CHARLES MCTEE

1928-2019

 

 

Charles "Chuck" McTee was born in Eatonville, WA in 1928 and passed peacefully of natural causes at home on December 5, 2019. He was a lifelong resident of Eatonville, as was his wife, Jaquelin, whom he married in 1950. She was his high school sweetheart and they shared nearly 69 wonderful years together until she passed in April of this year. They raised two daughters, Cindy (Leonard Slatkin) of Saint Louis, and Christy (Rick Coburn) of Edgewood.

Chuck was an excellent musician, and he played trumpet in a dance band in the greater Eatonville area for many years with Jackie. He also built his own hi-fi system in the 1950’s and collected many classical and pop records.

Charles was employed by Van Eaton Chevrolet for 43 years, receiving many awards from General Motors for his work as service manager. He prided himself on making sure his clients’ cars were well-maintained and safe to drive.

Chuck loved his hometown of Eatonville and thought it was a wonderful place to live and raise a family. He served for many years on the Eatonville Planning Commission and was instrumental in developing several neighborhoods. He also attended many town council meetings, and we are sure he had plenty to say!

Chuck was very inventive and mechanically inclined – he could create or fix just about anything – and his standards were always very high. Problem solving was no problem. He was self-sufficient (he built his own house) and multi-talented, with many interests and abilities as a carpenter, investor, electrician, forester, plumber, surveyor, mechanic, musician, and consummate outdoorsman. He loved wilderness adventures and spent many days with his family hiking, riding horses and Tote Gotes, fishing, hunting, skiing, and exploring the backcountry of the Western States, Alaska, and Canada. After retiring from Van Eaton Chevrolet, you could usually find Chuck working at his tree farm near Mineral. He was a longtime member of the Washington Farm Forestry Association.

Charles was a loving husband, a great dad, and always ready to assist those in need. His grandsons, Michael and Kenny Coburn, brought great joy to him and shared his love of the outdoors. They, along with Christy and Cindy, will miss him enormously.

A private, grave-side service was held at the Eatonville Cemetery. Those who wish to make donations in Chuck’s memory are invited to contribute to the Eatonville School District McTee Music Scholarship Fund, P.O. Box 698, Eatonville, WA 98328.

 

CHARLES AND JAQUELIN MCTEE

 

 

TRANSCRIPT OF GRAVESIDE MEMORIAL SERVICE LED BY CINDY AND CHRISTY

________________________________

Cindy . . .

Thank you for joining us today. On the one hand, it’s a sad day. On the other, we have the opportunity to celebrate an extraordinary man, and we do that among extraordinary family and friends.

Our father led an amazingly rich life in that he was so multifaceted. Here is a partial list of what he was . . .

A loving husband, father, and grandfather. He was married to our mother for 69 years.

He was a musician, mechanic, photographer, traveler and pilot. He played the trumpet and the piano and there was absolutely nothing that he couldn’t fix.

Our father was a loyal employee of Van Eaton Chevrolet for 43 years, many of them as an award-winning Service Manager.

He was a carpenter, plumber and electrician, having built his own house in the early 50s.

He was a talented tree-farmer, road builder, and logger, leaving his children and grandchildren beautiful park-like forested land to enjoy and benefit from.

He was a smart investor.

Our Dad was a consummate outdoorsman as skier, hunter, camper, fisherman, and hiker.

He was a community activist who tried to preserve a city park, keep utility costs under control, and prevent the pollution of Eatonville’s water supply.

He was fiercely independent and self-sufficient, and a problem-solver par excellence.

And when called upon to help in times of crisis, he was always there for friends and family.

He was truly multi-talented.

Our Dad’s sense of humor was not always immediately evident, but once in a while he would knock one out of the park – for example when he wrote an article in defense of game warden George Smallwood who was being unjustly criticized for not properly investigating the calf killed by Sasquatch. Dad claimed that Sasquatch didn’t ordinarily bother domestic animals, except for the time he threw two of Don Murphy’s buffalos over a ten-foot fence.

