Eulogy by Michael Moynihan
It is with profound grief that we gather here, mourning the loss of our beloved parents, Joan and Bill, who were also siblings, grand and great grandparents, a brother, a sister, an aunt, an uncle, cousins, friends, neighbors, and co-workers. But rather than focus on our sorrow we prefer to celebrate what was a quintessential American love story. Two young people overcoming the hardships of Depression Era childhoods, forging an inseparable emotional connection that continued into their 6oth year together. They were proud that the fruit of their loving union resulted in a son who is a respected career personal assistant and accomplished actor, a daughter with a distinguished naval career which included sailor of the year as well as many other honors, and a 2nd son who is a family medicine physician. Their many grandchildren and great grandchildren truly brought them joy. They never made headlines, yet for us they truly achieved greatness.
Theirs is a continuation of an immigrants story. My Dad, a few generations removed from Ireland and England and my Mom, only one or two generations removed from Italy and Germany. My father was born in Springfield, Massachusetts. He was a New Year’s Day surprise for his Mother in 1931. My Mother and her brother Alfred, tiny twins, were born on August 23 of 1932. They spent their first few hours warming in the family oven.
Both of our parents childhoods, were affected by siblings with a disability. Dad’s older sister Catherine stricken at a young age with polio and his younger sister Mary with hearing issues. My Mom’s brother Al with a lifelong struggle with epilepsy.
My Mother was always close to and felt protective of her twin brother Alfred. Her Mother had several husbands and at one point Mom and her brother Al were boarded out to another family. My Mother, feeling that they were treated unfairly by this other family defiantly wet the bed until her Mother had to take her and Alfred back.
Dad worked in the tobacco fields and during the War helped his family with the special perks of working in a butcher shop. His tales of the odds and ends ground up as hamburger not to mention the ashes from his bosses cigarettes still give us pause every time we eat one. Dad was a pin spotter and also threw such a hard ball that the other pin spotters lived in fear of flying wood.
At age 16, he hopped a rail to Boston to join the merchant marines. When he was accepted and his friends were rejected he took back the lie about his age, and rode the rails back to Springfield. By age 17, he got permission from his parents to join the Air Force where after his stationing in Texas, he quickly became a respected drill instructor. Eventually earning his GED and becoming a clerk working with payroll and in the mail office. After a stint in Florida, he ended up in the Payroll Department in Illinois where he exposed a superior who was involved in an insurance scam cheating young Airmen of their meager pay. His whistleblower status resulted in him being transferred to Texas and forced to crosstrain as a Jet Mechanic, something of which, at that time, he knew nothing about.
Dad loved sports and played baseball as a youngster. Around age 8 before radio took over my dad would stay at his grandfather fitch’s house and would excitedly join his uncle henry and his Uncle’s friend at wspr radio where they reproduced the play by play of away games for the local ballclub by reading a ticker tape and playing recordings of crowd noise and sound effects.. Dad learned to be the scorekeeper. He was a good golfer and would also caddy for the young Westover AFB pilots who would fly low over the fairways for him. He played football possibly semipro.
Mom worked as a sales clerk at steigers dept store and later at an envelope factory. In later years she always spoke proudly of her work efforts.
My Mom was a late bloomer and became quite a beauty in her late teens.
My mom’s sister Elsie lived next door to dad’s parents. Through this connection he asked her out. She was 16 and he was 17 and home on leave from the Air Force. Dad was immediately smitten seeing mom in her black satin striped dress with high heels and although considerably overdressed for their first date at a demolition derby she was attracted as well. Taking her home after their trip to a burger joint they kissed ( no French kissing and mom remembering my grandmother’s warnings did not let herself get pressed against the door which was a sure way to risk pregnancy). Dad said he was in love with Mom to which my mother replied how could that be you don’t even know me. She, always the practical one. After only a few more dates off and on and exchanging letters my dad proposed when she was 18. My mother responded by saying she wouldn’t marry until age 20 but the photos of my dad with her beautiful enlarged photo portrait on the wall of his bunk and holding it smiling on the sidewalk (which you can see on our photo board) are ample evidence she worked to keep him interested.
Theirs was a whirlwind engagement. With my dad proposing in a letter from Texas after Mom’s 20th birthday in August of 1952 and by Sept 30th getting married amidst a small gathering of family and friends including sister Marie as Matron of Honor and cousins Peggy and George Clapp. They honeymooned at one of the nicer Springfield hotels and the next day started a nonstop 2 day bus trip to Selma, Alabama. My mom still in her cream satin with brown velvet trimmed wedding dress and my dad in his uniform stuck in separate seats. Someone on the bus remarked they looked like a couple who had been married for 5 years. My mom explained that not having a fancy wedding etc may have lowered her expectations from the start and so may be a secret to a long marriage.
