Goodfellows52: A few kind words about my dad in the Boston Globe

Goodfellows52: A few kind words about my dad in the Boston Globe: The guy in the middle is Albert John Blasi, who was on a troop ship heading to occupied Germany http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/obitu...

A few kind words about my dad in the Boston Globe

The guy in the middle is Albert John Blasi, who was on a troop ship heading to occupied Germany

http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/obituaries/2014/11/26/blasi-longtime-revere-high-baseball-coach-formerly-led-state-coaches-association/xa7uUxaeyfa1jtsHodQ3DK/story.html

AUBURN, Maine — I will be spending Thanksgiving with my family in Massachusetts. But when I look to my right after we sit down to eat, my dad won't be in the parlor with a plate of food in one hand and a remote in the other watching a football game at my sister's home.

His absence will be conspicuous. He was the life of the holidays and was usually surrounded by his family.

Losing a mom or dad just before the holidays is like getting sucker punched in a street fight. It hurts like hell and the pain never disappears. And after you get walloped, you want to take your anger out on the guy who just delivered the knuckle sandwich.

But when you look at your immediate family and realize you have to soldier on without your parents, you have no choice but to carry on. Nature works like that, but that doesn't mean we have to agree with the laws of this strange universe.

Today, my father received another deserved tribute. Boston Globe reporter Marvin Pave, a talented writer with a kind heart, wrote a great piece about a man who gave so much to his country, community and family. He was adored by rival coaches and his players who would have walked through fire to play for him.

That kind of dedication and respect is earned by human beings who have genuine empathy and integrity. My dad demonstrated both qualities and wasn't a narcissist who believed the world revolved around him.

So if you've got a minute, check the above link to Boston.com and read a well-written piece about guy who gave a damn about the right things in our short lives.

Goodfellows52: Letting go of dad

Goodfellows52: Letting go of dad: " My father was my teacher. But most importantly he was a great dad. " Beau Bridges REVERE/PEABODY, Mass. — He will n...

Letting go of dad

"My father was my teacher. But most importantly he was a great dad."

Beau Bridges

REVERE/PEABODY, Mass. — He will no longer be seated at end of the couch with a newspaper in his lap and hot coffee in one hand.

He was the first family member you saw when you walked in the front door. Albert Blasi would look up from his sports section and smile when someone entered the parlor. There was usually a game or an old war movie on the TV.

“Hey, they are here. Good to see you all. Missed ya,” my dad said. “How was the ride down? Mom’s in the kitchen. Go see her.”

When I left Sunday morning to return to Maine, his reserved seat on the couch was vacant and will remain that way forever. I was still waiting for a hug and a chance to say goodbye. I walked up to the empty couch said aloud, “I will always miss you.”

My father, a dedicated educator and high school baseball coach for 44 years, died on a Saturday, Nov. 8 and was buried on the 14th at Puritan Lawn Cemetery in Peabody, Mass. He was 81. Taps was played by the honor guard. That’s when the tears began to roll down my cheeks. I watched through water-filled eyes as two fine young servicemen folded the American flag with care and precision. A sharp looking soldier walked straight toward me and presented me with the flag.

“I accept this with honor,” I said. The soldier stepped back after handing me the flag and slowly saluted it as we stared eye to eye.

My father, an Army veteran who served during the occupation of Germany, was honored for his service to his country.

He was an honorable man who believed all people should be treated with compassion and respect. That’s why hundreds turned out to pay their final respects to a man who not only served his country but made a difference in his community, classroom and on a baseball diamond.

How many people get to say that before their lives come to an end.

I spent nearly two hours at a funeral home as mourners shared their Al Blasi stories with family members who were grateful to see hundreds turn out to say goodbye to our father.

A mass honoring Albert John Blasi was held at St. Anthony’s Church. They say the church was brought over brick by brick from Italy. It is a magnificent structure with bells that can be heard all over the city and the inside of the building is lined with stained-glass windows and numerous works of art.

The funeral procession to the church and cemetery was led by a police escort as the Revere Police Department sealed off streets all over the city as a long trail of cars passed. The procession drove past my father’s home before we arrived in Peabody.

My siblings and I are now orphans with the passing of this wonderful man. My mom died four years ago, which was the first blow to her four children. Their absences have left us with a sense of endles longing for their return.

But it’s doesn’t matter how my father died. It is how he lived, and he lived life large and fulfilling. He was an educator who taught others to go forth in life and make a contribution to the greater good.

It has been said that we are not truly forgotten until the last person who knows us dies.

Considering what he has done for a multitude of people, I believe the memories of Albert John Blasi will live on for decades to come.

Goodfellows52: Albert John Blasi - A lifetime of love and devotio...

Goodfellows52: Albert John Blasi - A lifetime of love and devotio...: REVERE, Mass. — My mother suggested I become the Revere High School baseball team’s ...

Albert John Blasi - A lifetime of love and devotion (Aug. 13, 1933 to November 8, 2014)

REVERE, Mass. — My mother suggested I become the Revere High School baseball team’s bat boy to spend quality time with my dad. I was a gangly, awkward 11-year-old, and his ballplayers never let me forget it. 

