Remembrances of My Step Dad

Dwight Dean Peden, May 3, 1935 – February 8, 2017

The Chimpanzee

In some personality categorization schemes, people are compared to animals: The “drivers” are lions, the “analyticals” are giraffes, and so on. Dean cheerfully placed himself in the “expressive” category — the chimpanzees. My earliest memories of Dean, from when he showed up in my “tween” years, are of wild piggyback rides, rattling dentures, bird calls and angry squirrel impressions. He was abundantly affectionate to mom, telling her she was beautiful, playfully kissing her, and complimenting her profusely on dinner (even on the nights when he did the cooking). He was always ready with a joke.

Someone from the ward: “How’s Alan doing on his mission?”
Dean: “Well, when he first arrived in England, he wasn’t feeling so well.”
Someone (concerned): “Really?”
Dean: “Yes, but they figured out the problem… popcorn withdrawal.”

His fun-loving nature made it easy for me to welcome him into the family when he and Mom got married, but he was always “Dean” to me and not “Dad”. That wasn’t intended as a lack of affection or acceptance — it was just that for this particular “giraffe”, calling two people “Dad” seemed overly ambiguous. He was a good step-father, and I also got a cool new older brother, Richard, in the bargain, so I was happy.

Dean introduced me to booze (Kool-Aid), cigarettes (Wrigley’s gum), and pep-pills (Tic Tacs), as well as sex in, what in hindsight, was a rather awkward “talk” when I was twelve.

The Organ Grinder

Dean: “Hi this is the organ repairman. I’m calling about your pacemaker.”
Customer: “Um… is this some kind of prank?”
Dean: “No, no. Your Lowrey Pacemaker musical organ? I understand you’re having trouble with it?”
Customer: “Oh! Right! Yes!”

Dean was lucky enough to combine his passion and profession as a musical organ technician. He traveled all around the Portland area, and Oregon generally, to churches and residences to service and repair instruments. Occasionally, I got to tag along and help unscrew the back of the organ, vacuum up some dust, or even twist the tuning controls.

One time I got to go with Dean and Richard on a repair/delivery trip to Grants Pass, Oregon. The delivery van only had two seats, so I got to sit on a folding chair between the two seats. The lack of seating in some way connected to the vehicle, let alone a seat-belt, was not just an abstract increased risk of injury. While driving on the freeway at night, Dean calmly stopped Richard, who was driving, from changing into the left-most lane. A few moments later, a car came flying down that lane going the wrong direction. I still think Dean’s guidance to Richard involved divine intervention.

While not much of a sight-reader (like me!), he’d usually run a finished organ through its paces with a rendition of Memory (from Cats), If (by Bread) or Mom’s favorite, the theme from A Man and a Woman. He taught me to play a part of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, which I still break out on Halloweens.

Some less obvious talents Dean acquired through his work were masterfully packing a truck (tricky to stuff an organ into a repair van already full of spare parts, I guess), and avoiding traffic by driving on side streets and secret routes. When driving somewhere, there was the normal way to get there, and the “Dean Way”.

The Influencer

Looking back, I’m not sure if science and science fiction were common interests between us, or if his love of them rubbed off on me. He especially loved Star Trek, and I remember watching Carl Sagan’s Cosmos together. There were always science magazines and paperback science fiction novels around. While I trace the origins of my career as a software engineer to my father, Milt’s, TRS-80 computer, Dean brought the first video game system into our home, which probably had some impact as well.

Dean was also an example of a priesthood holder to me. I remember singing How Firm a Foundation with him in an early morning priesthood meeting when I realized that I love that hymn. His conversion story is an inspiration to me, and I trace my priesthood line of authority through him since he ordained me an elder before my mission. His estrangement from the church after suffering a stroke at the end of his mission to the Family History Center was regrettable.

His stroke, and associated aphasia made it difficult to stay connected in recent years. He was never much of a phone talker even in his healthier days. Despite that, I still feel his influence in my life — from trivial things, like incrementally buttering air-popped popcorn as he did, to my testimony, his example of affection to his wife (which Shannon probably wishes I’d emulate better), and my second son’s middle name. I’m glad to have had him in my life.