Teo Perini

My very good friend Teo Perini passed away a year ago on May 13, 2024, at the age of 89. At the time his wife, Irena, asked me to deliver the eulogy at his funeral. This is my recollection of what I said.

 

First, I would like to point out that Teo was his real name. I thought it might be short for the Italian version of Theodore, but he told me that his father preferred short names, and so he and his brothers were Geno, Teo, and Enzo. 

 

One day about fifteen years ago I first met the three brothers when they walked into our chess club at the Fairfield Senior center. Geno was a good player but lived too far away to become a regular, and Enzo did not care that much for chess, but Teo was an avid player who added Fairfield to his list of chess venues. He soon became an integral part of our small club and even would occasionally invite us to his home in Shelton for chess and pizza.

 

In 2017, I stopped driving because of poor eyesight, and when Teo heard the news, he offered to drive me back and forth every Wednesday. I readily accepted, and so, one day he picked me in his beloved old BMW. I directed him from my house along the back roads to the Senior center but after a while he took a wrong turn, and I discovered that he meant to stop at Rawley’s for a quick lunch before chess. 

 

Rawley’s is an old hot dog stand on the Post Rd. that has been a relatively unchanged fixture with its four booths in Fairfield since the 1920s. I had already had a small lunch but had a burger with a slice of tomato while he threw down two hamburgers with practically everything on them, as well as an order of fries. 

 

It was the start of a beautiful friendship as we repeated this ritual every week. On the ride and in the few minutes we spent at Rawley’s we learned about each other. Here are some of the things I learned about his remarkable story.

 

He was born in 1935 in Fiume, an Italian seaport city on the northern Adriatic coast. As a child he grew up in a war zone as WWII raged. He remembered seeing bombs dropping on the port, and booby traps scattered along the roads. After the war, Fiume became part of Yugoslavia ruled by communists under Marshal Tito. Now it is part of Croatia. 

 

Soon his father decided to leave Fiume and migrate to Italy where the family was interned in refugee camps. Eventually, they left for America but for some reason Teo had to be left behind in one of these camps. He remembered what it was like to go without food for three days until he and a buddy got their hands on a pound of spaghetti that they devoured in one sitting. On the other hand, he somehow managed to ride a motorcycle all over Italy while waiting to join the family in Bridgeport.

 

When he finally got to America, he had nothing but the carpentry skills he had learned in school. He found work with an Italian construction company but after a couple of years, he decided to branch out on his own. It was a good time to be a builder in Connecticut, and Perini Construction would become one of the largest builders in Fairfield County. He loved building and often as we drove to chess, he would detour to proudly show me his work. He did everything from additions on single family homes to condominium complexes.

 

His likes extended to more than building. He loved ballroom dancing with his beautiful wife Irena. They even traveled to Vienna to waltz away one New Year’s Eve. Travel was also one of his loves, and the year before he died, he was thinking of a round the world cruise. He was fluent in Italian, Croatian, and could get by in other Slavic languages. He was our translator when Serbians or Russians dropped by for chess.

 

He also loved Grand Opera especially in person, and he and Irena frequented New York’s Metropolitan. But he was no highbrow. Wrestling was his favorite TV fare. He did not understand American sports like baseball, football, and basketball, but did love to watch tennis on TV. 

 

Teo loved to eat, drink wine, and entertain. Even though he loved dining out, he loved to cook and the back porch on the home he built himself in Shelton was the scene of constant gatherings.

He loved his wife Irena, herself an immigrant from Belarus, and his two children by previous marriages. I could tell by the way he talked with them on the phone while we sat at Rawleys. He had many friends both here and abroad and he seemed to be in constant touch with them. I was fortunate to become one of them.

 

There is an old saying: 

 

                  TO LIVE LIFE YOU MUST LOVE IT

                      AND TO LOVE LIFE YOU MUST LIVE IT

 

Teo loved life and he loved to live it.

 

Arrivederci Teo.

