a musing.

Eulogy

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 22:32:00 -0500

We are here to honor and remember a man whom we loved — Fred Albinus. We are here to pay tribute to this person, a quiet and gentle man. He was just that. He was not boisterous. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t fill a room when he walked in. He was quiet, he kept his thoughts to himself and he would rather be with his close family than with strangers.

He did not say very much but his actions spoke volumes. He made a life with his wife and family. He worked around the house and worked on projects for his family. He built things for the people he cared about but most importantly he was there for us.

My father was an on-going presence in our life and in the lives of others. In the days since he has been seriously ill and until his passing, everyone has said how kind and gentle he was. Even people who I had thought didn’t really know my father had said kind things about him. You can almost tell that some people wished he had been their father.

He was always there for us. And in the past eight months of his life when he fought a tough illness, we were there for him. It was the only way we could repay what he had done for us all.

Now, a little bit about Fred Albinus.

He was born in Brooklyn and raised by two German immigrants in Valley Stream, NY. Like his wife, he was the third of four children. His father worked in a German delicatessen and my grandmother would bring my father as a baby to work. He stayed in a stroller in the back and she said later that he never made a fuss. He was quiet even back then.

He grew up and showed an affinity for music. He took up the drums and in order to pay for lessons his mother baked a cake each week for the local music teacher. One teacher told him that he was the best percussionist she had ever had in her orchestra.

He loved music but being a drummer meant that every song was turned into a march. Every Broadway ballad and every crooner’s song would sound like it had been written by John Phillip Sousa. He loved to drum on the table and with whatever was in his hands. It’s a habit that he has passed onto us.

In the second grade, he met his best friend Don Seaman and later on they formed a swing band called Seaman’s Crew. Dad told me that along with playing dances he would hang out at the Musician’s Union Hall and managers would come by and ask for a drummer or a piano player. Dad would take his Gretsch kit and sit in with a new band for a little extra money.

He attended college and worked at Lilco as a draftsman. After the Korean War, he was drafted in the navy and while the other recruits were assigned to warships, Dad spent most of his service days in Pensacola, Florida. His Master Chief, when handing out assignments, said, “Albinus, I hope you like to fish.” What did this young sailor do during the Cold War while serving in the US military? He played tympani in the Pensacola Symphony orchestra.

After the service, Fred came back to NY and to Lilco. He went to school at night to earn his degree and he worked very hard.

In 1957, an event happened that changed his life. He went to a dance in Brooklyn and met an Irish girl and asked her to dance. Later on, he told me that all the girls in Schwaben Hall were German and dressed like Germans of the day in drab gray dresses. My mother wore a red dress and she stood out, he said.

It started a long courtship and led to a marriage that many had warned against. A mixed marriage of a Catholic and a Lutheran was looked down upon in those days but my parents proved them wrong.

They had four kids and built a life. This is when my father proved himself. He built a back deck patio. He built a hole in the wall for a small television. Now that I think of it, this was a virtual flat panel TV. He built tree-houses for us and did many repairs around the house. In fact, he designed the house that Ann and Bobby McEvoy live in to this day.

This is how he proved his love. By his work and by being there.

He attended our concerts. He took off from work to film us as we marched in our Halloween parades. He attended parent teacher conferences. A lot of men didn’t do that back in the 1970s. But Dad did that.

He helped us to grow up. He was there for us to help us in school. Once David was in a high-end math class in high school and Dad had helped him the night before. He said “Remember when we were kids and Dad was the smartest guy we knew? He still is.”

He was there when we fell and was there when we had a success. He was always so proud of us even though we never brought home trophies or straight A’s. He loved being around with his family and he loved planning vacations for us. We visited Washington DC, Orlando, Niagara Falls, camped out at Hither Hills and from the southern New Jersey to northern Maine.

It was the 70s and as some friends’ parents were getting divorced, he was always there for us.

I remember how proud he was when my wife Regina gave birth to our first child, Nora. Nora loves comic books and all of her birthday cards and get well cards for Dad were of Captain America and Bucky because he read those comics as a kid. On the way to McDonalds, he would whistle Broadway show tunes and she would have to pick out the song. He loved Matthew and Timmy and would baby-sit them without a complaint.

Catherine shared her thoughts with me: “I am having a hard time putting my feelings for my Dad in words. How can you express a lifetime of love in a paragraph? But I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to care for him while he was sick. To give back in some way all that he has done for me, Peter, Claire and Colleen. Even though I could not make him well, I hope that I made him proud. I am who I am because of him. I am precise, detail oriented and if there is a problem I have to fix it, just like Dad.

