I had the best father in the world. I always knew that I was loved and my father was never afraid to show his affection right up until the time he died. I only shook his hand on a few occasions because our normal greeting was a kiss. I knew that no matter what happened, he would always support me and forgive me if it was necessary. He was never short on time when it involved his family. He was constantly making something for my mother or refinishing some old antique dresser or building bookcases for my sister and me. How did he have the time to do all this plus work two jobs most of his life and take care of the yard, shrubs, painting, etc., etc.? Well, he did and he did it cheerfully . . . just knowing that he made our lives better than his own was enough for him. He never complained about the past or present but lived for the day and was excited about the future. He was only 55 when he died suddenly on December 5, 1979. I was 26 and was just beginning to know my father on that different level you have when you attain adulthood yourself. I wish I had the chance to get to to know him better as an adult. There are so many questions I wish I had asked and I wish I had listened better to the things I did ask him. I don't think a day goes by that I don't think of him. Simply put, he was a good guy.
Family portrait (1957)
As a cop in West Haven (c. 1960)
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