Tributes
Leave a tributeYesterday made 878 days since your suffering ended. Last night, I finally mustered up the courage to carefully pack your clothes for donation to an organization that serves disabled veterans. I kept a few things for Abe, Frank and OU friends. Ocean of grief remains. Love Bridgee
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My chum Joey
Joey introduced me to Frankie when Frankie slept in his crib. I’d known Joey since we were 3 or 4. We grew up in the CPG-metro (aka … the Colerain and Pleasant Grove Metroplex, circa 1956-57).
I don’t know when, but we likely first met up in that tiny pre-school Sunday school class at Pleasant Grove Methodist Church. Later, we started 1st grade the same day as only the second class of the year old Hilltop School. We’d watched it being built with forbidding and mixed emotions. There was no Kindergarten for us. Joey and I were thrust directly into the pandemonium of day 1, 1st grade. I knew Joey and he knew me and we clung together among the mass of 25 or so fresh Hilltop CPG-metro 1st graders. 7th grade was our last year at Hilltop. We were shipped off to the big city’s Martins Ferry Central School for 8th. Somewhere in between 1st and 7th grade, Joey morphed to be just Joe.
We shared a mindboggling childhood so rich that it hardly makes sense. Reared by wolves would only barely approach our shared experience beyond the reaches of parental oversight. “See you Sunday!” as we departed parental oversight on Friday night by foot or bike to places unknown to camp and explore as we would. We were, after all, Boy Scouts.
News travels slowly to Los Angeles and I only just saw that Joe had succumbed to the illness I had heard about. I’ve not met the life Joe built with his family. To those Joe left behind for only just a moment … believe, hold fast, hope, have faith, trust, and rest assured that your Joey remains alive and in my fondest memories.
The Best of times with Brother Joe
Party on my brother.
Once upon a time, Joe was my son. Well, we had an OU family. Joe was aka Shane; named one night when we were all laughing about our alternate ending to the old movie, Shane. Joe’s “brother” was Jay aka Chester, Dave was Pa, and I was Ma. Then there were cousins, Bill, Rick and Jack. As Ma, I cared about my boys, like telling Joe (to no avail) not to build a bonfire in the glass ashtray in the middle of the living room in our Lakeview apartment. Who knew ashtrays could explode? Or riding in the back seat of Joe’s Plymouth Duster to make sure he and the boys came back alive from tooling around the hills of Athens in the dark of night, in an altered state. Then there was that foggy (-headed) night when Joe and Jay stood on our balcony, looked down 5 floors and said, “I think I can touch that garbage bin” on the ground. Fear that they would lean over the balcony and actually try to touch the bin birthed a mother’s advice mantra… “If you can’t touch it, it’s too far”. We wish you weren’t so far from us now, Joe. But we’ll keep you close by continuing to have our family reunions, as well as wrapping our arms and hearts around Bridget, Rosie and Abe for you. We love you, Joe. Nancy and Dave