Doc
He was born in the Roaring 20’s, 6 years before the Depression and right in the middle of Prohibition. He knew nothing of those events, he was a kid growing up on the streets of Union City and Hoboken, New Jersey. He was born in his mother’s family home at 1209 Park Avenue, Hoboken and spent most of his young life living there with his aunts and uncles. Not at 311 6th Street, Union City which was his listed address.
His best friend Pete lived in Hoboken but their adventures spanned Fort Lee to Point Pleasant. “Uncle” Pete talked about he and Tommy spending a whole day in the Meadowlands section of Jersey City gathering a big paper bag filled with frogs, which they proceeded to leave turned over as they exited their Streetcar to the screams of the ladies in the back.
He attended Emerson High School in Union City and although the school did not have a basketball team, his yearbook is peppered with references to his basketball prowess. Reading that same 1941 Emerson High Yearbook, he is viewed as a “swell guy” by more than one gal and guy. His nickname was “Doc” implying a thoughtful character. The picture is of him on the left, his best friend Pete was always a larger-than-life presence, with Joe-Mac and Angelo. He had already perfected the Robert DeNiro look before Robert DeNiro perfected it.
He enrolled in Lehigh University and played several games on the Freshman Basketball Team before being drafted into the US Army. Before leaving for Europe, he married his sweetheart, Edith. Wounded during the Battle of the Bulge, he came home in January 1946 with a 20% disability for which the Government agreed to pay him $23 per month forever. Tom Jr. was born 10 months after his return to Edith, followed by Kevin and Dennis. He never played basketball again. He bought his kids all the stuff, but none of us really liked sports. It was the 50’s and Ed Sullivan and Soupy Sales were on TV. He worked for a meat packing company as a Traffic Manager until they moved to Texas. Then he took a job selling cars.
I remember my Mom yelling “You’re going to sell cars!” as if it was the most impossible thing in the world. “You won’t talk to ME!” But he sold cars and became the manager of the dealership and he and Mom had quite a few paid trips complements of the Ford Motor Company. He still didn’t talk much. When I asked a personal question he’d say “What are you writing a book?” Maybe I should have said yes. He worked long hours. When Dennis went to school, Mom got a job at the Lipton Tea Company.
Someone bought the apartment house we lived in and wanted the first floor apartment (ours). In 1964, at 41 years of age, he bought a house in Park Ridge, NJ for $25,000. He used the GI Bill and put $25 down. After he bought the house, he took Edith to see it. We were the picture perfect successful American family. Two years later, Tom Jr. was killed in the Vietnam police action. It was the only time I ever saw my father cry. Sobbing is more accurate. He hugged me and sobbed “The bastards killed Thomas.”
On his 60th birthday, I found my Dad smoking in the living room after dinner and sat and asked, “What’s up” and he replied, “I haven’t figured out what I want to do with my life.” And I said without hesitation, “I’d appreciate you’re saying something like I’m happy and content with my life thus far”. He was silent. So was I.
He got to see my son play baseball and soccer (no, not basketball). Four years after my Mom died, he threw himself an 80th Birthday Party and invited everyone still alive and it was a great party. Four years later, he’d had enough and died. There are still a few questions I’d like to ask you. But they can wait.
Happy Birthday, Dad
kongoboken 