Shortly after Uncle Jim's death in 2004, Jim gave me permission to share his moving eulogy of his dad. I just came across it, and I loved reading it again. I am sure you will to.
James A. Nolan, III
Dad's life spanned nearly the entire twentieth century. He was born during the "Great War", he served in World War II. He grew up amidst the economic strains of the Great Depression, he participated in the expansive growth of our country in the second half of this century. Born a decade after the first flight, he watched the astronauts go to the moon. With his death, for me, the twentieth century can finally come to a close.
It would be an exaggeration to say that Dad left his mark on his century. Historians will never consider him a great or influential man. And Dad did not seek to be a great man. He was very content with what he had: a very supportive wife, a family of brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren of whom he was very proud, a series of life long friends, many of whom he would recall in his last days, with whom he shared good times and to whom he could always tell a good joke, over and over again. These things he prized.
I cannot communicate with the dead, but I think I know our Dad well enough to tell you some of my father's present thoughts about how lucky he was in life. In the early part of this century, without antibiotics for infection, many young infants were born motherless. They were destined to become orphans or stepchildren of another woman. But for my father, in the first three years, there was a loving woman named Aunt Grace. At three years of age, my father met a new woman, Mary Nolan, who accepted him into her heart as her own child. "James", as she insisted he be called, was always her pride and joy. Mary stood by her son James and her other six children despite the deprivations brought on by the early death of her husband. James and his brothers and sisters were very lucky to have such a woman as a mother.
Coming out of school in the Great Depression, many young men found the doors to opportunity closed. A retired judge, a friend of Dad's father, offered the young "James" a job in the legal department at the East New York Savings Bank. With the exception for his service in the Navy, Dad stayed with that job until his retirement. The job enabled him, through mortgage lending, to participate in the greatest period of growth on Long Island. It brought to Dad many business associates, developers, other bankers, who could appreciate a good joke. It brought many lasting friends, some who are here today.
The greatest gift of life to my father was his acquaintance with another woman, Catherine Connolly Nolan. An attractive and intelligent woman, Catherine, for the most part, put her ambitions to the side in order to fulfill the dreams of her the husband and the children she loved. Catherine could put up with Dad's faults, soothe his ire and steer his, at times, pessimistic thoughts in a positive direction. And Catherine loved doing it! Our Dad suffered immensely from the death of Catherine, depressed and withdrawn for years after her leaving. For a long time, we barely heard him mention her name. This past week, a few days before he died, James told us that he "was going to see his bride".
Finally, Dad was fortunate in his last ten years to have a family and caretakers who loved him. As a physician, I care for many patients who have been abandoned in nursing homes. Despite his illness, Dad remained in his home, at center-stage in the family to the moment of his last breath. Many a billionaire cannot say the same. I know my father is thankful to all of you.
Good luck only comes to the lucky. What was Dad's secret? I would argue that Dad's secret was that he knew how to like people. There may be someone in this world, who has met my father and who does not like him. However, with absolute certainty, I can tell you that there is no one, whom my father has met, in whom my father did not immediately see the good and with whom my father would not immediately share his humor. We Irish are world renowned for holding a grudge. Dad did not hold grudges. The business world can be a cut-throat environment. Dad thought the best way to succeed was to treat everyone else fairly. I would argue that Dad attracted good luck because everyone who came into his presence met a warm smiling face and a friendly voice, which communicated immediately that one was accepted and loved.
I would like to end by re-telling you one of my father's war stories, which exemplifies the good fortune of my father's life. Many of you will remember that my father served during World War II as a young naval officer on the light cruiser Biloxi, which was in Admiral Halsley's fleet and participated in most of the major battles in the Pacific in 1944 and 1945, including the battle of Leyte Gulf in the Phillipines and the assault of Iwo Jima and Okinawa. You may remember that a large portion of the losses of the U.S. naval fleet were due to attacks of Japanese Kamikaze bombers. In fact, more than 4000 sailors died from these attacks during the last six months of the war.
