November 25, 2015

DAD

Thank you all for taking time out of your busy day (oh, and by the way - what happens to be the ugliest travel day of the year) to be here – to bid my dad a final farewell as he heads off to the great unknown. His family is very appreciative.

I’m David – the Youngest of Sam and Lenore’s brood of 5.

OK…. Where do we start to try and find a way to say farewell to this sweet, unique and colorful soul??..... I’ll start with what today’s gathering reminds me a little of and, well, it’s that time of year, so let’s start at the end. At the end of the movie - IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. George Bailey has just run home in a snow storm expecting to be thrown in jail for embezzling $8,000. But he doesn’t care – in fact he’s overjoyed because he now has a second chance to be again with his family and friends. He dashes into the house to find that everyone in town is there – and they’ve come to bail him out to make certain that he doesn’t go to jail. Everyone is rejoicing. His brother Harry bursts to the front of the crowd and proposes a toast – “to George – the richest man in town!” George certainly wasn’t rich by the common understanding of that word – finances. Rather, George was rich because of all of those in town who loved him, and because of how he lived his life.

This is what I think of when I think of my dad -- George Bailey, the richest man in town.

To understand my dad best I think requires an understanding of his history. And while it’s not a SHORT history, like him it was certainly a most colorful one. I’ll try and summarize:

-He was born in 1921, on the very day, he maintained, that his favorite piece of music (Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue) was first publicly performed. He was the only child of Max and Esther, shopkeepers in Haverhill, a blue collar town just south of the New Hampshire border. He grew up in the depression years, on those Haverhill streets as a rambunctious kid – rebelling somewhat against his kind-of orthodox Jewish parents. …. He told us of how he sold newspapers at a penny a pop and was one of the few kids with money in his pocket. …About how he’d get whacked on the knuckles by a Hebrew school teacher for some classroom hi-jinx that he started….About running down to the kosher butcher to pick out a live chicken that they’d have for Shabbat dinner – after he’d taken all of the feathers off….. In his teenage years he’d run numbers at Rockingham Park – the best thoroughbred track in New England. Summers were often spent on the beach with cousins in Winthrop. He once told me how in 1939, when he was 18, before there was a Massachusetts Turnpike, he and some of his buddies drove down to New York for the World’s Fair. I can’t help but think he had some pretty incredible stories that he kept from us – from those years. I wish he was a little more forthcoming. We can only imagine.

-After Haverhill High he went off to Clark University. There he was, in his fraternity house on December 7, 1941, when he heard FDR announce the attack on Pearl Harbor. He knew his number would be called and, sure enough, a few months later it was….. First the army, then he transferred to the army air corps in the hope that with a delay in his training, the war might end and he wouldn’t have to see any action. And so between 1942 – 1944 he trained to be a bombardier navigator in a B-25 Mitchell (they were the twin engine mid-range bombers that carried a crew of 5) – travelling all around the country (Demming, New Mexico, Columbia, SC, Roswell, New Mexico, Monroe, Louisiana, Fort Meyers, FLA). He became best friends with this other kid from Chicago named Jukey Cohen. On occasion, when they had a leave, Jukey and his high-school girlfriend would pal-together with Sam – and who knows what shenanigans the three of them may have been up to in those war years. In the summer of ’44, Jukey marries his girlfriend. She becomes pregnant. In early January, 1945, Jukey and Sam get shipped to the South Pacific to see combat against a dwindling Japanese military. They start flying their missions in March, 1945. On April 6, 1945, Jukey’s plane, the Seabiscuit, is shot down in a major raid on Hainan Island. All 5 are lost….. On May 6, back in Chicago, Jukey’s pregnant widow gives birth to a beautiful daughter, who she called – Judy…… My dad finishes his tour – getting shot down over the South China Sea in his final mission, on August 8, 1945 -- just two days after the bomb is dropped on Hiroshima, and one day before the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki… With my dad’s help, and despite an injury to his leg, all 5 were able to get into a life raft, and a few hours later they were picked up by a US sub..... The war ends and he returns to California. In December, 1945, in a blizzard, he takes a troop train back to Boston, stopping along the way in Chicago to check on Jukey’s widow. He returns to Haverhill and does a quick u-turn, heading back to the Southern Illinois College of Optometry on the GI Bill – ostensibly to become an optometrist. And I think you know where this is going……. On May 19, 1946 – he marries Jukey’s girlfriend Lenore - and together over the next (almost) 70 years, they would create and raise a family that turned out to be the middle-class Jewish version of the Kennedy’s Camelot – without the many sad disasters.

-Wes came in ’48. Sue in ’51. Then a move to Dorchester where he opened his practice. Then Alan in ’55, the move to West Selden Street in Mattapan, and David in ’58.

