I still think of him as that active, handsome guy of the 1960's, his hair jet-black, hitting his left-handed home runs at Mudville (Willow Playground in Euclid) against those evil ballplayers from Gary Avenue. Or Dad driving somewhere around Little Mountain, lost as all get out, telling us, "Daddies never get lost!" The guy who helped Maggie after Bill Brock died and Mary Fitzpatrick and her 5 children after Jack Fitzpatrick was killed. Or the guy that let our alcoholic uncles, Dick, Don, and Jack, stay with us in our little house whenever they needed to (which was often).
Dad was a kind and generous man. A wonderful father and husband. A World War II hero--and our hero.
Slainte, Dad. We lift a glass for you.
His likes will never be seen again.