"We Got Cake!" Father's Day Lunch at Fairport Harbor

"We got cake!"

The boys practically exploded on the scene--a picnic pavilion at Fairport Harbor Beach. "We got cake!" said Robby. A brownie cake for Father's Day. The boys, Colin and Robby, always greet you with energy and excitement. It makes you so happy and so alive.

It was a wonderful Father's Day. Linda and I went to mass at Our Lady of Lourdes Shrine in Euclid; afterwards we picked up some donuts at Buettner's Bakery on East 185th Street in Cleveland, then ate them at Sims Park, on the lake in Euclid. The lake was beautiful and calm this morning. Then, in early afternoon, we met Julia, Ed, and the boys at Fairport Harbor.

I was so grateful for being a father and grandfather today. It would have been nice to see my daughter Carolan and my daughter Emily, but gee whiz, you can't have everything.

I thought a lot about my father and my grandfather, and how much they gave to me. My grandfather, Cornelius Francis Coughlin, was the son of an Irish immigrant (his own father Cornelius) and a German immigrant, his mother Lizzie Ierg Coughlin. He was a great athlete--a very fast sprinter (the fastest runner in Cleveland, he claimed) and a terrific baseball player--in the Cleveland sandlots and in the Three-I minor league. I was his first grandchild. He was funny and fun and I really loved him. And what can I say about my Dad. He helped me in two big areas. He helped me become a good reader and student. He drilled me in arithmetic and spelling, he took me to libraries all the time, he modeled reading for me. My father also is probably the primary source of my religious sensibilities (of course my mother was important in this regard too). We thought of our Dad as a hero--a World War II hero for his four years at war in the US Navy. But more important than that was his lessons about family, work, and love.

So today I thought a lot about my father, my grandfather, my daughters, my wife, my sons-in-law, and my grandsons. Thank you God for my family.

Happy Father's Day!

Margaret Ann--Born 91 Years Ago Today

All Souls Cemetery, Chardon

My mother, Margaret Ann, was born in Cleveland on November 10, 1923. She was born to Jack FitzPatrick and Margaret Ann Sullivan, the youngest of six kids. I believe her first home was in the Euclid Beach area, either on Grovewood Avenue or E. 169th Street. Later the family  moved to Tarrymore Road, right off Neff, a stone's throw from Lake Erie. My Mom was baptized at St. Jerome's and attended school at Holy Cross in Euclid. Later, she attended Villa Angela Academy, where she was apparently kicked out of school. Then briefly to Collinwood High School and then Notre Dame Academy, on Ansel Road in Cleveland. Mom loved the Notre Dame nuns.

Mom had a sister named Julia (called "Dudie" because the kids couldn't pronounce "Julia"). She was considerably older, but ended up my Mom's best friend. She had wonderful brothers, Al, Fenton (Skip), and the twins, Dick and Don. They took good care of her because her mother died young and was sick for years before her death in 1940; and her father was very busy with his work at New York Central Railroad. And I believe he was a binge drinker. I don't think he was very involved in my Mom's life. In a strange way, Mom was a kind of orphan, raised more by siblings and relatives than parents. Somehow, she got a lot of wonderful things from these people, because she became a sweet, funny, warm person, who created a good family. We (and that includes people way outside the immediate family) are still experiencing the ripples of her goodness.

Mom married my Dad, Robert P. Coughlin, in 1947. I was born ten months later. Two years later came Denny; then in 1953, Mary Ellen; then Kevin, and finally Jim. Five children, seventeen grandchildren, and many great grandchildren.

I still deeply love my Mom. Miss her. Carry her goodness with me always.

Dad and Mom, August 1947, Willoughby, Ohio

Part of Mom's Brood (with 2 neighbor kids). I am in front. 1959?

Mom, with Susie Brock. Circa 1957.

New Poem for the 70th Anniversary of D-Day

June 6, 1944 in Willoughby-on-the-Lake

Cora and Connie,

Their four boys overseas, fighting in the terrible war,

First got the news on the radio around noon that Tuesday.

They heard from the boys about once a month, in letters

Passed under a censor’s eyes, often weeks old.

Sometimes Cora wondered as she read the letters

If her boys were still alive or wounded in some hospital

Or prisoners of war. She couldn't stop the terrible scenarios

Unraveling in her mind.

