Today, September 7, is the
second anniversary of my father’s passing.
I have been thinking to myself about how I would handle his passing in the Blog, and honestly, I have come up with few answers.
I thought that maybe I would just put in the text of my speech during his funeral service, which was both very sad and very funny, in a good sort of way, but you know what? I cannot find my speech anywhere. I must not have saved it, which I find hard to believe, but I do remember that I went “off script” pretty much anyway, but it does pain me that I cannot find it.
So what else to do?
I guess I can recount some of that speech, which as I said, was not sad at all, more of a reflection of the life of my father.
He just missed turning 89 years of age by a few weeks, but he died on a fitting day for him, which was Labor Day, because after family, work came next in his life.
He worked as a yellow medallion cab driver in New York City for more than 50 years, and in doing it, he had seen it all and done it all during that time behind the wheel.
And before that, he was a kosher butcher on Delancey Street in Manhattan, so New York City was engrained in his very being.
He grew up on the Lower East Side, the first child of immigrant parents, and he paved the way for his three siblings’ many successes in their own lives.
My father was smart enough to be a lawyer, but in those days, the oldest child went right into the workforce, so he never went to college, but he could have.
And he was a very good athlete—basketball was his best sport—so perhaps if he would have been able to pursue school, he could have played college basketball.
He was also a terrific swimmer—even through his last days—so perhaps he could have been on the swimming team in college.
But again, work was going to be his life, and he began working in my gradnfather’s butcher store from a young age, and through his taxi years, he worked through his early 80s.
He also served in the Marines during the Korean War, and while he had numerous funny stories to tell about his time in the Marines—almost like a real-life Sgt. Bilko—I have later found out how bathed in sorrow those years were for him, and I guess he used those hilarious stories—which I am sure were about 75 percent true—to kind of balance what he was really feeling with a lot of funny moments.
He spoke about wearing a sergeant’s coat during a dance contest to impress the ladies, he talked about his time in the brig because he supposedly had two sets of papers--one sending him to Korea, one keeping him on U.S. soil—he talked about being in Cuba pre-Castro, where evidently he became a highly sought after bachelor by the ladies there, who used him as much as he used them—
But it was all tinged in sadness, as we later found out through his correspondence back home, which was somehow kept through the years and has recently been unearthed.
All my father wanted to do was come home, and when he did, he did the only logical thing he could do—go back to work in the butcher store.
A few years later, he met my mother, they married, and the rest is history for my family.
And then, literally with his back against the wall, he made a major career change--in his early 30s, he decided to drive a cab full time, and that not only changed his life, it changed the lives of my mother, my sister and myself.
My father absolutely loved driving a cab, and he worked hard at it, sometimes working 16 hour days and driving six days a week.
But he loved what he was doing.
He loved interacting with people, whether they be celebrities or your Average Joes.
And he picked up many celebrities during his more than 50 years behind the wheel, including Michael J. Fox, Andre the Giant, Tiny Tim, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Carolyn Kennedy, Howard Cosell, Brook Benton, Earl Weaver, and gaggles of athletes and other well-known people.
My father also was in a few movies and TV shows, including the original “The Equalizer,” “The Today Show,” and on numerous radio broadcasts directly from his cab.
He drove a Checker Cab for many of his years behind the wheel, and when he picked up Director Martin Scorsese one day, the director picked his brain about “a new project” he was developing, which turned out to be “Taxi Driver.”
My father was supposed to get an on-screen credit, but Scorsese did not keep his promise to him.
But you know what?
My father really didn’t care.
He loved picking up passengers and taking them to their destinations, whether you were Martin Scorsese or Joe Shmoe.
He was at the World Trade Center on 9-11, and heaven knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t pick up a passenger right there who took him to Harlem a few minutes before the plane hit.
My father picked up anyone who needed a ride and took them wherever they wanted to go, often not charging them a fare if they were indigent.
He also took people not just around New York City, but a couple of times, he even went as far away as Pennsylvania to satisfy a fare.
He picked up many different types of people, gay, straight, and otherwise, and he admitted to being propositioned by men and women, but with a rock-solid marriage, he never succumbed to such things.
My father was robbed, was sued, was thrown in jail for no reason—Rikers Island—he went to court a few times, and those things he wouldn’t readily talk about.
He unknowingly passed counterfeit bills that were given to him as payment, he shivered when his cab had to be checked out by the Taxi and Limousine Commissaries each year …
But he loved what he was doing.
So passing away on Labor Day was almost a serendipitous occurrence, because he was truly the hardest working person in the cab business, bar none.
And he did it because of his family, roughing through all those long days to help us live the life that he wanted us to live.
I can think of no better tribute to my father than that, so I am going to leave it at that as I remember my father on the day he passed.
I will go to the cemetery today with my mom—after driving my son to his own work—and I will say hello to my father once again.
I know he is looking down right now from heaven on myself and his family, and I get the sense that he is awful proud of our own accomplishments.
But it all started with him and my mom, and with that work ethic that he instilled in all of us.