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In Memoriam

 

Francis J. DeStefano
10/8/1964-1/15/2023

A year ago on a Sunday morning like this, two young Fairfield police officers knocked on our door, and asked if they could come in.They asked us to sit down and then told us that our son Francis had taken his life early that morning. I will never forget the kindness and compassion of those two young officers.

Francis left behind my wife Linda and I, two sons, Liam and Ryan, his younger brother Ed, and four sisters, Anne, Kate, Jane, and Dolores. Here is a eulogy written last year by Ed. 

Good Morning

For those of you who don’t know me, I am Ed DeStefano, the second of 6 children born to our parents Frank and Linda. Francis was my older brother. 

As I reflected back on Fran’s life this week, looking through pictures, and remembering our lives together, some things occurred to me that really defined who he was.

He was so so smart

He was abundantly kind, not just kind but abundantly kind. He would do anything to help anyone and he would always turn the other cheek. 

He also wanted to make his mark, do something important, leave a legacy.

He had strong faith not just in God but in humanity. 

In the later years of Fran’s life he fought hard to overcome mental illness but before all that he was a strong, capable, smart guy. This is the Fran I like to remember, the Fran I know. The one who excelled at everything he did. When we were boys we played baseball in little league. Fran was a star, he could hit and played a number of positions but mostly he was a great catcher. Very rarely would you see a kid in little league throw someone out who was stealing second but Fran could.

He was so cool and I looked up to him so much. We would ride our bikes to the hobby shop and buy things for our train sets, model rocket kits, or other hobby stuff. We would work together for hours in the basement building models. In the end his were always perfect. The assembly, not too much glue, things perfectly in alignment, perfect paint job. My models would be a mess, they would fly but his would win best in show too.

For most of our childhood I was the tag along, Fran would be going to a youth group meeting and have to bring me along. There was Friday night volleyball, dungeons and dragons at his friends houses, scouts, high school theatre, and he had to bring me along. But he did and didn’t complain - that’s the Fran I know.

He got chosen to go to Talcott mountain and came back with an electronic device he built with Integrated circuits. This is when our TV still had tubes. He taught me to solder and tried to explain how it worked. I never got it. I always loved music and wanted to play guitar. When I gave up on my lessons he took it up and learned to play beautifully. 

There were pictures of him helping with my first house, and at birthday parties for my kids. Reading to my daughter and playing in the pool with a super soaker. He was a big kid, kind and fun and always a great brother to me, that’s the Fran I know.

After graduating college he started his own computer business. Consulting, writing software for customers and offering computer training. He called it Prince Computing, I was in awe of how easy it all was for him. I used to joke with him that my small excavating business should be called Pauper Excavating. 

The last time I had the occasion to speak on his behalf was at his wedding. I doubted his decision to get married and it was a struggle to put something together that I felt comfortable saying. In the end I realized that Fran knew what he was doing. He picked the right person.  He and Joan had two boys who have grown to be amazing people. Both smart, capable, and kind, very much like the Fran I know. 

So this is his legacy – to have been a great son and brother, not just to me but to his 4 sisters too. To have accomplished so much in life and helped so many along the way. To have climbed so many mountains only to climb another. To have two young boys that are now men that are making their way in the world and have already accomplished so much. Francis has left his mark on all of us. 

Lastly I would like to touch on his faith. This was unshakable and if you ask me at times over the top. Nevertheless Francis believed in God and was a soldier of the lord. God gave him a burden to carry and Francis fought hard to bear it. But even in the fight Francis never was angry or hurtful, he would smile and laugh at a joke or make a gentile gesture. That’s the Fran I know.

I learned recently that Saint Francis had a different way of looking at death, Saint Francis chose to embrace death as one so close to him as to be called “Sister.” St. Francis tells us rather than battle sister death to love and welcome sister death. Some­day Sister Death will greet us and we will go home to our God who created us, loves us, and re­deems us through Jesus our Savior. In dying we are born to eternal life.

Francis believed this and I believe he is now at rest in paradise. Maybe working on a new guitar riff with Jimi Hendrix or the classical equivalent. 

