Oh My Papa (09/30/1914 - 12/23/1976) It’s hard for me to believe but today, my Dad would have been 100 years old! Unfortunately, he passed away when he was only 62. It was a tough break for all of us that loved (please read that as adored) him. But knowing my Dad as I did, the 100 thing wouldn’t have been his cup of tea. He was too used to being fit and in control. I really don’t remember a time when he wasn’t at the top of his game. In looking through some of the stories I’ve posted about him on the DBB site, some of them struck me and I wanted to share them with family and friends. In our hometown of Darby at BVM Church, my father was known for standing against the wall by the confessional on the right, for Mass. He was also known for genuflecting, staying in that position (resting his left elbow on his left knee, putting his forehead against his fingertips), and falling asleep. Im told Sr. Eucharista (who taught the 8th grade boys) made an example of him from time to time. However, one time, Father Gallagher came up to me after Mass and said, You might want to tell your father the pews are much more comfortable for taking naps!” He looked cross, but he had that smiling glint in his eye. He got his point across nonetheless. My Dad was mortified. He really never thought anyone noticed! I truly believed the sun rose and set in my Dad. As a child, I can remember the slight crackling sound of the dirt on the pavement under the weight of his shoes when we would walk down Darby together. My Dad was tall and handsome, strong and silent - I always saw him as a combination of Clark Gable and Clark Kent. It was like walking with Superman, but better - because he was real. He absolutely lived his life for his family. He made all things possible. And he made me believe that I could do anything I put my mind to - and do it well. He made you want to do your best because you wanted to see that smile in his eyes. You know what they say about Irish eyes smiling. Do you remember the song, “Oh My Papa”? If not, listen to it here: https://youtube/watch?v=6dWOsP_wly0 I cant even think of the title of that song without feeling a lump in my throat. As much as I feel his loss daily, I also know how incredibly blessed I have been to be able to love someone as much as I have him. My Dad came from a farming family with a bazillion brothers/sisters. He only finished 7th grade, but was an iron worker, a Golden Gloves contender, a business man and a great Dad. He would do any thing for any one of us, at any time and did. And never brought it up, it was just par for the course. He gave us the security of a good home, good education, and good friends. He taught me to work for the things I wanted in life, to be dependable and loyal, and to be a care taker. He and my Mom took more people under their wings, than I could ever list. He was a gentle man but you wouldnt think to cross him. He only had to look in your direction and youd be strongly inclined to straighten up and fly right. Suddenly youd be struck by logic - just with his look. Thats what I meant by silent. He really didnt need words. I dont know if that makes sense to you, but it was real. I dont know how or really why - but he brought out the best in people. From the late fifties/early sixties, we had a bar and he was always dressed. Always. Dress slacks, dress shirt & tie. Whether he was tending bar or cooking in the kitchen, always dressed. When he was behind the bar, the first clue you would have that something was wrong - was that he would loosen his tie. Something he only did when push was about to turn to shove. Im telling you, it was something to see. When I first started to work down the bar, different people would tell me all the heroic stories about him. I was so, so proud of him. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did - it was like EF Hutton was talking. Everybody listened. I have very few things of his. One thing I do have is a signature stamp he used for his business. And a little notepad hed keep his tallies on. I keep them in my top desk drawer and once a day, I stamp his name on a piece of paper and say a prayer. I have some sweet memories of him singing Daddy’s Little Girl off-key when I was about 8 years old or watching him hop on one foot and then the other - when he ate something hot, drinking his coffee from a saucer when no one was around or getting up from a sound sleep to come and pick up all of us from Holy Cross dance or bringing home meatball and roast beef sandwiches when he knew my friends were over. And, I posted this once before, too. My room was on the third floor. He would yell up the steps and say things like: Hey Donna, can you come back downstairs a minute, you left a couple lights off in the basement and shed! Or, Im glad you let the water drip for the last hour and a half, I was afraid Id have a couple bucks left at the end of the month. Or the night I had the A.C. going full blast. He came pounding at my door. I knew what the problem was, so I yelled Ill turn it down. He yelled, no - really - I just wanted to hang a couple shoulders of beef from the ceiling! And his standard when I played music too loud was Hey can you turn that up a little, my cousin in Glenolden cant hear it! Oh My Papa - Happy Birthday, ( in my heart I’ll always be Daddy’s Little Girl.)
Posted on: Tue, 30 Sep 2014 17:16:04 +0000