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Fred was a friend of mine. He was the father of my best friend's wife. He was a simple laborer in New England, a guy of Polish background who married an Italian girl way back when. He never had much money, never looked to have it. His daughter was trying to get by in New York City when she happened to meet my friend. After they got married (I was best man, as he was mine), and had two sons, Fred moved down with them to Dallas, as his wife had died shortly before his daughter's wedding in 1984, and he had no more immediate family in New England.
He could have been considered a "crusty old New Englandah," but he also had a heart of gold. His greatest pleasure in life was having his grandsons around to talk to, yell at when they were too rowdy, and embraced them when they came to their senses. My elder daughter spent a semester of school living with them in Dallas, the first time she had lived away from Europe. They took her in, and Fred became a third grandfather to her, telling her all about the world according to Fred after school on the couch before dinner. She loved every minute of it, and soon called him "poppy" just like his two biological grandchildren.
When Fred knew I was coming over to the States, he always made it a point to run down to the local Sam's Club to buy me two pounds of raw shelled pecans to take back to Europe, for no other reason than he knew I liked them. He got pleasure out of making other people happy.
Up until a couple of years ago, he would still be walking all over Dallas in all kinds of weather, just taking in the pleasure of being out among people, surprising the locals with his (to them) odd-sounding accent, engaging them in casual talk for nothing other than the sheer pleasure of some human conversation.
Then he got sick. He has circulation problems, then kidney failure, needed dialysis, and got pretty much sidelined. The last few months he needed outside care and his only regret was the burden (it wasn't much, but you'd never convince him of that) he put on his family. He got some physical therapy, but it was clear in the last few weeks he was not going to last much longer. He passed away at home, peacefully 2 days ago at age 83.
Just an ordinary guy, a simple laborer, the kind of guy you'd maybe meet on the street, think "there's a cool old character," and go your way, never giving him a second thought.
Maybe I would have, too, but he was a friend, special to me and to all who knew him, and the world is just a tiny bit poorer because he's gone. Guys like him come and go, pass through our lives, mostly inconspicuously, and we rarely know the depth beneath the simplicity. But my worldly, sophisticated, internationally traveled 25 year old daughter bawled like a baby when she heard the news. I understand why.
So long, Fred. It was a privilege to know you, and if you think of it, save me a few pecans for the other side, will ya?
I knew you would.
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