-These golden year summers of a houseful of kids were spent on the beaches of Salisbury. And that’s where we all fell in love with the ocean – and the beach – and boats – and fishing – and Red Sox games on the radio…. Back then we didn’t have enough money for a small fishing boat -- but we could afford a small Johnson outboard motor. On Sundays, my dad would throw the outboard motor, together with my two brothers and I, in whatever used station wagon he had at the time, and we’d drive a few miles to a place byHampton Beach, called Smith and Gilmore. There we’d rent a 14 foot wooden rowboat, put the outboard on the back, and off the four of us would go – with our bulky orange life vests, and a wooden box of sea worms, through the gut to fish for flounder and mackerel with our drop lines (no fishing rods). Now – just imagine that scene for a second: three boys, ranging in age from say 4 to 14, puttering into the open ocean with two and three foot swells, trying to get something on the line. For us - it was nirvana…. And it wasn’t enough to just catch the fish. Back at his office on Blue Hill Ave., and in Mattapan, we had to have fish tanks in the house….That love for the beach, the ocean, boats, fish – is just one of his many legacies.

-In early ‘66 they moved to the split level on Sharpe Road in Newton that would become their home for the next 35 years.

-Not long after the move to Newton, he moved his practice to West Roxbury, which he kept at, at least it seems, forever.

-Education was always important to my dad and he made sure all of his kids got a college degree, or more.

-And then, beginning in 1968 (and ending in 1997) – the next generation is launched. 8 grandkids in all…. In 2000 the first great grandchild comes along. Today that great-grandkid generation currently numbers 12 – ranging in age from under a year, to 15 years.

-Including children-in-law and grand-children-in-law, and depending on how you count, the entire Kennedy-esque brood now numbers somewhere in the 35-37 range. … Was it Shakespeare, or maybe somewhere in the bible, where someone once said – “Dad – mom – what hell hath thou wrought?!!”

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In many ways, my dad had an almost Zelig/Forest Gump-like existence. In his lifetime he saw:

-17 US presidents

-A World War, a Korean and Vietnam war, countless other interventions and the Gulf wars

-The Atomic bomb

-25 combat missions, surviving not just one, but two crashes

-The polio vaccine

-Man walking on the moon

-He once shook hands with a young presidential candidate Jack Kennedy walking into his Blue Hill Ave office while on the campaign trail

-The first black president

-3 World Series, 4 Super Bowl, 17 NBAand 6 Stanley Cup Championships

-Babe Ruth – Sandy Koufax –Red Auerbach – Ted Williams – Bobby Orr – and Tom Brady

-The invention of the television, air-conditioning and the world wide web

The list is endless.

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Besides longevity, let me fill in some of the colors on my dad’s canvas. Picture a kind hearted, Jewish, bark-is-much-worse-than-his-bite -- AaaaachieBunkah. That was my dad. Defined as much by what he wasn’t – as what he was.

Imagine – a snowy Sunday in January, 2002.Most of the Chused men are gathered in front of a Natick (pre-flat screen) TV. The Patriots are down by three in their first round of the football playoffs and with less than two minutes left on the clock they’re driving towards the Raider’s goal line. A young Tom Brady goes back to pass and - we all thought – fumbled the ball away. “Aaaaahfahgetit!! They stink!!!Cmaahhn. I’m goin’” my dad says in disgust. He gets up, puts on his jacket, and in the snow starts to walk out to the car….. As he’s out there, you know what happens: the refs overturn the call in the famous tuck-rule incident. He’s called back into the house, covered with snow. The Patriots go on to tie the game – and then, ultimately, win the Super Bowl. They win three more Super Bowls, and that same Tom Brady is now marching toward a possible 5th Super Bowl.

