My Dad the Hobo

The stories I could tell about my father would easily fill the pages of a War and Peace sized novel. I'll relate one true story that illustrates one of his hallmark characteristics: his sense of humor. Born Calvin Kenneth Sunderland on January 18, 1925, at Watonga, Oklahoma, the first of 6 children born to the union of Utha and Orville Sunderland.

He early exhibited this particular trait. Despite his many talents and abilities, dad never took himself too seriously. He was as apt to tell funny stories about himself as about anyone else. In 1976, our family of 4 – my wife Dorothy, 2 young children and myself, were living in Winnemucca, Nevada and it was the year that dad became the talk of Northern Nevada.

A couple of years earlier dad, mom and I started a countywide newspaper from scratch in rented offices. By 1975 we had built the Humboldt Sun into one of the more influential and respected papers in the state. Dad devised a couple of cartoon characters to use when making humorous editorial comments. Called Hardrock and Zelda, they were an instant success. Hardrock was a miner and his lifelong friend and traveling companion was a donkey, named Zelda. Dad let it slip one day that he would sure like to have real life Zelda. Everyone laughed and he soon forgot about it.

But his friends did not. A few weeks later a trailer pulled up to their house on Thomas Canyon Road, outside of Winnemucca. Dad came out to see what was going on and out of the trailer his friends trotted out a genuine donkey. There was one problem, this animal was a "he" and the cartoon Zelda was a "she." This didn't stop dad from naming his new pet Zelda. Dad fenced in an area for Zelda and the two settled down to life in the country. Zelda and dad would play by the hour. The donkey loved to play kick ball with dad, and they would chase each other all over the corral. Dad and his first granddaughter, Joyce would go for rides on Zelda up and down Thomas Canyon. Joyce loved it and Zelda was always perfectly behaved.

Then came time for the big event in Winnemucca – the Labor Day Parade and Rodeo. Dad decided to enter the Humboldt Sun in the parade. One of our employees dressed up as Hardrock, and dad rode Zelda in the parade. After letting his beard grow for a few days, he went as a hobo dressed in a beat up old suit, hat and worn out shoes. Completing the picture was a decrepit, bent cigar clamped in his teeth. As the trio passed in front of the reviewing stand the announcer said, "Here is entry 67 representing the Humboldt Sun..." There was a short pause as everyone gaped at dad. The announcer continued, trying to keep from falling off the stand with laughter, "Oh my God! It's Cal Sunderland. Cal, what the heck are you doing?

Dad responded with a grin, "I'm just out on my ass in the street." The crowd exploded in laughter as one of the communities respected and beloved members, casually went his way with one of the biggest grins I've ever seen.

The following year Zelda died and dad was heartbroken. Zelda was soon replaced by a much younger and female donkey. She soon became dad's pride and joy. Like the first, he and Zelda II played games and romped together. Cal and Barbara moved from Winnemucca, Nevada to Albion, Nebraska before Zelda II could grow to riding size. He gave her away before they moved. As Alzheimer's slowly stole his memories, dad still remembered riding Zelda in the Labor Day parade.

Now you know where I obtained my sense of humor. The world would be a much better place if there was more selfless humor and less selfishness