Stan the Man

Stan the cheeky child. The loving husband.

Stan the son. The brother. The father. The grandfather. The great-grandfather.

Stan the Christian. The hospital chaplain. The bible study leader.

Stan the storyteller. The mischief maker.

Stan the traveller. The camper. The hiker. The farm hand.

Stan the student. The teacher – of celestial navigation, no less.

Stan the chauffeur. The pilot. The skipper. The scuba diver.

Stan the engineer. The inventor. The electrician. The carpenter. The metalworker. The mechanic. The tiler. The roofer. And the plumber.

Stan was curious. He was clever. And he was loving.

He took some things seriously. Very seriously.

Other things, he took… less seriously. Like any sense of order in his garage workshop.

Stan got frustrated when a fixed part wouldn’t fit. He got flustered when a bolt wouldn’t loosen. 

Then, a light curse word or too – ‘damn’ or ‘bloody’ were as colourful as he got – he returned to levity a moment later. 

I still remember what he said when we built a cricket bat from scratch: Measure twice. Cut once.

Stan cared deeply. 

About the quality of his work. About providing for his friends and family. About his love for his Lord and Saviour.

Beneath his steady demeanour, he was a big sweetie at heart. 

When you saw that twinkle in his eye and that wry smile on his lips, it was time for cheeky Stan to have some fun.

That’s the flavour of the man. 

Now, for the facts. Sprinkled with a few more… colourful stories.

Early life

Stan was born in 1930 to May Isabel and John Richards – the fourth child of six.

May named him Stanley Irwin Richards. Why that name? Well, perhaps May knew he would go on to live a large life. 

She wanted him to be knighted from the start. His initials were: S. I. R.

At school, he was equal parts curious and cheeky. Traits that would carry him through life and define the man. 

During a long Australian summer, a swarm of cicadas made their presence known. It gave schoolboy Stan an idea. 

Wouldn’t it be fun to collect cicadas in a shoebox? Then get to school early to hide the box above the class cupboard?

Stan recalled: “As the day warmed up, the cicadas left the box and were climbing all over the ceiling. Until one of them decided to croak… Then they ALL decided to croak. The noise was abominable!”

It was bedlam. He loved it.

Stan went on to achieve Dux of Connells Point Primary School.

When Stan was 10, his father, John, died.

What was tragic for the family was in many ways also a blessing.

As an army veteran, John’s death gave May a steady income for the family. 

When Stan left school, he seized his opportunity to attend The University of Sydney – supported by the Soldier’s Children Education Scheme.

Stan was frugal too – another lifelong trait. 

Each day, he’d forgo the tram and walk the 3km from Central to university – all to save a penny each way on the tram.

Stan dutifully applied himself and graduated with degrees in Mechanical and Electrical Engineering.

His life was about to get bigger and broader. Much broader.

Work travels

After university, Stan worked all over the world. 

He secured an apprenticeship with British Thomson-Houston – working for his passage as an electrician on the ship to England. 

Then he made his way to the Harland Shipyard, Belfast. The same shipyard where the RMS Titanic was built four decades earlier.

Stan’s career continued abroad in India and Canada where he developed and patented slip rings for jet engines.

He’d drift off after work to camp in Arctic forests – coming face-to-face with giant stags. He obtained his pilot’s licence flying over the Canadian wilderness. He went scuba-diving in the Great Lakes.

In 1959, Stan returned to the family home in Blakehurst. 

He had explored the world, honed his skills and was set to begin his next chapter. 

Family life

Stan wrote a three-year plan for himself. One of the items read, ‘Get married.’

As fate would have it, a young girl from across the Tasman had come over to care for her aunt Jane’s newborn child. 

The family happened to live in Blakehurst. On Mooney Ave. Opposite the Richards home.

Stan—the dutiful son he was—was cutting down a tree from the family’s yard. He crossed the street to ask his neighbour Jane if she’d like it as a Christmas tree. 

However, an unfamiliar face answered the door – a young Kiwi by the name of Suzanne. 

When Stan returned to deliver the tree, Suzanne was so enamoured that she reintroduced herself, all over again, in a fluster.

The two became fast friends. Every afternoon, Suzanne would go to her window and take a sneaky look out to see Stan return home from work.

