Baseball Toaster was unplugged on February 4, 2009.
My father had a heart attack when he was 39. He continued drinking for about a half-dozen more years and finally quit when he realized that if he kept it up he would die. He still smoked for many years after that but he stopped that too when he had quadruple bypass surgery less than ten years ago. Since then, I have thought a lot about my father's death--how he will die, when he will die, and what I will do when it happens. But I never imagined that he would go as peacefully as he did when he left this world yesterday at 4:20 p.m. surrounded by his family and friends in the CCU at St. Luke's on Amerstam Avenue, two blocks north of the massive (and still unfinished) church, St. John the Divine.
My dad was a generous and loving man, thoughtful and considerate. He was also volatile and angry too. When he laughed, it was not softly, but forcefully and loudly; his entire body would shake, and you could see the red rising up through his face. (When Emily first saw him laugh hard she thought he was going to drop dead right then and there.) Pop led the league in righteous indignation. You want to know how corrupt the alternate side of the street parking rules are? Dad was the expert. One time, when we were walking across 79th street and West End Avenue (with the light), a car suddenly swept in front of us and pop kicked the hubcap off the back tire--while the car was still moving. Dude stops his car and gets out, and he's got my dad beat by at least four, five inches. But after he got nose-to-nose with the old man, he realized this was not a fight he was going to win. (I remained on the sidewalk with that funny combination of fear, mortification, and pride.)
I had a hard time with my dad when I was a kid. He was a troubled guy for many years and he took out a lot of his frustrations on his family (not to mention himself). But I grew up, and so did he in a way. I mean, by the time I reached my twenties, he was no longer a hard ass in the same way he had been earlier. Just before his bypass he called me at work one day and out-of-the-blue apologized for being so tough on me for all those years. I knew he was saying it for himself, but I was still touched. More importantly, over the past few years, I have been able to forgive him. I know in my heart that he never did anything intentionally to hurt me. Like all of us, he was not perfect, and he did his best. He might not have always known how to care for his children very well, but I never had any doubts how much he loved us.
My dad was never shy about telling his kids that he loved them. In that regard, he was the person I always turned to when I needed comfort and affection (he's one of the all-time great huggers); not advice, necessarily, but unqualified empathy. For instance, when my fiancee Emily was in the hospital a few years ago, I came home after seeing her one day and burst-out crying. My dad is the first person I called.
If you were in his family--and I include the many friends he had in this category--he would do virtually anything he could to help you out. Need a cabinet installed? Call Don. Help with your computer? Don is your man. A ride to the airport? Pop is there. In fact, I can't imagine how most of my family is going to get to and from the airport now. He strongly believed in picking people up. It was a small gesture, but one that shows his compassion and his generosity. Former Yankee GM Gabe Paul used to say that the mark of a good general manager was being able to make a phone call at 3:00 and not piss the guy on the other end of the line off. My dad was the guy you could call at 3:00 and ask a favor, and he'd be there, no questions asked.
Pop was proud of my budding career as a writer. Not so long ago, I decided to dedicate a book that I am editing of Pat Jordan's greatest sports writing to him. Jordan is my dad's kind of writer, a storyteller with a direct, clear prose style. I thought it would be a nice surprise for dad to dedicate the book to him, even though the book isn't going to be released until next winter. That's a long time to wait for a surprise, so I just called him up and told him about it over the phone. Why wait? He was thrilled and bragged about it to his friends. I can't tell you how happy I am that I made that call.
Dad was at home on Sunday night with my step-mother. They have had an on-again/off-again relationship for more than twenty years, but they have been on-again for the past few years and it was clear that they were together for good this time. In fact, I don't ever remember my dad being happier than he's been for the past year or so. He fixed his favorite pasta dish--spaghetti with shrimp--and then he and his wife settled-in to continue their "Homocide" marathon (I had given them the entire box set of the show for the holidays). Not long after, he clutched his chest and complained of tightness and then he collapsed, losing consciousness immediately.