RIP Fran

PS. When his uncle Rob heard the news of Fran's death, he told me that Don Mc Lean's song Vincent (Starry, Starry Night), reminded him of Fran.  

Sister Mary Rita: R.I.P.

  

    

 

Last week I attended a Mass for Sister Mary Rita, a Dominican sister, who had been principal of Our Lady of the Assumption school in Fairfield from 1979-1996. My six children attended that school. For some years when my four daughters were at Assumption, I coached the girls’ softball team and got to know Sister Mary Rita a little better than usual. As well as an outstanding principal, she was a strong supporter of girls’ sports. 

Every year at Assumption there was a sports banquet, and on one occasion I was asked to say a few words about my team. I recall looking out at the assembled parents with their children and thinking that they were sacrificing their lives for their children, and then I saw sister Mary Rita’s smiling face, and the realization struck me that she was giving her own life for other people’s children year in and year out. 

A multitude of people like her will never be officially canonized, but canonized saints are just the tip of the iceberg of people who have  led lives of service. Below is a brief summary of her career from the Mass program. *

Sister Mary Rita Sweeney, OP of the Dominican Sisters of Hope, Ossining, New York, died on November 20, 2022 at the Wartburg, Mount Vernon, New York. She was 96 years old….Sister Mary Rita entered the novitiate of the Dominican Sisters of Newburgh, New York on September 8, 1956, made her First Profession June 13, 1958, and Final Profession August 21, 1961. She earned two Master’s degrees, one in business education from Columbia University and another in religious studies from Providence College. Sister Mary Rita was involved in education for many years. She taught at St. Thomas school in Pleasantville, New York (1960-1963), was a business teacher at St. Mary High School in Paterson, New Jersey (1963-1965), at Our Lady of Lourdes High School in Poughkeepsie, New York (1965-1968), and at Pope Pius XII Regional High School in Passaic, New Jersey (1968-1969). Sister served as principal at Assumption School in Fairfield, Connecticut (1969-1970), was formation director at Mount Saint Mary Convent in Newburgh, New York (1970-1971), executive to the Dominican Sisters in Newburgh (1974-1979), and principal at Assumption School in Fairfield, Connecticut (1979-1996). Sister Mary Rita served as secretary to the leadership team of the Dominican sisters of Hope in their administrative offices in Ossining, New York from 1996 to her retirement in 2011.

 

During her lifetime religious nuns were routinely ridiculed, even vilified on stage and screen, but Sister Mary Rita stayed the course and ran the race. Well done, good and faithful servant.

###

*Note. The OP after Sister’s name stands for Order of Preachers, the name of the religious order founded by St. Dominic almost 1000 years ago. Rather than being solely devoted to prayer and contemplation in secluded convents and monasteries, the Dominicans, as the followers of Dominic became  known, were required to go out into the cities to preach and educate as they still do today. 

Francis J. DeStefano R.I.P.

My son Francis took his life on January 15 at the age of 58 after being tormented for years by mental illness. Here is a eulogy prepared for him by his brother Ed.

For those of you who don’t know me, I am Ed DeStefano, the second of 6 children born to our parents Frank and Linda. Francis was my older brother. 

As I reflected back on Fran’s life this week, looking through pictures, and remembering our lives together, some things occurred to me that really defined who he was.

He was so so smart

He was abundantly kind, not just kind but abundantly kind. He would do anything to help anyone and he would always turn the other cheek. 

He also wanted to make his mark, do something important, leave a legacy.

He had strong faith not just in God but in humanity. 

In the later years of Fran’s life he fought hard to overcome mental illness but before all that he was a strong, capable, smart guy. This is the Fran I like to remember, the Fran I know. The one who excelled at everything he did. When we were boys we played baseball in little league. Fran was a star, he could hit and played a number of positions but mostly he was a great catcher. Very rarely would you see a kid in little league throw someone out who was stealing second but Fran could. 

He was so cool and I looked up to him so much. We would ride our bikes to the hobby shop and buy things for our train sets, model rocket kits, or other hobby stuff. We would work together for hours in the basement building models. In the end his were always perfect. The assembly, not too much glue, things perfectly in alignment, perfect paint job. My models would be a mess, they would fly but his would win best in show too.