Connie tried to keep up her spirits, joked and laughed a lot,

And cried himself in secret and drank himself unconscious

Some nights at the bar down the corner.

Bob was on a small ship somewhere in the South Pacific;

Bill also somewhere in the Philippines.

But Fran and Jack, the two most vulnerable spirits,

They were somewhere in Europe—

They might be part of this invasion.

Candles remained lit that day, four of them,

(As they did every day of almost four years);

Two of those candles flickered, went out briefly,

Before Cora could relight them.

It was weeks before Connie and Cora learned the truth--

Their boys were alive—and in late ’45 or ’46,

They came home to Willoughby.

Bob had shrapnel in his back, but was otherwise OK;

Bill’s happy spirit seemed intact—

But Fran and Jack were filled with anger and sorrow;

Souls twisted and damaged, they got into fights back home,

And sometimes drank until they blacked out.

They were haunted the next twenty years,

Until their early deaths, by the psychic wounds,

The spiritual wreckage of June 6, 1944 and

The brutal organized violence of the years before and the year after.

Connie and Cora’s boys came home—

But two of them wounded for life.

[Bob Coughlin / June 6, 2014]

Memorial Day. And Dad's 92nd Birthday.

Today my Dad would have been 92 years old. He was born in Cleveland on May 26, 1922, to Cora Esther Bowers Coughlin and Cornelius (Connie) Francis Coughlin. Both my grandparents were first generation Americans. In 1922 they lived around East 87th Street, between St. Clair and Superior. My Dad was the third child, after Fran and Jack. Bill was born about a year and a half later. And Bernice followed Bill. My grandparents' marriage seemed a little odd--Connie was a rough and ready Irishman and a great semi-pro baseball player. My grandmother was the daughter of a bridge engineer, Frank Bowers (changed from Bauer) and Mary Voelker. My impression is that they were upper middle class. So Cora married a guy who was in a lower social class. But Connie had charm and smarts. He was funny, affable, a great athlete, with lots of friends.Their marriage lasted about 43 years, until my Grampa's death in 1960.

During World War II, their 4 boys were all in the service, all over seas. My Dad was a signalman in the Navy, and spent most of his 4 years in the South Pacific, on very small ships (including wooden Subchasers!). We honor him today, his birthday, and Memorial Day.

Today I also think about my cousin Tommy Fitzpatrick, who was just 6 months older than me. Tommy was killed in Vietnam in 1969, just 21 years old. His death is an unending ache to his family and friends.

I also think about my Notre Dame/Innsbruck friend, Steve Shields. I studied with Steve in Salzburg and Innsbruck, Austria in 1967-68, and we graduated from Notre Dame together in 1970. Just a couple years later, around age 23 or 24, Steve's helicopter was shot down in Vietnam and he was killed. Rest in Peace, Tommy and Steve.

I also think about some of the unsung heroes of the Civil Rights and Peace Movement on Memorial Day. There is no official holiday for them, but they are also heroes for our country and our world. Names that come quickly to mind are Ernest and Marion Bromley, Maurice McCrackin, and Chuck Matthei. But there are many more, many whose names are totally lost to history.

So to all the heroes, both of wars and of the struggle for peace and justice, we say Thank You!

Tommy Fitzpatrick in Vietnam (center)

Dad and Mom, August 1947, Willoughby

Steve Shields (left)--Salzburg, Austria
[Also, Charlie Bradley, Brian Wilson, me, Mike Gerrity]

Thinking about Weddings

My Mom and Dad--Willoughby, Ohio, August 1947:

Robert P. Coughlin and Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Coughlin

Dad had been home from his Navy service in World War II for about two years. He was 25 years old. Mom was 23. The wedding was held at Immaculate Conception Church in Willoughby, Ohio. I think Mom's cousin Lois Cherry (later Lois Goldie) was maid of honor. Mom was radiantly beautiful. Dad was drop-dead handsome. They couldn't have imagined a baby born 10 months later (me); another baby 2 years after that (Denny); then Mary Ellen three years after that; then Kevin; then Jimmy. A life full of ups and downs, as all lives are. I think of them as I reflect on Linda and my wedding 36 years ago in Cincinnati.