Over the summer, Stan invited Suzanne to join the Richards family out on a BBQ picnic. 

The sun was shining. It was a warm, blue-sky day. Suzanne then mentioned to May how beautiful the sun was. 

May quipped: “Which one?” 

Love was in the air. Stan, ever the romantic, left a dozen red roses on her bed. Stan proposed and they were married in New Zealand on 21 April 1962.

Stan had the word ‘eternity’ engraved on her wedding band. A theme that would unite them for the next sixty years – and beyond.

Soon, they became a family of four.

Leanne, born in 1963 – in India of all places. You’ll have to ask her about that story. 

And Denise, my mother, born in 1965. Ask her about the time he saved the family dog Yo-Yo – who went overboard on Botany Bay. At 33 feet long, their yacht wasn’t the nimblest of vessels.

Those daughters grew up and brought five loving grandchildren into Suzanne and Stan’s – or should I say now, Papa’s – life. 

Alexander, Katrina, Mitchell, Stuart and Nathanael. 

Then came the great-grandchildren. 

Olivia, Bentley, Micah and Hunter.

As for the name Papa? Well, that’s a story for my cousin Alex to tell.

But as for the name… Fred? Well, that’s a story for my mum to tell.

That’s right. Fred. 

During my teenage years, I nicknamed Dad, Fred.

Hey, Fred, how was your day?

Hey Fred, do you want a cup of tea?

It was a fun, endearing term I used for him. It stuck. He loved it. 

His sister Molly got wind of this and bought him a T-shirt with the words in BIG RED bold type “POOR BLOODY FRED”. 

He thought it was hilarious. Stan, my mild-mannered father, wore it out with immense pride. Hard to imagine, right! 

That said, we had a few family rules. One non-negotiable was: No swearing. Ever!

However... 

When Dad had his “FRED” shirt on, I was allowed to say, even in public: POOR BLOODY FRED. 

We smiled every time! 

Whether he was wearing his Fred shirt or his Sunday suit for church – he was most comfortable wearing only a pair of shorts working in his garage! 

That’s right. No shoes. 

“Hey Denise. Please take a look. I think I’ve got something in my foot.” 

Without a doubt, I’d dig around and pull out an iron filing!

Some of my strongest memories were working with Dad and Steve or Tony, Heath, Alex, Mitchell, Stuart – and even Katrina – to solve problems. 

Mum would be on refreshments. 

Let’s define the problem. What are the constraints? What are the variables? What’s the end goal? 

We’ve hit a curveball… Let’s redefine the problem. 

This approach to problem solving was handed down to each of us. 

Without fail, Dad would provide or invent a novel solution. He was always humble in helping us. 

Often, we had no clue what we were doing. But we trusted that he did. 

It could be hot, hard, messy work – or beyond us.

Dad was the brains. And the brawn.

We were his right-hand lackey. It gave us a front-row seat to his genius.

Work and helping

When they returned from India, Stan worked as an Independent Consultant Engineer for the rest of his career. 

One of his professional highlights?

He worked on all the electrical systems on what became Sydney’s Centrepoint Tower. He also worked on the lightning rods to be placed on top of the tower. 

When challenged by the architect – concerned that the rods would distract from the building’s aesthetics – Stan responded: 

Easy solution. Turn the rods into flag poles. 

Stan always knew how to solve a problem – elegantly.

That ingenuity spilled over to his personal life, as many of you know first-hand. 

Stan the handyman, renovated the family home at Blakehurst. And he did major renovations at Leanne's and Denise's homes.

And on one occasion? Instead of hitting a brick – he accidentally hit Craig's thumb with a hammer. 

Stan re-roofed his house at number 33 – where Suzanne still lives today.

He built verandas for his sister and beloved friend, Peter Dawson. 

Their friendship sustained them through the late stages of their lives. Every weekday, Stan would walk across the road to Peter’s home for their morning coffee and fellowship catch-ups. 

His neighbours loved him. 

So much so, that when Stan required a walker, they would escort him across the street and stop traffic to allow his safe passage back to number 33. 

Ever the gentleman to the very end, he’d thank them with a tip of his hat.

