Our Father Who Art in Heaven

It's been a week. I can't believe it.  Usually the only time I don't post is when I am on vacation from work, but this was a different week entirely.   As you will see, I lost my Father.  It was noon or so on Martin Luther King day when my cell phone rang.  My mother was already on her way to the hospital.  The week that followed was both crushing in its sadness and exhilirating in its days of support, admiration and love for the greatness of my Dad.  It is estimated that over 1,000 people queued for up to an hour and a half to speak to us at his wake.  We stood there for 4 hours in a constant stream. 

I will write about development and delivery of the words below later this week but for now I mark the start of start of the next phase of life with our words remembering Dad.

Our Father Who Art in Heaven

It strikes me that these words have always been true but I feel them more personally today.

[Eruzione moment] 

Ours is a family of talkers.  When we were kids the decibel level went up exponentially with the passing of the dinner hour as each one of us talked over the other. If you need an opinion, just ask, or don't, and you will get about 7 or 8.  I know that each of my brothers and sisters would describe Dad in their own words, equal in love and happiness to mine but if we did that now we would be here all day, so with the greatest show of love I could imagine they have allowed me this privilege.  If you have been lucky enough to hear Mom give a speech you know what I mean about the talking, we definitely get our "outspoken-ness" from her.

And yet our father was a relatively quiet man.
It's not that he couldn't be loud, if the Giants were on or if Brian was chasing Michael again. He had a booming voice, but he seemed to use it only when he really needed it. Mostly our father communicated through well thought out words and very specific actions, and there in lies his lesson for us.  Well thought out words and very specific actions.

Dad excelled at being there. He taught through example and he lived his life creating a road map for each of us to follow.  Here are a few of the things we know from his time on The Way:

The Fitzgerald's
I am one of "The" Fitzgerald's. If you have been around Monmouth County New Jersey over the last 50 years perhaps you've heard of them. They're kind of like a pack over there in Little Silver. Something like six of them to start but the pack is growing and they seem to be everywhere now. Our Dad created "The Fitzgerald's", from the very early days travelling the state to hockey games, if Dad didn't deliver his Fitzgerald boys there might not be enough players. From Navesink house league to travellers at every level of the program, Mr. Brooks could be heard yelling, "Fitzie get the puck".  Dad was the original Fitzie, and what a legacy he began.   Dad introduced CBA to The Fitzgerald's in 1975 and one of his sons walked those halls for 14 years straight.  Interestingly enough, Dad's All American hockey playing Fitzgerald didn't attend CBA, and she played in cleats instead of skates.  The Fitzgerald's took BC by storm and Marion 's success launched the second phase of Dad's field hockey career as his grand daughters picked up sticks.  One of Dad's proudest Fitzgerald moments came when his eldest son announced the name of his first grandson, "Anthony William Fitzgerald".  That means there has been an AWF in the tri-state area since 1911.  Dad's local fame grew with reports from Northern Jersey Baseball and Soccer, local field hockey and golf scores and another onslaught of Fitzgerald's running through Rumson Fair Haven High School (6 years straight, and counting).  We will be starting a second run at CBA in the fall at Garret joins the Blue Shirts. Dad made his daily local rounds and heard the accolades from all, Vickie at Flair, Bobby at Cardners, Rob at LS liquors, Jimmy,  at Rumson Market and many more.  Dad lived for the successes of his clan.  How about this one, Tony graduated from Middlebury something like 28 years ago, Dad has had 4 or 5 cars since then, but despite the years and change of wheels, he still has every college and post grad school sticker on his back window.  His gospel iaccording to Fitzgerald is spreading now in Virginia and Los Angeles with many more missions to come. This man was Proud of all of us Fitzgerald's.

Family, Love - A Man of Action
From the moment he turned to Mom at the end of the aisle on their wedding day and said,"now I have a family" to his final round of encouragements to each and every one of us just a few days ago (Our Dad actually thought FB was just for Fitzgerald's), Dad's life was a consistent testament to living for others. And his actions spoke louder than words ever could.  He road the train for forty some odd years so we could grow up on bikes and beaches. We learned to field a ground ball or catch a pass because he showed us how to do it. He recited Latin to prove it was learnable and he stood on countless sidelines, blue lines and receiving lines through every kind of weather and event to teach us the true meaning of support.   He had some great family teachers and partners along the way, Lala my Mom’s Mother and Autie Marg McLaughlin were his mothers and Ed McLaughlin and Bill Kearney were his life long sounding board.  They taught him well but it was he who turned the lessons into action  Here are just a few of the ways you knew Dad loved you:

- he taught you the eefess pitch
- he held you in his arms so you could smell his Skin Bracer
- he sang to you (Little Mary Sunshine was particularly brutal in his car)
- he played chess, checkers, gin rummy, floor hockey, offense/defense or table top football with you
- he brought birthday bags from Cosby's
- he threw you up in the air in a pool
- he gave you orders
- he gave you advice without preaching
- he gave you advice with preaching
- he took you with him to get ice cream (Friendly's, Cherry on Top)
- he wore fake hair, interestingly often in mullet form in your presence
- he mailed you a picture of yourself in grammar school
- he wore a baseball hat from your team or school
- he made you a duck sandwich after Christmas
- or he offered you his ABC gum

