Please excuse my lack of activity in this space over the last few weeks.  We had a death in the family, again.  A scant 10 weeks after cancer claimed my older brother, my Dad's failing heart finally gave out for good. Words really can't describe the sense of loss in losing your last parent. Suffice to say it adds new depth and dimension to the word alone. On the other hand, the outpouring of affection from extended family and surrounding community was also comforting beyond words.

Instead of responding individually to all the requests Dad's eulogy I decided to post it here.  Regular blogging will resume in the near future.


                                            Brick by Brick

 I was trying to come up with the appropriate masonry work befitting Dad and I decided on the hearth, being the center of the fireplace, the part that is open, inviting, and warm.
 
He died in the wing of a hospital he helped build, like so many other hospitals, schools, churches, municipal buildings, banks, and homes.  No, he wasn’t a deep-pocket community mover and shaker, donor or fundraiser for philanthropic causes like building hospitals; he was just a bricklayer, a regular guy, a working Joe, one of those who did the actual building.  

Like these structures, a life is built brick by brick, with each one representing the many moments, some eventful, some happy, some not, some exciting, but mostly mundane, moments, that add up to the final structure of a life.

The final structure of Dad’s life is fairly simple, a sturdy 3-room affair made up of family, friends, and faith.

Brother Don and I were kicking around an idea for a documentary film featuring Dad. Essentially a video portfolio of all the buildings Dad worked on during his career as a bricklayer.  The working title was Brick by Brick, The Life and Times of Heartland bricklayer from the greatest generation.

The Greatest Generation, as you may recall, is the term used by Tom Brokaw, as the title to his best-selling book in 1998.  It is about those many, mostly unsung, heroes that saved the world during World War 2.  As he put it: This generation was not only united by a common purpose (of winning the war) but also by common values  - duty, honor, economy, courage, service, love of family and country, and, above all, responsibility for oneself.  They came of age during the great depression and the Second World War and went on to build modern America –men and women whose everyday lives lived by those values gave us the world we have today.  And they didn’t do it for the fame or glory but simply because it was the right thing to do. 

Dad embodied this concept, lived by those values, and, quite literally, helped build that world, in this little corner of the planet.

The larger concept of the film was to show, through the example of a seemingly ordinary guy, that with not much scrutiny, you will find every life story is fascinating.

The format was basically to film a road trip with Dad, film exterior shots of the various buildings he worked on, and interview him about what was going on in his life, and the world, when these buildings were being built.  The list is impressive probably exceeding over 100 projects when you count all the side jobs, chimneys and fireplaces.

Well, like so many great ideas, the film will go unmade.  But that, in no way, is to suggest the life of its main character, and I use that word on purpose, was a life unlived. 

So what started out, as a documentary has become a eulogy.  Don’t worry, I see some you eying the exits, I’m not going to describe all 100 jobs, just 3, one representing each room, the brickwork in the foundation of the home we grew up in to represent the family, another brick structure, the VFW, where he was a lifelong member to represent friends, and St Rose to represent faith. 

FAMILY

He was a simple man, I mean uncomplicated, definitely not slow - - because mentally he was as sharp as a tack had as quick a wit as anyone I’ve known.  Suffice it to say while Mom, bless her heart, was still with us, talked enough for both of them, usually did, and Dad was perfectly happy to let her, mostly.  But when he did say something, we listened with intent, first because of the novelty that he actually got a word in edgewise, but mostly because we knew that when he finally did speak up it was always worthwhile. 

In his later years, after seeing the ravages of Alzheimer’s on less fortunate seniors, nothing warmed our hearts more than when Dad would start a story with “I’ll never forget the time”…. It was like waiting for the curtain to rise, and his stories would never disappoint.

He was a simple man.  As an anxious, typical bored know-it-all teenager I remember confronting Dad: why after being all over the world, in Hawaii, New York, California, the South Pacific, did he ever decide to live here of all places?  Well, he replied, first of all, of all those places you mentioned? none of them, to me, is as beautiful as it is right here in Wisconsin, and secondly, this is home.  You’ll learn to appreciate that when you get a little older.  He was right as usual, and probably the hardest part of his passing is that now, home cannot, nor will ever be, the same.

He had no regrets whatsoever that he never saw a Packer game in person because he knew there was no way it would be as comfortable as own living room.

He would just as soon stay home as go anywhere, except for the ROMEO (retired old men eating out) Club meetings down at Nicks, which brings us to the second room…

FRIENDS

Of all the bricks that made up Dad’s life, right after family, came friends, and nothing explains that better than his membership in the VFW, a service he gladly offered for more than 60 years.  He was a founding member of Post 3818, established in 1946, the same year he was honorably discharged from the Navy, served twice as commander, at least once as quartermaster that I know of, and the last 15 years as chaplain.

He was a founding member of the Country Club and of course had a hand in various construction projects there over the years.  Upon taking up golf he quickly deduced that lower scores would come a lot quicker from accuracy around the greens than from long drives. In citing the obvious, that the shortest distance between him and the target was a straight line, he would say “you’re better off hitting it 180 yards up the middle than 280 out into the corn field”.  He had the discipline to shoot for bogey, and in doing so consistently played better than that, well enough to take a league championship after only a few years playing.

So fond he was of staying put, it took every bit of my sales ability to get him to take a trip to Ireland the year after Mom died.  It took a promise to visit old cemeteries to find the grave of Great Grandma Catherine for him to finally agree to go. 

I didn’t tell him that one night for dinner the B&B where we stayed had a special meal planned; to celebrate Wicklow County as the Garden of Ireland each of their seven course dinner contained edible flowers.  He was little unsure but ate it all, probably more to be polite than anything.

We struck up a conversation with ladies at the next table, who, I think, were giving Dad the eye.  One of them just couldn’t fathom, and asked why; we would come all that way to visit a grave “what are you going to do if you find it?”  Without a seconds hesitation Dad said “ why, kneel down and say a prayer.”  I got the feeling he was a little annoyed by the question seeing how the answer was so obvious.

Faith
That brings us to the third room, faith; the mortar that holds all these bricks together, even more so than family, duty, and country.  Dad was born and raised Catholic and, after extreme unction this past Tuesday, received 6 of the 7 sacraments.  The only exception being that of Ordination into the Priesthood, -- although one of my siblings did point out he had a pretty good head start on the celibacy thing since mom died.

St Rose School, right across the street here, completed in 1955, replaced the grade school he attended, and where all of 9 of his children graduated.  I remember his disappointment when his employer did not get the bid on the new St Rose Church, where we will have his funeral tomorrow, but do believe archive photos show him helping Father Stack set the cornerstone in 1968. 

Tomorrow he will be laid to rest at St Rose Cemetery, representing, the last local of the 6th generation resting there.  Indeed, he will be welcomed into a cemetery where the buried family outnumber us survivors - - by a lot! 

For someone who was perfectly happy to stay home, it couldn’t be more fitting, because, in the end that is exactly where he’s going.

He lived a long and full life.  One where he was fortunate to be involved in and watch his children and their children grow and learn.  A life in which he married and shared a passionate romance with the love of his life.  A life friendships lasted decade after decade, and a life of a faith that helped him celebrate the good times and survive the bad. 

Life is lived brick by brick and the structure he built, of family friends and faith, is one we would all do very well to emulate.