HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAROLD KEANE!

When my late father-in-law was little he truly believed all the flags were on display because of his birthday.  I never found out who really disabused him of that notion.

Harold was of those called the "Greatest Generation."  His father was County Cork Irish and left the Auld Sod one day for unexplained reasons -- his two brothers also left the same day, one for Canada and the other for Australia; suspicious circumstances, indeed.  Harold's father settled on the Massachusetts South South, married, worked in the shoe industry, and had a bunch of kids.  A family story -- possibly true -- was that he had a chance to join up in a start-up company called Thom McAn but declined because he thought it was too risky.

Harold's father was probably an alcoholic, which left the heavy lifting of raising a family to his wife.  Their oldest boy, Bob, caught polio at age eleven.  His mother was told that he would never survive, then that he would never get out an iron lung, then that he would never be able to get around or hold a job.  With her Irish stubbornness and grit, she proved them wrong -- Bob did all of these and -- although he did not have use of his legs, managed to get along quite nicely on crutches and lived into his eighties after a long and successful career at Raytheon.  The youngest child, Claire, had Down syndrome.  Her mother was told that she would not live long and that should have to be institutionalized for what time she did have.  Again, the naysayers were proved wrong; Claire lived far beyond her life expectancy and passed away at 43, living at home, hold down a job, and surrounded by a loving and dedicated family (I was one of the ones who loved Claire dearly -- she was a sweetheart).  In the middle, along with Harold, were two brothers and three sisters.  All were good people, talented and smart and happy with their own life choices.

When World War II broke, Harold and his cousin Eddie enlisted in the Navy.   They swapped off during parts of their physicals, Harold taking exams as Eddie for those portion they knew Eddie would fail, and vice versa.  Harold ended up in the Pacific Theater and was award a Bronze Star for bravery.  When Kitty was young he would regale her with humorous stories of his time in the service; he never spoke of the dark times or the scary times -- few people of that generation did.  After the service and married with tow very young children, he entered Georgia Tech to study engineering.  But he had never finished high school and when Georgia Tech discovered that, they tried to kick him out;  they couldn't and that was evidently something that grated on some school officials.

Harold worked most of his life for technical companies on contract to the military -- usually the Air Force.  His work was almost always hush-hush and he would be away from home for months at a time.  Whenever there was a family problem, Eileen had a telephone number to call and she would leave a message and that message would eventually be relayed to Harold; sometimes that took several days.  When Harold worked at Cape Canaveral, Eileen and the kids would be housed at a local motel or trailer park.  Sometimes Harold would wake Kitty and her brothers in the middle of the night and say that it was a great time to take a walk.  They would go down to a nearby beach and there they would watch, among other things, the first Gemini rocket take off.  Of course, Harold could never say why he wanted to take the kids for a walk because a lot of what he did was classified, but Kitty always appreciated being able to view a few moments of history. 

Harold was basically an easy-going man with a great sense of humor, but he was always one step away from County Cork Irish and had a seldom revealed Irish temper.  I was it flare up once or twice and was glad I was never its target -- once when the woman hired to make Kitty's wedding dress refused to pattern it according to her wished, and once when he had an encounter with a dishonest car salesman. (honesty and integrity were the mainsprings of Harold's being).

Harold died in his early eighties of pancreatic cancer, after having twice before appeared to have beaten that terrible disease.  He died as he wished, at home; no hospitals for him.  We were sad that he died a few days before his great-grandson Mark was born, because he would have loved Mark -- both as a baby, then a child, and finally a man we could always be justly proud of.  But I cannot be too sad, because when I think of Harold I automatically think of Mark and I realize that the Circle has not been broken.

Both Kitty and I were fortunate because he both had extraordinary fathers who stood head and shoulders above so many of the crowd.  (And I smile when I use the phrase "stood head and shoulder above the others" because Harold was typical county Cork Irish, with a build like a fireplug, short in height but tall in stature.)

Harold, it has been an honor knowing you and being a part of your family.

Today, as on every Flag Day, the family is off to gorge ourselves on ice cream, Harold's favorite treat (excepting, of course, bread pudding  liberally doused with whiskey).