I grew up in Charlotte, NC in a family that loved to tell stories, especially about each other. I really liked to hear my Aunt Catherine tell the story about the day my daddy blew himself up and by the time I was eight years old I could tell it myself just as though I had been there the day it happened.

My daddy, Robert, was the fourth of eight children. They lived in a large two story house , 826 Central Avenue - The trolley car ran right down the middle of the street - and there are lots of stories about that -- but this is not one of them.

Daddy's best friend was a boy named Morgan Heath who was a couple of years older that he was. The Heaths lived three blocks away on Central Avenue in a large two story white house -- actually it was a mansion, with six stately columns along the front. I can see it right now because I walked by it everyday on my way home from Piedmont Junior High School. I would point it out and tell my friends - - "that's the Heath Mansion - that's where my daddy blew himself up."

A tribute to Robert Diggle and his life.

My Aunt Catherine said, " If Robert and Morgan were together it always meant some kind of trouble."

One summer day in 1925 when Daddy was eleven, he and Morgan sneaked the keys to Mr. Heath's gun closet out of his library so they could inspect the guns. When they found a jar of gun powder on the floor in the closet - - they got an idea. They decided to blow up one of the old peach trees in the orchard at the far back corner of the Heath property.

They shook a line of gun powder around the base of the tree and then made a trail of the gray powder some distance away for a fuse. When they were far enough away they struck a match and waited - -and waited – -- and waited. Nothing happened.

Morgan - being the oldest -- told Daddy - being the younger -- to go down and see what was wrong. And he did. Just as Daddy bent over to look at the fuse -- it exploded.

Daddy was tossed into the air like a rag doll and landed about 20 feet away. Morgan took off running down Central Avenue to get Dr. Gallant who lived across the street from Daddy and saw his patients at his house. Well, when Dr. Gallant heard the explosion he figured somebody would be hurt so he was already headed up the street carrying a large can of ungentine ointment.

When he reached Daddy - he started slathering the ointment on him with a knife just like you spread mayonnaise on a tomato sandwich. When the ambulance arrived they lifted Daddy into it and headed off toward Mercy Hospital - - the same place where he had been born August 13, 1914.

Mother Rafael, the nursing Superior, took one look at Daddy and said, "Oh, dear Lord, call Father at St. Peter's. Tell him Robert Diggle needs the Last Rites."

Daddy was burned over 2/3rds of his body, face, arms, hands and trunk. They did not expect him to live through the night.

Now at the same time - Daddy's parents, Louise and Sam Diggle, were more than 100 miles away at Blowing Rock, North Carolina for a golf tournament. They were just sitting down to luncheon -- when Papa Sam looked over at Nanny and said -- "Get you pocket book Louise. We are going home. I have a feeling - - a bad feeling. Something has happened. We need to be there."

In the 17 years they had been married Louise Diggle had learned to trust Papa Sam's intuitions. Without a word she picked up her pocket book and they left.

They arrived home to find Daddy in the hospital, swathed in bandages from head to toe, only his brown eyes peering out from the white gauze.

They did not think he would live through the night - - but he did. And you know something else - - he only had one little scar at the base of his thumb.

"Daddy, let me see it." I would say and he'd hold out his arm and turn his hand over - There it was - - just a tiny white scar at the base of his thumb. The only reminder of the day he blew himself up.

Sixty-eight years later:

August 31, 1993, was hot in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was the kind of hot sticky day that makes your panty hose stick to your legs. At six twenty-seven in the evening a truck hit a pole on East Boulevard in the Dilworth Section of Charlotte and a transformer exploded. The lights went out at the Harris Teeter Grocery Store and then at the Dilworth Inn and then, a half a block away, they went out at the Hankins Whittington Funeral Home.

I know exactly when it happened because I was in the large double parlor at Hankins Whittington putting the final touches on things for my daddy's Rosary. People were expected to arrive at seven o'clock. I had just placed the life photo album I had made for Daddy on a side table.

Daddy was resting peacefully in his lovely flag draped casket in an alcove at one end of the room.

Suddenly the lights went out.

In just a moment the back-up generator kicked on. Now, the only lights in the room were the up lights at the head and foot of daddy's casket. They filled the alcove with a golden glow.

A member of the staff rushed in carrying a tray of candles which we placed around the room. The heat from the flames brought up the scent from the smelly lilies in some of the floral arrangements.

About that time Father O'Rourke, the pastor of St. Patrick's Cathedral walked in. He was to lead the Rosary.

"Father, what will we do?"

"Don't worry, Ellouise. I think its kind of romantic. Bob would love this."

Daddy would have loved it. And he would have had a lot to say about it if he had been there - - and not in the box.

When my sister, Dena, walked in she took one look and said. "Daddy is doing this. I know he is."

People began to arrive. I watched old friends hold the album close to the candles to see the pictures.

"Is that Robert in his striped suit standing next to his Mama? He looks to be about six years old"

"Oh, my, he was good looking in his Army Air Corps uniform. Wasn't he overseas during "the War"?

Then I heard my Aunt Catherine's voice,

"Do you remember the day Robert blew himself up. That boy was something. It is a miracle he lived."

Father O'Rourke began the Rosary. As he moved around the room he tapped different people on the shoulder to say the responses. Familiar voices of family and friends surrounded Daddy.

It was romantic.

Daddy would have loved this story and he would have told it and told it and told it.

Just like I am.