How do you sum up a life that spanned close to 92 years?

To categorize him, he was a Tinkerer, Sailor, Solderer, (and maybe) Spy.

He infected his family, perhaps for generations to come, with his sense of humor. He’d come armed to the dinner table with his weapon of choice—the pun—and he was the king. As the pun battle was waged, it was his quick wit and sharp tongue that would ultimately reign.

We’d get some of that at the Thanksgiving table, but when he and my brother started in with the computer and electronics talk, I knew I was out of my league, and it was time to sit at the kids’ table.

My dad was always a creator. Long before glasses straps were commonplace, he kept his glasses secure with thick rubber bands, a style he kept for decades and became known for.

I remember when he started as a movie extra. His first movie was “Contact” starring Jodie Foster. As his scene flashed onto the screen, all you could hear in the theater was my mother: “Duane, I can see the back of your head!” He would go on to have good face time in movies like “Minority Report.”

He got his Screen Actor’s Guild card in 2003 after working as a stand-in on “Head of State.” In one of his last major screen appearances, he saves the movie, opening a door for Nicholas Cage and friends, allowing the good guys to go on to success in National Treasure II. Inspired by him, I became an extra as well. The best gigs I ever had were a few overnight shoots with him for “The Replacements” and a day we spent on the set of “The West Wing.” I still can’t figure out how he made it onto the screen for “The Replacements.” I was sitting next to him, and there’s no sign of me anywhere. I got to see it earlier this week, just as I watch it whenever I come across it on TV. It always makes me smile to remember those nights.

A tinkerer—he loved to repair things. If something wasn’t working just right, you knew a trip to Radio Shack wasn’t far behind. That is if somehow his stock of tools and hardware in the garage wouldn’t do the trick. If the TV reception was just a bit off, he was up fiddling with it, no matter if it looked good to the rest of us. And tinkering didn’t just apply to family. One year, coming back from Hillsdale, Michigan, we were at a standstill on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and he spent the traffic jam fixing the car radio of the guy next to us.

He was the family driver, and he liked to drive fast. When we were in Germany, he did almost the impossible—getting a speeding ticket. To be fair, though, he was on the post in Bad Aibling, and boy was he unhappy with the MPs. He taught me to drive in Germany…ONCE! I attempted to merge onto the Autobahn and somehow barely avoided running off the road. After that, he passed driving lessons off to my mother. Those horror stories are for her to share another time, however.

He was ahead of the curve in many respects, getting cable, a VCR, a computer, but driving was an area he liked to be old school. He always had maps handy, and if you were going somewhere, he loved to sit you down and talk you through the route on the map—later on, he’d print out the directions. He tried some of the early car navigation programs, but I don’t recall them ever working very effectively for him.

An American spy? He was Roger Moore before James Bond and Tom Cruise before “Mission Impossible.” He was a licensed pilot, he skied, and he rode a motorcycle. That’s Action Hero material right there. He had a CB radio until it was stolen out of his car. He may not have been a trucker, but he was the coolest Plymouth owner around. All of these were just hobbies—maybe. In addition to his exploits with the Navy and his time on the USNS Victory, he traveled the world. He spent time in South America in the ‘70s, spent a year in South Korea in the early ‘80s, frequenting the North Korean border at the DMZ, and then headed to Berlin in the early ‘80s, right at the height of the Cold War. When we were in Germany, I asked him once (again—just once) if his job was to spy on the Russians. “Don’t ever ask me that again,” was his reply.

Plus, he married the best “pencil sharpener” there ever was at the National Security Agency.

And he was always up for anything with me, whether it was going trawling on the Chesapeake—I can’t imagine who initiated that event—or by staring death in the face, taking a community center bus trip to Philadelphia for a Redskins game. Somehow, we lucked out and were in the top row of the stadium above all the mayhem. In Germany, we played hooky one day and took a base trip to Austria and sledded down an Olympic-style luge course. I still have the certificate of completion from that day.

He loved many things, but I think being generous and kind was at the top of his list. I can’t recall how many times I’d buy him a gift or send him something, and when I’d come for a visit, he would make sure to be wearing the T-shirt or have the baseball cap or whatever out on display.

And he probably saved my job at Bowie State. When I couldn’t get help to keep statistics, he would—without fail—spend Saturdays sitting up in the press box with me at football games. Same during basketball season. I can’t remember a time when I asked for his help that he was unavailable. He became such a fixture that people would inquire as to his whereabouts if he wasn’t in the press box or on press row. He was easy to like and love.