“Daddy, don’t worry about Mom, she’s in good hands. We will love her and comfort her just as you have done for over 45 years. I love you the whole world.”

David has these memories: “What always amazed me about my father was his calm and thorough approach to solving problems. I never felt that any situation or circumstance would get the better of us. Dad would be able to figure it out and make the situation right. When things went wrong or needed to be fixed, Dad showed how smart he was, not because of what he knew or was able to do, but for what he was able to teach himself. I’ve always felt that given a little bit of time to sit down with the right books, Dad could figure out how to fix a car, build a piece of furniture, or perform any other task put before him.

“Some of my best memories of my father are about the one on one time that we shared. I remember jogging down to the bluff with a dollar or two stuck in our socks so we could buy a few sodas and rest before heading back to the house. I remember learning how to develop pictures with him. I remember sitting next to him in the living room while he read the paper and I would practice my trumpet and then give up the seat to one of my siblings so they could have their lesson.

“So many wonderful memories and now I have the peace of knowing that he is still with us, watching over us from heaven with the ones we love who have gone before him. Dad, you have been such a gift to me, Lisa, Kimberley, Ryan, Hannah-Rose and Quinn. For the rest of lives we will smile when our thoughts turn to our memories of you and when we feel you at our side.”

Patricia writes: “Although my Dad was a quiet man his actions and love were loud and boisterous. He taught us so many things — how to be good, kind people and to always feel proud of what we did. He was always there for us with homework, school events, and tapping the beat of the music on the newspaper as we practiced our instruments. In college before there was e-mail, my Dad would send a message to the computer lab that would print out in a big banner “I love you” or “I am so proud of you.” He would call me in my dorm room and tell me to walk to the computer lab to retrieve the print out message — he really got a kick out of this and I did too. As a little girl, my Dad would not hesitate after a long day at work to come home and sit in a chair while I put barrettes or curlers in his hair. He would still have his shirt and tie on and patiently allow me to find all my pretty hair clips to decorate him with.

“He was so talented and gifted with his ability to take a plain piece of wood and turn it into a beautiful hope chest or cradle for our children. He touched my life and so many others — most importantly I am so happy that my Dad was a grandpa to Josh and Katie. He and my mom cared for them two days a week and this time with Grandpa gave Josh and Katie the most precious opportunity to know their grandfather. Whether playing on the computer, lunch at McDonald’s, going to the bluff, or playing at the park, Grandpa was there for them.

“Dad, thank you for my life and for teaching me to be a strong, loving and proud woman. Thank you for your guidance. I am the person I am today because of you and mommy and the family you made for us.”

In the 1980s, my mom started working as a nanny to two children. I’ll be honest that I was a little jealous that these two little kids were calling my father “Daddy” but this was how it was going to be. We were in high school and getting ready for college and the addition of Cristina and Julian felt like we had adopted two non-Irish and German kids. And Dad was there for them too. Before any of the grandkids came on the scene, he bought Julian and Cristina small goggles and took the kids downstairs to his workbench to do some Friday night work working. They would glue blocks and dowel rods and other projects and the kids loved it. He would later do this with his grandkids.

He was there for so many people.

He was there for his 11 grandchildren who loved him. He was there for us when the first of his grandchildren were born. He was there when we all bought our first houses. He was there when we needed to make our first repairs. My wife Regina was especially grateful for my father. As a magazine editor, I am handy at writing but not making repairs. It was okay, I would still hold the flashlight.

He was there for my Mom. He loved being with her, the home she made and the passion she put into life. Every weekend they would drive out East and when Dad was sick she would drive him to the Bluff not far from here. They were opposites on the outside but they loved one another because they knew that they truly completed one another. She brought a zest to life that he knew that he needed to have a life and he brought a calm order that she wanted to raise a family. Once in Ireland, my mother was peppering her brother Phil with questions in her rapid style. He walked out into the evening air, looked to the sky and told me and Catherine a simple truth. “Your father’s a saint.”

He was close to being a saint but more importantly he was there for us.

And now it is so hard to think what life will be like without him. He was not a big man or a loud man but the house feels empty and quiet without him. We don’t have any to call to ask for advice about cars or appliances that are making strange noises. He won’t be there when his grandchildren graduate or when they grow even taller. On a personal note, he won’t be there when my son Matthew comes out of his shell.

The last eight months were tragic for us and one reason was because his gift of speech and reason were taken from him, he fought to finish thoughts and he fought to complete sentences. For the first time, this fine intelligent man could not make sense. It was so cruel and ironic that it had to be a brain tumor that took this intelligent and reasonable man away from us.

