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

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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 2

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 by Hampton 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 3

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 moon4

- 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 NBA and 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 -- Aaaaachie Bunkah. 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. “Aaaaah fahgetit!! 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.

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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.

-

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

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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.

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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 8

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 “ya regulah 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 No – my dad was incredibly proud of his

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sleave 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 bout

Auerbach??” “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.

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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.

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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.

So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must

Then let your grief be comforted by trust

That it is only for a while that we must part,

So treasure the memories within your heart.

I won't be far away for life goes on.

And if you need me, call and I will come.

Though you can't see or touch me, I will be near

And if you listen with your heart, you'll hear

All my love around you soft and clear

And then, when you come this way alone,

I'll greet you with a smile and a "Welcome Home".

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Again, thank you for being here today.

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