I was razzed by all of them, but I never met such a fine group of young men who remained devoted to coach. They were my heroes and loved by coach.

You see, my father’s second language was sports. He was also fluent in many of the language’s dialects such as football and basketball.

His knowledge of sports made him a diplomat in his community and around the world, and one helluva father who loved his children and wife. If you knew the difference between a football and a baseball and ignored hockey, you had no problem conversing with Albert John Blasi.

My father’s summer home was a baseball diamond, and he knew every inch of it — whether it was Curtis Park or Tony Conigliaro field. Sure, he easily held his own when discussing world issues, but Sports was his passion and cutting the lawn was left to me.

I spent the next two years retrieving bats and shagging foul balls that usually knocked out house windows at Curtis Park, making me the target of angry residents. But traveling to different ballparks with my dad was a privilege, and he did this for 43 years.

There was also another bonus beside the sound of shattered glass and cracked car windshields. I hung out with his players whose endless antics and humorous imitations of my dad made us all laugh. You could hear “Oh, boy” all around the locker room.

Of course, everybody has an Al Blasi story to tell, and those tales have been embellished over the years simply because of his positive influence on his family, students and ballplayers. 

When my father and the rest of the team sat in silence during a long bus ride home after Revere lost the championship game to Braintree, I wanted to give him a hug and all of us fought back the tears.

Early Sunday morning practices featured a Donuts with Dad day. My father bought coffee and donuts for the team despite the searing sun at Curtis Park. While my father swung a Fungo bat, it was open season on cinnamon donuts for the team.

When Big Al argued a call, suddenly turned and walked away, he drew the ire from an umpire.

“Where do you think you are going,” the flustered ump said.

My father’s response was quick: “I am going for a cup of coffee and donuts.”

He even made the front sports page of the Boston Globe with a poster-sized photo of my father pointing to the spot where the umpire allegedly missed the call.

If we scrounged up every Al Blasi story, we would be here for days. There is a reason why you are all here today. My dad this gift of reaching people, and I believe he is respected for his empathy and kindness toward his fellow man.

When he retired, Al and Louise went out for coffee to get away from it all each night. Look for any coffee shop in Revere and you might see the pair nursing a cup of java. He also enjoyed his new role as a caring grandfather who had no problem getting down on floor and playing with our children. He tried to spoil all of them. I have got pictures to prove it.

But if you think my dad, a man who served his country as an U.S. Army sharpshooter in an outfit called the Big Red One and later took advantage of the GI Bill to become a history teacher and eventually one of the finest high school baseball coaches on the diamond, was a one-dimensional man, then you never really knew him.

Albert John Blasi was born August 13, 1933 during the height of the Great Depression to Italian immigrant parents. He was a child during World War II and just missed the Korean war by one year when he was called to serve with the Big Red One — a unit that served with distinction during World War II. He was eventually shipped overseas during the occupation of Germany in 1954.

His service to his nation is why he is being buried with full military honors today in Peabody.

But he was not enamored the Army. Just when you thought Big Al was condemned to KP duty and endless drilling, he was rescued by colonel who witnessed my father pulverize a baseball with his mighty bat. Big Al was picked up on waivers to play for army company teams. Instead of lugging a .50 caliber machine gun or a bazooka, he carried a bat until he got home — just like Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio did during their service to their country in World War II.

My father was a maverick in the army and taking orders just wasn’t his style. When a Lieutenant drove up in jeep and ordered Big Al to go to another part of ridge to fight a forest fire somewhere in the Midwest, he replied, “Hey, Lieutenant, why don’t you go over there, sir. You have the jeep.”

While serving in Germany, he looked up his brother Lieutenant Rocco Blasi who was taking a refresher course at an officers club in Austria. My dad, an enlisted man, walked into the officers-only club to reunite with the Rock, but a few unlucky souls put up a fuss. Rock stepped in and made sure nobody had a problem with his younger brother. The issue was closed thanks to Rock’s menacing powers of persuasion and intimidating stature.

My father left the Army as a Specialist Third-Class, and despite serving with distinction, he never looked back and eventually obtained a masters in history. 

His army uniform, adorned with various service ribbons, still hangs in my closet.

Back in the states, Big Al attended Suffolk University, married Louise Davis and had four children who sometimes drove him up a wall, but I know he loved all the melodrama.

He was dedicated to his community and quietly went the distance for his students and his family. He was a man who helped others without any fanfare.

I will always be grateful to my three sisters who urged me to accompany my father at the Shurtleff School’s reunion in June, 2012. He kept an eye out for his ball players who were supposed to attend the event. Thank god for Richard DeCristoforo, who showed up and made my father’s night.

My father’s loyalty, integrity and sense of justice are beyond reproach, and we loved him for what he stood for in a world with the prevailing attitude, “What’s in it for me.”

But you know what I will miss about him?

Whenever we visited my mom and dad, my father always walked us to the car and gave me a hug before we returned to Maine.

“Make sure you call us when you get home,” he said.

But he said that to all his children because he always put his family first.

His infinite love for his family, community and his work in the classroom will be Albert John Blasi’s legacy.