On March 27th, 1945, just about 60 years ago today, the U.S.S. Biloxi was close to the shore of Okinawa, covering the minesweepers, which were preparing for the attack on Okinawa on Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945. The Biloxi was hit squarely in the side, at the water line, by one of these Kamikaze bombers, but the bomb did not explode. Knicknamed "Double Lucky" the Biloxi survived without loss of life.
Now for the rest of the story: A young attorney in Brooklyn was anxious to join the navy, but had one problem. He wore thick glasses because he was farsighted and had astigmatism. An intelligent young man, he learned that it was easy to memorize the eye chart, passed the eye exam and served almost three years as an officer in the Navy without eyeglasses. This young naval officer was assigned to antiaircraft spotting on board the Biloxi. At general quarters, this officer was in charge of the team of 20 mm antiaircraft gunners on one side of the ship. However, on other watches, the junior officers had to assume more responsible positions. In the case of this young officer, his dog watch job was to ride in the crow's nest high above the ship and aim all the five inch guns, the ship's biggest antiaircraft weapon.
Because the Kamikaze attacks off of Okinawa occurred continuously day and night, the Biloxi was not at general quarters when it was hit. This young naval officer was at command of the five inch guns and busily firing upon a Kamikaze which he saw diving upon another ship. The Kamikaze which did strike the Biloxi had been strafed by the machine guns but was not blown out of the sky because the big guns were never aimed at it! When the bomber crashed into the ship, the young naval officer, recently promoted from ensign to lieutenant junior grade, immediately thought it was his fault that the plane had made it through the defenses. The ship would sink and he, if he survived, would be court-martialed for dereliction of duty and cheating on his admission physical exam.
What luck, the bomb penetrated the side of the ship and landed in a room full of potatoes and beans. It did not explode. Some officers and crew won metals for bravery in defusing the bomb. The actions of the young naval officer were never questioned. After completing the assault of Okinawa, the Biloxi went back to San Francisco for repairs. The young naval lieutenant took this opportunity to marry his sweetheart. Some of you attended the wedding. Nine months later, I was born.
Our Catholic faith teaches us that all that happens to us is not due to luck but to Divine Providence. Not a sparrow will fall from the sky without God's attention to it. God is active in history and cares for each of us individually. Well then, God has been very good to Dad in his life. Now God has taken Dad home.
I hope God likes to listen to jokes.
Showing posts with label James Nolan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Nolan. Show all posts
Monday, August 1, 2011
Happy Birthday, Brother James, From Warren
December 16, 2002 HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROTHER JAMES!
Yes, James! You will remember that in our Queens Village home you were always James. For Mother, it was always James, Marie, Robert, Francis and Kenneth. It was only later, beyond 220th Street, that Jim, Mary, Bob, Frank and Ken evolved. And Joan and I? Well we had those plain vanilla names for which there was no easy substitute, though Joan pinned "Huck" on me one summer because I would run around without shoes.
Today is your 86th birthday! You were born on December 16th, 1916 in Brooklyn. For our historically challenged younger generations of Nolans, that was about four months before the United States entered World War I, and about five months before the birth of your fellow World War II sailor, John F. Kennedy.
As for every child your birth was a triumphant event in the family. But for you - and for Daddy - it was also a tragedy because you lost your mother, Bessie (Elizabeth) on the following day.
Our father's sister, Grace, my godmother, became your interim mother. You had a special tie to her all the years she lived. We are all familiar with the remarkable letter Daddy wrote to you, his infant son, in May of 1917, when he feared being taken away from you by the Great War. He told you about your mother, and gave you lifetime counsel about both your praying - and your pooping.
You were a little boy of three and one-half in 1920 when a new mother came into your life - Mary Catherine King - "Mae" to some. How many times over the years did you entertain us with your story, somewhat elaborated, about how you accompanied them on their honeymoon! Recently you have taken to referring to her as your stepmother. For many years, I did not know about the sad circumstances of your birth, but throughout all my life I never heard you refer to her in any way except as "Mother".
