Fathers’ Day: “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men…”

“Now will I praise those godly men, our ancestors, each in his own time…Stalwart men, solidly established and at peace in their own estates—

“All these were glorious in their times, each illustrious in his day. Some have left behind a name…But of others there is no memory

“Yet these also were godly men whose virtues have not been forgotten.” (Sirach 44:1-15)

Most of the dads I know are not famous in the worldly sense, but they were and are famous to their children. They may not be in the Baseball Hall of Fame or they may not have won the Nobel Peace Prize, or established a financial empire, or written a great novel but they were there, simply there, when a bicycle needed fixing or a school project needed a helping hand, or a coach for the team. They could whip up a campfire and pitch a tent at the same time. They knew everything, yes, everything about a tractor, a motorboat, the thermo dynamics of any car, the infrastructure of a city building, and even the way the gas grill works on a sultry summer’s day when dad is in charge of the cooking. 

I always thought my Dad was the perfect dad. When he came home from work each day, he would scoop us up and tickle us to endless laughter and giggles, saying “How are my little tadpoles and pollywogs today?” And down to the floor we would tumble, a mass of squirming legs and arms looking like some giant running spider curling its appendages around its prey. He taught me to ride a bicycle which he made from old pipes and spare parts. He taught me to roller skate and all of us to ice skate. 

As I grew older, my esteem for my Dad also grew. As the eldest of seven, I remember things my siblings do not remember or never knew. My Dad enjoyed a Tom Sawyer childhood: swimming in the Allegheny River near the camp sight he and his pals had erected for the summer, ice skating on a field pond in winter, erecting a clubhouse which no girl was allowed to come near. He attended grade school with the famed dancer, Gene Kelly, and the two were such fast friends that Sr. Raymond had to separate them by putting Gene in the choir and Dad on the altar boy list. At the age of 16, Dad lost an eye which his parents had been trying to save since he was ten and was shot accidentally by a boy with a BB gun. He turned to music studying at the Pittsburgh School of Music and specializing in the clarinet and saxophone. By the time he was 20, Dad had organized a popular dance band under his show name: Red Martin. The band played at the William Penn hotel in Pittsburgh (where Lawrence Welk got his start at the same time) and he was soon accepting gigs all over town and in other cities. His star was rising. He was also the comedic entertainer for the band impersonating famous people and getting the audience to laugh as well as dance. 

When America became involved with World War II, Dad’s band was decimated as his players were drafted and some never returned. My Dad could not serve in the military with one eye. He was devastated. The war threw him into a series of jobs, none satisfying or paying well. When he saw an ad in the paper for window washers in Cleveland, Ohio, he jumped at it. Full time work, good pay; his growing family needed this.

His job as a high-rise window washer became a coveted career. He loved it. He could play music on weekends in a local band and the window cleaning job was fulltime. My mother would wrap his hands on winter nights with salve and gauze because they were numb and glazed from Lake Erie winds high above the city. He was inconsolable when a partner dropped—as window washers say—to his death and Dad had to identify the man because his wife could not do it. He washed the windows for over 35 years most on the Terminal Tower held only by a belt hooked to the sides of each window which once saved him when a windowsill gave out. Scaffolding came after his retirement. 

From my Dad I inherited a deep passion for the great outdoors and for all kinds of music along with comedy and art (he once won a painting contest in Pittsburgh). He moved us from the city to the country where we could enjoy working a large vegetable garden and raising chickens and sheep while practicing our musical instruments. He would play music with my brothers and me, and I learned more from him than my music teacher. We played in our basement, and I often saw that Dad would lift his head above us: his sax reaching a crescendo like a bird somewhere floating around us and I would look up and there was no bird. But in this basement, this conservatory of the average lovers of music, my Dad was Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman, or Boots Randolph, the greats of the woodwinds in the Dance Band era. 

Reflection

My Dad was the Encourager-in-Chief for each of his children. But the lesson he made most real for me was the ability to rise above the disappointments of his life and not be tied to a depressing attitude. His children depended on him. He awakened every day with enthusiasm: a trained musician turned high-rise window washer because of the hand he was dealt. Most dads I know are cut from the same cloth, “men whose virtues are not forgotten.”  

Does a cherished memory come to mind about your dad? What gifts or interests do you share with your dad? 

How can we help families without fathers?

Some dads are not so fatherly, but we pray for them so that whatever demons have gripped them, they will come to love their families who need them.  

This week read Sirach 44:1-15 and reflect on the meaning of parenthood in the context of faith and commitment.

Happy Father’s Day to all fathers!!!!