Ave Atque Vale
A week that began in horror ended in the warm glow of the packed bar room at the Irish American Club as the Toastmaster General of the McDermott family led the raising of glasses to the life and memory of brother, son, father, grandfather, uncle and friend Billy McDermott.
Joey McDermott (I revert on such occasions to the informality of the nicknames of our youth) is possessed of the gift of an easy eloquence; not in the manner of a traditional orator, but with a well-organized mind, a clarity of thought and a sincere heart that expresses itself beautifully. He began his earlier eulogy at St. Mary's Church by asking the hundreds present to remember in their prayers also the other victim of the savage murder, Cheryl Goss, and her children and grandchildren and family. He mentioned with disdain, yet not a trace of bitterness, the uncouth and ignorant reactions of a few who had opined that the victims somehow deserved their deaths, a point so easily refuted by the outpouring of love and affection given to the family by the thousands of people whose lives Billy had touched in a positive way. He didn't gloss over his brother's weaknesses, but placed them in the context of the guy he really was, a boy and a man who had earned that love and affection by the sheer pleasure of his company and a kind and gentle soul. Joey even mentioned, to my somewhat pleasant embarrassment, the blog of "a certain Conservative Republican Pro-Life Catholic Red Sox Fanatic."
"The best gift my parents ever gave me," he said, "was my brothers and sisters." Once the middle of seven, Joey is now the middle of five.
I pondered that thought as I looked around the church and saw old friends from the numerous big Catholic families of our youth. Within reach were Blanchfields and LaBates and Hardies and Medwids. The celebrant Father Brian List is the youngest of nine St. Mary's kids. There were Quandts and Hastings, the Rileys, of course. And Phil Cortese, Aggie Horigan Baker, numerous Gilstons. This list is not meant to be all-inclusive, just a sampling. Still more could be mentioned among the thousand people who poured non-stop through the Riley doors the evening before. Good people, loving people, the people we grew up with and who still, though ranks have thinned, make Amsterdam a fine place to live.
Similar numbers attended my mother's wake and funeral some years ago. My siblings, who had long since moved away, were somewhat mystified.
"Who ARE all these people?" my sister asked.
I smiled.
"This is our family."
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
Joey McDermott (I revert on such occasions to the informality of the nicknames of our youth) is possessed of the gift of an easy eloquence; not in the manner of a traditional orator, but with a well-organized mind, a clarity of thought and a sincere heart that expresses itself beautifully. He began his earlier eulogy at St. Mary's Church by asking the hundreds present to remember in their prayers also the other victim of the savage murder, Cheryl Goss, and her children and grandchildren and family. He mentioned with disdain, yet not a trace of bitterness, the uncouth and ignorant reactions of a few who had opined that the victims somehow deserved their deaths, a point so easily refuted by the outpouring of love and affection given to the family by the thousands of people whose lives Billy had touched in a positive way. He didn't gloss over his brother's weaknesses, but placed them in the context of the guy he really was, a boy and a man who had earned that love and affection by the sheer pleasure of his company and a kind and gentle soul. Joey even mentioned, to my somewhat pleasant embarrassment, the blog of "a certain Conservative Republican Pro-Life Catholic Red Sox Fanatic."
"The best gift my parents ever gave me," he said, "was my brothers and sisters." Once the middle of seven, Joey is now the middle of five.
I pondered that thought as I looked around the church and saw old friends from the numerous big Catholic families of our youth. Within reach were Blanchfields and LaBates and Hardies and Medwids. The celebrant Father Brian List is the youngest of nine St. Mary's kids. There were Quandts and Hastings, the Rileys, of course. And Phil Cortese, Aggie Horigan Baker, numerous Gilstons. This list is not meant to be all-inclusive, just a sampling. Still more could be mentioned among the thousand people who poured non-stop through the Riley doors the evening before. Good people, loving people, the people we grew up with and who still, though ranks have thinned, make Amsterdam a fine place to live.
Similar numbers attended my mother's wake and funeral some years ago. My siblings, who had long since moved away, were somewhat mystified.
"Who ARE all these people?" my sister asked.
I smiled.
"This is our family."
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed NOW AVAILABLE ON KINDLE FOR UNDER A BUCK!
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!