I have often said that Mom was my first music teacher. But now that I think about it, I believe Dad was the one who started the ball rolling by making his own hi-fi system and collecting many classical, orchestral recordings. I remember enjoying listening to them when I was very young and putting myself to sleep by imagining my own orchestral music, perhaps my first experience composing. Dad wrote music too, and I have a copy of a little piano piece he wrote for Mom.

Dad loved a challenge no matter how large or small, and he liked doing things himself, sometimes to a fault with potential risk. One day, I came home from school on my bicycle to find a piano swinging from ropes outside the basement windows. The new piano they bought for us could not be rolled through the basement hallways and around the corners, so Dad removed a window, rigged up a pulley system anchored to the chimney, and lifted the piano up through the window all by himself. He was a natural engineer.

He also enjoyed challenges presented by the out-of-doors and was prepared for any eventuality. He could build a fire in the pouring down rain, fix a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere, and he could always find his way back to civilization after a long trek in the woods. He and I used to play a fun game. Using a forest map, we would pick a lake that had no trail to it, make our way to the lake using a compass, and then go fishing. Sometime the effort really paid off and we caught some big fish. We fished together often, and I enjoyed it as long as HE would put the worm on the hook.

I admired our father for his talents, his loyalty, and his love of family and community. Eatonville was his home and he and our mother never considered living elsewhere. And so I will be forever grateful to my loving sister Christy for having cared for Dad at HOME with the help of the other angels in his world, his many caregivers, who were like family to Dad. They stepped up to the plate with compassion and love. You gave our father exactly what he needed during these difficult months, and we could not have managed without you and. I will be eternally grateful to all of you, and Christy, I am the luckiest sister alive.

So Dad, if you are listening, please know that you were and are my hero, someone I bragged about often when I said, “My Dad can do anything.” I love you.

________________________________

Christy . . .

Thank you all for coming. Because it is cold and miserable, I’ll try keep my remarks short. We can share more at the house. Please join us after for lunch.

First, I want to thank the remarkable women who have taken care of dad the last seven months. He loved you. So, do we. Cindy and I have no words that adequately express our gratitude. Each of you is very special and the tenderness, compassion and love you showed to dad was a real testimony to the gifts God gives out to certain people. This is not a job many can do – we are so glad you could. Thank you!!

For those who don’t know you I’d like to introduce you: Sheri Phillips, Anna Marie Walker, Kristi Kelly, Justine Hayden, Melanie Oruga (Shannon Carney came too). Dawn Castaneda and Deb Rivard were not able to be here. Our caretaker team extraordinaire.

Now don’t cry. Dad would say that is a bunch of foolishness.

Other introductions:

Grandson Michael and finance Lindsey - A little over a year ago we had a family dinner and after dad said to me – don’t you think Michael should marry that girl? I said I would be fine with that, but it was up to Michael. About 10 days ago Michael asked and she said yes! We are thrilled for them. We are especially glad that they were able to tell dad before he passed.

Grandson Kenny, husband Rick, our friends Patrick, Les, Dr. Tom and Louise, Pat and Edwinna, and Margo. Thank you all for being here. Dad thought the world of all of you and you have been great friends.

Other than the caregivers, most of you have known dad a long time. You know that he was a pretty remarkable man – very self-sufficient and independent. Under that gruff exterior he was a softy and had a good sense of humor, but sometimes you had to work at it to get him to smile. I originally wrote a bunch of notes about his life, but then decided to talk about a few objects instead.

Dad always carried a pocketknife. He often carried a small sharpening stone as well. I remember him using that stone to sharpen his knife until it was just right – precision sharp. When I was younger, I asked him why he sharpened that knife so often. He said – well you can’t cut a seat belt with a dull knife. He had to do that once when he was about 25 years old and he responded to an airplane accident at the beach. I’m not sure if that was why he took such care to keep his knife sharp. I suspect he learned something about that from his father long ago. He also told me you can’t process a deer with a dull knife. He hunted from a very young age. He said this little knife is all you need to skin a deer. And I remember watching him skin a deer or two with just a knife like this. He used his knife to do just about everything including cleaning his fingernails, shave tinder to make a fire and picking his teeth. If that knife wasn’t in his pocket, he wasn’t complete. Two-three weeks ago, I got to the house and he was a bit agitated and worried. He said he couldn’t find his knife. After searching the house twice, I found it way down in the chair where he sat. I gave it to him, his eyes lit up, he smiled, and he welcomed it back to his pocket like an old friend. It served him well and gave him great comfort throughout his life.

