Milton Glicklich
April 18, 1925 - August 12, 2010
Eulogy
Everyone knew our father as Lucky, and that wasn’t an accident. Our name, Glicklich, means lucky or happy in translation, and while “Happy” wouldn’t have been a very good nickname, it would have been just as appropriate. Our Dad lived his life as a man who made his own luck, and found happiness everywhere he looked. This we all learned from him…. life is not defined by the things that happen to you, but the way you choose to handle them. There is always a choice. My father made his choice very young, and his friends picked a nickname for him that reflected that.
He was a man of humor, and of gentle good will. Alan and I spent our childhoods watching his easy and fun loving friendships with a cast of spectacular characters, some of whom are here today. We grew up listening to their stories, and we are who we are in no small part because of their friendship with my father. Don, Ralph, Shep, Ken… thank you.
Dad didn’t spend a lot of time talking about death, because he was too busy living. He would not want this day to be used as an excuse to mourn, but probably would prefer the telling of a few tales, the taller the better. So….
Dad loved to sing, but no one really loved to listen. He’d have a drink, maybe two, always a Brandy Old Fashioned, which would loosen his tongue, and maybe slightly relax his volume control. If anyone remembers Nino’s restaurant from the 1960s and 70s, many a dining room enjoyed his top ten Yiddish hits. He was, and there really is no nice way to say this, a bad singer, but his joie de vivre overcame that easily.
He loved to fish too, and that he was pretty good at. He didn’t really care for killing what he caught, but it’s hard to blame him for that. We did a lot of catch and release, but the ones that made it to dinner were pretty spectacular.
Speaking of dinner, there is no recounting of my father that does not include a healthy appetite for food and food talk. He loved to eat, and there need be no apology for that. As an adult, I spent many a night on the phone with him reliving our Milwaukee food adventures. They are too numerous to recount here, but I am going to just say this: Solly’s, Jake’s, Pitch’s, JoJos, Marc’s Big Boy Brawny lad, Kopp’s, and Leons.
Barnaby’s, Port China, Mike’s Deli, hash browns at George Webb, Speed Queen, The Charcoal Broiler, Suburpia, and, of course, Neds. Summerfest and State Fair, which ended yesterday. I’m sure he’s a little bummed.
His appetite for life was just as big, and his greatest lesson is the way he made his choices. His health declined, bit by bit, but he never gave up. He lived each day completely, and grabbed for every day of life that he could, just to have another experience, see another face, hear another story, and tell one too. He never gave in to death, even as it reached for him over the last eight years, and he made memories we’ll all cherish. He saw Emma, Rachel, and Sara, his grandchildren from Alan and Lori grow into brilliant and interesting young women, and he got to spend great time with his youngest grandchild, Samantha. He got to know my wife, Leigh, and they formed a remarkable and deep bond of love. He made a choice, to live as long as his body could sustain him, and God granted him his wish. It was a remarkable act of will, and a powerful lesson, one more from him, in the power of choice.
Speaking of choice, there’s another choice that needs acknowledgment today. Alan and especially his wife Lori, have cared for Dad in their home for the last 8 years. They knew that fulfilling his wish to experience all that he could required a level of care he could get nowhere else. People who care for an aging parent in their home for a week, or a few months are overcome at the work involved, which is continuous and unyielding. Lori, you in particular gave almost an entire decade of your life to caring for Dad, and there is only one word to describe it… heroic. Your heroism was a choice you made, every day. You spent so much time with Dad that you became his confidant, and his best friend, and in the process, became our hero.
It would be much harder to imagine life without Dad if he were not coursing through my veins. He’s in the way I talk, and in the way I think. When I do something good and gentle, his hand is over mine. God takes away our parents to remind us to teach our own children that they best honor us by being strong, self reliant, and carrying our lessons into the future that we will not see. Mission accomplished. Dad joins my Mother, his parents, and older sister now where time will only brighten their memories.
There will be a reception this afternoon at the home of Jori and Monte in Bayside. Jori and her sister Wendy are special childhood friends of Alan and I, and lost their own mother, Don’s wife, all too recently. It’s very wonderful of them to welcome us, and I hope you can come by. The Old Fashioneds will loosen everyone’s tongue a bit and we can tell one more round of stories about Milton Glicklich, Father, husband, brother, and gentleman.
Thank you for being here today.