Posted 11:15 PM by sport

As a boy in Dublin, working for a chemist, he delivered medicine to the aged WB Yeats. He sang in a choir that backed Paul Robeson in concert. New to New York and America, he performed on local radio as an "Irish Tenor." Later, in the army, his buddy was future film director Sam Fuller, who tried to talk him into heading to Hollywood with him and take their chance. Some of their wartime experiences were dramatized in Fuller's "The Big Red One." He worked with a young Al Sharpton, trying to contend with the drug epidemic in New York in the 70s (later, a bit bemused to say the least, by Al's race-bait shenanigans, he still held respect for the man's better intentions). All colorful name-drop associations that say nothing of the greatness of THIS man.



He was a great father. A great friend. A great man. I don't want to get maudlin and I don't want to sit here weeping... I have done plenty of that.

I'll remember laughter and wisdom. Christmas, both of us drunk on Jameson's, listening to "Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues over and over again, laughing and singing our asses off.

Hanging out in the yard mending the white picket fence in front of the house, a miserable chore that suddenly became a pleasure when the sunlight filled our souls, we looked at each other and silently acknowledged the preciousness of that moment with a long, shared smile. Christ, you can't tell it, can you?

I was deeply moved recently while listening to a track on a new album (Beyond the Sky) by my friend Rob Schwimmer, a magnificent pianist. The piece, "I Would Talk With My Dad", is instrumental and low-key, nothing grandly sentimental, but deep as longing can go. Too bad I can't "quote" it here for emphasis, but I can quote (again) an ooooolllllld song by Thomas Moore, the last song Dad and I discovered together. An excerpt, then, and a kiss to my dear friend, whose loss will pain me for the rest of my life but whose example guides my own fatherhood in countless new ways every new day. Slán leat.