After the honeymoon whatever happened that night must have been pretty good because Mom said they would have to do it a lot so they would not miss out. And so approximately 9 months later I came along in July of 1953.
Mom once joked she was a shirker not a worker and my dad’s promise to never make her work may have closed the deal on his proposal. But that shirker reference was anything but true considering her herculean efforts raising a family in the military. Supporting dad and us through household moves that happened every 2 yrs at least and sometimes twice in 1 yr. Including traveling with a 1 yr old alone by train to Alaska then by boat through a typhoon to join my dad on his first overseas duty tour in japan where my sister lori was born in December of 1955. Lori’s birth with a hip dislocation requiring full upper leg pelvic casting in infancy was just one of many life’s challenges Mom had to persevere through. Soon she had another naval sea crossing. Two young children, being pregnant and a cabin full of sea sickness tested her fortitude but my dad was along at least to help.
Having been transferred to nearby Hanscom field AFB, Massachsetts, my brother was born in Waltham in 1957. And in later years my Mother regaled Bill to his delight as you can imagine, with wild tales of his conception in Japan. Sun streaming in, billowing drapes, etc.
We crossed the country twice w/o air conditioning through the sw deserts, a canvas water bag hanging from the radiator and furnace like breezes blowing in our faces. On one trip as we drove eastward, our ultimate destination France, our parents suffered our repeated attempts at pidgin French and repeated renditions of beatle songs . imagine I want to hold your hand every 5 miles for 3000 miles.
We fondly remember their enthusiasm for holidays and special occasions. Our house always full of seasonal decorations and birthday fun. At Christmas we loved our Mr. machine, our operation game, the incredible edible bugs and suzy homemaker ovens and of course all things Barbie. One year a magical Christmas Eve visit from Santa convinced me one last time that he was genuine with that real beard. The time they surprised us with 100 dollar bills left us beaming. Sometimes the wisdom of their surprise gifts was not always appreciated. Like those binoculars I sullenly (sorry mom dad) accepted in my late teens which later became my constant companion on many hiking and camping trips.
We spent many happy Sunday afternoons twisting and dancing away at the NCO Club. Jacked up on our maraschino cherry infused Roy Rodgers and Shirley Temples.
Who knew we were being introduced to sultry blues , hot jazz, cool country and rock and roll. The joys of which continue with us to this day. Thanks mom and dad.
We fondly remember a mysterious drive at dusk arriving at a surprise drive-in showing of 101 Dalmations.
Our parents enriched our lives with a menagerie of pets over the yrs our cat suettee dogs pixie, chiuahuas buttons and ladybird, dachshund gigi and in later yrs my parent’s beloved taco, and poodles jojo and belle. Three large desert tortoises lived under our patio at Edwards AFB and they would slide open the patio door to leave their green offerings under our couch. Many lizards always escaping baby turtles, sweet soft peaches the guinea pig (never quite the same after being dropped on her head), hamsters and canaries that somehow ended up with short lives of freedom in the wild and many orphaned, we assumed at least, baby birds that took flight after milk /egg yolk mashed potato eyedropper diets.
We are grateful for our many Sunday drives and picnics; through the forests of Concord, Mass (always ending up with a drippy creamy Friendly’s ice cream cone), through the Mojave desert to hot dusty dry lake beds or to the open pit 20 mule team borax mine (just to show us where we would live when the nuclear war started) as well as French country roads lined with large trees and also to many Southern Arizona landmarks.
We have fond memories of fun times spent in their many swimming pools and sitting around their waterfall koi pond visited by roadrunners and assorted desert creatures.
Some special memories of my Dad are his quails, pack rats and coyotes and various denizens of the desert. The angel coins we found in his pants pocket after he died that we think he must have had for good luck. His green aquavelva bottle, his scent of old spice and his electric razor which I use every morning (but really Dad, that shave does not last the whole day). The way he could whip a wicked fastpitch underhand softball for a strike. His love of his boston redsox and trips to fenway park with my grandfather and me to see a Yankees game with Ted Williams and the other stars of that era. His penmanship, direct, energetic, purposeful, and with a flourish.
