Happy Birthday Dad! He was the second Arthur Mansfield Diamond and would be 100 today.
I think if we adopt the right policies, many of us could live to 100. Too late for Dad, and almost certainly for me.
The first Arthur Mansfield Diamond died in 1933, I think. I was told he played the piano by ear and I saw an article saying that when he was a young man he briefly was a book-keeper for the family vaudeville activities. He looked dapper in a straw hat and knew Knute Rockne of Notre Dame. My Dad was eight when cancer took the first Arthur Mansfield Diamond. My Grandma, with no college degree, raised four children during the Great Depression. Cabbage was nutritious and cheap, so Grandma served a lot of sauerkraut. As an adult Dad hated sauerkraut.
Dad was always reading. He is the only person I ever met who read all three volumes of Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago. And he read a conservative reader’s digest weekly (or monthly?) newspaper called Human Events. He was a Republican lawyer in an overwhelmingly Democratic county.
When my brothers and I were young he read aloud to us most of the Oz books, and other books including Atlas Shrugged. Thank you Dad, especially for that.
I wish I had finished my book before he died–he would have read it, argued with me about parts of it, but I think mostly liked it.
Dad was active in Toastmasters, a self-help organization for those who want to improve their public speaking. He rose to become the International President. Their headquarters is near Disneyland. When Dad first joined the Toastmasters board, he spent some time in the park. When he returned from that first trip, I remember his excitement at the then-new attraction, the Tiki Room–seeing what was possible in audio animatronics. Mom and Dad took us to Disneyland and on road trips to most of the U.S.
I remember Dad telling me in his last year that one of his regrets is that he won’t know how things turn out.
Dad was not perfect; neither am I. But I miss him and wish I could still talk with him, and thank him for his wit, his curiosity, and his courage in holding unpopular views when he thought they were right.
Hi Art, I first saw a summarized version of this blog post on FB. In this tribute to your father, I was surprised you made special mention of his reading Atlas Shrugged to you. A lot of sons might write about memories of playing catch in the yard, or being taught how to tie a tie or change a tire, but your treasured memory is of him reading a 1,000 page book to you containing controversial ideologies disguised as a novel. Remarkable. I was trying to figure out the sweet spot for your age when this took place, the age when you were still young enough for your dad to read to you, but old enough for Atlas Shrugged to make sense. I couldn’t find one. How much do you think his indoctrination influenced your professional and personal thinking? My memories of him are that he was a nice man. I remember jumping out of my parents’ car at a stoplight and getting in yours after your parents invited me to join you to go bowling. Regards, Mike
Hi Mike, Back in 2019 I asked Dave his memory of how old I was when Dad read Atlas Shrugged to us. He guessed that he was 11 and I was 13. I would have guessed we each were a year or two younger than his guesses, but he may be right. My father had a deep voice, was skilled at public speaking, and had some theatre people in his heritage–so he was good at adopting different voices for different characters and at reading in an entertaining way. I view it as a form of family entertainment and bonding. And we have continued that family tradition. My wife Jeanette started reading the Harry Potter books to Jenny and I found myself standing and listening. At some point I took over reading them out loud, with Jeanette and Jenny listening. We read out loud all of the Harry Potter books to Jenny and I also read all of the Lemony Snicket books, and others, out loud. Those added up to way more pages than Atlas Shrugged. We read to her through middle school. Was it “remarkable”? I have a few regrets in life, but reading aloud often to our child, is not one of them. But maybe your comments are directed just at Atlas Shrugged. I think it is unfair to call that “indoctrination.” I remember Dad reading us much of a biography of the baseball player Ty Cobb, and many other books. The Ty Cobb book did not affect me in any way I can think of. I was the judge of what was of value in what I heard. Ayn Rand presented a dazzling vision of a possible world of human flourishing. I am grateful to Ayn Rand for that, and I am grateful to Dad for letting me know of Ayn Rand’s vision. But Dad also required us to attend church services, followed by Sunday school, almost every Sunday starting at an extremely early age, and going up until roughly the age of 13. I spent hugely more hours hearing the doctrines of the church than the hours spent hearing Atlas Shrugged. If indoctrination was going on, it was in my forced attendance at church. I judged what I heard in church, just as I judged what I heard in Atlas Shrugged, and a lot of what I heard in church did not make sense to me even at an age much younger than 13. I remember very early-on thinking the father’s actions in the parable of the prodigal son were unjust. And I early-on could not understand, and still do not understand, how an all-powerful God could allow evil to flourish and the innocent to suffer. My father believed in free speech and he exposed me to many different views. That exposure made me a better, but far from perfect, person. Regards, Art