Stan the farm hand, loved visiting Sara and Heath’s Sheep and Cattle Farm at Burragate. 

They cherished his companionship dearly. Whether it was fixing farm machinery or building an office, Stan was in his element well into his 90s, solving the many challenges that farm life brings. 

He was at home on the farm, in the city or out bush.

Stan the adventurer, loved caravanning. 

Together with Suzanne, they ventured out on many trips across Australia and some closer to home. 

Some of my fondest memories are camping out with Granny, Papa and my cousins down at Coolendel. Building roaring campfires and swimming across the river.

Stan the mechanic, loved restoring his Daimlers. But you know what four classic cars need?

A five-car garage. So he built one out the back.

Stan the actor, enjoyed performing in musicals when the girls were young. And later in life, he drew on these skills to spread the story of Jesus’s resurrection. 

I remember Papa performing in Easter plays at the Salvation Army in Warilla. One year, I went there on a school excursion with my classmates. I was beyond proud to see him – and Granny – re-enact those sacred scenes.

Faith

As a child, Stan was brought up as a Baptist. But it wasn’t until later in life that he knew and understood who His Lord was personally. 

At Suzanne’s church, Stan was invited to go the final night of a week-long mission. It was there that he willingly accepted the call to the altar to receive Jesus into his life. 

Later, on the way home, he told Suzanne how important this was for him. Suzanne thought he went up to the altar for her. But he understood that God was calling him.

He said: I’m going up because I believe that Jesus died to save sinners like me! 

Granny and Papa are present in many of my earliest memories. These larger-than-life adventurers and kind souls.

In fact, one of my earliest recollections was at a family picnic with my cousins. Granny and Papa had just returned from the land of The Lion King – Africa. 

That was the coolest thing ever. Stan and Suzanne had gone over to support missionaries – Bishop Peter Dawson and his wife Marie – in The Congo. 

Not only were they companions for them, but Stan being Stan, applied his hand to anything the local villagers needed fixing.

There was no task too small or too large. 

From repairing a car chassis that was about to split in two – to sharpening bush saws and mending watches.

Stan the inventor, even repurposed the spiral wire from an old calendar to mend a pair of glasses.

His acts of service continued to guide his life back in Australia. For many years he volunteered as a hospital chaplain to comfort those most in need.

Stan the Christian, loved his Lord. 

One of my last memories with him was in his final hours. Suzanne held him and readied Spotify to play Amazing Grace.

That would have been a lovely story – if that was all that had happened.

But before the song played. Not one, but two ads broke the silence of that solemn room. 

Because why would an 84-year-old pay for Spotify Premium? 

Granny, Papa would have been proud of your frugality.

Seriously though. Granny, your unwavering faith and your amazing grace these past few weeks have been an inspiration. We love you.

Mitch stories

Those are some of the facts and details of his life. But as you all know, Stan was a man of stories. 

And after such a full, fulfilling life, he had starred in – and invited us to share in – many colourful stories along the way.

Even as a four-year-old, I knew there was something magical about the house he built at 33 Wollongong Street.

Now, thirty years later, I’m even more in awe of all the gadgets he devised and house hacks he installed:

• A fully-modified caravan – that he never stopped tinkering with – perfect for hide-and-seek with my cousins

• A TV installed on the bedroom ceiling – perfect for Vegemite toast breakfast in bed

• A wood stove in the middle of their kitchen – perfect for lighting fires as kids

• A hidden staircase that slid down from the roof – perfect for playing games on his attic PC

• And even a mighty Mercedes that nearly outlived him – perfect for backward-facing adventures in the rear seats

Close

Stan lived a big life. He lived a long life. And all our lives are so much richer for being a part of Stan the Man’s story.

That’s what connects each of us in this room today. The stories we shared with Stan and the many he shared with us. (Sometimes, more than once.)

So please, later today, I encourage you to approach someone you haven’t seen in some time and ask: What story did Stan share with you?

Because if Stan were here, he’d be telling us about that shoebox of cicadas all over again.

We love you, Papa.

I’d like to capture Dad’s life with a 9-word sentence that my childhood friend, Roslyn, shared with me after he had passed. 

To quote her: He was brilliant. He will be handy in heaven.

We love you, Dad.