Joe
I grew up, the second oldest of six children, in central New Jersey, near the shore. My baby sister and older brother were the radical bookends of our clan, testing the boundaries with our parents, and helping to keep the foibles of the middle four in check. When I went to college, I joined a fraternity, and added many Brothers to my already sizable family. One day, I met a young freshman from a town near my parents’, and he chose me as his Big Brother, essentially a mentor. Not long after, my baby sister called to tell me that she was dating someone she really liked, and he was related to someone I knew. It turned out that she was dating the younger brother of my new fraternity brother. Eventually, they married, and now my Little Brother’s Little Brother is married to my little sister.
Joe is a great guy. Stocky in build, he’s always looked healthy and strong. As a longshoreman, he worked the docks in north Jersey for awhile, until he worked his way up to becoming a Captain for Circle Line, ferrying folks around the Statue of Liberty and across the Hudson River to Manhattan. On one trip, he even let my young son “drive” the boat, thrilling him and worrying the heck out of my wife.
Joe is the kind of guy who will do almost anything for anybody. He was a great son-in-law and friend to my father, who passed away last summer, and the two of them were often like peas in a pod. Every now and then, though, Joe would mischievously provoke Dad by asking him about doctors, ostensibly the bane of his existence. And Joe would also push Dad to achieve more. I remember a time about eight or nine years ago, when Dad was nearing the end of a long project, almost single-handedly reroofing the house he built about 50 years earlier. I had recently started helping Dad, respecting his leisurely pace; he was becoming a little nervous about being on the roof and had begun to welcome the help. Joe came over one day, and talked Dad into finishing the last ten percent in one shot. Actually, he made it tough for Dad to say, “No,” by simply ripping off the rest of the old roof.
About six years ago, Joe got the news that we all dread – he had cancer, a particularly nasty kind of non-small cell lung cancer. It was the same type that had claimed his own father at an early age. Joe’s genetic predisposition certainly increased his risk, but no one ever would have ever suspected it, given his apparent health and age (early forties). He had surgery to remove the cancer and half of one of his lungs, and followed that with rounds of radiation and chemotherapy.
For a while, things were looking good – he went back to work, got most of his energy back, and returned to doing most of the things he did before. His continuing treatments have been difficult, and at times, he’s had to slow down, but his recovery from the surgery was nothing short of remarkable. He has beaten unbelievable odds with his determination, and his indomitable spirit and drive. While incurable, his cancer has found a formidable foe.
I’ve now known Joe for over thirty years. In that time, I’ve never known him to feel sorry for himself or feel that he is better than anyone else. Ever since his initial diagnosis, Joe has made a point of enjoying life and his family. He’s spent a lot of time with his three wonderful sons, sharing their love of baseball, enjoying outdoor sports, and taking them places. I know that he’s great for my sister, and a great dad for his boys. His example of class and fatherhood is one that he can truly be proud of, and the world is certainly a better place because of a guy named Joe.