A Toast to Our Dad--on the 16th Anniversary of His Death

April 8th, 1997--a very sad day for the Coughlin Clan. The day our Dad died, just short of his 75th birthday.

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.

Passing of Tom Quinn

I just now heard about the passing of Tom Quinn, my Dad's first cousin and close friend. Tom was living in Florida. I had met him many many years ago in Willoughby, Ohio, where he and my Dad lived for many of their growing-up years. Tom was 90 years old.

Tom's mother, Angie Coughlin Quinn, was my Grampa Connie Coughlin's sister. Angie, Connie, and their sister Mary (Mae) Coughlin Slusser, were the children of Irish immigrant Cornelius Coughlin, and German immigrant Lizzie Ierg.

"Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam"--May his soul be at the right hand of God.

Remembering a Death and The Resurrection

Today we attended mass at St. Mary's in Painesville. The service was beautiful and the music was glorious with the flute and Irish whistle playing of Mary Ann Ratchko-Gamez and the piano playing of Francesco.

On the way home we drove through the most beautiful areas of Lake County, in Painesville, Leroy, and Concord Townships, along Big Creek (down beautiful Cascade Road). This was early spring in Northern Ohio--at its most beautiful. At some point it dawned on me that today was the anniversary of my Dad's death--15 years ago, April 8, 1997. We prayed for him at church as we do every Sunday. And then I went to All Souls Cemetery and laid some daffodils on his and Mom's grave and said some prayers.

Veterans' Day

On this Veterans' Day I want to remember my Dad, Robert P. Coughlin, and his brothers, Bill, Jack, and Fran, all World War II vets (all survived the war, all now deceased, two of them very damaged in spirit by their service).

Also, my Uncles Dick and Don Fitzpatrick, also World War II vets, also damaged in spirit by the war.

And Tommy Fitzpatrick, my cousin, who died in Vietnam in 1969; my Notre Dame and Innsbruck classmate, Steve Shields, who died in Vietnam in 1972.

And Michelle Zaremba, my niece, who fought in Iraq, and has fought (successfully) some PTSD demons.

"Dear Lord, bring just and lasting peace to the World!"

Pictures of Mom, from 1940 to about 2000

Today would be my Mom's 88th birthday. My brother Kevin sent me these photos of Mom spanning almost 60 years. At the top, Mom and Kevin's visit to Ireland in the late 1990s; then Mom with Mary Ellen and Jimmy in the early 1960s in Euclid; next is Mom and Dad on their wedding day, August of 1947, in Willoughby; and finally, Mom with her brothers Skip (Fenton) and Don Fitzpatrick, circa 1940 in Cleveland (probably at Tarrymore Drive, off of Neff Road, near Lake Erie).

Happy 89th Birthday, Dad!

Today would be my Dad's 89th birthday--my brother Kevin reminded me.

We remember you, Dad. We love you. We wish you could see the thriving lives of your children, grand children--and now, great grand children. You and Mom started a dynasty!

Last Men Standing--World War II Vets

Today is Veterans' Day and my mind turns to my Dad, who spent almost 4 years of his life serving in the Navy during World War II. I also think of my father-in-law, Art Sanders, who also spent that much time in the Navy during the Second World War. Both of them served primarily in the South Pacific, my Dad as a signalman aboard small PC and SC boats (The Sub Chaser was a tiny wooden boat!), and Art working as a machinist, keeping those boats running. Dad has been gone some 13 years now and Art some 14 years.

The only two close relatives still living who were veterans of the Second World War are my Uncle Bill Coughlin, one of the greatest men I've ever known, and my second cousin (and close friend of my Dad), Tom Quinn. Uncle Bill will be 87 years old in three days; Tom Quinn must be around 88.

Many of my uncles served in World War II, including Fran (Connie) Coughlin, Jack Coughlin, Bill Brock, Dick Fitzpatrick, and his twin brother Don Fitzpatrick. Some of these men came back psychologically wounded by that terrible war.

I can't imagine how my Grampa Connie Coughlin and Gramma Cora Coughlin managed with their 4 boys at war over seas. I can't imagine the worry, the anxiety, the endless prayers. All of them came back alive; two of them were psychologically damaged, and took those wounds to their early deaths.