For most of our childhood I was the tag along, Fran would be going to a youth group meeting and have to bring me along. There was Friday night volleyball, dungeons and dragons at his friends houses, scouts, high school theatre, and he had to bring me along. But he did and didn’t complain - that’s the Fran I know.

He got chosen to go to Talcott mountain and came back with an electronic device he built with Integrated circuits. This is when our TV still had tubes. He taught me to solder and tried to explain how it worked. I never got it. I always loved music and wanted to play guitar. When I gave up on my lessons he took it up and learned to play beautifully. 

There were pictures of him helping with my first house, and at birthday parties for my kids. Reading to my daughter and playing in the pool with a super soaker. He was a big kid, kind and fun and always a great brother to me, that’s the Fran I know.

After graduating college he started his own computer business. Consulting, writing software for customers and offering computer training. He called it Prince Computing, I was in awe of how easy it all was for him. I used to joke with him that my small excavating business should be called Pauper Excavating.

The last time I had the occasion to speak on his behalf was at his wedding. I doubted his decision to get married and it was a struggle to put something together that I felt comfortable saying. In the end I realized that Fran knew what he was doing. He picked the right person.  He and Joan had two boys who have grown to be amazing people. Both smart, capable, and kind, very much like the Fran I know. 

So this is his legacy – to have been a great son and brother, not just to me but to his 4 sisters too. To have accomplished so much in life and helped so many along the way. To have climbed so many mountains only to climb another. To have two young boys that are now men that are making their way in the world and have already accomplished so much. Francis has left his mark on all of us. 

Lastly I would like to touch on his faith. This was unshakable and if you ask me at times over the top. Nevertheless Francis believed in God and was a soldier of the lord. God gave him a burden to carry and Francis fought hard to bear it. But even in the fight Francis never was angry or hurtful, he would smile and laugh at a joke or make a gentile gesture. That’s the Fran I know.

I learned recently that Saint Francis had a different way of looking at death, Saint Francis chose to embrace death as one so close to him as to be called “Sister.” St. Francis tells us rather than battle sister death to love and welcome sister death. Some­day Sister Death will greet us and we will go home to our God who created us, loves us, and re­deems us through Jesus our Savior. In dying we are born to eternal life.

Francis believed this and I believe he is now at rest in paradise. Maybe working on a new guitar riff with Jimi Hendrix or the classical equivalent. 

RIP Fran

 

Pope Benedict XVI, R.I.P.

The death last week of former Pope Benedict XVI at the age of 95 brought to mind a post written almost 10 years ago on the occasion of his dramatic resignation of the Papacy. Reading it over now, it sounds like an obituary.

The unprecedented retirement of Pope Benedict XVI has led to innumerable articles on the man and his pontificate. I am not able to discuss the achievements of his pontificate, but I would like to say a few words about my own impression of the man.

 I can’t say that I have any personal knowledge of the former Pope but unlike most commentators and pundits, I have at least read a couple of his books. A few years ago I read his Jesus of Nazareth an obvious attempt by the Pope to bring the results of a lifetime of work and study to a non-scholarly audience. I can’t say that I can remember much of the book or the Pope’s arguments. I do remember thinking that the Pope’s great intellect and learning were obvious on every page.

 When Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was elected in 2006 at the age of 78, I was contemplating my own retirement after 36 years as a financial advisor. I had always advised my own clients that they should regard retirement not as an end, but as a new beginning; that it might finally give them an opportunity to do something that they had always wanted to do.

 In my own case I had been a scholar and teacher before circumstances forced me to change career and enter the world of financial service. It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me, but after a successful 36 years, I looked forward to getting back to history, my first interest. So it was easy for me to sympathize with Cardinal Ratzinger on his election. Here was a great, great scholar who had given up most of his last years in the service of the Vatican, an often-thankless job. He was lampooned and derided even by Catholics. During the pontificate of John Paul II, wasn’t Cardinal Ratzinger often referred to as the Vatican’s Rottweiler? Just when he might have thought that at age 78, he could enter into a peaceful retirement, return to his study, and complete his life’s work, he gets elected to one of the most difficult jobs on earth.

