Beyond the Byline: Happy Birthday, Dad, and thank you

WILKES-BARRE — My Dad’s birthday is Thursday, Nov. 21.

He would be 102.

Dad passed in 1995 — a week short of his 73rd birthday.

My Mom died in 1968 — she was 42.

It took me 15 minutes to write those first four sentences. It’s still very emotional for me to think about — not that they died, rather all the times we missed of being together as a family.

Yes, I feel I learned much from my parents while they were alive, but I lament the fact that I could have learned so much more had they lived a little bit longer.

So I think about them every day, and I call on what they taught me to get through each day, especially when things get tough.

And they have never let me down.

As I remember my Dad’s birthday this week, I choose to recall all those father-son activities we did and the conversations we had about everything from sports to politics to life.

I remember them like yesterday.

I remember playing catch in our side yard at 210 Reynolds St. in Plymouth. I remember throwing the ball so hard that my Dad sometimes fell backward.

I remember taking a lot of swings at a tennis ball that my Dad hung from an old cherry tree in that side yard. The goal was to develop a level swing.

I remember sitting on the couch next to my Dad, watching hundreds of sporting events — most notably Yankee doubleheaders sponsored by Ballentine Beer and hearing announcer Mel Allen say, “How about that!”

I remember riding shotgun when my Dad drove me to baseball and basketball practices and back home again. Of course, he sat and watched me the entire time I was practicing or playing.

I remember taking a tentative bite out of his sardine sandwich with raw onion, butter, salt and pepper and remembering how good it wasn’t.

I remember chomping on the pepperoni we would share — Dad would add Charles’ Chips and a beer. I ate the chips with a Glen Bottling Company lime soda.

I remember sitting across from him at Handley’s Diner on South Main Street, Wilkes-Barre — ham, mashed potatoes, corn and coleslaw always — before we went to visit Mom in the Wyoming Valley Hospital on Dana Street.

I remember traveling to Philadelphia when Mom was at Hahnemann Hospital and eating at Horn & Hardart restaurant next door — again we had the ham dinner special.

I remember traveling to New York for many weekend series at Yankee Stadium and watching Mickey Mantle chase baseballs around the monuments in centerfield.

I remember traveling to Philadelphia to watch the Phillies and seeing Willie Mays and Willie McCovey of the Giants, Hank Aaron and Eddie Matthews of the Braves and Johnny Callison, Don Demeter, Cookie Rojas, Poncho Herrera, Jim Bunning and many more Phillies.

I remember being at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh to watch the Pirates and the Giants and seeing Roberto Clemente chase down a ball in the rightfield corner and rifling a throw to third base to nail a runner.

I remember sitting in Yankee Stadium in October 1964, and watching Ken Boyer of the Cardinals hit a grand slam right past us into the leftfield bleachers.

I remember being in Yankee Stadium and seeing Y.A. Tittle and Frank Gifford play for the Giants.

I remember traveling to Pittsburgh in 1959 to watch the Plymouth Little League team lose a heartbreaker, missing out on a trip to Williamsport — great team.

I remember waiting almost every day to hear Dad’s Plymouth Valiant backing up Reynolds Street after work. Dad would usually wait in the car to take me somewhere.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table as mom served us a home-cooked meal every night and my Dad always thanking her for making such a delicious meal.

I remember watching TV westerns, his favorites, as Dad would duck punches thrown by the likes of Ben Cartwright, James Arness and Audie Murphy.

I remember finding yet another Louis L’Amour western paperback for Dad to read — he loved them all.

I remember watching “Wheel of Fortune” and trying to guess the puzzles faster than Dad — he usually won.

I remember observing Dad at ceremonies honoring veterans — he never missed any. He knew what it meant to serve your country, and he also new that those who gave their lives should never be forgotten.

I remember watching Dad play cards — he counted every suit in Pinochle, not just trump.

I remember being called down to Bobby Novak’s Cafe for some homemade buttermilk and fried scrapple. Delicious!

I remember being at Bob’s when Johnny Mazur and Johnny Blanchard visited. Mazur was a Plymouth QB who starred at Notre Dame and coached in the NFL. Blanchard played for the Yankees — he served in the Army with Bobby Novak.

I remember being at Plymouth Little League — Dad was a co-founder — and observing how he loved baseball and how he loved to help kids.

I could go on and on and on. There are so many more stories and memories to tell.

Every time I drive down Main Street in Plymouth, and I see my Dad’s Hometown Heroes banner, I salute him, and I thank him for all he did for me.

After my mom died in May of 1968, my Dad and I sure had quite a journey together. He had to deal with the trials and tribulations of having a son — an only child — who struggled with school, peer pressure and socialization. But he let me find my way, all the while, however, he was there, always watching to make sure I stayed on the right path.

Dad gave of himself for the betterment of others.

Dad was a proud, humble, compassionate man.

Dad never let his disability slow him down.

Dad came home after the war and went to work for Leslie Fay for 29 years before a stroke forced his early retirement.

Dad was a gentleman. He was kind and courteous. He was fair to all.

Dad gave his all to his country and to his community.

And Dad gave even more to me.

His example made me better.

Happy 102, Dad! Tell mom I said hi.