We honor my Dad, my Father-in-law, my uncles, and my cousin Tom Quinn for their service to our country and to world freedom.

Happy Father's Day!

The greatest privilege I have had in my life is to be married to Linda and to be the father of Julia, Carolan, and Emily. I truly thank the Lord for my marriage and my children (they will never truly know the depths of my gratitude and my sense of being blessed). I am very very proud of them and thankful for their Father's Day wishes and presents.

I would like to honor my own Father. Dad has been gone for 12 years now--hard to believe! He was my hero. He lived his life for my Mom and for his five children. The indelible image in memory is playing catch with Dad in front of our Euclid house. We did it almost every day during the warm season. It was such a simple thing, hardly a word being exchanged. But it meant a lot to me in my growing-up years, and it still means a lot to me today. I also remember all the early mornings we would sit silently at the dining room table over coffee--he getting ready to go to work at Fisher Body, me getting ready to deliver the Plain Dealer.

I also think today of my Father-in-Law, Art Sanders. A sweet, kindly man, who with his wife Ruth, raised five of the most extraordinary children. We miss Art and Ruth terribly (we said a prayer at their graves this past Friday).

I also don't want to forget my wonderful grandfather, Connie Coughlin--a wonderful Irishman, full of humor and blarney, a great baseball player, and great father, who, with my Gramma Cora Coughlin, raised four boys and a girl, and saw all their boys fight during World War II. Thanks to our Grandparents and the big extended family that cared for us.

Finally, I want to thank the Uncles and Godfathers, Priests and Brothers, who might not have been biological fathers, but gave me and my family (and those beyond my family) so much of a Father's love. Thanks to the Marianist and Holy Cross bothers and priests, and the priests of the Diocese of Cleveland. Blessings and deepest thanks.

Happy Father's Day!

Memorial Day Reflections

We dropped by All Souls Cemetery in Chardon Township, Ohio a couple days ago and brought a small American flag to place on my Dad's grave. Dad was a veteran of the US Navy during the World War II years. During that time he was a signalman aboard small ships, PC boats and SC boats. The Subchasers were wooden boats, called the Navy's "splinter fleet." They were small ships, not super fast, and not heavily armed. Dad spent most of the war in the South Pacific, including Australia, the Philippines, Borneo, and surrounding islands and seas. On the way to the South Pacific he stopped in Rio de Janiero. My brother Kevin has gotten hold of Dad's war records, but I have yet to study them. I doubt that they tell more than a fraction of the story of those years. Dad and his brothers Fran (or "Connie," as he was known to many), Jack, and Bill were all in the war, and all came home in one piece--at least physically (though Dad had shrapnel wounds and the little pieces of metal would periodically emerge throughout his life). My Dad and Bill had the least psychological damage, but Jack and Fran had problems that led to alcohol abuse and other troubles. Fran died at age 46 in 1965, and Jack died at age 49 in 1970.

On my mother's side, the Fitzpatrick side, her twin brothers, Dick and Don, went to war in Europe and North Africa. They too were psychologically damaged and fell prey to alcoholism. I think Fran, Jack, Dick, and Don were trying to self-medicate for PTSD and the psychological baggage of war. Back in 1945 and the years thereafter, there weren't many programs to help soldiers with PTSD, and so many of them suffered in silence. Like Fran and Jack, both Dick and Don died around age 50. Dick and Don were two of the most wonderful people that ever walked the earth.

Our family was deeply wounded again during the Vietnam era when my cousin, Tommy Fitzpatrick, died in combat in 1969. Tommy was only 21 years old, just 2 years out of Euclid High School. Tommy's death broke the hearts of his mother and father, Al and Catherine, and of his brothers and sister, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We still think often of Tommy and honor his great sacrifice.

At All Souls Cemetery we saw hundreds, nay thousands, of American flags placed on the graves of veterans. We noticed that there was no flag at Uncle Fran's grave, so we placed one there. These vets will never be forgotten.

Shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes in Euclid, Ohio

On Chardon Road (US Route 6) hill, just south of Euclid Avenue (US Route 20), in the City of Euclid, Ohio, there is a most holy place--the Shrine of Our Lady of Lourdes. I attend mass there in the summer, and today was the opening mass of the season. The mass begins at 9:30 sharp (sometimes even a couple minutes early!) at the bluestone grotto, a replica of the grotto cave in Lourdes, France. The cave (or grotto) is made from Euclid bluestone, quarried about a mile from the shrine by Irish, Hungarian, Slovenian, and other immigrants--including my own great grandfather, Fenton Fitzpatrick. There is a similar replica grotto at the University of Notre Dame--another very holy place. A priest-professor from Borromeo Seminary said the mass as a couple hundred lay people joined in the celebration. The world's strangest choir led the singing, as usual. Today the temperature was in the mid 60's and the sky was overcast, windy, and threatened rain. I think these conditions hurried the celebrant along a bit. It was a typical yet beautiful mass in this holy place. Lake Erie can be seen a few miles to the north of the Shrine, and the street noise and sometimes sirens and train whistles of busy Euclid, Ohio can often be heard. But the beauty, sanctity, and absolute specialness of this place is clear to everyone in attendance.

After mass, Linda, Emily, and I lit some candles and especially remembered Ruth Hoffman Sanders, my mother-in-law who died 2 years ago yesterday. Ruth was a tremendous person, a force of nature. Intelligent, passionate, a great mother, housewife, cook, family manager, motivator. She lived intensely right up to her sudden passing. We still haven't quite gotten over it. May she rest in peace and be brought into Heaven. And may she pray for all of us! We also prayed for my father-in-law, Ruth's husband Art Sanders. A sweet and kind man, great father and provider. Art died in April of 1996. Like my own Dad, he spent 4 years in the US Navy in the South Pacific during World War II. Ruth and Art had 5 children--and I married their first child (and prettiest)--Linda Rose.

We also lit candles for my Mom and Dad. Dad (Robert P. Coughlin) would turn 87 years old this coming Tuesday if he were still alive. Dad was the discoverer of the Shrine, and he and I used to help out there many years ago (I remember when we helped cut down a gigantic tree on the Shrine property in the early 1960's). A funny memory: Dad truly believed that the Shrine's spring water was a healing force. He drank as much of it as he could. Mom would save some of this water to sprinkle around the house when storms threatened

We also said prayers and lit candles for our immediate family and for our extended family, especially for those who are ill, like Jack Pendergast.

The Good Lord will bring safety, peace, health, and protection to those we prayed for. Prayers do not go unanswered.

Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Coughlin

Today marks the 5th anniversary of the passing of my Mom, Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Coughlin. She was known as Margaret Ann by most people, as "Gertann" by my Dad, and as Marge or Margaret by some others.

Mom was born in Cleveland on November 10th, 1923, the baby of her family. Her older siblings were Al, Julia ("Dudie"), Fenton ("Skip"), and identical twins Dick and Don. Her Dad was John ("Jack") Francis Fitzpatrick, born in the quarry village of Bluestone, Euclid Township, Ohio, and Margaret Ann Sullivan, born in the quarry area of Brownhelm Township, Lorain County, Ohio. Jack worked for the railroad as a yard conducter and Margaret was a homemaker.

My Mom first lived on East 169th [1188, E. 169th, I believe]Street, in the Euclid Beach-Grovewood area of Cleveland. As a toddler she started speaking Slovenian because of her daily contact with Slovenian speakers in that neighborhood. I think that was a signal for her parents to move! And they moved just about a mile away to a house on Tarrymore Road, a stone's throw from Lake Erie (I think the current address of that home is 17513 Tarrymore Rd., Cleveland, OH 44119; http://www.zillow.com/ gives the date the house was built as 1926). That's where she grew up, and that's where her mother died on March 18, 1940.

My mother was baptized as St. Jerome's Church in Cleveland, and attended Holy Cross Church and school after the move to Tarrymore Drive. She attended Villa Angela Academy for a while, but left that school (she might have been kicked out over a trivial issue, like playing hookie one day--it's not exactly clear to us). Thereafter, she attended Notre Dame Academy on Ansel Road in Cleveland, and graduated from high school in 1943. She loved the Notre Dame nuns and handled the long two-streetcar ride to school with no problem.

