My brothers, Bill and Bobby and I had the distinct honor, privilege and good fortune of having Pete Burg for our Dad.  He was simply, a wonderful man, as I think most of you here know.  This last year was particularly rough for my dad but he was always optimistic and took it all in stride.  We were talking about it earlier this fall I told him he was like George Bailey’s from It’s a Wonderful Life.  He had always been there for others, influenced, and changed so many things for the better.  That just like George Bailey, when things got bumpy, the many people he touched would be there for him.  And you were.  You were supportive.  The letters and cards of encouragement you sent  meant so much to him.  Later when he got sick, you were really there, what a tremendous outpouring of support.  One of my favorite memories is watching his face as he read the stack of get-well cards.  For that brief moment of the day, all the pain and discomfort was forgotten as he soaked in your support.  It made a physical difference. 
 
In It’s a Wonderful Life, the angel Clarence tells George Bailey: “Each mans life touches so many other lives and when he isn’t around it leaves an awful hole”.  In my dad’s case, it leaves a crater.  All of us here, his family, friends and the Akron community are better for having known him and having had him touch our lives.  We will all treasure our memories of him and miss so many things about Pete Burg.
 
This past year, I was on bedrest with my pregnancy and couldn’t attend a Potluck dinner at my daughter Bailey’s school.  My parents, always supportive and thoughtful, took her for me.  I’ll never forget when they returned home.  My dad had that Pete Burg smile on his face.  He was just beaming and his eyes filled with tears when he told me about the biography he saw at Bailey’s school that she had written about him.
  My dad was a sensitive, gentle man and he took that biography as one of his greatest compliments and expressions of love.  Bailey would like to share that with you now.
 
Bailey: “ Pete Burg is kind to others.  He loves to travel.  One time he traveled to Paris!!!!! He works for FirstEnergy.  He likes to play Golf and he likes to watch Basketball.  He has a wife 3 children and 3 granddaughters.  He likes jokes.  He likes to play with his family.  He is a great man.”
 
My dad was a great man.  There are no words to describe how fine his character was or how much kindness he had in his heart.  He was always true to his character and never did things simply for appearance sake or recognition, but because it was the right thing to do.  He never said an unkind word about anyone, and if someone else did, he’d quickly say something positive, and find some good in that situation. 
 
We’ll miss his smile and the way his eyes shined and crinkled when he laughed, how he instantly could make you feel comfortable,  and the way just seconds after meeting him ,you’d feel as if you’d known him all your life.
 
He was a man of action, yet he never made a big production out of anything.  If someone asked him to do something, he just did it.  His results were always amazing and quick.
 
His mere presence could give you a sense of calm and strength.  When you were with him, you just knew he could accomplish anything.  (And he did)  These attributes took on magical qualities at times to me and my brothers.  We felt he could solve any dilemma.  We would call him, “Dad, I lost my keys”, or my wallet or my car won’t start, and oh yes, and I’m calling from London.  Somehow, he’d manage to take care of things, even from across an ocean. 
We’ll miss his fantastic sense of humor and the way he could always look on the bright side of the situation.  We’ll miss the way he loved to tease and be teased.  Believe me; we teased him more than anyone ever deserved to be.  I’ll never forget watching the movie Arachnophobia with my family.  It had a big scary spider scene, so we devised a plan.  My brother  took a piece of thread, got behind the chair my dad was sitting in and tickled the top of his  bald head, with the exact pressure of a bug,  just  to watch him jump.  He JUMPED.  We all laughed, especially my dad and later he enjoyed telling everyone about how high he jumped.
 
We’ll miss his laugh and the way it would sometimes turn into a cough when he was laughing really hard.
 
We’ll miss the way he’d say “Eileen”.  His love for my mom was so evident in just the way he looked at her or the way he spoke of her and the way he’d say, “did you tell your mom about that?”  He knew what they had was special.  And although she might not have realized it, his face lit up whenever she walked into the room.  He was so comforted to have her always by his side.  Their marriage taught me how unconditional love should be and how the other person always comes first. 
The night before he died, we were gathered around him.  In one of the most beautiful expressions of love, my mom just said, Pete, thank you, thank you for everything.  He could barely talk then, but he reached for her hand and said I love you, so sincerely and earnestly and as strongly as he could and their love enveloped us all. 
 
