He wore leisure suits.
He played golf very well. And he played so fast we used to say he played polo with a golf cart.
He would clear his throat at a chorus concert so I would know where he and my mom were sitting.
He could tell a story better than anyone I knew. I could listen to him talk about his customers and staff forever.
He and my mom traveled around the world. My favorite story happened in Paris. They stayed in first class hotels. They came back to the hotel a bit tipsy and switched all of the shoes for shining outside the doors. They said it sounded like the UN the next morning as all of the gentlemen, wrapped in robes went searching for their shoes.
He couldn’t cook anything but scrambled eggs but could grill a steak better than any chop house.
He loved football. He worked tons of hours and when he was home on Sunday he was obsessed with the game. So, in order to speak his language, I learned football by the time I was six or seven. Twenty years ago when the Bills staged the greatest comeback he was in the hospital. I remember going straight there after the game, telling him every detail I could remember. It barely registered. I guess I should have known then.
Whenever I smell a cigar I think of my dad.
He could play billiards with the eye of a shark. When he was a boy he used to hustle at a pool hall on Pine Avenue. He used to store his winnings in the encyclopedia volume including the word Money. Apparently he must have gotten his clever streak from his mother.
She found it. And, she kept it. Never a word was spoken.
The only time I cried at my wedding was when I danced with my father.
He never met a stranger. When you met him he would make you feel as though you were friends forever. Then you would never forget him. He cut a very wide path.
20 years has passed but you are every bit as real to me today as ever. I see you in my son’s face. How lucky is he? How lucky am I?
August 1, 1927 – January 15, 1993
Love you Dad