James E. French

James E. French, age 89, of Williamsfield Township, Ohio, died Friday, June 12, 2009, at his home. He was born December 2, 1919, in Andover, Ohio, a son of Stiles C. French, Sr. and Mabel (Sparks) French. A lifetime area resident, Mr. French was a 1937 graduate of New Lyme High School. He was a World War II veteran having served in the United States Navy stationed in Guam. Mr. French worked as a sheet metal worker out of Sheet Metal Workers Local #33 in Cleveland for many years; and also was a dairy farmer. He was a member of the Percy D. Hyatt Post #226 American Legion of Andover. Mr. French served on the Ashtabula County Board of Education for over forty years; and also served on the board of the Ashtabula County Joint Vocational School. He was a Director of the Andover Bank for over thirty years; was a Williamsfield Township Trustee for six years; a member of the Ashtabula County Farm Bureau; Pymatuning Lake Association; Friends of the Andover Public Library; Laker Ruritan Club; and Farmers Union. He was a Library Literacy Volunteer; and was a former Rotarian. Mr. French enjoyed his family, woodworking, golfing, and sports. Mr. French is survived by his wife, Marian (Ukkonen) French, whom he married June 3, 1940; his son, James (Andrea Clark) French of Mesa, Colorado; two daughters, Sue Bugansky of Hartville, OH, and Mary (Mark) Tingley of Ostrander, OH; seven grandchildren, Dawn Kovell of San Rafael, CA, Debbie French of Durango, CO, Diana Johnson of Saugus, CA, Tim and Elizabeth Bugansky of Hartville, OH, Molly and Mandy Tingley of Ostrander, OH; three great grandchildren, Cassidy Kovell, Katrina and Nicholas Johnson; and one sister, Jane (Frank) Mason of Andover, OH. He is preceded in death by four brothers, Stiles C. "Bill" French, Jr., Gordon French, Donald French, and Myron French. A funeral service will be held on Wednesday, June 17, 2009 at 11:00 A.M. at Baumgardner Funeral Home, 134 Prospect St., Andover, OH. Cremation will follow. Calling hours will be Tuesday, June 16th from 5 to 8 P.M. at the funeral home. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the Ashtabula County Joint Vocational School Scholarship Fund. Eulogy given by Jim's grandson, Tim Bugansky,at the funeral: If Grandad were here today - at least, in a way in which he could speak to us directly - he would probably grow a bit embarrassed at all the attention being generated on his behalf. He would eventually put his hands in his pockets and stare half at the ground, half in the distance, in the manner of that "You been farmin' long?" poster of the two suspender-clad little boys that adorns his living room. He might eventually walk off to one side, like he used to do when Grammy got a bit too boisterous for his taste at a baseball or basketball game. Not that he was a man of few words, exactly, but because he chose his words carefully, particularly where they concerned himself and his own accomplishments. And instead of drawing attention to himself, he unfailingly chose to live his life through the accomplishments and betterment of others. But the photos and the plaques from all his endeavors and the beautiful wooden pieces from his workshop that you see throughout the room today are all testaments to the impact that he and his wisdom and his work and his kindness have had and will continue to have. As is the testimony of all the people who streamed through here last night and through his home over the last several days - family and friends, former farmhands, neighbors, coworkers, community members - all with a story of how Grandad helped them and influenced their lives. I am simply astounded at how much life, how many accomplishments, he was able to pack into his time here, and at the ease with which he did it. When I was young, I was only half-aware of Grandad having any obligations other than to come to baseball games or wrestling matches or school events, so constant and unwavering was his presence, so willing was he to talk, share his time, help out around the house, or help improve a baseball swing or throw in the back yard. My cousin Molly said it well in an essay that brought Grandad to tears and which Grammy still carries in her purse to this day. "Like most grandparents, they love to hear about their grandchildren's success, and though they don't know it, I attribute at least part of my accomplishments to their own examples of achievement," she wrote. "By simple gestures of care, my grandparents have influenced my character and have helped me to appreciate and accept who I am today." The same could be said of all of us and everyone else whose life he touched with his presence. Many years later I stand in awe of how those baseball games and school events were but a part of his life, yet how he gave them his undivided attention and effort. Just as he did everything else he undertook. To say he was a busy man would be a profound understatement. Busy in a real way. A tireless way. A way from a time when being busy didn't mean using half your time chatting on a cell phone or ceaselessly posting on Facebook about how busy you actually were. Even after he retired - twice, or more if you count all the times he gave up farming "once and for all" - he continued to work. He threw himself even more into community and family life. He taught himself the skills of a talented woodworker and used those skills to enrich the lives of others. He wasn't a name dropper. He didn't do anything for selfish reasons or personal recognition. Everything he undertook was done to make the life of his family and community better. And he had every reason to be proud of himself, because what he did he did well -- and he did it when he said he would do it. And he was proud in his way, but always framed his pride through the accomplishments of others, never directly his own. The strength of his character was due in large part to the fact that his public and private selves were in complete harmony. He was who he was and he lived what he believed in - always and unfailingly. A supreme form of honesty that is truly a treasure in a world that can be far too duplicitous and self-serving. Sometimes his convictions could verge on stubbornness. He didn't talk too openly about his WWII service, of which I know he was justifiably proud. But he made no secret about the fact that his time on Guam had left him with absolutely no desire to eat any more coconuts or pineapples for as long as he lived. Yet he also had a touching, insightful sense of humor about things, including his own foibles and idiosyncracies. It was the wry and gentle sense of humor of a very keen, patient and thoughtful observer. His punchlines were studied and insightful, and poked fun at situations, not individuals - except for himself. He had a mischievous streak, as well, as his schoolmates (and frustrated teachers) could attest to. And my grandmother perhaps most of all - before they were married, on a date at the Pymatuning causeway, he removed a watch from her wrist that an earlier suitor had presented to her. He ceremonially threw it into the water - and, despite his scarce finances, got her a new one almost immediately. One with diamonds on it. And whenever I had a beer, he'd jump at the chance to take a sip of it - a big sip. And of the next, and the next, and the one after that. But he wouldn't get one of his own, in case Grammy were watching. He didn't rush to judgment - but was decisive when he needed to be. He valued actions above words; but if he gave his word, it was done - on time if not earlier. He was wise and open-minded in a way that surpasses the wisdom of people who are smart for a living. He was a voracious reader, always seeking more information, asking probing, curious questions, never expecting his family to follow his own path in life but never tiring of learning about theirs. He was proudest of things he would never do himself - going to college, traveling, learning languages, seeing places he would never see, working jobs he would never work. His was a wise, strong, calming presence. His house and the world seem emptier places now, and it will be impossible to think of some things without also remembering him. Things like dusty books and creaking rocking chairs, pastures and forests and fields, coffee creamer and flannel, sawdust and woodsmoke, the ticking and almost-synchronized gonging of walls full of grandfather clocks, baseball-diamond dirt, tomato plants, pieces of homemade pie, hunks of good cheese, Old Spice, the evening news, Sunday-afternoon lunches, He was a beloved and respected man no matter which of the countless literal or figurative hats that he wore: husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, sheet metal worker, farmer, landlord, craftsman, community and board member, public servant, town-ball shortstop, lifelong professional baseball fan. We will miss you so much, Grandad. More than you would ever openly give yourself credit for. But your presence and influence will always be felt. And that is an enduring testament to the absolutely thorough, absolutely honest way in which you lived the values you espoused. For that and so much else we will always miss you, and we will always love you.

Service Information