My dad also knew what was important in life.  People always came first.  Material possessions were unimportant.  He wore his comfortable pants with the holes in the rear, so much, that other families may have been embarrassed.  But we found it endearing.  He was unpretentious and had the philosophy that titles are unimportant, that the measure of a man is not his title, but in the way he treats others.  In fact, when people asked what he did for a living, he'd simply answer that he worked for First Energy.  Most people were shocked if they would  find out he was the CEO.  I remember a particular doctor at the Cleveland Clinic telling my father, “You sir are a humble man.”  He told him how impressive his behavior was and my dad with his usual charm replied, “yeah, and it’s doing me a lot of good now”.  But, this doctor said to my dad, “well, you have changed me”.  If you knew my dad, you understand how even a brief encounter with Pete Burg could change you forever.  He was ever humble and kind and he taught by example.
 
He was creative and used to make wonderful stories for us.  One of our favorites was Stevie the Steam Shovel or how it rained M&M’s.
 
He had a reassuring way of catching your eye from across the room.  With one look, you’d instantly feel understood and loved.
 
He put his family first.  Growing up, we ate dinner every night at 5:30.  Sometimes, he’d go back to work in the evening, but he’d usually take one of us kids. He’d let us sit at his desk and draw, then he’d show us around and make us feel important.  Throughout my life, I cannot recall a single instance when he wouldn’t drop what he was doing for me or my brothers if we asked, or even if we didn’t ask.  He never said, I’m too busy for you or come back later.  He always made time. 
 
He didn’t take things personally, yet, was so personable.  He was excellent at sports, but showed us it was more important to be a good sport.
 
One of his gifts was being with people.  He was beyond exceptional in this respect.  He always remembered everyone’s name.  I loved going places with him where there were crowds.  He knew everybody and I would get to meet so many people.  They’d always tell me stories about how they knew him when he used to play basketball at Akron U, or something inspiring that he had told them in their lives that helped them.  I’d feel so proud to be introduced as his daughter.  Just imagine how cool it was to be 5 years old, going to Akron U games and discovering that your dad knows Zippy, personally.  He could have an appropriate conversation with a two year old or a head of state.  To him, people were people. 
 
While he fit in just about everywhere, one of the very few times he didn’t was when he took my brother Bobby to see the Ramones for Bob’s 12th birthday. My dad enjoyed telling the story about waiting in line with all the kids in black leather jackets and chains and how the bouncer got one look at him in his green windbreaker and khaki pants and said “are you sure you want to go in there?”  He was sure…anything for his son.
 
Well miss the smell of his pipe and the sound of his hedge clippers. 
We’ll miss the glint in his eye and the joy in his voice and expression at just the mention of his granddaughters.  He loved hearing the little details about their lives.  He’d do his famous clap dance and it was obvious that the granddaughters adored him just as much as he adored them.
 
We’ll miss his humility, his honesty and his sincerity.
 
He had an exceptional way of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary.  When I was little we had just moved into a new house in Stow.  Once the yard was put in, there was a portion of our front yard that started sinking.  This drove my dad nuts.  So every night that summer.  He would take Bill and me and we would get one wheelbarrow full of dirt from other new construction sites.  He somehow turned that chore into an adventure and one we looked forward to every day.  By the end of that summer, the yard was filled in, the grass started to grow, and you could hardly tell the hole was there.
 
So, while the awful hole Pete Burg has left on this earth, and in our hearts may seem devastating, my dad would want us to just put a little fill dirt in it, if you will.  He’d have us fill it with stories of how he touched our lives and filled out hearts with joy, helped us, inspired us, and made us want to be more like him. He’d have us fill it with our actions as we strive to emulate the things he stood for:  Honesty, integrity, generosity, humility and a genuine concern for others. He’d tell us to fill it with the joy of his memory and honor his life by our kindness to each other, and the promise to never let pride get in the way of doing the right thing.  We’ll fill our hearts with love and thankfulness for having known him.
 
Our family thanks you for coming today.  It is a real tribute to my dad and the life he led.  Thank you to all of you who stood in line yesterday.  And for those of you that couldn’t stay, believe me when I say that my dad would completely understand.  He hated lines.  I remember talking to him once the day after he had attended an Indians game.  He had the giddiness of a twelve year old when he told me about the super seats.  When I asked him how the game was, he got very animated and told me it was one of the most exciting games he had ever been to.  But then he added how he left in the 8th, and avoided all the traffic.  He had listened to the game on the drive home and it ended just as he was pulling into his garage all the way in Stow.  He was very, very proud of himself for this feat, and his incredible time management.
 
The Saturday before he died, I was sitting in the room with my mom and dad.  A tear rolled down his cheek and he said to us, “I don’t want to leave you”.  My mom hugged him and said “Oh Pete, you could never leave us, no matter what happens, you will always be with us”  He nodded his head in strong agreement and said, “I know”.  This life for him was wonderful.  He loved his seats, and the people he sat next to.  It was exciting and he lived each moment to the fullest.  I’d like to look at it this way.  He didn’t leave us.  He just left the game before it was over,  beat the traffic, and arrived home early.