Big Daddy John Wheelan I grew up in one of those homes whose walls were riddled with pictures, paintings, and family heirlooms. As a young boy I never liked it much. Every room just seemed to be a carbon copy of the others. All but one…my father’s office. His name was John Wheelan and he was a magician. In 1976 he converted the attic into an enchanting chamber satiated with memorabilia and magic tricks. His desk was a large pseudo-escape trunk covered in worn brown leather and complete with thick brass chains which hung from the front and sides. On the back wall, behind his desk, were a myriad of books…more than I could have ever counted at my age. I wasn’t supposed to go into his office if he wasn’t in there as well, but whenever I could, I would sneak in and just look. Just look at the magic tricks, and the gimmicks, and framed posters of Harry Blackstone, Tom Mullica, and Harry Houdini. My father had a lithograph of Harry Houdini hanging directly above his bookshelf. It was a picture of Houdini performing his famous metamorphosis water- torture-cell-trick where he disappears from a chained and padlocked trunk which has been submerged in five feet of water. On March 30, 1996 John Wheelan performed the greatest metamorphosis of all when he escaped the bondage of human form and became one with the Spirit of the Universe. He left the scene of an accident – his own accident. And he will not be prosecuted nor will he serve time, because he simply moved to the same place that we all will come to know one day. John Wheelan was 49 when he died. And in the half-glow of a cool country sunrise, his truck collided head-on with a concrete guardrail and he broke his neck. My father taught me more about life than anyone I have ever known. He taught me that a person is defined by their actions and that anything can be accomplished if one has enough desire and perseverance. Raised in an alcoholic home, my father saw his mother beaten and demeaned on a daily basis. Often times he himself took the brunt of his father’s violence. John’s family was poor and he spent most of his youth living above the many taverns that his father owned. My Dad bought all of his own clothes from the age of twelve. And his only true childhood friend was his dog Theodore. For nine years they were inseparable. As many of you may know, John never excelled in school. One morning at breakfast he told me that he had actually failed first grade and was very ashamed about it for most of his life. As high school approached, I am told that he grew into a popular and handsome man. He didn’t have much interest in sports or school elections. Instead he had girls and fast cars. But in spite of his popularity he told me that he still didn’t like his friends to see where he lived. "You could see inside the house from the outside," he said, "It was very humiliating". Needless to say, my dad had developed a terrible sense of self esteem. In 1966 he was called to serve his country in the largest draft of the Vietnam War. Stationed in Spain, he served as a Military Police Officer for 2 years. He did not take advantage of the GI Bill after he got out because didn’t think he was intelligent enough. So he found a job at General Motors and worked on their production line for the next nine years. Along the journey my Dad married a gorgeous young woman named Janice who gave birth to me and my younger brother Ben. My father’s new family became his inspiration and driving force. With us in his heart, he mustered the courage to follow his dreams. I was six months old when my father took a huge risk and quit his job. Intellectually, the General Motors assembly line job offered him nothing. Just that same repetitive task to carry out all day. And I know my father felt a longing within him to succeed in life. From the ground up, my dad single-handedly cultivated an advertising specialties company titled after his two son’s middle names. It was called Walker and Driscoll Advertising Agencies. Over time the company grew and prospered and as John set and achieved his goals so did his self image grow and prosper. With newfound advertising experience, he landed a job with the Miller Beer Distributing Company’s advertising division . He worked the two jobs simultaneously for several years, but ended up selling the Ad Agency in order to free up time for his family. Because at the heart of it all, my father was a man of intense love and deep affection. He had just been born that way. My mother never once questioned his faithfulness to her. His sensitivity knew no bounds and not one day went by where he didn’t kiss me and tell me that he loved me. I’ve always known that he would do anything to make me happy. By the time of my father’s death, he had become a self-made and self-taught man in the worlds of business, politics, and magic. His last and most enduring position was with the Illinois State Lottery. As one of five regional managers within the state, he was responsible for the ticket sales of 44 counties and all of the problems that came with it. His street smarts and people skills proved to be a very useful asset. I learned a lot about how to deal with people by watching my father. But the day that I came to respect my father most was the day that he and I went to see my biological grandfather – the grandfather that had abused my Dad throughout his formative years. I didn’t really know the reason that we were going to see him. The truth of it is that I had never met the man in my life. He was living in Florida and had been married twelve times that we knew of. As my father and I approached the door of my grandfather’s one-room white tin house. The ailing shell of a man dressed in a white T-shirt opened the door. I knew that he was blood because he and I had the same thumbs. My Dad asked me to stay outside while he talked. It was a short talk, but one that would lift a heavy burden from my father’s shoulders. Through strength of character and a desire to be truly free, John Wheelan Jr. forgave John Wheelan Sr. for all of the beatings: physical, verbal, or otherwise. I have always believed that one’s mark on life is made by the number of people they touch. 1870 people came to my father’s funeral. 105 flower arrangements painted the backdrop for his casket, one of them from the Governor. And a police escort ushered the funeral procession to the cemetery of closure. After the burial, my mother brought both wedding rings to the jeweler where they melted down the gold and removed the jewels so that two new rings could be given birth. Two rings – one for Ryan and one for Ben. Each to be worn with pride and remembrance. I would like to thank you Dad. Thank you for teaching me how to play chess. Thank you for going to all of my band competitions, even when I didn’t want you to be there. Thank you for Holidays. Thank you for my first car. Thank you for never losing at one of our arm wrestling matches. And thank you for marrying a good woman. In the velocity of daily life we don’t often sense the delicate fabric that weaves us all together. It's only when that fabric is suddenly torn that we recognize its delicacy -- and its strength. But I know that you were torn away only to be grafted into the magical tapestry of sky. And when I leave my vessel and move on, I know that you’ll be waiting for me at the station – and we will still be friends. -A eulogy to John Wheelan from his eldest son Ryan. You are the essence of love to me. Big Daddy John W Wheelan Born 11 2 46 Carlyle IL US Passed Away 3 30 96 Damiansville IL US Cemetery St. Damian Cemetary IL US Memorial Gardens