All we have are memories, his things and the habits that amused us. When we tap the table or turn a song into a march, he’ll be there for us. When we make a decision, he’ll be there for us. When his 11 grandchildren – Kimmy, Nora, Ryan, Claire, Hannah Rose, Matthew, Josh, Quinn, Katie, Tim and Colleen — become truly fantastic young adults, he’ll be there for us.

But now, as we mourn his passing, we can only think one thing. That he is not here for us now and how much we wish that we had him for one more day.

Goodbye, Dad and Grandpa. We love you. We miss you but we thank you.

Thank you for being here for us.

God bless you.

Phil Gets Mono?

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 21:14:00 -0400

Okay, it’s a full-bore Beatles revival for Phil these days. Sure, it doesn’t take much for me to put on my favorite tracks — Come Together, Rain, Every Little Thing — on my iPod but this is ridiculous.

For a one year anniversary gift for myself, I bought and downloaded Sgt. Pepper Live performed by Cheap Trick and the New York Philharmonic. It’s a lot more fun than it has a right to be. Robin Zander’s vocals are pitch perfect and eerily close to those of John Lennon’s and Bun E Carlos is one amazing drummer who sounds like he is having a ball with the rest of the band.

Fast forward to this Tuesday when we’ll see the release of the Beatles version of Rock Band, the play-along video game. The animation of the Fab Four looks even better than Yellow Submarine and I love the details to Ringo’s pearl (or oyster?) finish drum kit and Paul’s Hohner bass. To be honest, Rock Band doesn’t do much for me — I want to learn how to PLAY the songs that I have been miming along to all these years.

On the same day, EMI is reissuing all of the old CDs in a new remastered form. I am so tempted to buy them even though I own and love them already. Kill me. Apparently the CDs, when they were released, were criticized for their poor mixing and transfers. Um, okay. I really can’t tell. But I might have to buy Sgt Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour and maybe Past Masters Volume I and II for those missing singles. Oh, and maybe I can get the White Album too just to hear the classic all spiffed up.

But wait, now it seems like I have to get the FRIGGIN’ mono versions, too. Thanks, New York Times Arts & Leisure section:

The Beatles and their producer, George Martin, considered the mono mixes definitive, and you don’t have to be a Beatles completist to see why. “She’s Leaving Home,” which drags sappily on the stereo “Sgt. Pepper,” is faster on the mono album, which also has a decidedly more psychedelic sounding “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds,” a punchier “Good Morning, Good Morning” and a sizzling reprise of the title song. “Magical Mystery Tour” is far more solid and detailed in mono, and the White Album is packed with details you don’t hear in the stereo mix. But by making them available only in a collectors’ box, EMI has made it impossible for many listeners to sample one or two.

Like I said: Kill me.

So, all of this happens on 09.09.09. Do you know what else happens on that day? Steve Jobs announces a new line of iPods in what will be his first return as a CEO of Apple and public spokesperson since he left for a few months due to illness. He loves The Beatles and when he demos a new iPod, there’s always a Beatles song playing. Coincidence?

I bet he also announces the new Beatles CDs will be available on iTunes. Just a hunch.

Book dilemma

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 15:46:50 -0400

What to read next? The Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman? I really don’t know enough about WWI. Maybe Seize The Fire, a book about Lord Nelson and the Battle of Trafalgar. Don’t know anything about that period except from the Aubrey-Maturin novels by Patrick O’Brien although I have seen Nelson’s Column in London. Nixon and Mao? Well, I have been on a Nixon kick, so maybe but not quite. Yesterday I took out Coolidge: An American Enigma from the library. Might be too … too … sexy. Not sure.

Okay, The Guns of August it is.

Good neighbors

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 15:03:00 -0400

One meme you hear a lot these days but hasn’t been reported much is the notion that in the past people helped each other more. If there was a problem, we didn’t look to government, the thinking goes. Instead, neighbors looked out for one another, community members chipped in and friends solved problems for one another.

It’s a nice thought but like most bromides, it’s probably more myth than fact.

In a few of the town halls, one of the more troubling aspects that Obama and the Dems did not expect to appear is this very notion. Forget the guns that people are bringing to rallies, the Obama posters with the Hitler mustache or the red-faced shouters. There are plenty of people against Obama’s health reform plan who honestly believe that people should be able to look out for themselves and their neighbors. Government isn’t going to help. Instead of health insurance for one and all — yes, expensive and cumbersome and full of red tape — there are plenty of people who believe that all they have to do is look out for each other.

