend Marilyn, of 53 years of marriage, daughter Cynthia Amyx Kloster, Baton Rouge, LA, sons Daniel Amyx, Fort Pierce, FL and Timothy Amyx, Grand Rapids, MI. His pride and joy are his four grandchildren; Steven Kloster, Justin Amyx, Nathan Avey, and Elizabeth Amyx. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the Heart and Lung association. Those who had the privilege of knowing our beloved Husband, Father, and Grandfather have been blessed with his humor and kindness; we will miss him but will see him again in the hereafter.

Tuesday June 12, 2001 Section BAYLIFE Page 3

Greatness touches us all ANDY AMYX Special the the Tribune

A grandad's childhood encounter in Cincinnati with presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln is passed down through a family. VENICE — Growing up in southern Ohio, I'd heard of faraway places and fantasized about visiting. My grandfather lived in one of those places. I imagined he was the guardian of a majestic empire. In reality, he lived in a small cabin in the hills of Kentucky. He was the father of seven children, taught school in a one-room schoolhouse and farmed. When I was 5 years old, my mother told me Granddad was not well, and he would be living with us. I could be helpful by not exhausting him and being a mindful boy. Mother's news was good to me. I would have someone new to keep company. My older brother and sister did not pay much attention to me. They said I always got in their way. The days dragged. I was afraid Granddad would change his mind and not live with us. When the expected day arrived, I got up early. I stared at the front door, hoping that at any moment it would open and Granddad would step inside. It was late afternoon when I heard a knock. It was my uncle Roland. He held a small black bag, which he shoved to my stomach with instructions to take it to my Granddad's room. Before I obeyed, I quickly peeked out the front door. Parked in front of the house was a blue Dodge with gleaming wooden spoke wheels. In the back seat was the silhouette of a person. A hand waved. I quickly waved back, spun around and galloped to Granddad's room. I threw the bag on the bed and raced back to the door. There stood the awaited stranger. I prayed he would like me. I shuffled closer to the revered man. " Andy, this is your Granddad. You two have the same name," my mother said. "You were named after him." Granddad dropped the cane he was leaning on and braced himself against the wall. He picked me up. There we were, face to face. His breath was sweet as mint. His small round eyes examined every little freckle on my face. His hair was white and bushy around the ears. The top of his head gave way to a community of freckles and stubby wild hairs. His smile pushed his cheeks into round pink circles. He must have arrived straight from heaven. He gently put me down, reached into his pocked for a wad of crumpled brown paper and handed it to me. I quickly opened the paper and found a stick of horehound candy. I didn't like horehound candy, but I didn't let him know. I thanked him and put the gift in my back pocket. Over time, my grandfather introduced me to an exciting new universe. His stories nourished my inquisitive mind and spirit. One day, Granddad told me why he had to trust a cane for walking. "A neighbor asked me to tame a wild horse. He was an ornery critter. After weeks of stubbornness, I decided to mount the beast, to show him who's boss. The animal looked me in the eye, snorted, and before I could yell, "Whoa,' I was on the ground." Granddad said, "Some spirits are not made to be broken. A stubborn person can get hurt if he doesn't learn to give way a little." During the Civil War, Granddad was too young to be called to arms. One misty morning, Granddad and his mother heard a knock on their cabin door. His mother opened the door to find a frightened teenage Union soldier confronting her. The soldier needed help for himself and his wounded comrade. Granddad's mother directed the soldier to the barn and told him she would give them food, water and bandages. She attended the young men for nearly a week, while Confederate troops rode nearby. One night, the sheltered soldiers stole away. They left a note, thanking Granddad's mother for her kindness. Granddad's mother used to say, "We are on Earth to help each other. It's our place to tend and help God's creatures." I never grew tired of one story. Even as an older teenager, I persuaded him to tell it again and again. When Granddad was around 5 years old, he traveled with his father on a business trip to Cincinnati. They packed their food and clothes and rode away on the family horse. They stopped near Lexington, Ky., to visit and renew family ties with John Breckinridge. Breckinridge was considering to be a candidate for the presidency. Granddad's father enforced Breckinridge's decision. When Granddad and his father arrived in Cincinnati, they stayed at an uncle's house. After business, the uncle persuaded them to stay a few extra days to see the arrival of another candidate. The day he arrived, Granddad, his father and uncle joined the gathering in downtown Cincinnati. People lined the unpaved street waving flags and banners. Granddad saw a tall man walking behind a marching band, smiling and waving his hat at the people along the side of the street. Occasionally, a man would break from the line and run out to pat the man on the back. Granddad could hear shouts above the crowd noise. "Yea for Mr. Lincoln." "You're our man for president, Mr. Lincoln." "God bless you, Mr. Lincoln." In all the excitement, Granddad broke away from his father and ran to the man. He tugged on the pant leg of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln stopped, reached out his hand to shake Granddad's hand and ask his name. On the opposite side, a small black boy was vying for attention. Mr. Lincoln turned to the boy, smiled and patted his head. He grabbed each boy's hand, marched a few steps to the cadence of the band, then waved goodbye to them. The day was indelible to Granddad. He was in touch with history. Granddad always finished his Lincoln story by saying, "Greatness touches us all, no matter who we are; rich or poor, black or white, short or tall. It is up to us to pass greatness on to all people, and they in turn pass it on to their children. When you shake someone's hand, you touch greatness passed on for centuries. Greatness touches us all, mind, body and spirit." Granddad would tap my hand with his fingers, smile and say, "Pass it on."

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