In 1924 the family moved to Queens Village. For a while you attended P.S. 34, across the street from SS. Joachim and Anne church. But when the new SSJA school was built you entered the fifth grade - then the highest grade - and were in the first graduating class with your pals, Joe Keating and Gerry Stork. My Marie and I went back to SSJA a few years ago for the 75th anniversary of the founding of the school. Your old 220th Street pal and classmate, Joe Keating, was there and asking for you. You were followed at the school by your six brothers and sisters. Our old school is still going strong with more than 500 students, many of Haitian background.
Tragedy touched the family again in 1926 when you lost little Veronica. That must have been tough for a nine year old boy.
Along the way you become an educational prodigy, graduating 8th grade at the age of 12, and completing Brooklyn Prep at the age of 16. You set the pattern for your four younger brothers going on to Jesuit high schools, Regis and Xavier. After Brooklyn Prep you entered a six year undergraduate/law studies program at the old St. John's University in Brooklyn.
Coming on the scene in 1932, my first memories of my big brother were of your law school days - not studying, but going to parties. You were a pretty happy-go-lucky guy in those days, hanging out with Ed Hahn, Jim Fallon and Bill Reilly - the crooner. I have an enduring memory of you raiding my piggy bank before a big date. Somewhere along the way there was a girl named Kay.
But at home , things were not going well. During the 1930s, Daddy was in and out of the hospital. Frank and Ken were born in 1934 and 1936. You told me the story of how Daddy summoned you in 1938 and made it clear you needed to get a job. He sent you to see an old friend, Judge Richards, at the East New York Savings Bank. (You told me Judge Richards and his wife had wanted to adopt you after your mother died.) Judge Richards gave you a job as a young attorney for the bank for the princely sum of $12.00 per week. Except for World War II, you were to spend your whole working life there.
Daddy died on January 23, 1939. Mother, just 40 years old, was widowed with seven children, the youngest just two. There was no social security. Three rental properties in Brooklyn provided a small income, but rents in those days were $25.00 per month. Without knowing all the details we do know that during our growing up years, you were always helping her financially, first from your small bank pay, then from your naval officer's salary, and later, while you were raising your own family, you found a way to help.
I remember a snowy day in 1943 when you left Queens Village to begin your training as a naval officer at Notre Dame. When I got to Notre Dame in 1954, and would pass Morrissey Hall, I would often think of you living and training there.
Soon you were in the South Pacific as a young ensign on the U.S.S. Biloxi. From the maps and stories in the Long Island Daily Press we at home could have some idea what was happening in your life. We also had your heavily censured V-mail letters.
There was a happy, rainy day in May, 1945, when you were back in Queens, marrying your sweetheart, Kay Connolly. We local yokels from Queens Village were pretty impressed by the reception at the Belmont Plaza on Lexington Avenue in New York. Mother's first grandchild, Mary Jo was there - sort of. In the pictures my very big sister, Marie, sheltered herself behind a covey of her younger brothers. You had to return to the Pacific to finish the job. Happily the war against Japan ended in August. Many years later you told me how your ship went to Japan to recover Allied prisoners, and how you visited the site of one of the A-bomb attacks.
Returning to civilian life and to the East New York Savings Bank, you and Kay had a small apartment in Queens - Forest Hills or Kew Gardens or somesuch. You invited us all for a spaghetti dinner. You were the chef, preparing a special tomato sauce. I was a very impressed thirteen year old for whom spaghetti was something that came out of a can labeled Franco-American. I had also never been in an apartment building before.
Your first baby, Jimmy M.D., was born in 1947, and things went on from there. As my Marie noted when she came into the family in 1956, it was helpful that the next generation was color coded, your and Kay's redheads, Bob and Shirley's blondes, and Joe and Marie's brunettes.
I guess you thought all Nolan boys should be lawyers so you were a bit uncomprehending when you found a history teacher in the family. It was a bit ironic that, just out of the army, and with two new babies, I found my first teaching job at JHS 149 in Brooklyn, a few blocks from the East New York Savings Bank.