Sweet, but it won’t pay the mountain of medical bills. Let me give you an example: My father is fighting brain cancer and my mother recently received a bill for one month’s worth of chemo therapy and a couple of doctors visits. The damage was $40,000. That’s about two-fifths of my annual salary. Thank goodness my parents have Medicare and supplemental insurance.

Do they good people at the town halls really think they can pay that with bake sales, car washes and donation jars at cash registers inside local stores?

In 1992, I remember one speech by Ross Perot about not looking to government to help your neighbor. “If they were in a wheelchair, you got together to build a ramp tothe front door and not file for a building permit, he said to a hearty round of cheers. This was America at its big-hearted dense of self. Now a ramp made by neighbors with some donated lumber and nails is one thing, but what about the bills for the physical therapist? What about a new van for the disabled driver or follow-up surgeries to deal with infections and complications down the road? Perot did not have an applause line for that.

This big-hearted notion is nice and is very true — I have neighbors who would do almost anything for me but I know there’s a difference between baby-sitting at the last minute and paying for expensive life-saving procedures. Neighbors can only do so much.

My Dad at an overlook on the Taconic Parkway in 1956. I guess...

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 07:13:10 -0400

My Dad at an overlook on the Taconic Parkway in 1956. I guess wearing khakis and black shoes is part of my DNA.

In Passing: Marie O'Neill

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 14:40:00 -0400

After perusing my old web site, I found this 2007 tribute to my wife’s second cousin, a terrific lady from a different time.

In Passing: Marie O’Neill
We lost a neat woman the other day, just a special person. My wife’s second cousin Marie O’Neill passed away at the age of 85. Her health had been failing lately and she passed on earlier this month. We couldn’t attend the funeral service in Connecticut because of the bad weather. We will make time for a memorial service later on, however.

She was a great lady and I loved her laugh and her smile. She never married and I knew that she taught English in New Canaan, a leafy, well to do suburb in Connecticut. One of her students was Rick Moody, the short story writer and novelist who wrote The Ice Storm. At the premiere of the movie, he was asked about his influences. Instead of saying the usual suspects like John Cheever or Updike, he mentioned his eighth grade English teacher and how she made an impact on him.

Here is Marie’s obituary. I knew she was a WAV in WWII but not that she was a Lieutenant Commander or that she had taught in Europe. I did know that she loved to ride around the country to visit family and friends. She hated Republicans with a passion and once wanted to know what the hell a refrigerator magnet of Richard Nixon was doing on my fridge. (It was a gift from a friend — a close-up of Dick at his sweatiest).

I loved how she once brought her Corolla into a Toyota dealership for an oil change and walked into the showroom. After talking to the salesman, she decided it was time to buy a new car. She had more miles to travel.

Here is her obituary. We miss you, Marie.

Marie Helen O’Neill, age 85, passed away Friday, March 9, 2007, at the Villas of St. Therese, in Columbus, Oh. She was born in New Haven, Conn. on July 14, 1921. Marie received her B.A. Degree in English from Albertus Magnus College in 1942, and earned her M.A. Degree in Education from Columbia University in 1955.

She served in the U.S. Navy as a Lt. Commander in the Communications Office of the Eastern Sea Frontier during WWII, which included the mapping of ship movements in the Atlantic during the war. After retiring from active service, she began and enjoyed a long fulfilling career as an elementary school teacher in Europe, and New Canaan, Conn., where she helped to shape the lives of countless children.

Marie’s many travels throughout the world helped to enrich her love of nature, and the protection of the environment, which led to long associations with the National Audubon Society, and other Preservation groups. Her other favorite hobbies included attending museums, musical concerts, and other cultural and social events of all kinds. As an avid reader, she was versed in a variety of subjects, and loved to discuss and debate the current issues across the Political landscape. She was also an active volunteer to causes that helped the less fortunate. Marie will always be remembered for her unique sense of humor, and her adventuresome spirit will be greatly missed by her immediate family, and all who knew her and loved her.