Dad loved the outdoors. The farther he could get away from the main drag, the happier he was. He took us hiking when we were young. We probably did our share of whining. We’d get tired and dad would say “you can do it – the rest of the way is level all the way to the top.” Then came exploring by riding Tote Gotes and then on horseback. He said he was never happier than when he got those Tote Gotes and was able to ride up steep mountain trails – covering ground faster. He carried a map and compass everywhere. A compass – another of dad’s old friends – can help you go in the right direction but if you don’t have it set correctly, it can lead you astray. You have to know how to use it. He did. Dad would park alongside a logging road, get out of the truck, point his compass somewhere and say OK – that way, let’s go. Off we would go. How he knew where we were going, I don’t know, but we would arrive at the beaver pond, stream or small lake, go fishing, then reverse the process. Sometimes I thought we were lost, but we would arrive back within sight of the truck even if it was nearly dark. I was amazed at his wilderness skills. I think of dad as a compass who gave direction to us by living a life with high standards and expectations – he set us on the right path, in the right direction. He was a great influence on his children, grandchildren and others, teaching them more often just by the way he lived and walked than with words. What better gift to give your family than sending them in the right direction.

Kenny – “Please accept this knife, compass and map as a reminder from your grandpa to set your compass correctly, always go in the right direction, and keep your tools sharp.”

I’d advise not to pick your teeth with that knife.

I call this tin hat dad’s uniform. For as long as I can remember he always wore this hat when in the woods. He sometimes wore it other times too like when he mowed the lawn. Dad came up with a scheme to hook a lawnmower to the back of a Tote Gote. It worked pretty well. Mom thought some of his inventions were a bit goofy. Whenever he did something she thought was a bit outrageous, she would say – “you girls must have got all your dad’s brains because he doesn’t have any left.” Dad would agree that If you are riding a Tote Gote and you aren’t wearing a tin hat – that would be a bunch of foolishness.

I think dad said the very first day he wore his tin hat that his father in law dropped a hammer on his head – probably when grandpa was helping dad build the house. I saw pictures of him at a young age with a tin hat, so I think it was more of a lifelong uniform. But had he not been wearing his tin hat, he may have been killed by that hammer and we wouldn’t be honoring him today.

This hat was used for head protection, shading the sun, drinking water, carrying things, and fanning flames, among other things. I remember being very cold a time or two camping. Dad was an expert fire maker. His trick – shaving pitchy sticks of wood for tinder with his very sharp pocketknife and fanning the flames with his tin hat. Had the fire not been successful, we probably would have frozen to death and not been here either. Turns out, we were always warm eventually.

On another occasion the hat was used by dad as an attention-getter. Dad and Dr. Tom were on a horse pack trip when Tom got sick and had to go to the hospital. When the hospital staff didn’t act quickly enough, dad threw down his tin hat and made such a racket, they came running. Maybe this hat also helped save Dr. Tom. Well that is a stretch, but it makes a good story.

So maybe, just maybe, many of us here have been saved by this hat while being operated by a skilled tin hat wearer.

Just a few weeks ago, we took dad for his last ride to the tree farm for a visit. He wasn’t going to get out of the car, but he proudly wore his tin hat like it was an old friend.

Michael – “This hat is for you. Remember your grandfather, keep yourself, friends and family safe, and wear a good hat.”

After mom passed, I know he missed her terribly as we all did. I was always so grateful that he and mom were able to spend so many years together. He had his faithful dog till the end for comfort. I asked dad if he wanted to consider moving somewhere else, like to an assisted living environment. He said “I built this house and I want to die in this house.”

When I arrived at the house on Thanksgiving, I knelt down by his wheelchair to say hello. His eyes got bright and he said, “I’m going home.” I replied, “dad you are home.” He said, “not this home. I’m going home.”

Thank you, dad, for making this place your home for 91 years. We love you and will miss you.
And thanks to all of you. You were all very instrumental in keeping him at the home he loved.