 Isn’t it incredible that even those who dislike the Catholic Church and especially the Papacy seem to expect so much from it? But what can a Pope actually do or accomplish? He cannot resort to the usual weapons at the disposal of governments today whether they are despotic or democratic. He has no taxing power. He cannot put you in jail or confiscate your property if you fail to put money in the collection basket. Despite what many non-Catholics might think he cannot order Catholics around or tell them what to do. He can advise but they often refuse to consent with no apparent loss or penalty. Some are shocked that the Catholic Church believes that the Pope is infallible. But this famous doctrine has only been used on one occasion since it was promulgated in 1870 by the first Vatican Council. Big deal.

 Upon his election Cardinal Ratzinger chose the name Benedict and he became the sixteenth Pope of that name which literally means “say good.” He said that he was thinking of the famous saint who founded western Monasticism back in the last days of the Roman Empire. But he was also thinking of Pope Benedict XV, a little remembered Pope who early in the twentieth century strove unsuccessfully to keep the great powers of Europe from plunging into the First World War. It was obvious that the new Pope saw himself as a peacemaker both within his own troubled Church and in the World. He did his best in the past seven years, but finally old age caught up to him and he wisely decided to step down.

 His life reminds me of a wonderful short story by J. R. R. Tolkien, the author of the Lord of the Rings, and the Hobbit. This little-known story, “Leaf by Niggle” is about a man who is attempting a painting of a leaf. He regards it as his life’s work but throughout he is constantly interrupted by the needs and demands of family, friends, and even strangers. He dies with the painting of the leaf unfinished but that’s not the end of the story. In the end we see Niggle in Heaven working on a painting of a huge tree containing thousands of beautifully painted leaves. Let’s hope that Pope Benedict will one day come to his own reward. Well-done, good and faithful servant. Rest in peace.

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Memorial Day 2022

This Monday is Memorial Day in the USA, a day when Americans pay tribute to those who gave their lives defending their country. It was originally called Decoration Day as towns and communities gathered together to decorate the graves of their sons who had died during the American Civil War. Civil War memorials still grace the center of many towns and villages today. In my home town of Fairfield there is a Memorial Day parade every year where thousands turn out to enjoy, celebrate, pay tribute, and perhaps remember.

I never served in the military. I was born right before the outbreak of WWII. I was too young for Korea, and exempt from service in Vietnam because I was married with children. I don't think I would have been good soldier but I have always respected those who did serve. One of those was Joseph Skrovanek, a client of mine when I was a financial advisor as well as a friend. I wrote this little memorial back in 2012 after he passed away at the age of 93.

                                            

Joseph Skrovanek was a true American hero. Like many others of his generation he was a son of an immigrant family who originally settled in the coal mining country of Pennsylvania. He served in the Army during World War II and was in the fifth wave to hit the beaches of Normandy on D-day. I knew him as his financial advisor and friend for many years. Like many other soldiers of his generation, he rarely talked about his military service. He was proud to be a veteran and marched with the VFW in the annual Memorial Day parade as long as he could, but that was it.

However, his real heroism came after the war. He came home to Fairfield, CT and married his sweetheart, Mary. He remained faithful to her through good times and bad for more than 70 years. They had two daughters who even after they had asserted their independence and did things that he could not understand, he continued to love them until the day he died.

He was by trade a plumber. I only met him after he retired but I cannot imagine that he ever cheated one of his customers or did shoddy work. Like many in his profession he was self-employed. He never worked for the government or a large corporation.  He had to buy his own insurance and fund his own retirement with regular monthly savings. Before he retired he made sure the house in Fairfield was free of any mortgage. 

Joe and Mary always lived very frugally. He loved to garden and make his own wine. Mary was a skilled homemaker and cook. They would never let me visit them without offering something to eat and drink. We would sit around the table in their kitchen and spend more time discussing family than finances. They liked to talk about themselves but always showed a keen interest in me and my family. 