Marie was preceded in death by her parents John and Mary O’Neill of New Haven, Conn., her brother John J. O’Neill, Jr. and her brother-in-law John S. Bird. Marie is survived by her sister, Eileen Bird of Ohio (John); sister-in-law, Jessie O’Neill of Washington, D.C. (John). Marie is also survived by nieces and nephews, Mary Diamond (Bruce), John O’Neill Jr. (Martha), John Bird Jr., David Bird (Jeanette), Barbara Douglas (Brad), Kathy Cox (Michael) and Stephen O’Neill (Karen). She is also survived by great-nieces and nephews, Martha, Jessie and John Diamond, Carleigh, Madeline and John Douglas, Jack and Sam O’Neill, Benjamin O’Neill, Morgan Vickers, David Bird, Michael, Katie, Rachel, Matthew and Sean Cox and Anna Bird. Funeral from SISK BROTHERS FUNERAL HOME, 3105 Whitney Ave., Hamden, Conn., Saturday at 9 a.m. Mass of Christian Burial at 9:30 a.m. in St. Aedan Church, Fountain St., New Haven. Burial will follow in St. Lawrence Cemetery. Visitation will be Saturday from 8:15-9 a.m.

In lieu of flowers, contributions to the National Audubon Society or the Villas at St. Therese, 25 Noe-Bixby Dr., Columbus, Oh. 43213.

Nora goes deep @ Robert Moses State Park

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 22:01:15 -0400

Nora goes deep @ Robert Moses State Park

Timmy evades the waves

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 21:59:42 -0400

Timmy evades the waves

Matthew @ Robert Moses State Park

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 21:58:27 -0400

Matthew @ Robert Moses State Park

Losing

Sun, 12 Jul 2009 14:17:17 -0400

I just finished Christpher Buckley’s Losing Mum and Pup, his memoir of his parent’s final days. It’s a wonderful book - not a Mommie Dearest piece of work, just pages filled with a lot of affection. Buckley seems aware that he had an extraordinary life and his complaints about his parents are mild and tempered. Although he tells his mother that he forgives her on her death bed and his father inspired a ton of exasperation, he knows that he was loved and he returned the favor in this book.

It’s odd to read about a son preparing for his father’s death and burial. My father is fighting a serious and scarily efficient brain tumor and although the doctors have not told us to give up hope, they do emphasize the word “aggressive” when we visit. His memory is shot - he can’t remember what he had for breakfast or follow the plot of a 30-minute sitcom. For a man who once had all the answers at his fingertips, watching him try to answer a simple question is a painful reminder of what is being lost.

Anyone Seen Phil?

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 13:15:08 -0400

What, no blogging? What have you been doing - Tweeting your life away?

Well, yes. I am loving tweeting at @philalbinus quite a bit and writing something longer than 140 characters seems like a lot of work. Who knew? Also, I wrote four editor’s letters for the June issues of Waters and Waters: Power and I guess I am tapped out.

With that in mind, let’s recap, shall we?

The wife and I saw Gran Torino and Doubt on DVD. GT was nicely done and Clint Eastwood could teach Tony Scott a thing or two about not moving a camera or making a jump cut. I also liked Clint’s thoughts on manhood - you don’t see that much these days. Doubt was an actor’s ream. Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman were terrific but the shy and innocent Amy Adams grows the most in this film. She learns more than she ever wanted in the course of the two weeks in which this film takes place. And Meryl Streep is awesome - most actors do regional accents while hers goes down to the street level.

Nora and I saw Up, the latest Pixar flick. Not as jaw dropping as The Incredibles or Finding Nemo or as magnificent as Wall*E but it has one of the best sequences without any dialogue I have ever seen.

Just finished Road Dogs by Elmore Leonard. Now on deck, I have 1960, a book about the presidential race between JFK, LBJ and Nixon. I wonder who wins - don’t spoil it for me. I also have the latest collection of short stories from John Updike. I refuse to say last because I bet there will be collections and unpublished stories for years to come.

Life is good.

Tiny Tim at a cemetary in Rockland County.

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 22:06:06 -0400

Tiny Tim at a cemetary in Rockland County.

My backyard in winter, shrunk down to model size.

Sat, 06 Jun 2009 22:04:46 -0400

My backyard in winter, shrunk down to model size.

Nora Grace, May 2009

Mon, 25 May 2009 12:17:20 -0400

Nora Grace, May 2009

Nora before the Memorial Day parade.

Mon, 25 May 2009 12:15:17 -0400

Nora before the Memorial Day parade.

The gray-haired griller

Mon, 25 May 2009 12:12:05 -0400

The gray-haired griller

Nora makes a new friend

Sun, 24 May 2009 11:47:13 -0400

Nora makes a new friend

Our old babysitter’s brand new baby girl.

Sun, 24 May 2009 11:46:00 -0400

Our old babysitter’s brand new baby girl.

Photo

Sun, 17 May 2009 09:37:40 -0400

Nora

Sun, 17 May 2009 09:36:58 -0400

Nora