Rant #2,487: My Dad

My father, Carl, died yesterday morning. He was 88 years old.

He had been in failing health for many months, but since contracting double pneumonia about a month ago, he never recovered.

Where do I begin?

He packed a lot of living into those 88 years, and there are so many stories to tell that I could go on for several entries here just on those stories, some of which I believed, and some of which I thought he spruced up a bit.

But I do know that he lived a full life, a life that had experiences that I will never personally have, a life that was full of zest, full of fun, and full of a lot of hard work leading up to the good times.

So I guess it was fitting that he passed away on Labor Day.

His work ethic was second to none, and for decades he never missed a day of work, whether he was a corporal in the Marines, a chicken butcher on Delancey Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, or a licensed New York City medallion cab driver, the job that he had, and loved, for more than 50 years.

He started out in humble beginnings, the oldest of four children in an immigrant family on the Lower East Side.

He was a smart and street-smart kid, skipped a grade in school, and in another lifetime, he would have probably been a lawyer or a politician, or both, but back then, the oldest child had to go to work, so he worked with my grandfather in that butcher store--he never missed a day of work, and when he finally came home from his military obligation with the Marines, he went right to work the next day.

Soon afterward, he went on a blind date with this woman from Brooklyn, and after just a few dates, they fell in love, became engaged, and married in January 1956. That was my mom, and they ended up being married for more than 64 years.

Then I came to change their lives forever, soon followed by my sister, and my father had a great responsibility as the breadwinner of our family while my mother managed our home. It worked out perfectly.

And when our home became too small for our family, we moved to a very progressive, new neighborhood at the time, Rochdale Village in South Jamaica, Queens, New York.

In the mid-1960s, Mayor Lindsay declared that a new span would be built, and that the butcher shop was in the path of this new span, and it had to go.

Not knowing what to do and where to turn for a complete career change, my father got into taxi driving, and through the prodding of a friend, finally went into it full time.

And by the way, that roadway was never built, and the spot where my father and grandfather had their store was vacant for decades.

Anyway, going into taxi driving full time, my father reached his element. He not only knew Manhattan like the back of his hand, he had a gift of gab that most passengers enjoyed.

It was hard work, but after buying a few regular cabs, he truly found his element when he bought the first in a succession of Checker Cabs, those larger taxi vehicles that were ubiquitous on the streets of Manhattan into the mid-to-late 1970s, when the Checker Cab Company went out of business.

My father had one of the last ones that rolled the streets, and it was almost like a Hansom cab, and people took it to get to one place or another and they also looked at it as a piece of nostalgia by being in one.

As a cab driver, my father seemed to have a new story a day, whether he was picking up everyday New Yorkers or celebrities.

As far as the rich and famous, he picked up a who's who of people who were forever famous, people who were famous for a short time, and people who wanted to be famous but never quite got there.

Among those that he drove around the city were the first legal topless dancer in New York City; Tiny Tim; Howard Cosell; Michael J. Fox; Brook Benton, and Andre the Giant.

Most celebrities were nice,and most were willing to talk to him about this and that. He listed Fox and Tiny Tim as his favorite celebrity passengers, as they gave him the utmost respect. Tiny Tim even called him "sir," which he loved.

He picked up Howard Cosell several times, and they argued about one thing or another while he was in the cab, but my father said Cosell loved the intensity, and always gave him a healthy tip.

Like just about all Americans, he had a love affair with Jackie Kennedy, the widow of the slain president John F. Kennedy. But when he picked her up with her daughter Caroline one day in the late 1970s, his bubble was burst--he told us that she treated him like dirt, like she was above him, refused to talk with him, ordered him to turn off the radio, and generally treated him harshly. That love affair ended right then and there.

Having the Checker Cab made him into something of a celebrity himself. He was on radio numerous times during this more than five-decade career, often being spoken to to get a cab driver's opinion on certain matters. And he spoke English, which is not a knock against any ethnicity, but radio is an audio medium only, so radio people wanted to speak to someone that they could understand and their audience could understand too.

My father was also on the "Today" show, he was in a couple of movies and TV shows in unbilled roles--he was on "The Equalizer" and picked up Melissa Sue Gilbert in a scene on the show--and he knew that it wasn't because of him, it was because of the Checker Cab he rode.

Moving from Queens to Long Island in the early 1970s, the ride to and from work in his Checker Cab became even more strenuous, but my father persevered, and when there were no more Checker Cabs to be had, he went back to the regular cabs of the day, and he often said once the Checker was mothballed, he picked up fewer and fewer celebrities.

But he always helped the indigent, the needy, and the street people of New York. He often picked them up and gave them a free ride, or he handed out cigarettes and food to them when things like that were given out freely on the streets of Manhattan as part of promotions.

He was getting older, but insisted on continuing to drive a cab. He eventually sold his medallion when that piece of tin still meant something, but he did not give up the business entirely, driving for a fleet for many years.

He lost much of his hearing due to environmental causes--between the noise and the pollution of New York City and keeping the window open all the time, it effected his hearing to the extent that he had only 60 percent hearing in one ear and 0 percent hearing in the other--but he persevered on a part-time basis.

But the taxi business had changed. In the old days, yellow cabs only had to deal with gypsy cabs, mostly illegal vehicles that worked mainly in areas that yellow cabbies would not venture into for a variety of reasons.

But beginning in the 2010s, services like Uber and Lyft became legal, and the need for a yellow cab was diluted.

His hearing had really gotten bad, and he spoke about people--usually younger people--taking advantage of that, often skipping the fare or forcing him to carry heavy bags into and out of the trunk, just for their own personal amusement.

He had had enough, and at 84 years of age, he hung up his hack license for good, and officially retired.

The ensuing years were generally happy ones, but the last year or so was a struggle, as his health wavered.

But he was definitely the strongest person I ever knew. Even in poor health, he hung on, and he did so for many days after we believed he was ready to leave us.

And when he did leave us yesterday, while it wasn't much of a shock, it still left a hole in our hearts as wide as the Grand Canyon.

He was there for every good thing and every bad thing that hsppened to my sister and I: he was there through marriages and births and triumphs and tragedies, and he and my mother were our true Rocks of Gibraltar, always there to hear about our pains and sorrows and good things.

I know he has gone to heaven, to be with his parents, and he is in a better place now.

He is survived by my mother, his wife for 64 years of happiness, and my sister and her husband, my self and my wife, and five grandchildren, as well as his two sisters and his brother.

Due to the current circumstances we are all living with, his funeral--which will be hold tomorrow afternoon here on Long island--will be a private one, with only immediate family present. That was my mother's wish, as she does not want anyone to be affected by the pandemic in any way.

There will be no official shiva for the very same reason, but I am having a virtual shiva on Thursday at 7 p.m. on Zoom. Hopefully, I will get the hang of it and it will go on without any problems. I am a little skittish about it  because of the technology, but hopefully, it will work out well. If you need any information about attendance, simply contact me at l_lapka@yahoo.com and I will give you the details.

My father was a great father and a great grandfather. One person who reacted to my post about my father on Facebook said it best:

"Sorry for your loss. He was a good guy."