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We have all known people with personalities larger than their physical stature, the types that fill the room with a liveliness that exceeds the space they occupy. They season every encounter with a certain flavor and leave you with the impression that your life is more exciting, in some small way, for being a part of their big life. My father-in-law was such a person; for many of his years he was a physically imposing man, which speaks further volumes about his colossal personality. He was, in every sense, a giant.
Last Saturday, he departed us, having lived more in over 69 years than some have lived in four lifetimes. Any tribute from me is woefully incomplete, for I knew him only 20 of those, and there is no question every one of his years was full of meaning.
I can share a few stories that spring to mind as I reflect on his triumphant life – a life of generosity, hard work, and warm celebration.
Even before I started dating his daughter, I knew who he was. His physical stature and omnipresence at my high school’s sporting events made him hard to miss. In those days he was a solid 6-3, 320, if I had to guess through nostalgia-drunk eyes (he was not yet his “post-grandkids-get-in-gear” weight which was closer to 210). After one basketball game, as I was leaving the gym, he shook my hand and offered congratulations. My hand disappeared, and the tight squeeze coupled with the sly grin made it clear this was not a man to be taken lightly.
He said “good game today young man”, with a slow Southern drawl.
“Yes sir,” I replied, “thank you sir.” Remember, he was huge.
“You know,” he went on, “the strangest thing happened – someone toilet-papered my house. You don’t know who did that, do you?” he asked smiling, and squeezing even harder.
“No sir.” This was factually correct, and I hoped I would never find out who did it for fear I would endure the German wrath that awaited them.
He continued, squeezing a bit more, “shame, because now I have to hire someone to clean it up. Well, good night young man.” And he slapped me on the back and went on his way, smiling.
Trust me when I say that I remembered that vividly as I started dating, and later married, his daughter. You can be sure he commanded the perfect mixture of fear, respect, and compassion. There was no questioning that his undying loyalty was to his little girl.
When I was in college, and even after, he hosted tailgate parties before football games. Every one of my friends was welcome, and all were fed. The food was legendary, and many years my friends would call me in advance of requesting tickets for certain games, to find out what might be on the menu for a given week. One friend planned his annual visit to Notre Dame around the week when my father-in-law was serving his famous baked beans.
I lived to listen to his stories, because the man had traveled the globe in the literal sense. Sure, I had heard a hundred times the story about his travels in the 60s that led to him serving Mass in Baghdad, or having drinks with pilots in Beirut. I could almost recite the stories about being on a hijacked plane in South America, or hitchhiking from Notre Dame back to his home in Richmond. But I wouldn’t have told them like he could; he would recall every detail, so that you wondered what could be relevant about the color of a man’s shirt in 1965, but yet you listened intently for fear that you would miss a gem about him meeting the prime minister of El Salvador. He was the “most interesting man in the world” long before Dos Equis started making television commercials.
Ultimately, his life story included entrepreneurial success as a hard-working pig farmer in Indiana, whose farms employed many families, and whose pigs fed people around the world. Those whom he employed and fed, he considered his own. His life touched so many; I’m thankful I got to ride along and watch a few of the chapters unfold.
He was a loving father, husband, and grandfather (“Opa” in German). He was a man who cared for his employees as if they were family, a man concerned with doing things the right way, and a man who beneath that massive German exterior, was just a big boy with an even bigger heart. He will be sadly missed, though never far from us, because his stories will continue to make us laugh for years and generations to come. And that’s how he would have measured a successful life; were he here now, he would be telling a story, making us laugh, making sure the party rolled on, and making sure all were well-fed. Opa, you were one of a kind.
We’ve arrived back in Casa de Chaos after a fantastic trip to Beantown. Yesterday we concluded the festivities on parallel paths. The womenfolk spent the day with the Schalagos, our friends from New Jersey that were in town for college visits for their oldest two girls. Maggie got to spend the day with her BFF Libby and they even let Annimal join in the fun.
The Boy and I headed to Concord and Lexington, to see where the first shots of the Revolution were fired, and where Paul Revere’s ride came to an abrupt end just a few miles from Concord (where he and his compatriots were headed to warn those who had stockpiled weapons that the British were coming for them).