My dad never understood the meaning of the word patience

My dad was not …… / … but he was..
A man born into privilege and financial wealth / An entirely self-made guy who grew up in a Haverhill triple-decker, and who worked his tail off and hustled for everything that he had:
-He built a solid optometric practice that allowed him to buy a decent split-level in Newton, raise 5 kids that he put through college, and buy a very nice boat that he could take his family fishing in.
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An academic, man of letters, who devoured nonfiction and the classics / Very well informed and was always reading The Globe or the Sunday NY Times.
A man of high-brow refined pastimes. / My dad was a man of simple tastes who was entirely devoid of pretense. The focus of his passion was his family – and a handful of things that otherwise centered around his family:
-His beaches were Salisbury and Winthrop – not the Bahamas or West Palm Beach
-His fun was catching and gutting a fish with his kids – not 18 holes on the golf course or a night at the opera
-He’d rather go to the neon-signed Giovani’s, or Hilltop, or the Vallee Steak House on Route 9 for the twin lobster special, rather than the nose in-the-air Lock-Obers, or the Pier 4 of the day
-You weren’t likely to see him watching much PBS - but you would see him howling at Sid Ceaser’s Show of Shows, Laugh-In, or All-In-The-Family
-The Tin Pan Alley sounds of Gershwin and the Great American Songbook were his musical passions.
A man who bought at retail / Nope – it was always mark-downs – BAAHHGAINS -- for my dad: Filene’s basement, of course; Hat Offs in Jamaica Plain for gas; used cars at McKneileys. He’d often buy something merely because he thought it was so cheap – and figure out later what he’d do with it or who he’d give it to. Buy cheap and figure out need, later. Finding a bahhhgain was always one of my dad’s favorite hobbies
A man of glitz, and show, and “hey – look at me” / As a member of the “Greatest Generation”, he flew below the radar, never caring for recognition of any kind.
A front-page hero, running into a burning building to make a daring rescue, or winning a World Series / He was a REAL hero, the common man’s hero. My dad fought the everyday Willy Lohman fight, and won. Incredibly hard working, and completely devoted and dedicated to providing for his kids, and the wife that he adored so much.
At the end of the day, my dad gave his kids and his beloved Lenore – happiness, a roof over their heads, opportunity, and in his unique way, loads of love. After that - what is there?
A polished man of refinement and social grace / No. My dad was “yaregulah guy” with a gruff exterior He told it like it is. You didn’t like it? – too damn bad….. “Davy – this speech is too damn long. You’re borin’ everyone to death, heah.”
-My dad had a child-like sense of wonder about almost everything in life. “Wow!! Would you look at that building over there!” I’m lucky – because I inherited that very same sense of wonder and curiosity.
A man who saw the forest / My dad was the guy who was way too focused on the trees to see the forest.
And that always bothered me because I’m not sure that he really appreciated all that he accomplished in his life. Too often I wished that he saw the bigger picture.
A closet Jew, scared to wear his roots on his sleave / No – my dad was incredibly proud of his Judaism. Not so much the religious part – but the cultural side of things.
-He and I would often play a game that I called – Name That Jew. “How ‘bout that Kevin Youkilis, heh?” “How boutAuerbach??” “And Kraft?”…. “Obama – you think he’s Jewish?” ….“I think Kipnis for the Indiams is Jewish, don’t you?” Sometimes I’d correct him, sometimes I wouldn’t.
-In 2004 I took him to a special weekend at the baseball hall of fame in Cooperstown – Jews in Baseball. For two days we listed to former Jewish ballplayers, like Kenny Holtzman, and Ron Bloomberg and Art Shamsky talk about what it was like to play as a Jewish guy in the Bigs. He loved it.
A touchy-feely soft and fuzzy dad / He was of the generation of – give your kids a decent place to live, food on the table, a good education, and be there for ‘em. The rest is commentary, so to speak.
He and my mom must have done a decent job because we’ve all succeeded in our own different way:
-A world-travelling daughter who is Manhatttan’s premier museum educator and docent
-A lawyer son who argues cases before the highest court in the state and who lectures around the country;
-A daughter who is a former restauranteur and is Boston’s caterer to the stars; and
-A son who’ll pull in a tuna on a weekend and refinish a Bob Kraft dining room table the following week.
Not bad. Nobody had a drug problem, nobody was read his rights (at least that I’m aware), nobody was destitute and down and out.
And these are just his kids. Add in the grandkids and great grandkids, and it was all that he could do to keep himself from busting with pride.
Einstein once said that “Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation. For they ARE us. Our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.” How true that is for my dad.
From my dad, there was much that I inherited
-His stubbornness
-His lack of patience
-His love of sports
-His love for beaches, the ocean and fishing
A man of many words / My dad was never particularly good with words. But no matter. It was in his actions that he conveyed his love for us – which was far better than any words could do. It was in his hug, his smile, his showing up to our games, his making our school lunches, the trips he made to the beach or for ice cream, his trips back-and-forth to his parents.
If you looked closely, you could see that his heart was tremendously big.

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Funerals. These days they’re euphemistically referred to as “celebrations of life.” I’m not so sure about that. I think that in most cases, they’re sad affairs, filled with longings, or bitterness, or lost opportunities or regrets…….. By no means did my dad have an easy or charmed life. But looking at the forest instead of the trees, I’d say that he had a pretty damn good run. And there are so many wonderful and funny things about him that will continue to live on through us -- his progeny, his friends. And for that, we really can celebrate his life.

In putting this piece together I came across this poem (by an unnamed author) -- which some of you may have heard -- but I think it well captures the sentiment that I hope we’re all able to take with us today:

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When I am gone, release me, let me go.

I have so many things to see and do,
You mustn't tie yourself to me with too many tears,

But be thankful we had so many good years.

I gave you my love, and you can only guess
How much you've given me in happiness.

I thank you for the love that you have shown,
But now it is time I traveled on alone.