Individual Love
Corn, Bug, Bruin, Zook, Marksie and Gritz, Shan Shan, Waisey, Torte , Widgie, Eice and on and on.  Seemingly odd call signs for some air squadron, or perhaps code names for a sortie, these names manifest the investment Dad made in each of us.  Our Dad was a master at making you feel like you were the only one that mattered.  He created these persona and brought them to life for us everyday. He spent his days making little notes to himself, typically on little yellow sticky pads and attached them to the inside flap of his wallet.  Little Silver vs. Red Bank, boro field B & M , BC vs. UCONN at home on the 7th.  He kept it all straight for each of us here and delivered every single time.  I'm not sure why but I somehow scored a trip  alone with him to San Francisco when I was about 12.  We took like 3 vacations as a family our whole lives and here I was in San Fran with him, by myself.  Dad created these personal, individual relatiohships with each of us.  As a grandfather he had four or five different names from Dandad to Da so that each family's grandchildren could have their own special piece of him.

There's the smallest anything collection with Ellie, the hilarious greeting card trail with Ed, the 50 years of Giant tickets with Charlie, and of course the Yellow Roses with Mom.  If he knew you he created a special place for your relationship and nourished it in hundreds of little ways. Likely the best example I can give you of Dad’s ridiculousness in this vein is my baby sister’s nick name.  Marion Margaret, Munch worth business brain, yellow pepper, George Jetson, Hamburgler, French Fry, Azrielle, 36 er, Star, Blade.  Again it would take all day to explain but I hope you get the picture.

A Man of Words
Our Dad was a Man of Letters.  Ever a voracious reader, he kept Quotes from Marc Antony on his bedside table.  Through his early Greek and Latin studies he had control over most of the Romance languages and reveled in conversations in French.  He always had a book you should read and often had two or three going at the same time.  An Atlas at his side at all times he traced history and his own travels to his beloved Paris and the world in great detail. He had a gift for language and often communicated his most important thoughts in writing.  His Grace said at Christmas dinner was often written to reflect the themes created by Mom and his thoughts of joy from the year.  This tradition is continued masterfully by Brian as we gather now at 8 Woodside.  Dad had a lawyer's editorial mind and he would use it to write wonderful and often simple letters to us all while we were at college on those yellow legal pads.   While the letters were simple the language and message was always clear, "Do your best". 

Dad also collected his favorite displays of our language and he would recite them at will.  The Latin Mass, The Mighty Casey, The Four Horsemen, St. Luke's version of the Christmas Story and more. This love carried over to music as well. He loved John Denver, Peter Paul & Mary and Johnny Cash. The first guitar any of us ever played was a nylon stringed number he bought himself. He learned a chord or two but quickly shifted focus back to being a groupie as the boys began to play. (Hey Mannn)

A Man of Faith
Finally, and most importantly our father was a man of faith.  From St. Saviour's to Brooklyn Prep to Fordham, Dad's faith was built by the Jesuits.  They gave him the tools, the knowledge and the discipline to discover his beloved saints and all their stories.  Many is the day you would get a call or a note from him, just after morning mass reminding you of a feast day.  It is very likely that Dad's devotion to family, the underdog, the less fortunate, and the everyday people in his life was forged by the instruction of Jesuits like Father Finnerty.  Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam - For the Greater Glory of God.  Dad understood that the best way to glorify God was through a life of service. 

If the Jesuits built him, Marion and the Mylods, and in particular Lala perfected him. He not only loved and respected her but revered her as a perfect example of how to live.  He once told me that Lala was the closest thing I would ever see to the Blessed Mother on this earth.  His adult life reflected his learnings at her side. He spoke regularly to the Blessed Mother. He shared his thoughts and fears with her.  We know this because we witnessed it.  We know this because in our times of need he sent us to her.  We know this because we experienced his love for her in everything he did, without complaining, without wondering what was in it for him, without ever showing his own suffering.  He is with his mothers now and we can be certain that they have already said a rosary or two for all of us.

The Teacher
He was a husband, father, grandfather, brother. Uncle, Mentor, lawyer and Friend, or perhaps like his father he was a teacher. I believe that the lesson our father leaves us is true to his nature, Simple, to the point and powerful.  We are all ultimately known by God and remembered on Earth for BOTH our words and our actions. It is his understanding of how to use them in the right place and time that defines the beauty, power and love of this great man.  This is how he managed to touch so many so deeply. Look down on us, watch over all your grandkids, help them tell the personal gospel of your life and enjoy all your heroes in heaven, We love you....Hang by your Thumbs. Don't take any wooden nickels.