Discussion about this post

User's avatar
Gary Cavalli's avatar

I was blessed to have a father who loved his family above all else, who cared little about material possessions or keeping up with the Joneses, and who devoted his life to taking care of his wife and three sons.

Dad grew up in Hoboken, New Jersey, where he was a childhood friend of Frank Sinatra. I always say that Sinatra grew up to be a great singer; my dad grew up to be a great man.

He had a long and successful career selling everything from motor oil to paint to pet supplies. After he retired, I helped him get a job in the Stanford Athletic Department, running the gym store, which began a love affair with Stanford sports that continued until the day he died.

Even now, anytime I run into a Stanford coach or athlete from that era—people like Dick Gould, Mark Marquess, Paul Wiggin or Jim Harbaugh (who got to know my dad when he was attending Palo Alto H.S. and his father was Stanford’s defensive coordinator)—the first thing he will say to me is, “I loved your dad” or “I miss your dad.”

That’s because my dad was such a unique, engaging, unforgettable man. He always had a joke, a story, a piece of music, a recipe, a mutual fund, or a sports team he wanted to tell you about.

He had such enthusiasm for life. He made people feel welcome and comfortable and special. He loved to make people laugh, to help people, to share some important piece of information, to show them the right way to do something.

I used to tell my dad that the older I got, the smarter he got. He showed me what was really important in life. How to be a good husband and father. How to love a woman and honor her and take care of her. How to support, advise, and guide my children—demand a lot of them, set high standards, but love them unconditionally and back them up at every turn.

I just hope I’m half the man he was.

Expand full comment
Cindee Robertson's avatar

My dad grew up on a potato farm on the Oregon/Idaho border, traded potatoes so he could pay for room and board at University of Idaho, ran track at U of I, and was just beginning law school at Willamette when World War II began. He joined up, came home in 1945, raised four kids, played NW baseball, loved the NY Yankees, loved fishing, worked hard and died 36 years ago. He taught us to be honest, work hard, bait hooks, throw a decent ball, and always to respect people. Miss him today and every day.

Expand full comment
138 more comments...

No posts