Fred Welfare was born in Winston-Salem, NC, in 1931, and grew up in Clemmons, a small rural community outside Winston. His father, J. Frank Welfare, left school after the sixth grade, and his mother, Mabel, an orphan who never stayed long in one place, only made it through the third. Daddy Welfare, as the grandchildren called J. Frank, worked on the assembly line at R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company for nearly 40 years. Mama Welfare was a homemaker when that meant cooking, washing, and scrubbing in a house with no electricity or indoor plumbing, keeping chickens, goats, pigs and an occasional cow to stretch the family finances. She also held paying jobs off and on through the years to supplement the family income. 

Dad was the baby of the four Welfare children, considerably younger than his three siblings. He often said he didn’t remember a time without books and learning. I’m not sure his teachers were too impressed with his intelligence though. He used to tell about a time his mother was called to school to discuss his mental difficulties, illustrated by the fact he had colored the apples green on a picture of a tree. He remembered his mother telling the teacher that maybe the rich people had red apples, but the Welfares ate green crabapples that grew on a tree beside their house.

I’ve seen his report card from those years and it was not impressive. I don’t think he would have been happy if one of us came home with grades like that. I don’t know what changed, but at some point he got serious about school and the teachers figured out he was smart, scary smart. From what I can tell, that mostly meant he could figure out better and more complicated ways to get in trouble. For some reason he and his best friend Leonard were the first ones questioned when someone pulled a prank such as moving the principal’s car to the top of the steps leading into the school building. By the way, he never admitted he was involved in that incident, but he repeated the story with some regularity and there was definitely a note of pride in his voice. 

His love affair with skeet shooting started when he was a teenager. His older brother, Howard, came home on leave from the Air Force and introduced Dad and their father to the sport. Dad had grown up around guns used for hunting, not for fun. For some reason, skeet shooting clicked with him and he spent countless hours and money practicing and competing. Our house was full of trophies and awards he won in local, state and national competitions.  

Dad graduated from high school in 1949 and joined the U.S. Navy, much to his mother’s dismay. After all, he was the baby and I guess she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see the world. He said she wrote him religiously but he was not so faithful. One letter he received contained nothing but a picture of her looking sadly into an empty mailbox.  

We don’t know much about his years in the Navy. Apparently he took his oath of secrecy seriously. We do know he went to sonar school, which he picked from the list of options for which he’d qualified because he had no idea what it was. Years later when videogames became popular he got very excited. “I can do this,” he told us. “This is exactly what we did to learn to locate and destroy enemy submarines.” He was stationed for a time on the U.S.S. Saipan. Later he was stationed in Eleuthra off the coast of Florida working on experimental aircraft and improving his golf game. One of the few stories he told me about the Navy was about the incredible profanity used by many sailors. Today that language is used by everyday people. “I can’t imagine how sailors talk now,” he said. 

In August 1952, Dad married Nancy Cook, whom he had dated on and off since they were teenagers. The wedding was delayed by the onset of the Korean War. Apparently all leave was cancelled, even the leave of sailors who wanted to take a break from their golf games to get married. Mom and Dad began their married lives, as many couples did then, separated by many miles. She lived with her parents and taught school while he finished his stint in the Navy. Dad was discharged in 1953 and the two of them set up housekeeping in Vetville, housing for married students at N.C. State University in Raleigh. Dad commented many times that he got more from the Navy than it got from him. He saw the world, or at least some of what existed outside of Clemmons, he learned new skills, and he qualified for the GI Bill, which made it possible for him to go to college. 

Neither of my parents actually told me this, but I am sure that one of the highlights of those years in Raleigh is that I was born there. This was not until they’d been married for five years, a considerable wait back then. Dad told me once that they were asked again and again if it wasn’t time to begin their family. “They wanted to know when we were going to start,” he said. “But when we got up to four or five they wanted to know if it wasn’t time to stop!” 

Dad graduated with a bachelor’s degree in 1957 and a master’s in 1959, both in nuclear engineering. He never told me how he picked nuclear engineering but I wonder if it wasn’t another thing he’d never heard of. He started a long career in nuclear criticality safety in 1959. His first job was with Union Carbide, contractor for the Oak Ridge National Laboratory. Here’s an example of how scrupulously honest Dad was. Every night he’d bring home in his briefcase mechanical pencils that said U.S. Government along the barrel. We children were NOT allowed to use the pencils under any circumstances – they  were reserved for only U.S. Government use. When we were preparing to move to Lynchburg, VA, for a new job, he collected all the pencils strewn around the house and carefully returned them. 

