Tribute to Dad, 10/18/25
I’d like to start with a word of thanks to Dad’s caregivers in his final year–Jeff, Erin, Joanne, Amber, and the hospice nurses. Dad was an incredibly sweet man, but there were times when his confusion and frustation boiled over and things got tough. Thank you for your kindness and your care. But the biggest thanks by far goes to Deborah. You were his light and the reason he kept getting up in the morning, even when biology suggested maybe he shouldn’t. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been day in, and day out. So from the bottom of my heart….all of our hearts, THANK YOU.
Lionel Barthold. Dad. What an incredible and full life! He was born to a poor but loving family with 4 siblings. He dropped out of high school to work in the merchant marines, first on the Great Lakes, then in the Atlantic during WWII. Fortunately he survived and returned to work his way through Northwestern. where he met my mother. After graduation, he eventually joined GE and moved to Schenectady, where Skip and I were raised.
Mom had spent summers swimming at a beautiful outdoor pool in Pennsylvania, and lamented the fact that in Schenectady there weren’t any places like that for Skip and I to learn to swim. So Dad joined with a couple GE friends to raise money, buy land, and build a swim club—Glen Hills Club, where Skip and I spent much of our summers and which is still active today.
After a number of years at GE, he had the brilliant idea of forming an independent company that would charge people to do what GE and Westinghouse were already doing for free. People laughed and said he was nuts. He proceeded anyway, convinced 6 other GE brainiacs to join him, and after a couple years people weren’t laughing anymore. That company, Power Techologies Inc. (PTI), grew to be the premier power systems engineering company in the world.
Dad was granted over a dozen patents, working on many into his 90’s with his colleague and friend Dennis Woodford. Along the way he picked up numerous awards. IEEE Tesla award, one of the first fellows of Cigre, President of Power Engineering Society, a member of the National Academy of Engineers, and in 2019 the IEEE lifetime achievement award. You may not know all these acronyms but trust me—he was a big deal. A really big deal.
He also served on boards for the Burnt Hills school, Adirondack Conservancy, Trust for Lake George, Proctors Theatre, this church, Luzerne Music Center, Trustco bank, and undoubtably several more that I don’t know about. It’s pretty unbelievable.
But dad was far more than a list of achievements and organizations. For him there were 3 core drivers: Family, Friends, and Fun.
To dad, there was never a question of priority—Family was always at the top of the pile. And he had a big family. It started with his dad, who was one of 11. Then there were his 4 siblings, plus the two of us. After my Mom died in 1987 he met and married Deborah, and began a second family to which he was equally devoted. And family didn’t stop at biological lines. I never knew how many brothers and sisters I had until I heard from so many people that he was like a second father to them. He gave freely of his time, his humor, his knowledge, and his heart to all who would spend the time to listen.
I can’t think of Dad without thinking of his many friends. Early ski trips with to Grey Rocks in Quebec, singing on the Hunts and Stratford’s porch at Lake George, weekend get aways with the Sitzmarkers, sailing trips in the Virgin Islands—all were enjoyed with a parcel of friends. He loved people, and people loved him. I learned recently that when his lifelong friend Bill Piper was in assisted care towards the end of his life, Dad wrote to him almost every day for 2 years. That’s a friend.
He really had fun in everything he did. Halloween costumes were elaborate creations—chicken wire, paper mache, creepy lights, headless torso’s. Christmas cards were intricate creations, each one seemingly more creative than the last. Christmas wasn’t Christmas until you got Dad’s card. His doorbell was legendary…you pulled a giant wooden ball by the door that was connected to a series of rope and pulleys concealed in the framing that rang a dinner bell in the kitchen.
One of my favorite images of Dad comes from a party at our Lake George house commemorating 25 years of PTI. Somebody had decided that a marching band would be a nice touch, but nobody could play the Sousaphone. So Dad bought one and learned to play it (sort of). On the designated day, a band of cheerleaders, dressed in drag, swooped down the driveway, followed by the PTI marching band, Dad proudly snorting away on his Sousaphone—of course adorned with a PTI banner. So much for the stereotype of dull engineer.
It’s interesting that after so many epic adventures and family vacations, the things that have meant the most to me were pretty mundane. I’d like to share two of those memories.
When we went on car trips, we often played a game I called good news bad news. Someone would start with a simple image, lets say “a puppy ran down to the stream for a drink of water”. Then we would rotate around the car alternating bad news and good news. “the bad news is that there happened to be a grizzly bear standing on the other side”. “The good news is that he was old and couldn’t see”. “The bad news is he could smell”. “The good news is that he had just swiped a bacon double cheesburger out of a dumpster and had bacon grease on his nose”. On it would go until we were laughing too hard to continue. It occurs to me now that that is how Dad approached any challenge. You do what you can to remedy the bad news. But you build on the good news, and that is what gives you the courage and confidence to try.
The second memory is from one of our backpacking trips in the Adirondacks. Dad never brought a stove, so whenever we got to where we were camping, Skip and I were sent out with a hatchet to collect dead wood for a fire. On one occaision it had been raining all day and we arrived at a leanto wet, cold, tired, and hungry. I dropped my pack and started taking off my soggy shoes. Dad pulled out the hatchet and asked us to go find some wood. I pointed at a neatly stacked pile of wood and kindling in the corner and said. “I found it”. Dad laughed and said, no…we always leave a camp with more wood than we find. And so we trudged back out into the rain, hatchet in hand, muttering under our breaths.
That was a day…and a lesson….I never forgot. He always strove to leave things cleaner, and with more wood, than he found. That was true for technical problems, organizations, relationships…and life. And we are all the better off for it.
When dad was hiking or ski touring, he would sit down at some point during the day, sometimes at the top, sometimes not, and fish a beer out of his pack for what he called “a supreme moment”. The picture on the cover of the program captures one of those moments. I’d like to think that this celebration is his final “Supreme Moment”—a time to pause, reflect, and enjoy each other and the world around us.
So Dad… I cannot say goodbye because you are so much a part of me that sometimes I wonder where you stop and I start. I will carry your torch , as will Eric and Jeanne, and their children, and all of those whom your life touched. But I’d like express my gratitude:
- For teaching me how incredibly important family and friends are.
- For not killing me when I broke my nose waterskiing and you drove to the hospital at about 150 mph because you were freaked out by blood.
- For not killing yourself when your skis slipped while traversing the lip at Tuckerman’s Ravine and you rag dolled down the Headwall, stopping just short of a cliff by grabbing a flimsy branch. And no, I never told Mom.
- For not cutting off any digits in your woodshop, though you came close.
- For showing me that you can work really hard and have fun doing it.
- For showing me how to laugh at myself.
- For deeply caring about others and constantly encouraging us to do the same.
- For giving me the priviledge to help take care of you for a short time after so many years of you taking care of me.
Dad would finish with a marginally inappropriate toast: “En Skol, Too Skol alle slika flika Skol.”
(One cheer, Two cheer, all the pretty women cheer)
But I will finish with: What an incredible and inspiring life. I am so proud to have the honor to call you my father. I love you, and always will.
Takk for alt. (Thanks for everything).