After that visit, we proceeded to Fenway Park, where we endured a 2-hour rain delay to see the Red Sox lose to the Royals. The game did not start until 9:30, which meant we got to see a lot of the park. Granted, we got soaked in the process, but that was fine with us. The game lasted 14 innings and ended around 2AM…we did not make it all the way to the end, with today’s travel schedule looming. But we made it long enough given that one of us is still a Yankee fan.
I’ll post some more random tidbits from the trip as soon as we get unpacked.
On Friday we departed Boston and headed to the Boy’s lacrosse tournament in Amherst, Massachusetts. On the way, we made two stops for some adventure.
First, we visited Harvard University, in Cambridge, the oldest college in the US. Most of the red-brick buildings on the Harvard Yard were closed for the summer, but we were able to walk the grounds. The town surrounding the school is filled with shops and restaurants as well. We dined at Leo’s Place Diner, which is famous for featuring root beers from around the world. We ate at the counter, which everyone thought was pretty cool. No adventure is complete without a trip to the souvenir shop, so we left Harvard with hats, shirts, mugs, and all sorts of other goods that would make it possible for us to say “no, we didn’t go to school there, we just went to the bookstore once.” The best purchase was Maggie’s bright pink shirt with a baby chicken on it that says “Harvard Chick”.
Next we drove to Springfield, birthplace of basketball and home to the Basketball Hall of Fame. While I preferred Cooperstown, the Basketball Hall of Fame had some excellent exhibits. They even had an exhibit dedicated to the Indiana High School tournament…the one they used to have with only one champion. The girls liked seeing all the different jerseys and Jimmy enjoyed seeing exhibits on Michael Jordan, the Celtics, and Oscar Robertson. Also, Maggie decided she would start rooting for the Denver NBA team because they are the “Nuggets”.
Saturday and Sunday featured Lacrosse games galore (see separate post). Tonight, the Boy and will watch the Red Sox at Fenway. We may sneak a detour in on the way.
I will post more on the Beantown trip soon, including details from Friday’s adventures.
The delay in posting is attributable mostly to the Boy’s lacrosse tourney over the weekend, where his team went 5-0 and captured the U13 “Beast of the East” championship crown. The Boy had 7 goals over the weekend, including a “hat trick” in one game, and played great defense as well. He ended the season well, considering his championship game MVP award in the last tournament; more importantly his team did as well, winning their last 12 games and two titles. The best thing about it was that they were a great group of kids who just like playing together. Here’s hoping they stick together.
More on the family trip soon…
Today was a history-free day, relatively speaking, though not entirely by design. We started with the goal of seeing one of the ships victimized by the Boston Tea Party – however in the spirit of shovel-ready stimulus, the ship and its adjoining museum are under construction until summer of 2012. I guess we have to come back.
A return visit would yield no protests, as all seem to enjoying themselves. Refusing to be set back by the construction, we walked up the water to the New England Aquarium, an impressive building home to all sorts of seafood, er, marine life. The girls particularly enjoyed the Northern Fur Seals, especially when one pressed up against the glass next to Annimal and barked loudly. The Boy liked the sharks and rays that swam in the tank that comprises the center of the aquarium. I loved the design: a 4-story spiral walkway circles the tank so you can see the various creatures at varying depths of the tank. I found this particularly user-friendly, as opposed to the standard approach to these types of facilities which consists of “72 people occupying 5 square feet staring through a 4×8 plate glass window” .
After the Aquarium, we walked along the Harbor and back toward Boston Proper, where we had lunch at Quincy Market, just outside of Fanueil Hall. After lunch, I took the crew inside the Parker House, the famous (air-conditioned) hotel where Boston Cream Pie was born. Naturally we sat down and shared a couple of pieces and some tall glasses of ice water.
The girls spent the afternoon swimming (and making friends with random Bostonian children) in the Frog Pond in the Common, while the Boy and I walked to Copley Square to see more statues honoring Brit-fighting Bostonians, as well as Trinity Church (no not the one in NY, a different one).