The way he ultimately became a respected jet mechanic and flight maintenance supervisor earning commendations and the respect of his peers and superiors. And retiring after 22 years in his early 40’s being well liked and respected in his 2nd career as a mail handler after which he retired for the last time at 60.
Dad inherited his family’s long struggles with alcohol but he quit drinking in his 40’s at my Mother’s request after we children had left home. He became a go to person for the Employee Assistance Program with regards to alcohol at the Post Office and when shown the lungs of a cigarette smoker at the Medical School he also quit smoking. His capacity for change was an inspiration to us.
Some special memories of my Mother are her love notes to my Dad that we found. Her many collectible phases including Royal Daulton, German beer steins, all things Star Wars, roosters and chickens, lizards, clowns including our paint by number projects especially the sad faced Emmet Kelley. None of us can forget her Red appliance period and the album cover from the band the Scorpions over her kitchen sink.
Her cooking was very traditional. American chop suey, macaroni and cheese with crusted bread on top, pot roast, galumpies, corned beef and cabbage, beef stew, slow simmered spaghetti. Fabulous apple and pumpkin pies. Sumptuous thanksgiving feasts And my mother’s German pancakes striking terror in roadside café chefs as I insisted to my family’s dismay on impossible exact reproductions of her recipe.
The way she squirreled away money to make sure we had vacations to Disneyland and the like. How sweetly she sang to us on her lap as we were growing up. And the care she took in selecting and purchasing our outfits for holidays and special occasions. Her penmanship, a little herky jerky as if the letters confusedly trying to come together to make some sense of the page struggling for understanding much like Mom.
The way she bravely investigated her origins. My Mother grew up believing her birth father was the handsome Al Bureau. Subsequently she learned that Joseph Emilio Detata’s name was on her birth certificate. He was an Italian immigrant, her Mother’s first husband and the Father of her older siblings. Later she confirmed his paternity with DNA testing.
She inspired us by overcoming the example of her childhood and giving us a stable home.
My parents told us tales of following the iceman in his truck as he delivered ice to their icebox before anyone had refrigerators and how they put coins downstairs in the cellar so that they would have gas to heat their water and of the coal trucks delivering coal down the chutes of their basements. 5 cent movie tickets, penny candies, and stealing the sweet cream that had risen to the top of the milk sitting on the front porch.
Dad’s bowling team were league champions and later Mom joined Dad in the moonlighters league. Mom’s ball, slowly rolling, coming in from the left, a long wide curve, that lightweight pink ball ever so lightly, finally striking right in the pocket all 10 pins taking turns dropping, the slowest strike ever. My Dad’s 16 pound green ball spiraling straight down the lane like a rocket, direct, electric, destroying all 10 pins in a cataclysm of a strike. Together along with another couple they became league champions.
Overcoming the biases of their upbringing, they lovingly embraced their rainbow of family and friends. Their European roots coming full circle to be jazzed up with African, Trinidadian, and Native American blood lines with some West Hollywood sensibility or should I say sensi“Billy”ity and style thrown in for good measure.
My war veteran Father and my Mother were excited that they lived long enough to have the opportunity to vote for our first African American President. They grew progressive in their political views, voting as Democrats, lending support to those trying to save our scenic Santa Ritas from mining exploitation and early in the Aids crisis, Mom and Dad did Aids Hospice work supporting young men whose families had deserted them because of the stigma they attached to their disease.
I want to give special thanks to the kind caregivers who attended to my Mom and Dad during his stay in Hospice and her stay in assisted living. We are very happy that my sister Lori corrected my Dad’s journey sending him off to Fenway Park rather than Wrigley field so that he could see his beloved Boston Red Sox in eternity rather than sentenced to purgatory with the Cubs. I especially want to thank my brother Bill, sister Lori, her husband Frank, and my niece Shannon for all their efforts in support of our Mother and Father through this difficult period of their life. And my love Debbie without whom I couldn’t have gotten through this.
In closing I’d like to read a love poem we found that my Mother wrote to my Dad as they entered their retirement years.
October 13, 1988
Last Dance Together
May I take your hand and have this last dance together
Now that we have reached the twilight of our years
In our youth we came together to learn to love and share
May I take your hand and have this last dance together
Time has passed so quickly yet let us shed no tears
For our love has lasted through these many years
May I take your hand and have this last dance together
Though our steps be slower and our eyes have dimmed
My head still rests upon your shoulder
Let the dance begin!
Mom Dad, we want you to know it was your time to leave us. You did well. We are OK. Enjoy eternity together.