My Poppy...My Hero

With the shocking news a couple of days ago about the untimely and unexpected death of NBC newsman Tim Russert (Meet the Press) who dropped dead of a heart attack at the young age of 58, it gave me pause to reflect. Even more sad is the fact that Tim passed just a couple of days before Father's Day. He loved his Dad and his son and had just returned from a trip to Italy to celebrate his son's graduation from Boston College. I found myself riveted to CNN watching the stories of his life and accolades from friends, colleagues and fans over and over again. In every photo and video clips, the one common thing was that Tim Russert was always smiling and there was a twinkle in his eye that reflected his love for what he did and those around him. Family came first for Tim. He even wrote two best sellers about his Dad and their relationship. Tim was an unselfish, giving, and authentic kind of guy. Rare today - no pretense - no entitlement attitude. True to himself and to his family. What a gift. What a sad day for all of us. We have lost that spirit in the world. How sad for his family.

Tim Russert's passing made me think of my own Dad. They had a lot of similarities. They were the same kind of men with similar values. My Dad passed away at the young age of 59 from a long battle with cancer. At the time, I didn't think it was young, but now that I have lived longer than my Dad I understand how much was lost and that he still had so much more to do and see in his life.



My Dad left college in his freshman year and went off to WWII to serve his country in the Army in the Pacific in the 11th Airborne as a paratrooper in the medical corps. He was the youngest of eight born to immigrant Russian/Polish Jewish parents who came to this country as young teenagers with little formal education. He grew up poor in the tenements of New York City but with seven much older brothers and sisters, he was never without family around. And just like Tim Russert, family was the most important thing to my Poppy. Although he did not live in New York after returning from the war, there was never a holiday or a birthday or special occasion that my Dad did not call his father and sisters and brothers. He taught me that family comes first, above all else. Sometimes that was not always easy for either of us, but somehow it always worked out okay.




Poppy married his high school sweetheart before he went off to war. She was only 17 years old and her parents were not in favor of them getting married. She lived with my Dad's parents in NYC and waited for my Poppy to come home. They waited for the letters to come, giving them some glimmer of hope that my Poppy was safe. Unlike today, there were no cell phones, no e-mail, only handwritten letters that were read before they were mailed and censored with things that might be dangerous to send out. The letters that my parents saved have a "Swiss cheese" look - with dates and locations, etc. cut out of them before they were sent to my Mom. The mail was not what it is today and sometimes it would take weeks to get the letters.



When Poppy finally came home, he and my Mom moved to Washington, D.C. where his older sister Anne was living and working for the Federal Government. Apartments were scarce after the war and she offered hers to them. Poppy went on to finish college and then to Law School.



As their first born child, I had a uncanny resemblance to my Dad. My Poppy went on to work most of his life as an attorney for the Small Business Administration in Washington, D.C. His work was important to him and it was important work to the country. His work helped to create minority loan programs for minorities and women which are still in place today. It also created a path for future ways small business people can get education and help for their businesses.



Poppy also taught me to give back to the community. He and my Mom were always involved in school activities, band parents, PTA, dance recitals whatever we were participating in they would help (often to my protests). They also participated in local politics (the wrong party, as far as I was concerned). They led by example. My Poppy served on the Fairfax County School Board during the Civil Rights era. He was the Chairman at the time, given the responsibility to lead during a most difficult and historical time. Although we lived outside Washington, D.C. in Northern Virginia, we still lived in the segregated South. There was separate everything - drinking fountains marked "white only" and "colored"; the balconies in movie theatres were for "colored only" and they had to enter from a back entrance. There were "white" and "colored" schools. And it was at this time that my Dad had to take an unpopular stand and do what was right - not what was popular. It was through my Dad's leadership that Fairfax County, Virginia let go of the past and integrated our schools. My Dad was harassed in person, on the phone and in the newspapers. It was during all of this turmoil and personally distressing time, that he told me that we must always do the right thing, even if it is unpopular.

My Dad was not perfect. He was a human being. He had many personal challenges in his life. As difficult as some of them were, he finally overcame them. And I am proud of him for that. In the last years of his life he fought cancer. It was not an easy fight. I was living in California during most of his illness. I thought I wasn't there for my Dad during this difficult time, but I recently came across the letters he and my Mom wrote to me. My Dad always wrote on yellow lined legal pads in his small difficult to read script. I was so glad I saved the letters, because they keep my Dad close to me and also made me realize from his own words that I was there for him. I'd forgotten all the phone calls back and forth between us and the visits home. He actually said the words that it was his connection between us that helped him during these difficult days.



The last time I saw my Poppy, it was Xmas time. We were one of those assimilated non-religious Jewish families that always had a tree and stockings. My Dad has movies of us coming down the stairs on Xmas morning to open our stockings stuffed with treats and toys. Poppy was like a little kid. The presents under the tree were overflowing in excess. He would stay up till the wee hours of the night on Xmas Eve putting together the latest bikes or toys so they would be there for us waiting under the tree when we woke up way too early the next morning. I still see him in his bathrobe sitting next to the tree handing out gifts one by one and delighting in each one that was opened. And when we were too old to have toys under the tree, Poppy made sure there were toys for the dog.

That last Xmas I came home, they were now living in Atlanta, Georgia, Poppy was but a shadow of himself. He wore a terrible wig to cover his loss of hair from the chemo and was very thin. I was not prepared for what I saw as I walked in the house. He sat as always in his big black leather lounger chair in the family room, but the man I saw when I walked in was old and tired. His skin was gray. He was dozing in his chair. The second I entered the room, and ran over to hug my Poppy, all was okay in that moment for both of us. I know he must have been in a lot of pain and emotionally it must have been a bittersweet moment. But he never, never complained.



I took over and tried to make it a happy holiday. I bought him gifts that we both knew he would never use and never wear. Neither of us talked about it. We laughed and ate and spent time watching his favorite black and white movies on television. I was staying until December 29th. On the day before I was to leave to go back to California and back to work on Merv Griffin's Wheel of Fortune, my Dad asked me to come upstairs to his bedroom. There on his dresser was the jar of Jelly Bellies (gourmet jellybeans - his favorites) that I had sent him from Los Angeles. My Dad held my hands and with great difficulty, choking back tears, he told me that he was proud of me. I tried to make a joke, but he told me not this time - to listen to him, it was important. He told me to always be true to myself, even when it isn't such an easy thing to do. To use my talents, that I've been given a gift - to make something of my life. He told me how important I was to him and that I was a good daughter. He told me he loved me, as he often did. We both held each other and cried. We never said it, but we both knew that this would be the last time. I can't tell you how difficult it was for me to leave my Poppy, but I knew I had to. I also know that I was lucky to have had this moment to say goodbye and have this one last conversation.

When the phone call came, one month to the day - January 29, 1983 - I was devastated. My Poppy was gone. How could I go on? Who would be my champion, my confidant, my guide? I could not imagine a world without him. And the next few years would prove difficult for me. My world turned upside down without him. And I was lost. But somehow through all my challenges, I always heard his voice. His values, his commitment to life and family, his work ethics led me to get my life together and become the woman I am today. I know he would be proud of me.



I wish I could call or visit my Poppy today on this day when we honor our Fathers, but instead this blog will have to suffice as a love letter to him. I am proud to be his daughter. I'm proud of him. I know he's still there for me. I love you, Poppy. Happy Father's Day.