After dinner, we retreated to the hotel, another several miles of walking having been logged. But the Boy was restless. He wanted to see his favorite part of Boston one more time, this time at night, so he and I departed for the 2-mile walk to North End. He loves the cramped cobblestone streets teeming with people, Italian restaurants, and shops. I think he’s ready for Rome.
We walked back without many words, the sounds of a lively city providing our soundtrack. Tomorrow we head to Amherst for the “lacrosse portion” of the trip – though the crew doesn’t realize I have a few tricks up my sleeve before we get there. They loved Boston and I think they will miss it – yet another city on the “we’ll come back soon” list.
Some quick updates…
According to "Mapmyrun.com" the Boy and I walked 5.93 miles during the Freedom Trail portion of the day, and the girls covered approximately 5 miles (well, subtract about 1.2 miles for Annimal during the "go shoulders" portions of the trip).
The walk to and from dinner was 2.25 miles round trip.
One tidbit I forgot from the tour yesterday. People who have been to Boston often complain about getting lost because of the wandering streets that seem to change names frequently. In other words, GPS can even be useless. Well, here’s one reason for that. The longest street in the town was named Washington Street because the good General freed Boston from British occupation. Recall that after the Boston Tea Party there was essentially one British solider stationed in the city for every 3 residents, and their presence became a nuisance. So Bostonians were grateful to George. Out of respect for him, no street was allowed to "cross" Washington Street, so if a street intersected, it had a different name on either side. Boylston Street, for example, becomes Essex Street on the other side of Washington. Makes for some fun when you are giving someone directions.
Today we conquered the Freedom Trail. For those unfamiliar with Boston, the Trail is a 2.5 mile brick path that winds through Boston, starting at Boston Common and ending across the Boston Harbor in Charlestown, on Bunker Hill (site of the June 18, 1775 battle). The Trail winds through downtown Boston, connecting several historic sites that were signficant to the Revolutionary War period. Most locals suggest that tourists split the Trail into two pieces and cover it over multiple days. So you know what we did.
That’s right, we did the whole thing today. We started at Fanueil Hall, which in the middle of the trail, and where our guided tour began. A lady named JoAnn guided us through what I would call the “southern” half of the Trail. We tackled the northern half by ourselves in the afternoon.
To say the Trail winds through Boston is to understate it signficantly. Remember those Family Circus comics where Billy is supposed to come in for dinner but the black dotted line shows that he went all over the neighborhood and did 25 things before coming in? That was us today.
As I said, we started at Fanueil Hall, which is known as the Cradle of Liberty because our tax-evading, beer-making forefathers held meetings there and got all worked up about their British overlords. Faneuil Hall was originally designed as a marketplace but the local government would only let them erect the building if they included a place where the public could meet freely (as in not pay anything). Sam Adams and others would hold meetings there and get people fired up and eventually of course we know how that ended. Hence, the moniker “Cradle of Liberty.” Which means our country started at a mall…fitting.
From there we walked to the Old State House, which is where our rabble-rousing ancestors picked a fight with British soliders in 1770 and five of them ended up getting shot and killed in the Boston Massacre. The State House looks just as it did then, but is in the middle of a 5-way intersection surrounded by skyscrapers. So it stands out a little.
After that we walked to the Old South Meeting House, which is where Benjamin Franklin was baptized and where Sam Adams gave the order (via coded message) to the mob that proceeded hastily from the Meeting House to the Harbor and dumped $2 million (in today’s dollars) worth of tea in the water. Shortly after that we visited the King’s Chapel and the Park Street Church. Each have cemeteries next to them. The Park Street Church cemetery includes the graves of Sam Adams, John Hancock, Paul Revere, and Ben Franklin’s dad.
Our guided tour ended there so we took a break for lunch. Jimmy and I wanted to eat at Union Oyster House, the oldest restaurant in the US (just a block from Fanueil Hall). Unfortunately they don’t serve chicken fingers, so Moo and Annimal talked L&T in taking them next door to the Green Dragon. The Boy and I had our oysters and a couple of pounds of other kinds of seafood.