A few years later, I got a teaching job in West Islip, found a house and needed a mortgage. It was the summer of 1961. You and Kay were on a cross-country auto tour with Kay's sister Virginia and her husband, Bill Mitty. I guess Mother had your tour schedule, for we knew that you were currently staying at the residence of Bill Mitty's uncle, the Archbishop of San Francisco. And so it was that the mortgage process for my humble $14,800.00 abode on Raleigh Lane in West Islip began at the home of an archbishop. Of course, archbishops were in better repute in those days.
Jim, all the two dotters, including my four children, have wonderful memories of you, of your singing, joking and story telling, of your arranging "shows" in which they participated at family gatherings. We adults still tell your jokes. Recently I got a big kick out of telling you one of your jokes that you had forgotten.
We are sad that you have lost Kay, and that you are alone. But you have four great children who love you and care for you, some wonderful grandchildren, and a host of nieces and nephews scattered over the landscape for whom you have provided lasting, joyful memories.
And though our tight knit band of seven brothers and sisters was broken with the loss of our dear brother Frank, six of us are still here, standing strong, and you are our leader!
With much love on your birthday,
Your kid brother,
Warren (and Marie)
Yes, James! You will remember that in our Queens Village home you were always James. For Mother, it was always James, Marie, Robert, Francis and Kenneth. It was only later, beyond 220th Street, that Jim, Mary, Bob, Frank and Ken evolved. And Joan and I? Well we had those plain vanilla names for which there was no easy substitute, though Joan pinned "Huck" on me one summer because I would run around without shoes.
Today is your 86th birthday! You were born on December 16th, 1916 in Brooklyn. For our historically challenged younger generations of Nolans, that was about four months before the United States entered World War I, and about five months before the birth of your fellow World War II sailor, John F. Kennedy.
As for every child your birth was a triumphant event in the family. But for you - and for Daddy - it was also a tragedy because you lost your mother, Bessie (Elizabeth) on the following day.
Our father's sister, Grace, my godmother, became your interim mother. You had a special tie to her all the years she lived. We are all familiar with the remarkable letter Daddy wrote to you, his infant son, in May of 1917, when he feared being taken away from you by the Great War. He told you about your mother, and gave you lifetime counsel about both your praying - and your pooping.
You were a little boy of three and one-half in 1920 when a new mother came into your life - Mary Catherine King - "Mae" to some. How many times over the years did you entertain us with your story, somewhat elaborated, about how you accompanied them on their honeymoon! Recently you have taken to referring to her as your stepmother. For many years, I did not know about the sad circumstances of your birth, but throughout all my life I never heard you refer to her in any way except as "Mother".
In 1924 the family moved to Queens Village. For a while you attended P.S. 34, across the street from SS. Joachim and Anne church. But when the new SSJA school was built you entered the fifth grade - then the highest grade - and were in the first graduating class with your pals, Joe Keating and Gerry Stork. My Marie and I went back to SSJA a few years ago for the 75th anniversary of the founding of the school. Your old 220th Street pal and classmate, Joe Keating, was there and asking for you. You were followed at the school by your six brothers and sisters. Our old school is still going strong with more than 500 students, many of Haitian background.
Tragedy touched the family again in 1926 when you lost little Veronica. That must have been tough for a nine year old boy.
Along the way you become an educational prodigy, graduating 8th grade at the age of 12, and completing Brooklyn Prep at the age of 16. You set the pattern for your four younger brothers going on to Jesuit high schools, Regis and Xavier. After Brooklyn Prep you entered a six year undergraduate/law studies program at the old St. John's University in Brooklyn.
Coming on the scene in 1932, my first memories of my big brother were of your law school days - not studying, but going to parties. You were a pretty happy-go-lucky guy in those days, hanging out with Ed Hahn, Jim Fallon and Bill Reilly - the crooner. I have an enduring memory of you raiding my piggy bank before a big date. Somewhere along the way there was a girl named Kay.
