Love, Dad

Today is my father’s 101st birthday. He used to say that he wished to live to be at least 100. Could have been those unfiltered Chesterfields that stood in the way. But, his mother lived to be 100 years and 11 months old and received the centenary congratulatory letter from President Reagan. Astonishing to think, but Dad was born during the deadly flu pandemic that lasted about 15 months from spring 1918 to early summer 1919.

One of the peculiarities of that pandemic was the unusual age pattern of incidence and mortality, hitting the usually healthy young adults in the 20 to 40 age group most severely, in whatever part of the globe it struck.

In the US, pregnancy was interrupted in 26 per cent of uncomplicated cases of influenza and in 52 per cent of cases complicated by pneumonia.

My grandmother, Brigid, was 35 when Dad was born; given the stats, it is a miracle that they both survived. I never heard either of them mention the pandemic. What Dad did mention was that one time on his birthday Joe DiMaggio hit three consecutive home runs to give the Yankees a win.

He had only one brother, David, a marvelous and handsome man, who was a test pilot for American Airlines and was killed. It was a terrible event in Dad’s life. He and our mother had nine children, their own baseball team. Dad had one of the most productive lives you can imagine, family notwithstanding. He grew up on farms in Montvale, NJ, picked apples at Van Riper’s, got himself to Notre Dame and became a physician, graduating from Columbia University’s P&S during WWII. He went into private practice, won many awards and had a lengthy record of professional leadership. Every autumn we’d go up to Tice’s for pumpkins and apple cider. We loved those trips. He was humble, didn’t grandstand but knew his worth and gave us grounding, together with our mother, whom he loved and admired. He was bemused when we’d tell him that Bob Dylan’s birthday was the day after his, and it was around Memorial Day (he called it Decoration Day). It used to be observed on May 30 (he told us) until they streamlined all the holidays to create long weekends.

Our Dad served as an enlisted man in the US Army and then as a Captain and was a doctor in Japan. I think he was discharged shortly after DiMaggio’s triple homers.