After lunch we walked to the North End, which is now a predominantly Italian neighborhood, but is also known for Paul Revere’s House and the Old North Church. Revere’s House was fascinating, a two-story house that is said to have been enormous for time period and held as many as 9 of his children at one time (he had 16). By today’s standards, a family of 3 would feel cramped in there. The house contained many of his silver pieces. It was incredible to see how many businesses and organizations Revere was a part of during his time in Boston – he was a one-man chamber of commerce.
The Old North Church was impressive as well, and helped the Boy complete his “National Treasure” tour (well, he needs to go the Arctic Circle, but aside from that he’s seen all the landmarks from the movie).
From there we walked across a bridge to the USS Constitution, the oldest military ship still afloat and in service. The US Navy still staffs the ship and it sails 5-8 times per year. Also known as “Old Ironsides” (not because it is made of iron but rather because the oak it is built from was so strong that sailors said cannonballs would bounce off of it as if it were iron), the ship was a favorite of all three kids. I know this because at the end of each day I always ask what everyone’s favorite part of the day was – you know it is a tradition when eyes roll shortly after the question is asked. Today it was unanimous that this 200-year old ship, that was victorious against the Barbary Pirates and also in the War of 1812, was the crowd-pleaser.
Next, we went separate ways for a bit, as the girls needed a break (i.e., ice cream) and the Boy wanted to go to the end of the Trail and see the Bunker Hill Monument. The Monument is an obelisk that sits on top of Breed’s Hill in Charlestown, high above the city of Boston. It has 294 stairs, which is just wonderful given that you just climbed a hill to get to the monument, and now you are scaling a narrow circular staircase that makes your calves feel like lime jello afterward. Yes lime. Orange jello feels totally different. It was worth the climb – the views of the city and the harbor were amazing, and it was high on the Boy’s to do list.
We walked back (gingerly, because my legs were shaking furiously) and met the girls and then proceeded back to the hotel. Here, the big problem of the Freedom Trail became obvious to our heroes. The Trail is not a circle. And we were at the far end of the Trail – and our hotel was at the other end. So back we headed. And at one point my 2nd heaviest kid (who is my youngest) decided she needed to “go shoulders” which means, yes, sit on my shoulders as I walked. Needless to say, my legs got their workout today.
After recovering for a bit in the hotel, we headed out for dinner – back in the North End (yes, another 2 mile round trip walk) which is known for its Italian restaurants. In the cramped, narrow streets of this neighborhood, owners will come out into the street and try to convince the passers-by to enter their resaturants. The girls were charmed by a portly Italian man who promised them he would make them anything they wanted, even if it was not on the menu. They were suckers for him, and since I am a sucker for then, we went inside and dined. It was a beautiful meal (a violinist even came to our table) and Maggie said the plain, buttered noodles were the best she had. Annimal had ravioli, and Jimmy ate some pasta dish that I think was designed for a party of 4 to share. The owner loved the girls, especially when Annie asked him to translate some Italian phrases, and he gave Jimmy a good-natured hard time as well. The kids asked him if they could get a picture with him, and he obliged and asked them to send him a copy so he could put it on his wall. I’m hoping they get the spot on the wall next to his picture with Pia Zadora.
Yesterday we arrived in Boston for our annual family invasion of an unsuspecting metropolis. Having strategically departed Chicago during mid-day, to avoid clogging the security line, we landed in Boston in the middle of the afternoon. We didn’t anticipate packing too much into the first day. Of course it is ridiculous to think that we would follow through on that…
The chaos started immediately, as we piled into a minivan cab at Logan Airport, with two suitcases, a lacrosse bag (which resembles a body bag in size and appearance), and a lacrosse d-pole. Oh, and 5 people. Our cabbie was a native of Mumbai, whose son plays cricket for the English national team. He is also fond of the show “Cash Cab” (who isn’t) and offered to give us a free cab ride if the kids answered 4 questions correctly. His first question was how many times you see the number “9″ when counting from 1 to 100. Jimmy and Maggie froze, and Annie said “20″, so we were off to a good start. The cabbie loved Annie immediately. Unfortunately we did not answer the 2nd question correctly, which is how 2 mothers and 2 daughters were at a dinner table but there were only 3 people. So we had to pay for the cab ride. Nonetheless he was awesome and the kids wanted him to be our driver for the week. Oh, on Sundays our man drives an English-style cab that he and his brother imported from London – just to do something different. Needless to say he was fantastic.