But at home , things were not going well. During the 1930s, Daddy was in and out of the hospital. Frank and Ken were born in 1934 and 1936. You told me the story of how Daddy summoned you in 1938 and made it clear you needed to get a job. He sent you to see an old friend, Judge Richards, at the East New York Savings Bank. (You told me Judge Richards and his wife had wanted to adopt you after your mother died.) Judge Richards gave you a job as a young attorney for the bank for the princely sum of $12.00 per week. Except for World War II, you were to spend your whole working life there.
Daddy died on January 23, 1939. Mother, just 40 years old, was widowed with seven children, the youngest just two. There was no social security. Three rental properties in Brooklyn provided a small income, but rents in those days were $25.00 per month. Without knowing all the details we do know that during our growing up years, you were always helping her financially, first from your small bank pay, then from your naval officer's salary, and later, while you were raising your own family, you found a way to help.
I remember a snowy day in 1943 when you left Queens Village to begin your training as a naval officer at Notre Dame. When I got to Notre Dame in 1954, and would pass Morrissey Hall, I would often think of you living and training there.
Soon you were in the South Pacific as a young ensign on the U.S.S. Biloxi. From the maps and stories in the Long Island Daily Press we at home could have some idea what was happening in your life. We also had your heavily censured V-mail letters.
There was a happy, rainy day in May, 1945, when you were back in Queens, marrying your sweetheart, Kay Connolly. We local yokels from Queens Village were pretty impressed by the reception at the Belmont Plaza on Lexington Avenue in New York. Mother's first grandchild, Mary Jo was there - sort of. In the pictures my very big sister, Marie, sheltered herself behind a covey of her younger brothers. You had to return to the Pacific to finish the job. Happily the war against Japan ended in August. Many years later you told me how your ship went to Japan to recover Allied prisoners, and how you visited the site of one of the A-bomb attacks.
Returning to civilian life and to the East New York Savings Bank, you and Kay had a small apartment in Queens - Forest Hills or Kew Gardens or somesuch. You invited us all for a spaghetti dinner. You were the chef, preparing a special tomato sauce. I was a very impressed thirteen year old for whom spaghetti was something that came out of a can labeled Franco-American. I had also never been in an apartment building before.
Your first baby, Jimmy M.D., was born in 1947, and things went on from there. As my Marie noted when she came into the family in 1956, it was helpful that the next generation was color coded, your and Kay's redheads, Bob and Shirley's blondes, and Joe and Marie's brunettes.
I guess you thought all Nolan boys should be lawyers so you were a bit uncomprehending when you found a history teacher in the family. It was a bit ironic that, just out of the army, and with two new babies, I found my first teaching job at JHS 149 in Brooklyn, a few blocks from the East New York Savings Bank.
A few years later, I got a teaching job in West Islip, found a house and needed a mortgage. It was the summer of 1961. You and Kay were on a cross-country auto tour with Kay's sister Virginia and her husband, Bill Mitty. I guess Mother had your tour schedule, for we knew that you were currently staying at the residence of Bill Mitty's uncle, the Archbishop of San Francisco. And so it was that the mortgage process for my humble $14,800.00 abode on Raleigh Lane in West Islip began at the home of an archbishop. Of course, archbishops were in better repute in those days.
Jim, all the two dotters, including my four children, have wonderful memories of you, of your singing, joking and story telling, of your arranging "shows" in which they participated at family gatherings. We adults still tell your jokes. Recently I got a big kick out of telling you one of your jokes that you had forgotten.
We are sad that you have lost Kay, and that you are alone. But you have four great children who love you and care for you, some wonderful grandchildren, and a host of nieces and nephews scattered over the landscape for whom you have provided lasting, joyful memories.
And though our tight knit band of seven brothers and sisters was broken with the loss of our dear brother Frank, six of us are still here, standing strong, and you are our leader!
With much love on your birthday,
Your kid brother,
Warren (and Marie)
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