with health care, and a clean working envi- ronment. His was the largest funeral I have ever witnessed. It was miles long, a full house at the synagogue with people standing in the back. He wasn’t a business titan, never set out to be. When I asked him he said his mission was to be the best on his block. Life is a miracle; we owe it all to our progenitors. We are the combination of all of their effort, all their hard work, all their struggles. Not just their struggles either, but everyones. We live in a world full of people. On a normal day, we fail to realize the epic nature of life itself. We are mere driftwood on a giant canvas riding an ocean of time, and even though it seems that we have little ability to affect the world, and even though we frequently find things are out of control, we can find some measure of solace, some measure of organization, some small cata- lyst of all the things to come by honoring our parents. That is why I write. That is why it is important to read. That is why this memoir of my father is not just his story but mine, and not just mine, but ours, and not just ours, but the future. Lessons learned, experiences shared, the summoning of all those spirits who came before us, and through quiet reflection, like signposts on a long journey, give a sense of direction and values for our own lives. One day a man will walk on another plan- et, and that man will be using his learned experiences at home to understand this new landscape, and if they are as thoughtful and loving as I expect them to be, they will also pay homage to their fathers and mothers. My Father,
One atomic bomb, then another, stopped the bloodshed and sent a whole bunch of hoot’n and holler’n guys back home, including my dad. Before the war, my father was on track to study medicine. The Army tested his IQ and selected him for just that, medical training. By the war’s end, he advanced to the level of T-5, surgical technician, a corporal in today’s army. The war experience ended up being too much for him. Having to treat wounded and dying soldiers left him scarred. When he was ready to return to school he chose marketing. While attending college he worked until 2 AM at the family’s drive-in restaurant as a short-order cook. Many times, he told me with the biggest smile on his face, “I must have cut a zillion onions and formed thousands of burgers, all while yelling ‘Pick Up!’ as they rolled off the grill.” Enrolled at Temple University. His parents were ecstatic. He became the first person in the family to earn a college degree. When I look back and think about how he obtained his degree it is a mystery to me. Who could have the time to concentrate after working those hours? His grades suffered, but he got through it. As a young man, my father also wrote lyrics. He told me he thought he could make it as a songwriter. We have his lyrics. One of them includes the music. I had that one professionally reproduced. Back in the day, that piece was etched to vinyl, but I haven’t been able to find the album. My parents loved to travel. When we were younger they piled us into the back of a coun- try squire station wagon and we took trips to Montreal - Canada, Gettysburg - Pennsylva- nia, Maine, Atlantic City - New Jersey, and more. Once we were old enough to take care of ourselves my parents started to take cruises. They loved cruising taking at least 50 cruises in their lifetimes, seeing the world in comfort; a far better way to travel than on a troopship wondering about enemy torpedoes, some- thing he experienced during the war. My father led an exemplary life. His busi- ness provided jobs for thousands, good jobs
Stephen Shooster
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