After arriving at our hotel in downtown Boston, we decided to do a little walking. We headed to Boston Common, the park in the middle of Boston Proper, which is next to the Public Garden. The Common is a smaller (and much older) version of NYC’s Central Park, and the Public Garden includes the lagoon made famous by the book “Make Way for Ducklings.” We rode in the famous Swan Boats and walked the grounds, which include several fountains and statues (including one of a mother and her ducks as inspired by the aforementioned children’s book).
At the Common, we visited the Frog Pond, which is large wading pool for kids of all ages. It is an ice rink in the winter. Maggie and Annie also rode the nearby carousel.
After walking the Common and Public Garden, we walked past the Bullfinch Tavern, which was the inspiration for the TV show Cheers. The famous Cheers sign now hangs above the stairs leading down to the bar just below street level, and the bar from the set of the show is inside. We memorialize some weird things in this country. And yes, I checked it out and went to the spot Norm sat every night.
We concluded the abbreviated day with dinner and started game planning for Day 2. Rest would be needed because a very busy day awaited…
As you may have heard from other sources, the Boy and I shared some quality time last weekend in the Annapolis, MD area. His lacrosse all-star team played in a tournament, and fared well given the higher level of competition in that area. It also afforded me the opportunity to see my sister and her family, and some friends from college.
The tournament occurred on Saturday and Sunday, but our travel plans meant the Boy and I landed at Reagan National Airport Friday morning. With some free time on our hands, we decided to drive into the capital and see a few of our favorites from last year’s trip (and some spots we missed as well). You can guess at least one museum that we visited.
At one point in the day, as we walked down the Mall, my stomach rumbled and I said “Now would be a great time for a big sandwich.”
The Boy quickly replied, “Any time is a great time for a big sandwich. After you have a big sandwich, it’s a great time to have a big sandwich.”
The more things change…
Editor’s Note: This entry is like Chinese food. Sure, you are happy you ate it, you hadn’t had any in a while…but in an hour you will be hungry and angry you did not have a steak. The author acknowledges this and pledges to write more once someone invents the 27-hour day.
This weekend was a three-day installment of Kids’ Club, and all participants are likely experiencing varying levels of withdrawal.
ESTEEMED READER: “Excuse me”
Me: “Yes?”
ER: “That’s how you are going to start?”
Me: “What do you mean?”
ER: “You haven’t written a blog entry in over a month and that is how you are going to start? As if you just wrote to us yesterday and we know what is going on? As if all 5 of us haven’t checked the blog, at first daily, then weekly, each time sighing that you had not updated us. And don’t try to pass that Spanish one off on us, that was your son’s, you didn’t even do any work. Your family ceased being interesting, is that it?”
Me: “Well, no…”
ER: “You entered some time warp then? Some strange fissure in the space-time continuum where a Thunder Snow in February is followed immediately by the First Day of Spring?”
Me: “Well, in Chicago this is possible, the weather part, that is…”
ER: “You didn’t even start with ‘Sorry it’s been a while, we’ve been busy,’ as you have in approximately 17 previous blog posts. As if your readers aren’t busy. We’re busy too you know.”
Me: “Ok, how should I start?”
ER: “How about telling us what the heck has been going on since Cantore left.”
Fair enough, so it has been a while and we have been busy. Jimmy finished up basketball season, helping his team to the semifinals of the diocesan tournament where they lost primarily because of poor coaching. Having endured playing under his father’s subpar tutelage this winter, he is anxiously ready for lacrosse season, which started in earnest this past week. He will be playing midfield and defenseman; the latter because he is the biggest player on the team. Yes, you read that last part correctly.