Speak to you later, dad.
I have been thinking to myself about how I would handle his passing in the Blog, and honestly, I have come up with few answers.
I thought that maybe I would just put in the text of my speech during his funeral service, which was both very sad and very funny, in a good sort of way, but you know what? I cannot find my speech anywhere. I must not have saved it, which I find hard to believe, but I do remember that I went “off script” pretty much anyway, but it does pain me that I cannot find it.
So what else to do?
I guess I can recount some of that speech, which as I said, was not sad at all, more of a reflection of the life of my father.
He just missed turning 89 years of age by a few weeks, but he died on a fitting day for him, which was Labor Day, because after family, work came next in his life.
He worked as a yellow medallion cab driver in New York City for more than 50 years, and in doing it, he had seen it all and done it all during that time behind the wheel.
And before that, he was a kosher butcher on Delancey Street in Manhattan, so New York City was engrained in his very being.
He grew up on the Lower East Side, the first child of immigrant parents, and he paved the way for his three siblings’ many successes in their own lives.
My father was smart enough to be a lawyer, but in those days, the oldest child went right into the workforce, so he never went to college, but he could have.
And he was a very good athlete—basketball was his best sport—so perhaps if he would have been able to pursue school, he could have played college basketball.
He was also a terrific swimmer—even through his last days—so perhaps he could have been on the swimming team in college.
But again, work was going to be his life, and he began working in my gradnfather’s butcher store from a young age, and through his taxi years, he worked through his early 80s.
He also served in the Marines during the Korean War, and while he had numerous funny stories to tell about his time in the Marines—almost like a real-life Sgt. Bilko—I have later found out how bathed in sorrow those years were for him, and I guess he used those hilarious stories—which I am sure were about 75 percent true—to kind of balance what he was really feeling with a lot of funny moments.
He spoke about wearing a sergeant’s coat during a dance contest to impress the ladies, he talked about his time in the brig because he supposedly had two sets of papers--one sending him to Korea, one keeping him on U.S. soil—he talked about being in Cuba pre-Castro, where evidently he became a highly sought after bachelor by the ladies there, who used him as much as he used them—
But it was all tinged in sadness, as we later found out through his correspondence back home, which was somehow kept through the years and has recently been unearthed.
All my father wanted to do was come home, and when he did, he did the only logical thing he could do—go back to work in the butcher store.
A few years later, he met my mother, they married, and the rest is history for my family.
And then, literally with his back against the wall, he made a major career change--in his early 30s, he decided to drive a cab full time, and that not only changed his life, it changed the lives of my mother, my sister and myself.
My father absolutely loved driving a cab, and he worked hard at it, sometimes working 16 hour days and driving six days a week.
But he loved what he was doing.
He loved interacting with people, whether they be celebrities or your Average Joes.
And he picked up many celebrities during his more than 50 years behind the wheel, including Michael J. Fox, Andre the Giant, Tiny Tim, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Carolyn Kennedy, Howard Cosell, Brook Benton, Earl Weaver, and gaggles of athletes and other well-known people.
My father also was in a few movies and TV shows, including the original “The Equalizer,” “The Today Show,” and on numerous radio broadcasts directly from his cab.
He drove a Checker Cab for many of his years behind the wheel, and when he picked up Director Martin Scorsese one day, the director picked his brain about “a new project” he was developing, which turned out to be “Taxi Driver.”
My father was supposed to get an on-screen credit, but Scorsese did not keep his promise to him.
But you know what?
My father really didn’t care.
He loved picking up passengers and taking them to their destinations, whether you were Martin Scorsese or Joe Shmoe.
He was at the World Trade Center on 9-11, and heaven knows what would have happened to him if he didn’t pick up a passenger right there who took him to Harlem a few minutes before the plane hit.
My father picked up anyone who needed a ride and took them wherever they wanted to go, often not charging them a fare if they were indigent.
He also took people not just around New York City, but a couple of times, he even went as far away as Pennsylvania to satisfy a fare.
He picked up many different types of people, gay, straight, and otherwise, and he admitted to being propositioned by men and women, but with a rock-solid marriage, he never succumbed to such things.
My father was robbed, was sued, was thrown in jail for no reason—Rikers Island—he went to court a few times, and those things he wouldn’t readily talk about.
He unknowingly passed counterfeit bills that were given to him as payment, he shivered when his cab had to be checked out by the Taxi and Limousine Commissaries each year …
But he loved what he was doing.
So passing away on Labor Day was almost a serendipitous occurrence, because he was truly the hardest working person in the cab business, bar none.
And he did it because of his family, roughing through all those long days to help us live the life that he wanted us to live.
I can think of no better tribute to my father than that, so I am going to leave it at that as I remember my father on the day he passed.
I will go to the cemetery today with my mom—after driving my son to his own work—and I will say hello to my father once again.
I know he is looking down right now from heaven on myself and his family, and I get the sense that he is awful proud of our own accomplishments.
But it all started with him and my mom, and with that work ethic that he instilled in all of us.
Speak to you later, dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.