My aunt called me at home as Pop was being rushed to the emergency room. I got in the car and picked-up my brother and my sister (who live within forty blocks of me) and we were at St. Luke's in a half-an-hour. We stayed through most of the night and the doctor's made it clear that the situation was grave. Dad's heart was extremely weak and there was a lack of oxygen to his brain for an extended period of time. Even if his heart did recover, we didn't know if his mind would. My sister and I left around 3 am and my brother stayed with our step-mom for the rest of the night. We returned the following morning, along with aunts, uncles and cousins. There was at least a dozen, maybe fifteen of us all told later in the day--some of his close friends, my mother and my step-father.
By the early afternoon, dad's heart-rate and blood pressure continued to drop and we realized he did not have long to live. Eventually, the doctors gave him morphine, we decided to pull the plug. My father died with his family and friends all around him, touching him, talking to him, crying together. It was one of the few times that he had everyone's undivided attention and wasn't talking, my step-mother joked.
It was beautiful in a way. I always thought that my dad would die alone, or that his righteous indignation would finally pick the wrong target, or that he'd get killed in a car accident (I haven't even mentioned the Upper West Side's answer to A.J. Foyt). I never would have thought it would be surrounded by his loved ones. It was like the Woody Allen version of "Wizard of Oz" with everybody there. He was at home, back in Kansas, which, in this case, happens to be the Upper West Side. And he was peaceful. When he finally let go, he looked calm. There isn't anything more I could have ever asked for, and I will always be grateful for how he left this world. All the love and generosity he gave out all these years, was right there with him at the end.
Goodbye, Pop. I love you very much and I know how much you loved me.
The tribute was sad but also filled with a lot of joy, too. Great balance and very touching.
Take care!
My thoughts go out to you and your family during this trying time.
Folks, perhaps we can take up a collection on the site for a small memorial for Alex's father?
I say this. The 2 most important things, crucial things even, is to feel loved by your Dad and to have been hugged/touched by him. If you got that, everything else is gravy, and you'll be OK.
my thoughts are on you and emily and the rest of your family today.
i am gonna go call my dad. thanks for reminding me how important he is.
Am glad that you will have the ever-lasting memories of all those hugs with your Pop and were able to share the dedication of your next book with him prior to his death.
My condolences go out to you and your entire family. Dealing with death NEVER gets easier, it only gets tougher as you go through life and become attached to more and more souls in this great big world. But it does hurt the most with the people you've known the longest.
Take comfort in your new bride to be, and hopefully Yankees baseball can ease the pain somewhat in a few short months.
My dad just went through a brief scare of prostate cancer and I told him all the things I needed to just in case. Luckily, he came out of it on the right end, but it was a scare I'll never forget. The support of my friends and family helped me to cope, just that much easier. I hope we here at the Banter can provide just a little comfort for you.
In the years I've had the pleasure of knowing Alex, we've had many a conversation about our relationships with our fathers and the way baseball figures into that relationship. Alex's experience with his dad was much more complicated than my own, but the two of them found rewards in their hard-won understanding. I know that's something which is comforting Alex right now, as is his ability to share the beauty of that with us via his writing.
My heart goes out to Alex and Emily, their family and friends. Hang in there.
My most sincere condolences. May you all be at peace. I'll keep you in my thoughts.
I am so very sorry to hear this. All my best to you and your family.
Fred
BTW, this is a really well written piece.
My thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family, too. My dad was just diagnosed with colon cancer last week, and it's gotten me thinking about a lot of the same things you mentioned in your first couple of sentences.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute with all of us. Keep your head up.
Dennis
I'll bet he got a good laugh at that, Alex, and I'm sure your words meant as much to him as his hugs meant to you.
May your father rest in peace, and may all who loved him take comfort and joy in your memories of him.
"It was like the Woody Allen version of "Wizard of Oz" with everybody there."
That's beautiful.
God bless you and your family.
thanks for sharing. chin up!
