Harry Farrar -- 1916 - 1998

     
     This page is dedicated to the husband of Kathleen Farrar, and 
father of David S. Farrar and Jack C. Farrar.

     He continued, as this text was being written, to use his mind...
to discuss complex political issues, or the plot of a mystery novel
he had just finished (using a "books on tape" system). 

     His spirit is with us still. His body, unable to carry the weight 
of emphysema and lung cancer, surrendered at  5:50am,  November 13th, 
1998. Services will be held Tuesday, November 17th, at 11am -- 
Morgan's Funeral Home, 6370 Union St., Arvada, Colorado.      

     His is one of  the sharpest, keenest, and most precise minds I 
have ever experienced. I would be proud for this reason alone, to be 
one of his sons.

     And yet...there is much more to his story, that of Harry Farrar.

     If you knew our father (who was an "occasional sports editor" for
the Denver Post during the fifties and early sixties), and please 
contact us at the above address, and/or add your name to the Guest 
Book, below.

David and Jack Farrar

dfarrar@jeffco.k12.co.us
Denver, CO
United States


Let us know...

...if you knew our father (who was an "occasional sports editor" for
the Denver Post during the fifties and early sixties), and please 
contact us at the above address, and/or add your name to the Guest 
Book, below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                       ~~ As Julie Cee Remembered ~~

"Harry Farrar lived a long life, he left behind 82 years of memories.  
I am thankful that I got to share 30 of those years with him.  Many 
of you here today knew him as a journalist.  I have few memories that 
have to do with his career and they revolve mainly around dinner at 
The Press Club. Seeing Grnadpa's picture on the wall, occasionally 
meeting people that I saw on television or heard on the radio.  
Peering through a bannister into a smoky downstairs room that smelled 
of cigars; hearing men laughing, arguing, and playin gpool.  As far 
as I could tell the unwritten rule for the pool hall was 'no women 
allowed'."  

I grew to know and love Harry Farrar as my Grandfather.  I didn't 
really learn to appreciate his writing talents until I was older and 
read some of his stories in his column, 'Farrar's People'.  These were 
stories about unsung heroes, ordinary folks 
who did extraordinary things that made areal difference in the lives 
of others.  Once Grandpa wrote about my accomplishments as a 
wheelchair athlete.  It was embarrassing to read about myself but it 
was an honor a the same time.  Grandpa wrote about hwo I 'overcame' 
my disability, this is a common journalisitic tactic that I find 
somewhat misleading.  I never have and never will overcome my 
disability, it will always be a part of me.

  However, with the love, patience, and understanding of my family, I
learned to accept my disability and embrace the person that I have 
become.  I was blessed to have Grandpa as one of my strongest 
supporters, especially during my teenage and early adult years.  A 
time when I was trying desperately to find out who I was and where I 
fit in.  During this period of my life, Grnadpa wrote me several 
letters that will always hold a special place in my heart.  None of 
these letters was judgemental, or condemning, none of them told me to 
'get my act together'.  The common theme in these letters was, 
'Grandpa wants nothing more in the world than for you to be happy.  I 
see your struggles and I feel for you.' In almost all of our 
conversations, Grandpa would inevitably ask,'Are you happy?' or even 
end with a threat of, 'You better be happy or I'll have to punch you
right in the nose!'

   We had a long talk recently about how much his love and support 
meant to me.  We talked about how we had changed over the years.  I 
have been truly happy for the most part over the past five years.  
Having a family of my own, my husband Aaron and my daughter Jessa, 
has  made a huge difference in my life.  Grandpa talked about how 
proud he was of his sons, David and Jack.  His grandchildren, Chela 
and Adyan for pursuing their college education, Chelsea, 'the Union 
Organizer', for standing up for her beliefs, my brother Aaron and 
myself, for finally 'getting our acts together'.  Grandpa was so proud 
of his great grandkids, Jessa and Alexander, he was known to walk 
through restaurants silently critiquing the other babies and 
commenting to Grandma Kathleen, 'they're cute but not as cute as OUR 
great grandkids!!'  

    Grandpa talked of how lucky and grateful he was to have Grandma 
Kathleen. He talked about how his failing hearing and eyesight over 
the past few years actually allowed him to sit back and enjoy his 
family.  He no longer felt any need to try to control what was going 
on.  This was very evident the last few days of his life.  Grandpa's 
room was full of non-stop hustle and bustle and all kinds of 
commotion as friends and family members stopped in to visit.  Baby 
Alex sitting in bed with him, Jessa drawing pictures for him.  My 
cousin Chela drove all the way from New Mexico to say good-bye.  
 
     Grandpa was for the most part, an observer in this whole 
scenarion, unless someone mentioned sports or politics, then his 
hearing seemd to be as acute as ever and he took great pleasure in 
participating in any debate currently taking palce or starting on if 
that hadn't occurred yet.  He never lost his faculties or his sence 
of humor.  

     Grandpa will be missed by many people, I am thankful and honored 
that we was such an important part of my life over the past 30 years."

(played Bette Midler's, "Wind Beneath My Wings")  
      



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