Joe spent the last few months of his life in an assisted living facility. The day before he died Joe asked one of his daughters to drive him to visit his financial advisor and make sure all his affairs were in order.  They were.

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Whitey Ford: Memorial*

The death of Whitey Ford , the legendary Yankee pitcher, brought back a childhood memory as only baseball can. It was 1950 and my favorite team, the NY Yankees, was in the World Series against the “whiz kids” of the upstart Philadelphia Phillies. My aunt worked for a company that had seats for the Series and so my uncle and I were able to attend the fourth and, what turned out to be, the final game.

The Yankees had won the first game 1-0 in Philadelphia as Vic Raschi, one of the Yankee magnificent pitching triumvirate, pitched a masterful two hitter. The Yankees won the second game 2-1 as their fire-balling ace Allie Reynolds outpitched Phillie star Robin Roberts. Both pitched complete games, a rarity today. The Yankees won the third game 3-2 behind cagey left-hander Ed Lopat who had a wide variety of pitches none of which would match the speed of a high school player today. Still, Lopat pitched eight innings in that victory.

So, my uncle and I had the good fortune to be in box seats near the left field foul pole for game four. The Yankee pitcher was their young rookie phenom Whitey Ford, a small but crafty pitcher who had come up to the majors in mid-season and racked up nine straight wins. In his long career he would go on to become the winningest pitcher in World Series history.

Anyway, Ford was in good form that day and the Yankees jumped out to an early lead. He pitched a shutout into the ninth inning and the score was 5-0. There were two outs in the ninth when a fly ball was hit to Yankee left fielder Gene Woodling who was positioned just about fifty feet in front of us. He lost the ball in the sun and dropped it allowing two runs to score. (World Series games were still played in the daytime back then).

I think I remember all of this because of what happened next. Yankee Manager Casey Stengel immediately came out of the dugout and removed Ford, who had pitched magnificently, from the game. Up three games to none and ahead 5-2 with two outs in the ninth, Stengel was not going to take any chances. He brought in Allie Reynolds, who had pitched 10 innings just a couple of days before, to end the game. I believe that Reynolds blew away the batter on three straight fastballs, and that was that.

People thought that Casey Stengel was crazy and he certainly could say crazy things in a crazy manner but no one has ever matched his success as a manager. He was unorthodox but many of his seemingly strange strategies soon became the new orthodoxy. Looking back on that game now, I wonder if Stengel was motivated by more than winning the game and the World Series. He took Ford out after he had pitched brilliantly and should have won but for Woodling's mishap. The rookie left hander left the game and no blame or shame could be placed on him. He went on to a great Hall of Fame career.

* The announcement of Ford's death at the age of 91 coincided with the elimination of the NY Yankees from the playoffs in this pandemic shortened season. Once again, the teams's ace closer gave up a game losing home run on a 100 mph fastball, a velocity Ford could never have come close to. Still I believe that  Ford would have handled that batter easily.

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Fathers' Day 2018

A look at the index of labels to the right of this page will show that I have posted little observations of Fathers’ day over the past years. I have tended to use examples from films to illustrate but this year I thought of a real father. Don’t worry, I’m not going to speak about myself.

I would like to remember a friend who passed away a few years ago. Everyone called him Ted although Theodore, which coincidentally means God’s gift, was his real name. He was a small, unassuming, and quiet spoken man who rarely talked about himself but he was one of the most giving men I have ever known.

Ted was an avid gardener and wine maker but by profession he was a master electrician who worked at his trade right until his final illness struck. My wife and I originally met him in an Italian language class but he subsequently became a friend as well as our electrician. I will never forget the night our electricity went out during a violent ice storm. Ted came to the house, climbed a ladder, and repaired a broken power line in the midst of the storm.

The only problem we ever had with Ted was that he was always reluctant to accept payment from friends. There was a large crowd in the church at his funeral and I’m sure that most had also been the recipients of Ted’s generosity. Ted will never be canonized as a saint, but he was one of the multitude of ordinary men who loved their families, their church, and their country.

