The Book's Dedication: Stanley Bryer (1943-2019)

I dedicated this book to my father, writing: "He would have enjoyed volunteering alongside so many others in NPS." In an extended blog post during the research journey, I reflected further:

This is not part of any official scholarly record, but there is one "phenomenon" that has repeated itself multiple times as I conducted my interviews over the past few months. I saw my father in the faces, word choices, and mannerisms of some 60 or 70-something-year-old volunteers. My dad died in February 2019. 

After completing these interviews, I felt reflective and, to be honest, sad. My feeling of sadness, I think, was rooted in two things. First, I missed my dad. He would have enjoyed hearing about everything I was doing and learning in my project with the National Park Service. I think he would have been particularly tickled (a favorite word of his) to see me play the part of the blacksmith at Cumberland Gap National Historical Park. He also would have been interested in the stories of the Civilian Conservation Corps cabins at Prince William Forest Park. The fact that he was not around to hear these tales made me sad.

The second root of my sadness is that I think my dad would have really enjoyed serving as a volunteer at a national park. He attended university not far from Shenandoah National Park and probably would have enjoyed spending time there, but even if closer to his home on Long Island, New York, he would have thrived in a role that allowed him to learn, tell stories about history, and buy all sorts of books and assorted gifts for me and all in my family. 

My own research in this project and other research on volunteerism shows a clear link between serving as a volunteer in one's older years and enhanced mental and physical health. In the years when he was struggling with his health, I firmly believe he would have experienced a higher quality of life than he did by being out, meeting new people, and learning new things. He still did these things in his own way by, for instance, playing trumpet in a local community band. The parks provide such a unique experience that allows a volunteer to do something different every day. Even if the official task is the same, say, working a visitor center desk, the diversity of people who enter are never the same. 

I saw the enjoyment men of my father's age before he died were experiencing through their volunteer work. My dad would have enjoyed it and probably thrived. I would have enjoyed volunteering alongside him, but that would have required a different set of pathways for me to be geographically close to him. That I can volunteer alongside my son is something I don't take for granted now and, if the fates allow me to reach my mid-70s or beyond, I hope I can be a good partner with my son then too. The parks need their volunteers, and volunteers need the parks. 

Wherever you are, dad, in a way, you are on this journey with me. Though I am saddened when I see you in the words, deeds, and mannerisms of others, I take a strange comfort that you are not far away, at least in my thoughts.