I think after high school Mom lived with her sister or brothers in various places, including Willoughby, Ohio. Some time around 1946, she met my Dad, Robert ("Bob") Paul Coughlin, who grew up on Hayes Avenue (nowdays the address is 1136 Hayes Ave., Willoughby, OH 44094) in Willoughby-on-the-Lake. They were married in August of 1947, at Immaculate Conception Church in Willoughby, and I, their firstborn, was born in June of 1948.

Mom and Dad made their first home at 1120 Windermere Drive, in Willoughby, about 200 feet west of my Coughlin grandparents. Their home was a tiny bungalow, maybe 700-800 square feet in size. Denny was born in June of 1950 and the house was beginning to feel crowded so they began thinking of getting a bigger house. Dad's first job after getting out of the Navy (he served on small ships in the South Pacific 1942-45) was in the Cleveland Trust Bank in downtown Willoughby. When he told the bank that he wanted to get a mortgage to build a new house (we're talking a $9000 house here--brand new), the bank told Dad no, that he didn't make enough money to get a mortgage loan. At that point Dad probably told them goodbye (but not in such polite language) and went off looking for a new job. He finally secured a job as an electrician at New York Central Railroad in the Collinwood neighborhood of Cleveland. I have no idea how Dad talked himself into that job. He was no more an electrician at that time than I am now. But when you have a growing family, you do what you have to do to get a job. New York Central was near Mom's old neighborhood, and her brother Skip lived practically next door to the NYC yards and worked there as a welder/machinist. Dad's brothers Fran, Jack, and Bill also worked there, as did his in-laws Skip and Al Fitzpatrick. NYC must have been an Irish-mafia operation back then! Check out this link with all the Fitzpatrick relatives aboard a train at the Collinwood Yards: http://www.fitzpatrickrailserv.com/HISTORY.htm

Here is a funny story my Mom used to tell me about the Willoughby-on-the-Lake neighborhood: One day when I was a baby or toddler, she was walking me around the neighborhood when a crow landed on my shoulder. My mom was real frightened and left me on the sidewalk and ran into the house. It turns out the crow could talk! It was a tame crow owned by someone in the neighborhood. I think it's just an unsubstantiated rumor that the crow uttered "nevermore!"

Some time around June 1951, a fateful accident happened in that Willoughby neighborhood that affected my Mom, Dad, me, Denny, and, I imagine, the whole family not yet born:

[more coming]

Notre Dame Football (ND vs.Navy); Naval Academy in Annapolis

This past weekend, my brother Kevin and I traveled to Annapolis and Baltimore to watch the Notre Dame-Navy football game. The game was held in the Baltimore Ravens stadium, rather than at the Naval Academy stadium, but Kevin and I stayed in Annapolis, a few miles from the old town and the Naval Academy.

The game was fun and the fans were in high spirits (some were just high from alcoholic drinks!). There was a good-spirited and fun rivalry between the ND fans and the Naval Academy fans. We sat in the top deck, nosebleed seats, what seemed to be hundreds of feet above the playing field (in reality it probably wasn't that high, but it felt that way to me). We were surrounded by interesting people: to Kev's right was a retired Navy commander; in front of Kev was an active-duty Lieutenant Colonel in the army, currently working at the Pentagon. To my right were team physicians for the Baltimore Orioles. And directly in front of me were ND fans who were very very drunk.

A few minutes into the 4th quarter, with ND leading by 20 points, it began to rain, so Kev and I ran for the exits. It was an incredible drenching rain and we got totally soaked. I got so wet that my cell phone was ruined (and it was in my zipped coat pocket!). We ran the mile or so to our parked car and got out of town, avoiding a huge traffic jam. When we found the game on the radio, we were stunned to learn that Navy had scored 2 touchdowns and recovered 2 onside kicks. And they were driving, with time dwindling down, for the winning score. Well Navy fell short, and Notre Dame got out of town with a narrow victory.

Kev and I enjoyed walking around the old town of Annapolis. It is a very beautiful and interesting place, a harbor town (mostly smaller boats) where slaves were imported during that terrible era. It is now the capital of Maryland, with lots of state buildings, an interesting old college, St. John's, and wonderful shops, restaurants, and pubs. Many of the street names reflect pre-Revolutionary days when this colony belonged to England (Prince George Street; King George Street). Surprisingly, there were many Irish pubs in town and Kev and I managed to check some of them out. In one of the pubs, there was a Lake Erie College pennant on the wall--a surprising piece of our home because that college is in Painesville, Ohio.