It was only at his funeral that I realized what a devoted husband and father he had been. At the wake, I saw an old black and white marriage photo. Ted, who served in World War II, was in uniform next to his young Italian war bride who had sewn her beautiful white wedding gown out of Ted’s parachute. I never met his wife because she died shortly before I met Ted, but I know that he loved her until the day he died. They had four or five children and all were there at the funeral with a number of grandchildren. One of the grandchildren gave a brief eulogy in which he described all the things his grandfather had taught him.  

Ted was not big and brawny but he struck me as a real man, a man of great courage and strength. I believe that his generosity towards us sprang not just from his faith, but also from his dedication as a husband and father. It takes real courage to be a father. It takes real courage to make a commitment to give up your own wants in order to live for your wife and children. Someone once said that the best thing a man can do for his children is to love their mother.

In today’s world fatherhood is much maligned. TV shows depict fathers as bumbling idiots. Even commercials usually depict fathers who can’t get anything right. But it is very important that we do all we can to support those who have accepted the challenge. Here is a little prayer for fathers.

Our Father in Heaven, we thank you for all the fathers on earth who,

            like St. Joseph, accept the responsibility to care for and love their children.

            May you strengthen them with the kindness, patience and wisdom they need

            to encourage and guide their children.

            May they be supported by a steadfast wife, a caring family and good friends.

            Most of all, may they know that you and you alone are the source of all that is

            good and truly valuable in this world.

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Memorial Day 2018

This Monday is Memorial Day in the USA, a day when Americans pay tribute to those who gave their lives defending their country. It was originally called Decoration Day as towns and communities gathered together to decorate the graves of their sons who had died during the American Civil War. Civil War memorials still grace the center of many towns and villages today. In my home town of Fairfield there is a Memorial Day parade every year where thousands turn out to enjoy, celebrate, pay tribute, and perhaps remember.

I never served in the military. I was born right before the outbreak of WWII. I was too young for Korea, and exempt from service in Vietnam because I was married with children. I don't think I would have been good soldier but I have always respected those who did serve.One of those was Joseph Skrovanek, a client of mine when I was a financial advisor as well as a friend. I wrote this little memorial back in 2012 after he passed away at the age of 93.

                                            

Joseph Skrovanek was a true American hero. Like many others of his generation he was a son of an immigrant family who originally settled in the coal mining country of Pennsylvania. He served in the Army during World War II and was in the fifth wave to hit the beaches of Normandy on D-day. I knew him as his financial advisor and friend for many years. Like many other soldiers of his generation, he rarely talked about his military service. He was proud to be a veteran and marched with the VFW in the annual Memorial Day parade as long as he could, but that was it.

However, his real heroism came after the war. He came home to Fairfield, CT and married his sweetheart, Mary. He remained faithful to her through good times and bad for more than 70 years. They had two daughters who even after they had asserted their independence and did things that he could not understand, he continued to love them until the day he died.

He was by trade a plumber. I only met him after he retired but I cannot imagine that he ever cheated one of his customers or did shoddy work. Like many in his profession he was self-employed. He never worked for the government or a large corporation.  He had to buy his own insurance and fund his own retirement with regular monthly savings. Before he retired he made sure the house in Fairfield was free of any mortgage. 

Joe and Mary always lived very frugally. He loved to garden and make his own wine. Mary was a skilled homemaker and cook. They would never let me visit them without offering something to eat and drink. We would sit around the table in their kitchen and spend more time discussing family than finances. They liked to talk about themselves but always showed a keen interest in me and my family. 

Joe spent the last few months of his life in an assisted living facility. The day before he died Joe asked one of his daughters to drive him to visit his financial advisor and make sure all his affairs were in order.  They were.

I've just viewed "Gettysburg" an American epic film that brilliantly recreates the famous battle that was the turning point of the Civil War. It was based on Michael Shaara's book, "The Killer Angels." Click on this link to view a brief exchange between an officer from Maine and some captured soldiers from Tennessee.

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