My Eulogy for Jack
At first, I really didn’t think I was gonna get up here. I figured if I did, I’d just blabber a few unintelligible words before making a fool of myself. So, I prepared a few notes in advance to help me. (Cough). . .
A priest, a rabbi, and a bear walk into a bar. Whoa, wrong notes. (cough)
Here we are.
First, let me put everyone here, including myself, at ease. My brother, Jack, didn’t want this day to be sad for any of us. Not by a long shot. I firmly believe he would want it to be quite the opposite of sad. Jack would want this day filled with happy memories about him.
And if, by chance, some Jack Daniels is drunk or a few cigars are smoked today, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least that Jack would be doing the same right now.
My brother was the kindest, most giving, and funniest person I’ve ever known. Picture Mother Teresa standing over a barbeque grill munching on a stogie with a wicked sense of humor. That’s the type of person Jack was. And so much more.
At our respective weddings, Jack was my best man and I was his. But the reasons for our choices wasn’t just because we were brothers. Oh no, far from it. We were more than that. We had already forged an unbreakable bond when both our parents died. Jack was only seventeen when Dad passed away and barely twenty-one when mom died of a broken heart. Jack and I clung to each other for strength.
As time passed so did our pain. Eventually, we became known as the two young brothers who converted a once quiet home on 121st street into another“Animal House.” Liquor flowed freely; music blasted; and a certain contraband (now legalized) filled the air. Without a doubt our parties were legendary.
Jack had some pretty amazing role models during his life. Let’s start off with our dad. He owned a corner grocery store in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. Every so often, Dad would blatantly disregard New York’s Child Labor Laws and have his two young sons work in his store. It was a blast and we had the times of our lives. Jack and I used to straighten the cans on shelves, sweep the floor, and separate empty soda bottles in the basement. We saw that our Dad went a step beyond being fair to his customers. He made sure his older customers always got their food—even if they couldn’t afford it. Dad taught us the value of a good day’s work. And he paid us handsomely—tuna on toast with lettuce and tomato with a bottle of coke.
Our Uncle Eddie was as generous as his brother. He would try to force money into our Aunt Paula’s hands every time he visited her. She always refused and said something like, “now, now Eddie, stop. The convent provides me with everything I need.”
He didn’t give up and tried harder the next time they met. Still, Aunt Paula wouldn’t take anything.
Finally, he got his sister something he knew she would never refuse and couldn’t return. He bought her a ticket to Rome and made sure she got an audience with the pope. For a nun, that was like winning the Lotto.
Aunt Paula was no slouch either. I wouldn’t be stretching the truth if I said that she was the most generous person of all of them. She was a member of the Sisters of Charity for more than sixty years. She devoted her entire life to helping people. When she wasn’t concerned with their souls, she managed to help many with their physical needs. Like buying a new carriage with the little money she had for a poor single mother in her care.
You may be asking yourselves, “heck, Jim, what about your own mom?”
Well, before I get to her, let me tell you a story about two brothers. No, not me and Jack—our dad and our Uncle Eddie. They loved each other immensely. They went to fight a war together. They lived on the same block and partied together. And, even at one point, they worked together. They were inseparable.
Then, late one night, all that togetherness came crashing down. Jack and I were wakened by Dad and Uncle Eddie shouting. We ran to the basement where we saw they were arguing. It was awful. The two men we admired most in the world were yelling at each other and stopped speaking to each other soon afterward. Jack and I were devastated, but our Mom made it a point to tell us we should never stop visiting or loving our Uncle Eddie. Gosh, we tried so many times to get our uncle to make up with our dad and vice versa. But Uncle Eddie and our dad had a trait that was passed on to my bother—stubbornness.
It was our Mom who physically dragged our Uncle Eddie down the block and into my Dad’s open arms, where they hugged, cried, and acted like the rift between them had never happened.
Aside from being the peacekeeper in the family, Mom was a pretty good cook, that is, according to Jack. I plead the Fifth on that. He once told me his love of cooking was due to staying with our Mom while she cooked the meals. He said she cooked a mean skirt steak, whatever that was.
These are the people Jack grew up around. Uncle Eddie, Aunt Paula, Dad, and most especially, Mom. Tough shoes to fill, sure, but Jack did a damn good job of filling them.
Jack gave of himself in so many ways. And I think many of you will always remember those epic backyard parties. That’s when I’ve seen my brother really happy and content. I can still see him, wearing one of his Henley shirts and a baseball cap, hovering over his new gas grill with a glass of Jack Daniels in one hand and a spatula in the other. He would back away and joke with us before returning to flip over a few more burgers.
Afterward, when his work at the grill was done, he sat among us, and leaned back with a smile on his face. ‘Cause he knew that he had helped make the people he loved happy for that day. Nothing pleased him more than knowing that everyone was having a good time.
Cancer may have slowed Jack down but it never stopped him from giving of himself. He called me from his bed at a rehabilitation care center in the city this past Christmas. He said, “when you see me this Tuesday, I have a little job for you to do for me. Okay?”
When I dropped by, the first thing that caught my eyes was a 3-tier wire rolling cart filled to the max with grocery bags. They were stuffed with bagels, rolls, and an assortment of pastries, fruits, cookies, and donuts, not to mention deli meats, various salads, and a hefty tub of cream cheese. Enough food and snacks to feed a small army!
“Take anything you want, Jim, and roll the cart over to the nurses’ station.”
And this was in addition to giving the entire staff on his floor Christmas gifts.
So, whether you called him Jack, Uncle Jack, Grandpa, Dad, or just Honey I’m sure you’ll all agree, just knowing Jack was a gift in itself.
He was a gentle soul who will always be loved, always be missed, and will always be in our hearts.
So good-bye for the time being, Jack