On Saturday morning, before the football game, Kev and I walked onto the Naval Academy grounds. The campus is beautiful but was very quiet because most of the 4000 midshipmen (both men and women) had been bussed to Baltimore for the game (about 100 buses!). We walked through one of the academic buildings, got a cup of coffee in a converted fieldhouse (now used temporarily as a dining hall), then went to the visitors' center. A highlight of our little tour was a visit to the Naval Academy Chapel, used for Catholic and Protestant services. It is a spectacular structure with a round dome like St. Peter's. It felt pretty "Catholic" to me in that there were holy water fonts at the entrance. There is a crypt below the chapel containing the remains of John Paul Jones, and in the chapel itself there is a pew that is roped off and empty in memory of those missing in action and prisoners of war. All in all, it was an impressive place.

Being on the Naval Academy grounds made me think of my Dad, a sailor in World War II, and my brother Denny, a sailor during the Vietnam era. I myself almost was a Navy man, joining Navy ROTC at Notre Dame. I was in it for only about a week before I figured out that with my Freshman schedule at Notre Dame, I couldn't possibly handle the intense demands of NROTC. So I approached the commander of the unit and asked him if it would be possible to get out of the program--and he allowed me to get out. Probably a good decision both for the Navy and for me, but who knows how different my life might have been if I had remained in that program.

Despite my misgivings about the Vietnam War and the military, I still love the Navy and admire the midshipmen, officers, and enlisted men and women. It really almost seems in my blood.

One little memory: when I was in grade school, St. William's in Euclid, I used to draw pictures of ships and pictures of sea battles. My ships always had a central mast with a crow's nest where the signalman stood. That's where my Dad, Robert P. Coughlin, stood for four years during the war in the South Pacific. I'd draw myself in that crow's nest, with the signal flags in my hands.

Salute to Veterans

Today let's honor our Veterans. I think especially of three friends who died in Vietnam: my cousin Tommy Fitzpatrick of Euclid, Ohio, who died in Vietnam in 1969; Steve Shields, my classmate from Notre Dame and Innsbruck, Austria, who died in Vietnam in 1972; and Buddy Chasser, a classmate at St. William's and St. Joe's and Euclid, Ohio resident, who died in Vietnam in 1967.

And we honor family members who served in the military during war time:

--Denny Coughlin, my brother, Navy man who served aboard ship off Vietnam in the early 1970's;
--Robert P. Coughlin, my Dad, Navy man who served in the South Pacific during World War II (he was a signalman aboard small ships, the wooden SC, and the steel-hulled PC;
--Arthur J. Sanders, my father-in-law, a Navy mechanic who served in the South Pacific in World War II;
--my Uncles Dick and Don Fitzpatrick; Bill, Connie (Fran), and Jack Coughlin; and Bill Brock, who served in World War II.
--And finally, to Michelle Zaremba, my niece, who served just recently in the 2nd Iraq War and won two Purple Hearts. Michelle has just published a book about her service in Iraq called Wheels on Fire. Check www.amazon.com or www.borders.com for the book.

And to all Veterans, we thank you and honor your service!

My Dad Dreams of an Ordinary Life--New Poem

Here's a draft of a new poem. I imagined my Dad, a signalman aboard his small wooden ship, a Subchaser, in the middle of the Battle of Leyte Gulf in late October of 1944, hoping for an ordinary life back in Northeastern Ohio. Here's the poem:

Dream of an Ordinary Life

In October of 1944, my Dad, 22 years old,
Stood on the signal tower of Subchaser 1154,
A little wooden ship,
Offshore from the island of Leyte in the Philippines.

Black smoke all around the wild seas,
Bombers and fighters in the heavens,
Big naval guns pounding both Japanese and American ships,
Mines, torpedoes, shrapnel, kamikazes
Death everywhere, everywhere,

My Dad, 12,000 miles from Willoughby-on-the-Lake
Thought of his Mother’s apple pies, the wild black cherry tree
Outside their Hayes Avenue cottage—a home he, his Dad, and brothers built themselves—
Thought of his Dad sitting at the tavern at the corner of Lost Nation and Lake Shore,
Drinking Leisy’s Light and telling baseball stories,
Thought of brothers Connie, Jack, and Bill, fighting
This war hither and yon--Would he ever see them and his sister Bernice again?

