My father, June Campbell, passed away on February 29, 2020. This is the eulogy I gave for him at his memorial service. This is the hardest piece I ever had to write.
This is the story about a boy named June.
June Campbell was born in Busy, Kentucky to Troy and Mahala Campbell on January 31, 1941. I’m not really sure why they chose the name June, but I have heard that he was named after a family friend. Or maybe some distant relative. Or maybe Granny Haley just like the name. Or maybe he just looked like a June. He wasn’t born in June. He didn’t even have a middle name as a fallback. When I asked him why they named him June, he just shook his head and said, “Hell if I know!”
So, what was life like for a boy named June? In the 1940’s and 50’s, his family lived in the hills of Kentucky, down a holler in the woods. He would explore the mountainside, fishing in the creek, catching tadpoles and running up and down dusty roads with his brother and sisters. Troy worked as a driver for a coal company and Haley worked as a waitress. They never had a lot of money, but they were rich in love and faith. As a boy, June did odd jobs for people, earning nickels to buy penny candy and entrance to movie matinees. He loved Buck Rodgers, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and the Three Stooges. He dreamed of a life of adventure beyond the holler. He wanted to see the wide world and let the world see him, past the mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see.
He found his way out of Kentucky through the Army. At age 14, June decided he’d had enough of school and with the help of his sister Rose, forged a birth certificate and took it to the Army Recruitment Station in Hazard. His mom found out about it in the nick of time, dragging him back home by the scruff of the neck as he was about to board a bus for boot camp. He begged and pleaded with her to let him enlist, but she told him he would just have to wait until he was old enough.
June went back to school and waited until his sixteenth birthday and then enlisted. The war in Korea had ended and America was at peace, but the Cold War had just begun. After Boot Camp, June got his wish to see that world and was shipped off to Korea. He was assigned to be a driver for the top brass, driving generals and visiting dignitaries around the base. I imagine that the mountains of Korea, with the gray morning mists covering craggy peaks, must have resonated with June and felt a little like his home in Kentucky.
It was in Korea that June met the love of his life, Myong Suk. She worked at a shop called Miss Jeannie’s Store near the base, selling souvenirs to GIs. “Jeanie” was a name the papa-san who owned the store thought sounded very American. Everyone thought it was her name, and the nickname stuck. June was immediately smitten with this feisty Korean girl, hanging around the shop without buying anything. He never had any money, but he was persistent. Eventually, she succumbed to his charms and went on a date with him. She was impressed with his dancing skills, his easy-going manner, and his enormous infatuation with her.
Eventually, she agreed to marry him, in spite of the protests of her mother and Opa, her oldest brother. Their love prevailed over cultural norms, both in Korea and in the US, where interracial marriages were not legal in some states in the South in 1961. Despite the obstacles and odds against them, they married and were married for sixty years.
In the Army, the boy named June became a man. At age 19, June found out he was to become a father. He wrote home to let his family know and solicit ideas for names. His sisters, Glenna and Rose replied that the best name for a girl that they could think would be “Glenna Rose”. He agreed, but made a deal with them, asking that they return the favor and name one of their kids after him. They lived up to their parts of the bargain when my cousins Rayma June and Barbara June were born. He was always proud of his Junes.
After leaving Korea and sending his wife and new daughter to live in Ohio with his family, June was stationed in Germany. It was difficult for him to be away from his wife and daughter. He returned home to his final assignment in Fort Knox, Kentucky, where sold Presto Pride Cookware to Army Officers. When he left the Army, he and Jeanie settled in Middletown, Ohio to be closer to his parents and sisters. His sons Troy and Michael were then born in short succession.
During most of the 1960s, June worked as a long-haul trucker, hauling grain and steel to towns throughout the Midwest and South. Truck driving offered him the ability to provide for his family and satisfy his need to constantly be on the move, seeing new parts of the country and harkening the call of the open road.
As children, my brothers and I loved going on trips with Dad in the truck, hiding in the truck bed during weigh-station inspections, trying hard not to giggle when the inspector asked, “Do you have any riders, Sir?” He told us that if they caught us, we would all be arrested, the truck would be impounded, and we would have to hitchhike home. Luckily, we never got caught, but we felt like the biggest outlaws on the open road. The most fun part of any trip was riding high in the cab and seeing a kid in the back of a station wagon pumping his arm up and down furiously, straining to get our attention, then seeing the delight on the kid’s face when we blew the big rig horn. This was Dad’s way of spending quality time with us and giving us a glimpse of what he did on the many days he was away from us. Throughout our lives, he encouraged us to see the world and dream big.
June moved the family to Germantown in 1972, to a brand-new house in a new development called Hillcrest. He took a job as an office manager for a trucking company so he could spend more time at home and less time on the road. After retiring from JT Express, with the kids gone, he and Jeanie would often hit the road on short-haul jobs, delivering equipment to factories in the South and Midwest. The two of them enjoyed the time together, eating at truck stops, staying in cheap motels and seeing the beauty of America, and visiting friends and family along the way.
June Campbell was a man who enjoyed life and lived large. He loved fishing and camping and being outdoors. Nothing made him happier than a warm day on a lake where the fish were biting, a cold beer in hand, with Jeanie and his kids or grandkids by his side. He loved his fishing buddies, who supported him unconditionally and without fail, even when he messed up badly. I like to think that at the entrance to the Pearly Gates, the Lord greeted June with a warm hug, then whispered in his ear, “Let’s go fishing, buddy! St. Peter's got a boat.”
Through the years, June was known by many names—June Bug, Round Man, Yobo, Daddy, Uncle June…but the name that he loved most of all was Grandpa. He was never more proud than when he talked about Nicolas, Alexander, Desiree and Harper. During the last weeks in the hospital, we talked about how excited we are to welcome Troy and Michelle’s new baby boy into the family. I said to him, “Who knows? Maybe they’ll name him June.”
He replied, “They’d be better off naming him Sue.”
The story of a man named June ended last Saturday morning, when his body could no longer hold the enormity of his spirit. His physical life ended, but his legacy will live on. The legacy of love and laughter, kindness and generosity, optimism and hope that something wonderful is just around the next bend. He saw beauty and fun in everyday life, and that is the gift he gave all of us.
I love you, Dad, and will always be proud to be your daughter.
