Today is July 15, 1995. We are about to set a record for heat here in the Delaware Valley. It is also the date on which my father, Richard T., was born some 109 years ago. It is remembered today as the day on which we, as children, performed for his birthday. If not that day, the weekend nearest to this date.
I can still remember a song “Jimmy Valentine” which I learned to sing for one of those occasions, and even remember some of the words: “Look out! Look out for Jimmy Valentine! For he’s a pal of mine and he’ll steal your heart away!”
I vaguely remember that “Jimmy” was a noted burglar or safecracker, but maybe just in fiction, like one of the Damon Runyon characters from “Guys and Dolls”. He was as good at stealing hearts as well as other things worth stealing.
But my memory of Dad, like many other things, has receded. Only the “good” remains, unlike Marc Anthony’s warning that it is “oft interred with their bones”. My memory lapses and receding) reminded me of a passage that I was struck with in E. L. Doctoro’s “Waterworks”, (so much so that I wrote it down) It goes like this:
“I’m on old man now and I have to acknowledge
That reality slips, like cogs in a wheel…
Names, faces, even of those close to you, become
Strange, beautifully strange, and the
Commonest sight, the street you live on,
Appears to you one sunny morning as the
Monumental intention of men who are no longer
Available to explain it.”
I’m becoming an old man and my memory “cog” slips more and more.
I do remember Dad writing a weekly letter, addressed to all those away, with a litany of names running across the top of the page and on to a second line. I wonder what happened to all those letters? I had the occasion to be reminded of it when received an envelope from Margaret A. McAteer, enclosing letters sent to her from “Arch”Bishop Frank McSorley, mostly soliciting help.
Miss McAteer was a legal secretary to Judge Clare Fennerty and remembered “Rebecca Welsh”, Dad’s multi-talented secretary of many, many years, probably close to 40 years. I know in 1958 when I returned to Philly she was still around, along with Miriam Garvin, who came in the summer of 1929 for a part-time job and was still there when the son born that year came to the bar to practice in 1958. Rebecca’s beginning was, as we sometimes say in the legal profession “beyond the memory of man!” (at least this man, for one!).
Ms. McAteer served in the Jury Selection Committee after Judge Fennerty’s death in 1952. She served as secretary to Bill Brady, a friend of Dad’s right back to his wedding days. Bill Brady’s son, Bill, is now a Judge in the Municipal Court. The Jury Selection Committee is now the Jury Board, and it is where I served some 19 years, from 1972 until 1991.
One of the notes she sent me is from Dad dated July 22, 1970 from 4718 Windsor. It is a thank you note for her and her sister’s card for his birthday. It refers to Margaret having a hand in having Miriam placed with a Judge after Dad retired in 1966, and her having died since then. In a few days it will be 25 years since Dad wrote that letter.
I remember letters I sent to home in 1947-1948 being returned with corrections. The Father was also teacher and critic. I am happy to report that these epistles or reports, or whatever, have yet to be returned with similar criticisms, but I have received oral “suggestions” which I’ve tried to heed.
The thermometer in the sun over the pool here in Avalon just topped 100 degrees. So it’s hot, as predicted. Nice to have the weatherman confirmed! Here in the shade of the porch it is 95 degrees. I have a fan blowing on me to keep the air moving.
The news that’s new is that June and I have sold our condo in Avalon. Settlement will be on the 14th or 15th of August, which will be our 14th anniversary. It is not without regrets and fond memories that we bid adieu to Windward Harbor and the many friends we have made there. As with any major change in life’s pattern, it will take some adjusting. First, it will take some hard work to have our personal things moved from the premises. One of the things that will soften the blow is that we leave on the 18th of August for 10 days in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
Thought for the month: “Whether it’s the best of times or the worst of times, it’s the only time you got.” (Art Buchwald)