Annie also played basketball, which was one of the most enjoyable things I’ve ever seen. Annie took defense and rebounding very seriously, especially for a first grade recreational league. I started calling her Denise Rodman, because she wore #10, and she dove on the floor for rebounds, and because of her tattoos. She was a lock-down defender. Imagine if someone stood as close to you as they could without touching you, with their hands up over their head. As they stand millimeters from your face, they wave their straightened arms back and forth as if reciting the Gettysburg Address in semaphore, all while standing on her tiptoes. That is Annie playing defense. While averaging 10 rebounds and 4 floor burns per game, she also made 2 boys cry and her heels touched the ground for an aggregate of 47 seconds all season. Only one of those stats is made up.
As for Maggie, well she spent a lot of time in gymnasiums.
This past weekend we had Kids’ Club, because L&T was in New Jersey visiting some friends. She left Friday morning which allowed maximum time for Chaos. The events included a shopping trip with the girls (while Jimmy was at lacrosse practice) for hand sanitizer. This was a lot more exciting than it sounds, because we also bought a stuffed Perry the Platypus, which is awesome. And hand sanitizer shopping can be pretty cool when you make the lady at the store open every possible bottle so you can sniff-test the numerous options. You don’t want to buy the wrong scent of hand sanitizer. You know how embarrassing it is to buy lemon-flavored when you could have had mango? Maggie and Annie left no stone unturned in the quest for the perfect anti-bacterial odor.
Saturday also featured a piano recital at which Maggie made her first public performance. The recital was hosted by Maggie’s teacher and featured two other young students as well. There were about 20 people in attendance, and each girl played three songs. Maggie played two songs from Bach, as well as Loch Lomund, which she dedicated to me. No, I am not kidding. Yes, I am bragging. She played beautifully and I could not be more proud. It is incredible to imagine Moo playing these songs, let alone in front of a crowd (it seemed like one to her). She fought some nerves and at the end of each song flashed her patented smile, which these days is missing a few teeth. I was a very proud papa.
After the recital, we had an hour to kill before the 4th annual Dad & Daughter Dance at the girls’ school. This year’s theme was “Western” so the girls were ready with plaid shirts, jeans, and boots. I had jeans and a shirt that could marginally be considered “Urban Cowboyesque” but more likely just “paisley.” As such, I needed a hat. So we headed to Target.
It was our usual madcap trip to the store, where we spend half the time looking at goofy things and making up fake stories about what we could do if we bought a case of duct tape or a unicycle. Or both. Do they have unicycles at Target? Where do you buy a unicycle? Anyway, we found hats…but not cowboy hats (yet). They were fedoras, and they were fantastic. Maggie found a white one with a pink rim, and Annie found a pink one with a white rim, and Jimmy found a sweet brown and black one. We had to buy them. As we were heading to the cashier, with little time to spare, we remembered that we needed cowboy hats; after finding them and completing our purchase, we celebrated the greatest Target receipt ever:
FEDORA PINK $xxxx
FEDORA WHITE $xxxx
FEDORA BROWN $xxxx
COWBOY HAT $xxxx
COWBOY HAT $xxxx
COWBOY HAT $xxxx
The Dad & Daughter Dance was a hit and all had a wonderful time. The girls were even kind enough to dance with me a few times.
On Sunday, we finished our weekend with the crowning achievement of Kids’ Club – Dinner and Dessert. For dinner, we took advantage of the promotional KFC $10 bucket of original recipe chicken, complete with mashed potatoes and gravy, and 4 biscuits. Mashed potatoes! For dessert, we had Mississippi Mud Pie, which we had carefully crafted earlier that afternoon. Our version of Mississippi Mud Pie is pretty simple (thanks to a recipe from my Mom). You make a pan of brownies, and right after they come out of the oven, you pour a can of Marshmallow cream on top. After you spread that out, you microwave a container of chocolate frosting (not in the container, that would be bad…so I’ve heard) for about 45 seconds (so it liquefies). Then you pour that on top and let the whole thing cool. It is fantastic, as you don’t need me to tell you. You can imagine that after you eat a pan of that, you might get a little sick, which means it is kind of like a metaphor for Kids’ Club in some strange way.
Anyway, that’s what we have been up to since Jimmy wrote the Spanish essay about my Dad being a good dancer. I’ll try to write again soon.