As I stumble through this life,
help me to create more laughter than tears,
dispense more cheer than gloom,
spread more cheer than despair.
Never let me become so indifferent,
that I will fail to see the wonders in the eyes of a child,
or the twinkle in the eyes of the aged.
Never let me forget that my total effort is to cheer people,
make them happy, and forget momentarily,
all the unpleasantness in their lives.
And in my final moment,
may I hear You whisper:
"When you made My people smile,
you made Me smile."
-Anonymous-
Geez, I have tears in my eyes.
I lived my own version of this fourteen months ago and, as bad as it was, it sure did give me a moment to pause and appreciate all the people who care about and support me, and I have no doubt you are finding the same in spades.
take care -- sam
My hearfelt condolences to you and yours at this time.
I used to play golf with my father every Saturday morning, but as my kids got older and soccer games and other demands became more pressing I just couldn't devote 4-5 hours every weekend. I keep telling myself I should set one Sat. aside a month or sneak out of the office on a weekday afternoon, but I never do. There is always some [lame] excuse. However, because of you and your Pop I will call mine today and schedule a round or two. We will smoke a few cigars, he will conveniently forget a few strokes which I may or may not remind him about and inside I will be thanking you.
What I do remember, is that he was a passionate man, loved music and, too was volatile. Quick to anger and just as quick to calm down.
My family had a restaurant upstate, about an hour from the city.
One Friday night, my older brother wanted to go out with our cousin, instead of working in the kitchen. He was defiant, saying that my father couldn't make him work. Dad got so angry he threw a batch of freshly made meatballs at him, one after the other. My brother laughed at him, dodging, as the meat splattered against the wall. After a few minutes, my dad was laughing as well.
As others have said here, the maturity of your relationship and the memories that you will carry forever will help you through your grief.
God Bless.
Really sorry about your loss.
Matthew C. Roberts
I had many of those "funny combination of fear, mortification, and pride" moments with mine too. He could scare the crap out of anybody despite the fact that he was only about 5' 8". (OK, well he did have these GI-NORMOUS arms!) He spent his youth toting a gun in Latin American jungles -- one of the few Cubans who returned home to the US alive after the Bahia de los Cochinos.
I lost him in 1996 when he was only 59 -- diabetes, blind, both kidneys failing. Hard life, hard death. I made it halfway across the country to his bedside before he died. Toughest flight I ever made was the one coming back.
Man was he ever a Yankees fan! So many trips to the stadium as a child...
May those tough old guys all find peace in their own way before it's over.
And thank you for sharing so much.
We're due for a lengthy chat, so I'll save the rest for then.
Be well.
In a country that tries to deny the existence and reality of death on some many levels, it sounds like your father had a really loving and special one, which is both beautiful and rare.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful tribute to him with all of us.
http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/061225fa_fact1
I found the penultimate paragraph (on page 2) very touching.
Like much of America, I was raised by a single Mom and later, a spectacular stepdad. Unfortunately I wasn't able to be there when he died, but his memory is always with me.
Sincere condolences and much props on the kid your dad raised.....Your brother is truly awesome.
God bless, man. Prayers go out to your family in this time of need.
Psalm 57:1 Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in Thee: yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast.
My condolences.
My condolences for your loss.
As someone with my own daddy issues, I can relate to much of your excellent eulogy. Be thankful that you had so much closure before his passing. I appreciate your honesty in disucssing your complicated relationship. Very touching.
I left a message this morning before I left and came back tonight and saw all these posts and just wanted to once again thank you and Cliff. This community really is beautiful.
God Bless.
Our prayers are with you and your family.
Your eulogy was a fitting tribute to a very special person. I drank with your dad and as sober adults we enjoyed many good times together. He will be sorely missed.
Bob
Your eulogy was a fitting tribute to a very special person. I drank with your dad and as sober adults we enjoyed many good times together. He will be sorely missed.
Bob
Yes, as you are probably a reflection of your "Old Man," he must have been quite a guy!
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