One of my siblings suggested I write in the posted obituary that Dad was supportive of his five children’s interests and activities and that is true. He was available to drive us – or pump up the bike tires so we could ferry ourselves – to band rehearsal, team practice, a friend’s house, or anything else we needed. He coached Little League Baseball (and was more proud of the fact that I could explain the infield fly rule than of any of my other accomplishments), refereed in a girls’ basketball league, and was in the stands or the audience for nearly every game or performance one of us was in. My brother, Alan, who spent his senior year living with family friends in Lynchburg after Mom and Dad left for a new job in Wilmington, NC, told me that they made the 550-mile round trip that year each time he was in a performance or was being recognized. They were serious about supporting our endeavors. But Dad also believed in family activities. We camped frequently in an eight-man tent, an old, heavy canvas tent big enough for a small army or at least a family of Welfares and the friend or two we usually had along. The tent was required because he thought staying in a camper was cheating. Even the families who showed up with small pop-up campers “might as well stay at home,” he said. I asked later how he justified the RV he and mom purchased after we were grown. “It was just perfect for two adults, but with all seven of us there, we would have killed each other,” he said. Our favorite campground was at Otter Creek on the Blue Ridge Parkway. There was that one memorable mid-March trip when we went swimming in the frigid mountain spring, because that’s what you do when you have five kids who say “I will if you will.” We still cannot agree whether the first one in jumped or was pushed. 

Dad was also very demanding of us academically and always available to help with homework. This was not actually a good thing. Because he loved language, he was pretty good at helping with English homework. But getting his help in math was a nightmare. The first problem was he couldn’t understand how he could possibly have a child who was too dense to understand the concept he was trying to explain. The second problem was he thought the books also were stupid so he taught us how to do it his way, generally a way of which the teacher did not approve. My son would probably tell you I was the same way when I tried to help him with math. “This is so stupid,” I’d say. “Why don’t they teach it to you right?” Dad was my biggest supporter (well, I usually used the term “nagger”) when I wrote my dissertation. Although he worked on his doctorate for many years he was not able to finish, one of his big regrets in life. When my work was approved we all celebrated. My advisor told me it was quite unusual for the candidate’s parents to come to the dissertation defense, and I told her there probably aren’t many parents who worked at it as hard as he did. 

Dad was a man whose faith was very important to him. He grew up in Clemmons Baptist Church and was a lifelong Baptist, although in recent years he left the Southern Baptist Convention for the more left-leaning Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. He and Mom impressed on us the value of attending church, and we were there every time the doors opened. The first thing we did when we moved to a new community was find a church home. Dad was sad that after their move to Staunton he and Mom were not well enough to attend church regularly.  

Dad was a do-it-yourself guy before it was popular. He measured each job by how many trips to the hardware store it required. Many of his shirts and jeans were worn and paint-spattered, which made them ideal for dirty jobs. One day he jumped up from something he was working on and headed for the mall in Wilmington for emergency supplies. He stopped as he walked through the food court and glanced at the menu outside a restaurant. A passing lady, seeing a scruffy older man in shabby clothing, stopped and offered to buy him lunch. He couldn’t convince her he had money in his pocket and dressed that way by choice. Dad had so many tools that when he and Mom were downsizing he was able to prepare a well-stocked toolbox for each of his grandsons.  He took a toolbox with him to the assisted living facility where he and Mom moved last year and was always looking for things to repair, much to the dismay of the staff. 

It may surprise you to know that Mom and Dad were avid motorcyclists.  After his retirement, they traveled extensively, often by motorcycle or in their RV. Dad continued to be interested in politics and world events, carefully reading the newspaper (and working the crossword) every day. He was a subscriber to Time Magazine for more than 65 years and National Geographic for nearly that long. He was a voracious reader, especially of mystery and spy novels, biographies, historical fiction, early science fiction, and pretty much anything else he could get his hands on. Reading was so important to him. The last thing he said that I could understand was calling for his older sister, Mary, who we think helped care for him when he was small. “Mary,” he said. Then, more emphatically, “Mary! Mary, read me a book.” Known for his sense of humor and fun, he loved a good story, especially if the punchline included a pun. He taught us all the art of sarcasm, which actually is not that  great a skill for a child who has to interact with a teacher or a young adult who needs to get along with a spouse. 

Dad loved good food, as do we all, but he especially loved ice cream. He loved ice cream like no one else I’ve ever known. A few days ago he was barely making sense, but he asked every person who came into his room if they’d brought him ice cream. When we were children, he’d occasionally do the grocery shopping. His practice was to buy the absolute cheapest of everything on his list and use what he saved to buy ice cream. He used to say he liked every kind of ice cream there is until my sister, Sandy, introduced him to bubble gum ice cream. Forever after that he’d say he liked every kind of ice cream except bubble gum. 

Most of all, Dad loved Mom. They celebrated 65 years of marriage last year and I think he was hoping for 65 more. Shortly after his first fall, doctors recommended that he go to a skilled nursing facility for rehabilitation, but he refused. “I promised Nancy we’d always be together, and I keep my promises,” he said. Oh, Dad. There are some promises that cannot be kept. I don’t know how she’ll make it without him. 

As I was growing up, I was surprised to realize how short Dad was – only about 5’2” at his tallest. (Another gift he passed along to me.) He seemed larger than life. Fred Welfare was a man of many interests and talents. He was a mathematician, a nuclear engineer, a loving husband, father, and grandfather. He had a keen love of literature and a wonderful appreciation for humor and good-natured practical jokes. He was a man of faith and conscience and compassion. He will be missed.