One of my first memories of dad was when I was 3 or 4 and had a bad dream. I woke up terrified and ran into my parents room crying. My mother asked me what was wrong and told me that I could crawl into bed between them. As I lay there, I remember distinctly hearing my father breathing on one side of me, and my mother breathing on the other side of me, and feeling their heartbeats. My parents told me then that I had nothing to worry about, and they were right. To this day, I feel the warmth, the security, and the love that I felt coming from both of them that day, listening to both of their hearts beating so closely beside me.
There are hundreds of other memories of things we did together. Hiking, swimming, sailing, skiing, yard work, woodwork, homework, you name it. As I was trying to outline my memories for this service, I realized there was absolutely no way I could do it, and even if I could, it would take hours to list. I created this website for that purpose. There are writings, tributes, and 100s of pictures here. I would encourage anyone who would like to reflect on what a marvel his life was, to take a look, and to contribute if you feel so inclined.
There was a bit of a Rashomon effect going on with my dad. He was different things to different people. His sister Louise refers to him as “my Lionel“. The cousins refer to him as “Uncle Lionel”. To some he was “Bart”. To me he was just “dad”. He influenced different people and in different ways. People have come up to me recently and mentioned that they would not be the same people they are today without him. I would like to talk about a few of the ways I would not be the same person I am today without him.
1-Music: Music was a big part of our family life. His father Walter was a musician. We always had a piano in the house, as he always did as a child. We sang in the church choir. He brought me home a classical guitar from Spain. We had a tradition of recording “family tapes” on an old reel to reel tape recorder that was stowed away in the dry-sink. “blow ye’ winds” “if you’re happy and you know it” “squid jigging ground” are on that tape. I still have it. When he was confined to a hospital bed in June & kept trying to escape, I asked him where he was going, & he told me “to music lessons”. He wrote in his own obituary & funeral arrangements: “If you really want to send me away in style, find a harpsichord and/or have Skip play something as he did when his mother died”.
2-Creativity: He taught me the importance of being creative. He wrote that, his “Mother fed our fantasy with her boundless imagination”. I remember that. She was one of a kind. We made our own Christmas cards rather than buying them. We played imagination games: Trouble city, trouble ____ (fill in the blank) comes to mind. He told us stories that he would make up (and illustrate). “Smokey & Pokey”, was an all-time favorite. In an interview he recalls an incident where his boss says to him: “if you think you can look at all the stuff that’s been written, all these equations that you’re surrounded by, and assume they’re either all wrong or inadequate, then you belong here”. He replied that he could do that. My point being, that he was not only fearless, but creative & imaginative too.
3-Swimming: He wrote: “We often took Skip to the Aronamink swim club where his delight and excitement at submersion in the water was remarkable. It inspired us to later organize a similar swim club in Schenectady.” There is something wonderful about isolating yourself from the rest of the world, surrounded by water, sloshing around in your own thoughts, which must have been as intriguing to him as it is to me today.
These are things that I do every day to this day.
My last memory of dad was of him lying on his bed, struggling to breathe, his heart struggling to keep beating, me holding his hand and shaking his shoulder and asking him if he could just please wait a little longer. But he couldn’t. Sometimes I ask myself, why did he live so long? And the answer I come up with is that he just had so much to give. It took him 99 years to do it.
99 years (song, draft2)
There was a cannon shot & out came pop, & he didn’t stop, for 99 years
He kept it going, it was a big explosion, it was a thing worth knowing, for 99 years,
he was a big success, he did it none the less, sometimes he left a mess, for 99 years.
He shot across the sky, it was a burning light, he was a busy guy, for 99 years
He learned from the best, he was the honored guest, the critics mostly were impressed
He was a great big spasm, he jumped across the chasm, it’s said he had good protoplasm.
If you had a chance to know him, you would’ve done some growing, he just kept it going, 99
His trajectory was high, sometimes it was low, &, he had some seeds to sow, for 99 years
It was a thing of beauty, he didn’t get to get too fruity, he never was too snooty, for 99
He was supercharged, when in he barged, he went from small to large, for 99
Like Ben Franklin with his kite I guess, annoying at times I must confess
Like a frog on top of a fence pole, how he got there made no sense, so…
If you go out at night, & you look at the sky, & see a meteorite, it’s Lionel going by,
With a great big smile, and a little sigh, & a twinkle in his eye, it’s Lionel going by
There was a cannon shot & out came pop, & he didn’t stop, for 99 years
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