Kyhl Sanford Smeby Eulogy

I will never forget the day Dad first brought the family to his office in the newly built ARCO twin towers in downtown Los Angeles. I remember his office had no walls--just a wall of windows. It was on the 51st floor, and I actually was a bit frightened as I inched my way to the outside window and looked down. You can imagine the view. Then, something amazing happened. I saw not one but two helicopters flying below me. At that moment, I realized how cool my dad must be. Anybody who was given an office where you can see helicopters flying below must be cool.

His service to Bank of America spanned 6 decades. He started in the mid-40's, and was serving as chairman of the board of retirees for the bank well into the '90s. He chased bank robbers in his car, met the founder of the bank, A.P. Gianinni and managed the Beverly Hills Main branch in the '70s. Needless to say, the imprint of all things B of A was firmly planted not only on my father, but on his family, as well. And, I believe the inverse was also true . . . .

In the next few minutes, I would like to focus on what it was like to be his son; what kind of father he was to me and my sister while we were growing up.

Even beyond chasing bank robbers, my dad was brave. We both like hot fudge sundaes, and every so often we would be out running errands on a Saturday afternoon, and would stop at Wil Wright's Ice Cream Parlor on Colorado Boulevard for a sundae. EVEN THOUGH we both knew that if Mom found out what had spoiled my dinner, it would not be pretty. Dad was brave. Very brave . . . .

Summers meant baseball, and baseball meant the Dodgers. Vin Scully on the radio. Steve Garvey at first base. On countless occasions during a warm Sunday afternoon, we could be found seated in the right field bleachers, my glove in one hand and a dodger dog in the other. My dad raised me right--to this day, I still bleed Dodger blue!

While my friends at school were collecting baseball cards, coins or album cover art, I was collecting stamps with my father. We shared a passion for philately for many years. We would often drive into downtown LA to Superior Stamp and Coin Co. and spend hours seated at the display counter. While kids today get excited about which video game they might find in their stocking for Christmas, I was excited about which postage stamp Santa would deliver that year.

Speaking of Christmas, it was here in this very sanctuary that Dad and I would attend the midnight Christmas Eve service. Mom was already in her robe, tired from the all-day cooking, wrapping and entertaining. The two of us would bundle up and brave the cold--and sometimes the rain--and seat ourselves about 10 rows back on this side. This was a tradition which continued well into my adult years.

When I graduated from college, Dad arranged a trip with me to the East coast for my graduation present. For 10 days, we visited Boston, New York City and Washington D.C. He was the only tour guide I needed. I will never forget, at the end of the day of sightseeing, thinking to myself, "How is it that I am 21 years old, my dad is nearing retirement age, and I'm struggling to keep up with his pace throughout the trip?" He basically kicked my butt. It was amazing.

My family spent one week each summer at church family camp (Camp O'Ongo) in Running Springs, cabin #6 to be exact. Shortly after we arrived on the first day, upon unpacking bags and a brief nap, my mom and sister would head up the hill for a swim in the pool. My dad and I would linger on the deck of the cabin, which overlooked the forest. There we would place sunflower seeds on the railing and watch as the blue jays and squirrels would fight over their afternoon snack.

Of course, these experiences and memories are but the tip of a rather large ice berg. Let me close by saying that a son (or daughter) could not have asked for a more caring, loving and thoughtful father; he will be deeply missed.