Short post today, folks. Today is a somber day in history marking the 7th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. My father was born on Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, 1929 and died on September 11, 1998. He served and fought in Korea only to return home in 1954. Until the day he died, he had recurring throat pain and nightmares from an infantry battle in Korea. He never spoke of it to us, but my mother shared that his nightmare was always the same - he was hanging on a cliff being shot at by the enemy. Recent research on my part indicates that he was probably involved in the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge (or Pork Chop Hill) in late 1951.
I miss him. He had a quick wit and a wicked sense of humor. A part of Lou died when my mother died and he was never the same person again. Although we didn't always see eye to eye I always knew that he loved me. He was a very smart, rising from an impoverished childhood with only a Brooklyn public high school education and survived the rough and tumble of Wall Street. He retired as the Director of Operations for Ferris, Baker, Watts in Washington, D.C. Looking back I have a tremendous sense of gratitude for a man who welcomed two orphan daughters into his family, raised us as his own, and always provided for us.
In his later years, his love of antiques and tag sales continued to grow. He acquired collections at breakneck speed - ivory monkeys, Remington bronze sculptures, binoculars and leather saddles. When Lisa or I would question his latest acquisition he would invariably reply "It's a conversation piece sweetie" or our favorite "Honey - You Don't Know What You've Got". He was right.
The Remington bronze "Mountain Man" sculpture in this picture he bought at an estate sale auction in Westchester County. He said to Mark (we were newlyweds) "Balducci (his nickname for Mark), carry this to the car." It now stands in my foyer. Like my Dad, the Mountain Man is a loner, carefully making his way down the rocky slope on his horse.
And I'm still pulling copiously wrapped monkey statues out of boxes in the basement and they always make me smile.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
"You Don't Know What You've Got"
Short post today, folks. Today is a somber day in history marking the 7th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. My father was born on Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, 1929 and died on September 11, 1998. He served and fought in Korea only to return home in 1954. Until the day he died, he had recurring throat pain and nightmares from an infantry battle in Korea. He never spoke of it to us, but my mother shared that his nightmare was always the same - he was hanging on a cliff being shot at by the enemy. Recent research on my part indicates that he was probably involved in the Battle of Heartbreak Ridge (or Pork Chop Hill) in late 1951.
I miss him. He had a quick wit and a wicked sense of humor. A part of Lou died when my mother died and he was never the same person again. Although we didn't always see eye to eye I always knew that he loved me. He was a very smart, rising from an impoverished childhood with only a Brooklyn public high school education and survived the rough and tumble of Wall Street. He retired as the Director of Operations for Ferris, Baker, Watts in Washington, D.C. Looking back I have a tremendous sense of gratitude for a man who welcomed two orphan daughters into his family, raised us as his own, and always provided for us.
In his later years, his love of antiques and tag sales continued to grow. He acquired collections at breakneck speed - ivory monkeys, Remington bronze sculptures, binoculars and leather saddles. When Lisa or I would question his latest acquisition he would invariably reply "It's a conversation piece sweetie" or our favorite "Honey - You Don't Know What You've Got". He was right.
The Remington bronze "Mountain Man" sculpture in this picture he bought at an estate sale auction in Westchester County. He said to Mark (we were newlyweds) "Balducci (his nickname for Mark), carry this to the car." It now stands in my foyer. Like my Dad, the Mountain Man is a loner, carefully making his way down the rocky slope on his horse.
And I'm still pulling copiously wrapped monkey statues out of boxes in the basement and they always make me smile.
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