I cannot begin to comprehend the depth of feeling my Dad has for West Point in general and for the Class of 1958 in particular. I do know that it was profound and because of that I will always hold West Point and the Class of 1958 with a special reverence. I want to express my special thanks to Col. Palmer McGrew for all his help in getting the word out to the Class of 1958. I would have been lost without him.
I also want to thank Col. Dave Allbee at West Point for his help on making all the proper arrangements at West Point. As I looked through the 13 pages of instruction that my Dad left behind (titled "Things To Do IF Jim Gone"), I kept seeing the same name pop up over and over again - Col. Dave Allbee. Check with Col. Allbee on this, see Dave about that, etc. Either Col. Allbee is a good friend of my Dad...or he really ticked him off. He is my Dad's friend - as are all of you.
I did not properly prepare for this most recent trip to see my Dad. I was not prepared in many ways. One was simply in the packing of proper attire. As a result I had to run out to JC Penney and buy myself a suit (25% off - my Dad would have been proud). As a further means of cutting costs I decided that rather than buying a nice pair of shoes I would borrow a pair of my Dad's shoes. I did it to save money. But I also liked the symbolism of walking in my Dad's shoes for a few days. And you know what ? His shoes are too big for me - and I like that symbolism as well.
Going further on this topic - I realized that almost anything my Dad wore would be too big for me with one notable exception. Hats. My Dad and I every once in awhile exchanged hats and mine were always too big on him and his too small for me. And its interesting that the one physical aspect about my Dad that was not larger than life was his head. My Dad never had a big head.
In 1968 the NY Jets and Baltimore Colts played in Super Bowl III. The Colts were heavy 18 point favorites. My Dad, Uncle Jack and Uncle Tom were all big Colt fans and told me that the Jets had no chance to win. (I suspect that my Aunt Mary was a Jets fan since Joe Namath was the Jets QB). Anyway, I felt sorry for the Jets and decided to root for them. As many of you know, the Jets won that day in one of the biggest upsets in sports history. That day Joe Willie Namath became my hero. My Dad already was my hero and would remain so. But it bothered me that my two big heroes shared nothing in common. My Dad was (is) a good family man who loves his wife and children, a clean cut outstanding soldier, a good Christian, and a good Catholic. Joe Namath had long hair, Fu Manchu mustache, wore mink coats and once proclaimed - "I like my women blonde and my Johnny Walker Red". There was no overlap between these two men. I always wanted the gap between them to shrink. And given my immaturity, I wanted my Dad to "be" more like Joe Namath. I know this will shock you but....it never happened.
A year ago I read a Sports Illustrated article on Joe Namath - a sort of "Where are they now" type piece. Today Joe Namath is happily married with a family that he loves and no longer fools around. He does not drink or smoke and he has a good spiritual program. I realized that the gap had closed. My Dad's values never changed but Joe Namath came to adopt my Dad's values.
No discussion of my Dad would be complete without mentioning Jet Skiing. As many of you know, my Dad loved to Jet Ski. It was his passion. I never liked his Jet Ski. Riding it always terrified me and I tried hard to resist his requests for me to go out Jet Skiing with him. I did go out with him several times but never got over my fear of "playing" with it. I wish now I had gone out more frequently with him. The opportunity has passed and I blew it. I believe my Dad encouraged me to Jet Ski because he knew and believed that it is important as we go through life to continue to try and do those things that we may not like to do. I think he knew it would build in me character and as a father that was his job.....I also think that many times he also simply needed an extra body to launch the Jet Ski.
My Dad also knew when I needed subtle discipline and when something more obvious was needed. He introduced me to the sport of tennis. A sport that I still love to this day. Although we mainly played singles, I remember once in high school he and I were playing two other gentlemen in doubles. We were better than they were and should have been kicking their butts. My Dad was playing very well...but I was not and consequently we were losing. I was not taking it well. I was throwing my racket, uttering profanities, and generally behaving like a jerk. Before the match could be completed my Dad picked up his stuff, packed it away, and told me "Your behavior is unacceptable. I am through playing with you today and if you don't change your behavior I won't play tennis with you again". He then left the court. I stood there open mouthed at the stinging rebuke my Dad had just given me. Of course I was also open mouthed because my Dad departed in the car that we had driven in together to get to the courts. I had a 2 mile walk home to further consider my actions.
I remember a time when I was in college that my Dad was helping me work on my car. He was on one side of the engine block working with a screw driver and I was on the other side. Suddenly I heard a steady stream of profanity come from my Dad, words that were certainly a part of my vocabulary but I never dreamed were a part of his. I looked over to see the screw driver sticking in my radiator and a steady stream of antifreeze leaking out. At first I was pissed. But I could not help but laugh at the side of my Dad I had just seen. My Dad had always told me that he and I have a bad temper - something that we need to control. In my case I knew this to be true. But regarding my Dad, I figured he was just blowing smoke. My Dad NEVER lost it - until that day. I realized that my Dad did have a bad temper but worked so hard to control it that it almost never broke to the surface. I think that my Dad accomplished more as an "imperfect" person who battled his imperfections than a "perfect" person with nothing to overcome.
The night before I graduated from Loyola College in Baltimore, my Dad and Mom came over to my on campus apartment. I'm not sure how it happened but that evening my Dad and I went out bar hopping at Fells Point. Although there are several good strip joints in Baltimore's "block", I did not realize that Fells Point also had some. So there we were, sitting in a strip joint, drinking watered down $6.00 beer, watching some slightly over the hill stripper display her "skills". I was pumped. My Dad was giving me the ultimate rite of passage into manhood. It was great !!! Looking back and knowing my Dad's sensibilities, I'm sure he was thinking the whole time "Yes, this really great that my son is getting this rite of passage into manhood, but I sure wish he would hurry up and pass through it so I can get back to Rae...".
After graduating from graduate school and prior to staring work with IBM, I made a trip up to West Point to visit with my folks. While visiting, my Dad and I went out and played a tennis match. He had not as yet been diagnosed with cancer, but was already experiencing the mysterious back pains that ultimately were caused by the Multiple Myeloma. It had been years since my Dad had even come close to me on the tennis court. The torch had long since been passed to me. I was younger, stronger, faster, and had much better strokes than he possessed. He of course was still better looking. On this day my Dad played out of his head. He was truly amazing. And he beat me. He beat me fair and he beat me true. He played great !! He was so excited that he ran onto the next court where two strangers were playing and interrupted their match to tell them "I beat my son, I beat my son !!".
It was the last tennis match we ever played - and I am glad. I love you Dad.
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