Every kid should have a big brother. I have
one, and my life is sweeter because of this birth circumstance. It helps to
have a big sister. I have one of those too, and she helped shape my life, but
not to the same extent as has my brother.
My big brother is 13-1/2 years older than I
am. He was born in 1914, three-plus years before my big sister. No other
children were born to my parents until my arrival in 1927. The relatively large
age difference between me and my siblings allowed them to make my life as the
baby of the family truly enjoyable.
My big brother took me everywhere
during my early childhood and beyond, frequently in the company of his college
pals.
“Do you remember me from those days?
“ I politely asked one of them recently. “Do I?
Yes. You were a pain in the butt.”
He did not have a sibling and knew
nothing about being a big brother.
When my sister asked my big brother
why he had not invited her to tag along, he replied, "You're my sister.
He's my brother." That certainly
cleared things up.
Although my big brother is the best
in the business, he can also be one of the most irritating persons you would
ever want to meet, exasperating without trying. He can display an enormous
insensitivity at times. On occasion, his behavior forces me to shout at him,
outraged by his thoughtless actions or mannerisms. In the throes of my love -
hate relationship with him, there are times when I could hug and pummel him
simultaneously.
Jesuits educated my big brother for
eight years. He graduated from St. Peter’s Preparatory School (1932) and St.
Peter’s College (1936). He may have had an inclination to become a priest, but
he chose not to follow that calling. Instead, he tried to earn his living in a
variety of ways. Jobs were scarce when he graduated from college. He worked in
an office, a clothing store, and on the docks before landing an accounting
position with Western Electric in 1940.
Our brother-in-law graduated from
college in 1936 with an electrical engineering degree. He had joined the
R.O.T.C. while in school, and then returned to work for AT&T’s long line
division in Manhattan Ft. Monmouth , NJ Hoboken
Early in 1942, he persuaded three of
my brother’s best college mates to enlist in the army. He helped get them into
Officer’s Training.
My brother refused to enlist. The
army drafted him in August 1942. He refused to apply for OTC. My brother-in-law
managed to have him transferred to his unit where he spent the next 3-1/2 years
stationed at Ft. Monmouth Europe to help set up the phone system needed to support the
Potsdam Conference. He rose to the rank of Lt. Colonel prior to his discharge
in 1946. He immediately returned to his job at AT&T.
After becoming commissioned officers,
my brother’s three pals all found themselves employed in the Pentagon. Upon
their discharge, they returned to civilian life and became successful business
men.
My brother did not fare that well. After
his discharge in 1946 at age 32 he returned to his accounting job, but ran into
difficulties. He went to night school for one semester to bone up on Cost
Accounting, but flunked the course. His boss transferred him to some other
factory job. Despondent because his latest girl friend gave him the air, he
resigned and became a door-to-door salesman, a decision which drove my mother
up the wall.
My big brother always directed my
life. He insisted I complete my
engineering studies when I came back from my military tour of duty. He saw to
it that I renewed my GI Life Insurance policy after I let it lapse. When I
bought a lemon of a car and could not maintain it, he bought it from me. He
headed me forward while he drifted.
He married in 1952, a decision that
drained my mother emotionally and physically. She had no confidence in his
ability to support a wife. They moved to Danbury , Connecticut
In 1965, he notified me that he had
gone to the Veterans Hospital
. His wife worked sometimes as many
as three jobs simultaneously, trying to maintain their household. Nothing went
right for them. They were always financially strapped. She left him and the
children, moved to Florida to live with her parents, and
divorced him. My big brother never recovered fully from this tide of
misfortune.
As he aged, he began to lose his
vision. Two bungled cataract surgeries left him legally blind. This led to his
suffering a broken leg when struck by a motorist as he crossed a busy street in
Danbury , refusing to use a white cane. I spent some time with him
during his three month long recovery period at a rehab facility. I found him to
be cantankerous. He showed disdain for other patients (he always thought
himself to be smarter than most folks) who shared the facility. He argued every
day with staff, unable to understand why he had to fork over most of his social
security check to pay for this service.
He suffers from allergies, especially
animal dander. While visiting him in October 1994 he became quite ill after
spending time at the home of a relative who had both cats and dogs. I took him
to see a geriatric physician, who just happens to have the same name as my
brother. Dr. Finnerty discovered my brother had developed another colon cancer,
a two-inch long tumor in the upper portion of the bowel. This news devastated
me but did not seem to unduly faze my big brother.
He underwent another colon surgery on
January 6, 1995 . He waved to me as he was wheeled off to the OR. Three
hours later, he was back in his private room, complaining of a bellyache. His
rapid recovery impressed the surgeon and other medical personnel. He joked with
nurses, claiming he had a sex operation and could now perform like a thirty
year old. In ten days, the hospital discharged him. He returned to live in his
apartment. My sister and I scrapped plans to send him to live in a convalescent
home. The first night home, he wanted to eat out, so we had brick-oven pizza
cooked at his favorite place. Words cannot describe my feelings about him at
that time. He seemed completely nonchalant.
My big brother had no financial
success in life. However, he is among the most fortunate of souls, in one
respect, in that the U. S. Government and the State of Connecticut have rolled out the red carpet for
him. He lives in subsidized housing. Medicare and Medicaid pay all his medical
bills.
A gifted surgeon had performed his
colon cancer surgery and spent a considerable amount of postoperative time
visiting with him in his private room at the Danbury Hospital
All this has cost him not a dime
beyond his Medicare insurance. He has received the finest care money could buy,
even if he did not pay for any of it. Do we live in a great country or
what? Why would our politicians want to
monkey with this plan? Get outta here.
Leave my big brother alone. He deserves the best.
When we celebrated his 81st birthday
on January 18, I looked at him and marveled. What perseverance and pluck he has
shown. He continues to play the piano a little, from memory, and he listens to
audio tapes of every sort. He pays close attention to all the radio talk shows,
and has a lively interest in Wall Street and financial affairs, even though he
never owned a stock or a bond. He has a keen mind, inquisitive as can be. He
has a phenomenal memory for poetry and other esoteric matters.
He cannot bear to make a decision of
any kind, and will extemporize for an hour rather than say either yes or no. He
has no concept of time. People serve him as though he were a king and the
entire world his domain. He does not think of himself as a welfare recipient,
rather an employer of folks who otherwise would have no jobs. This belief
characterized his quirky view of life.
My big brother molded my life, and I
thank him forever.
I wrote this on January
26, 1995 .
My big brother died on August
23, 2003 ,
and is buried in the same grave as our parents, home at last.
I love you, Jimmy.
Affectionately, your little brother,
Joe.
▄
.
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