Pragmatist
Pragmatist

                        IN MEMORIAM

My friend Harry died early this morning.  He would have been 90 in May.  He had not been well for several months, and didn't recover from surgery.  His family visited on Sunday, and he had brief periods of recognition of each person.

The funeral will be Friday morning.

Harry served in Europe during World War II as a tank driver under the Command of General Patton. I think he said he was in Africs, too, but I don't remember that for sure. He was a little guy--his driver license said 5'3"-- but his personality said GIANT.  He explained that the interior of the tanks was cramped, but small men fit perfectly.

Harry was born in New York, with all the moxie and chutzpah we expect with New Yorkers.  (Another urban myth, but it describes Harry.)  He had stories galore about his army days and his youth.  He claimed to have worked for The Mob in New York, but Harry himself was straight aces.

After Harry had a stroke and lost his driver license, I offered to take him to his doctor appointments.  Little did I realize how much time were going to spend together!  I took him for his haircuts.  We went shopping together.  He never ceased to entertain me with his stories.  The people he knew, the things he had done, a thorough and sometimes exciting life.

How a homely little guy like Harry attracted gorgeous women is another story.  His second wife was model-gorgeous.  It was the force of his personality.  People in general liked him.  He was a natty dresser in his youth, always very careful with his grooming.  There's one particular picture I'd like to have of Harry in formal dress.  My! he looked good!

Harry was a generous supporter of his synagogue.

Well, Harry, I'm going to miss you: Your mouth, your chutzpah, your kindness, your generosity.  But rest in peace.  I hope to see you eventually in the World to Come.

Love, Chaya