Harold ‘Papa’ Moss gave deeply to Tacoma and to ‘friendship family’ members like us

Being a giant isn’t all about stature. We know this because we’ve loved and been loved by a giant of a man: Dr. Harold G. Moss, who died Monday at age 90.

You can tell a lot about a man by what he values, and what he invests in. What Harold valued and invested in most were family and community. The “secret sauce” was in his having found a way to combine the two.

This humble, proud Texan’s military career brought him to Fort Lewis. As the war veteran was building his life with a young family in Tacoma, he began building a “family of friends,” many of whom remain dear.

“You can choose your family,” he said often. And choose he did. His “friendship family” meant that you’d found a brother, a dad or grandpa, a mentor, an ally and a cheerleader.

He loved on us, bragged on us, encouraged and fought for us. He also called us out as needed. In those moments we’d discover that Harold was bilingual, speaking in “profane tongues.”

Another benefit of the friendship family: bonus family. We got siblings in his children, aunties in his twin sisters, and an elegant reminder in his bride Genie of how to make love look effortless.

His wisdom came in nuggets that we fondly call “Moss-isms.” Our “Papa Moss” reminded us to use our gifts and to understand that while personal gain was one thing, the ultimate goal was improving the community.

A gifted storyteller, he recounted struggles of Tacoma during the 1950s and the Civil Rights movement, pointing out that if Tacoma was so good they shouldn’t have needed the Urban League or NAACP

In Harold, Tacoma had our own Dr. Martin Luther King and John Lewis. He was brave, willing to fight and take a punch in the war on justice.

He was a treasure of “firsts:” first black mayor and Pierce County Council member. Never full of himself, he’d smile that megawatt smile and humbly reply “it’s OK to be the first at something … just don’t be the last!”

He was eternally optimistic about the future of Black folks and beamed proudly when highlighting how far we’d come.

Time spent with Harold was part masters class in community-building and part “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” He obliged us to always be our best selves. “It’s what you do when it doesn’t matter that’ll define where you are when you can’t help yourself.”

He’d cite examples of people who offered him aid and support when they stood to lose more than they might gain.

Harold modeled lessons on love and leadership, pouring generously into those he embraced. That’s how it always started. By all accounts he enjoyed these opportunities, and so did we.

He’d often smile and say, “if the Lord wants me to have it, he’ll put it where I can get it.” He did that with his lessons, seldom missing a teachable moment or chance to express gratitude within it.

He helped us find our voices, and taught us how to help others assert theirs. This powerful nugget is yet another Mossism: “he who has the mic is in charge.” Use it to speak truth to power.

Harold’s “friendship family” has had more moments of spontaneous, overwhelming, tear-invoking joy than we can count. While that should’ve been enough, it wasn’t. We long for more, but time is a currency that spends too quickly.

Our emotions are raw and our tears fall fresh. But he’s unwittingly left us something priceless for moving forward: instructions.

Go boldly. Be giants. Choose family. Tell the truth. Fight for justice. Teach. Mentor. Love. Lead. Use your voice to help others find theirs.

This is the blueprint: Build, adapt, improve and repeat. Now get going. You’re on the clock.

Alyce and Frank Boykin are residents of University Place.