MY DAD/DALE EUGENE PORTER (1933-2024) A TRIBUTE

SPRING BLOG/2025

My Dad would have turned 92 years old today (as I write this blog, March 15, 2025). He passed away this past spring lying in a bed, looking out the living room window in his little home in Phoenix. Grief is a sneaky thing so I didn't say anything from the stage this past year as I didn't trust my tender emotions. But he was definitely on my heart at every show, on every single stage, in every city.

So . . . I figure that since it's his birthday, today seems like the perfect day to write about and celebrate my dad.

Dale Eugene Porter.

Obviously, passing at the age of 91, my dad lived a very full life. He was fully engaged and active until the very end. He had no mental aging . . . he was sharp as a tack in every conversation to his dying day. He drove his car and only used a cane in the last couple of years of his life. It wasn't until he fell and badly hurt his arm that we knew he might never be the same again. And two months later he died.

I would say my dad was most known for his great personality. He had a quick wit and fun demeanor. He was the most organized man I've ever known. And, oh was he opinionated! He had advice for you on just about every topic.

He was a patriot. He loved his country, and in the last couple of years of his life we had so much to talk about over the phone. I think one of his all-time highlights was going with me to the White House when I played there in December, 2000. He was on tour with me that year, selling merchandise in the lobby, and I got an invitation to play the Steinway located underneath the John F Kennedy portrait on Friends and Family Day for Bill Clinton and George W Bush. We were restricted as to whom we could bring with us that day for the performance, but the following day we were invited back and could bring a few guests to have breakfast in the White House Navy Mess. He got to come with me that morning, and boy was it ever special.

My dad was a simple guy . .  . never wanted much. He had a couple pairs of shoes (brown and black) and a few sport coats that he would trade out with his ties to make the outfit look brand new. When he wore out his shoes, he'd re-sole them to save money. Although thrifty, he really was quite stylish. I've never met a man who had a "favorite color" but my dad's was yellow (later I would learn it was in honor of his own father, who loved the same color). 

He was a 5'9" outstanding athlete, holding many records in track and basketball and he received a full-ride athletic scholarship to Bowling Green University. Although I did not get the athletic gene, my sisters and brother did, and growing up, one of my fondest memories was watching (and hearing) them play basketball in the driveway (most of the time I'd be at the piano). He loved to laugh, and to this very day I guess that's what I miss the most about him (the sound of laughter in our home . . . I can't get that out of my head). Sometimes he'd make us laugh so much that we'd get in trouble and be put in time out (and have to go sit on the stairs). Sure enough, once we returned to the kitchen table it would start all over again. It's kind of crazy because although there was a lot of laughter in our home, I would say my mom and dad were never really happily married. And they divorced after 25 years of marriage. 

Dale began his career in Phoenix where he met and married my beautiful mom Lorraine Mann. My mom was the first person to teach him about Jesus and he learned to love the Lord. He became a Christian, which had a profound impact on the rest of his life (and ours too). After I was born, when I was two years old they moved to Reno for his job in the insurance industry and it was there where they raised their five wonderful children of whom he was so very proud. He then spent most of his career as a paralegal at a prominent law firm. He became an elder and a song leader in the Reno-Sparks Church of Christ. He wasn't just any kind of song leader . . . he was the very best. He had a very clear voice, no vibrato, just perfect for song leading.

Growing up in an a cappella church, I spent so many moments with my dad in our living room together at the piano, plucking out notes, teaching him new songs to lead (without an instrument) on Sunday mornings. When he got the courage to lead the song, I would sit in the church pew beaming with pride (because I helped teach him the melody). 

Like his dad, he played the ukelele and the banjo. He only knew about 10 songs, but he really played them well and when we were really little, during bathtime he'd play and sing for us (and make us laugh). To this day, I would bet all of my siblings still know all the words to Five Foot Two, Eyes Of Blue, and When My Sugar Walks Down The Street. His mother (Ruth Wales) played ragtime piano, and it was my dad who taught me how to play boogie-woogie styled piano. We'd play as a duet team, and he always was better on the right-hand improvisation. I don't know how he did it, but he always came up with a new flashy line. To this day, I always throw in a little boogie-woogie on my shows (and he always pops into my head).

My sibblings all got his athletic abilities (I got the music). One of his other many talents was golf (I didn't get that gift either!). After he retired, he used his personality and athleticism to land the perfect retirement job as a guest host pro. It was during this time of his life when he met Anne. She became special to Tim and me, as together they cared for our kids for 10 years when we went out on our holiday tour. They were married for 32 years.

He worked almost until his dying day, his last job being a host for the McCormick Railroad Park in Scottsdale where he greeted people and cracked jokes. All day long he greeted visitors and once they got to the last car, he'd play soft piano music on a little CD player . . .  and talk proudly about his daughter, Lorie Line. 

My dad didn't always express his love and/or pride for me. He told other people (a lot!!!), but not really me. Maybe every once in a while on my birthday there would be pre-written words in a card that I always wanted to hear him personally say to me. Never happened. But I figure all of that is in the mix of who I am today. That is one of my secret ingredients that I have in the emotional makeup of my music. It's a slight pain, like a little headache that won't go away. 

Everyone has that pain. You just have to know how to utilize it for good.

A couple of months before he fell he texted me as he was quietly sitting in his car, listening to my music. Here's our exchange:

Dad: "Anne is running a few errands and I am sitting in the car waiting. I am enjoying your CDs play when I'm all alone. I think they touch me more now than ever before. It is so nice to be alone in the quiet of the car and listen to the music. I have six CDs in our car player and enjoy them so very much. I just wanted you to know how much I am enjoying them. It's one thing to listen to them play with all the other noise in the house, but they mean so much more in the solitude of a quiet car. They bring happiness to my heart and tears to my eyes."

Me: "Ahhhhh. I'm so glad, Dad. I'm sitting in the car too waiting for Tim. Sometimes in the quiet you can even hear my foot on the pedal or my fingers on the keys."

Dad: "I hear the TALENT the goes into the playing and the making of the CD!! Amazing."

After he fell I sent him a picture of me at an event with North Dakota's Governor Doug Burgum (now the Interior Secretary).

Me: "Dad! Governor Doug Burgum is a huge fan and asked if he could take a photo with me so he could show his wife."

Dad: "We saw the picture and you look beautiful."

And that was the last thing he ever said to me. 

His words were so lovely. And I do think he was proud of me.

Dale Eugene Porter. My earthly father whom I will see sooner than later in the "sweet by and by."

I imagine he's already waiting for me by the piano.

This is the last photo I took with my dad. We were on a garden tour and he wanted to do the whole thing, so we rented a little cart for the afternoon. 

Below this is a picture at the memorial service with my sibblings - Chip, (Lorie), Lorinda, Loreece and Lorelle at the gravesite. The photo is hazy because it was so hot that morning (over 100 degrees) in Phoenix.