What do you want from life, he asked himself, in a rare moment of reverie.
If you ever get back home?

The answer was rather simple:

A wife, a job, a little house, some children,
Friends and family nearby.
He wanted what once seemed so ordinary,
What once seemed too predictable, too tame,
Too lacking in adventure.

To see his mother and father again,
His brothers and sister.

To play horseshoes by Hayes Avenue,
And drink beer around a campfire,
To swim in Lake Erie again.

Just an ordinary life would be fine for him.
And he prayed for that right then and there,

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean,
Death whirring over his head,
12,000 miles from Willoughby-on-the-Lake.

Robert P. Coughlin--My Dad

This past week was the 11th anniversary of the passing of my Dad, Robert P. Coughlin, known, like me, as Bob. My Dad was actually baptized in 1922 as Paul Robert, and some official documents (like his Navy papers), use that name. But some time early on, the name was flipflopped and he was known as Bob and presented himself formally as Robert P. He was the third child of Cornelius Francis ("Connie") Coughlin and Cora Bowers Coughlin, after Francis Cornelius ("Connie") and John Anthony ("Jack"). After my Dad there were two more children: Bill and Bernice. I think all the Coughlin kids were born in Cleveland, probably around E. 87th, but were raised mostly in Willoughby, Lake County, Ohio--about 20 miles east of Cleveland.

Dad was our hero, for so many reasons: he was our protector and defender; he was our provider and advocate; he was a Navy combat veteran from World War II. And he was a good and kind and loving man. And he did all of this in spite of some heavy burdens. One burden he carried was severe asthma, which was very serious at times in his childhood and adolescence and prevented him from being accepted into the Navy before the war broke out (after Pearl Harbor, it was another story--"Sure we'll take you! Welcome aboard, sailor!"). In his late 50's Dad suffered from heart problems. He had bypass surgery around age 57, and suffered from congestive heart failure and diabetes in the last years of his life. These last illnesses were debilitating to his great energy and spirit. Along with these illnesses I think he suffered from some level of depression. Maybe that was a consequence of the medicines he had to take as well as the weakness caused by the heart failure. Still, the image I have of my Dad is of the guy in his thirties and forties, with his black hair, drop-dead good looks, broad shoulders, with forearms and biceps like Popeye-the-Sailor. Dad was strong! A nice trick he could do was to rip the Cleveland yellow pages (about 4 inches thick) in half! It was part technique, but part brute strength. Dad could also run very fast and hit a baseball a mile. We enjoyed watching him play softball at Mudville (officially, "Willow Playground"), with his tremendous hits and great defensive play. One time he hit a home run at Mudville and as he stepped on home plate, he broke his foot! I wish we had had the chance to see him play fast pitch baseball when he and his brothers tore up the Lake County leagues. Dad hit a famous home run at Painseville Township Park on a very muddy day. When he circled the bases, he avoided the incredible mud puddles around the bases (thinking that it was no big deal because the ball went out of the park, into Lake Erie). Well the other team pulled the appeal play saying he missed a base, and Dad was called out. He and his brothers were great ballplayers, but any chance for a career in professional ball was halted by the war. One brother, Connie, did get a tryout with the Cleveland Indians, and we have the letter sent to Connie offering the try-out. Their baseball careers were in the tradition of their father, Connie, my grandfather, who was one of the great ballplayers to come out of Cleveland in the early decades of the 20th Century.

My Dad's life surely was shaped by the bittersweet years of the Great Depression and then by World War II. From the time my Dad was seven years old to the time he was in his mid twenties, the world was in chaos, depression, and war. So you can imagine how wonderful it was for him around 1946 meeting Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick (of the locally well-known Fitzpatrick family). What Dad probably wanted more than anything was a life with Margaret Ann, a family, children, and a job that paid the bills. There had been so little of normal life that he was ecstatic about settling down to this kind of life. He married Margaret Ann in August of 1947 at Immaculate Conception Church in Willoughby (the reception was above the fire station in Willoughby-on-the-Lake). Ten months later I was born, the first of 5 children. [More coming on Dad infuture blog entries.]