Except for perhaps ten people who read these weekly musings, none of you know the gentleman who is the topic of this week’s commentary. I’d tell you his whole name, and perhaps I will at the end, because if I do that at the outset, you’ll think I’m just a name dropper!
Okay, his first name is Harry. I don’t know how many Harry’s you know or have met, let alone how you feel about them, but the name Harry for me has a number of special connotations. Among them are strength of character, reliability, thoughtfulness, and a sunny nature.
My friend Harry was born in the State of Maine the same summer that Charles A. Lindberg flew the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs, and President Calvin Coolidge announced from his summer vacation residence in South Dakota that “I do not choose to run for president in 1928!”
Harry was raised in rural Maine with a brother named Arthur, another brother named Bob, and a sister Ellen. Born of sturdy stock, his mother lived into her nineties just as he has. Best of all, he captured the affections of one of the loveliest of ladies named Sharon in 1956. In the next eight years, Harry and Sharon would have three marvelous children: Jeffrey, Jon, and Ellen. A sweeter little family I’ve never known! Harry was the rock foundation.
Harry didn’t rule his family, he steadied it. He has an infectious little chuckle that under certain circumstances nettles his wife. He loves checkers and chess and enjoys watching or listening to baseball, especially Red Sox baseball, although unlike some husbands, he never caught hell for being obsessed over it.
Harry has elements of New England reserve and rugged handsomeness along with a slow rural New England drawl. He is affectionate to his wife and children and tolerant but tactful in his relationship with family and friends without being overly demonstrative. His patience is almost endless - so indeed is his interest in others!
One summer during the 1960s, his mother-in-law Edith borrowed a tandem bicycle from the residential school for the blind that I attended and where she worked as a house parent. Harry and I took a spin on it with him driving in front as I eagerly furnished the power and the speed from the rear. As we approached home, Harry started urging “whoa.” Next he was shouting “whoa,” and finally he was laughing and practically gasping “whoa, Nelly!” as we shot into the driveway and beyond where his car was parked… ending up in a huge hedge that separated two driveways.
Harry is New England through and through — particularly rural New England. He owned a set of albums of New England humor by two divinity students. The first was called “Bert and I,” while the second was called “The Bluebird, Number Two.” Harry would almost slap his sides listening to the story about the Maine farmer who won a week’s trip to New York City by winning a radio version of “Name That Tune.” Yes, indeed, he got it: the answer was the Battle Hymn of the ‘Public and then he was off to the big city. Upon his return, the town mayor thought it would be a good idea to welcome the old boy back. Thus, all of the townsfolk were at the depot. “How’d you like New York?” They all almost shouted in unison. The old farmer paused for just an instance before saying, “There was so much going on down at the depot, I didn’t get a chance to see the village!”
I was visiting him and his family one Thanksgiving when the Greyhound bus from Rochester arrived at the bus station in Watertown, New York. At the same time, a taxicab pulled into the station. As he greeted me by the bus, he said, “A cab pulled up just as the bus did and I hesitated because a taxi from Rochester costs a lot more than a bus and I decided that if you’d taken that cab, you’d be on your own!”
When I first met Harry on Thanksgiving Day in 1964, he and his family lived near Albany, New York where he was employed by the Department of Agriculture. Albany, the capital of New York and the seat of state government, is also the seat of New York State politics. Harry, being a lifelong New Englander, shared my then lifelong Republicanism. I was a real Goldwater “firebrand” back then who was absolutely certain that anyone who didn’t share my conservative Republican values was emotionally and patriotically imbalanced, to say the least! I could tell right off that Harry wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as I was about Senator Goldwater, but he was definitely a Republican - even if he was a “Rockefeller” Republican! “I understand your fire,” he told me one day, “but you have to leave room for others to join you if you hope to carry the majority with you.”
It’s difficult to adequately convey why Harry is so special. A lifelong Methodist, he has never, in my presence, waxed eloquent on his values, his beliefs, or even his faith. In fact, I’ve never heard Harry talk about himself. Nor does he even acknowledge his selflessness. He’s one of those gentleman who focuses on you whenever you’re with him.
There are millions of guys named Harry! Perhaps the most prominent Harry was Harry Truman. Well, there’s a touch of Truman in my friend Harry’s plain unassuming nature, although the former president doesn’t even come close to my friend Harry’s soothing temperament.
So, you may well ask, why tell us about someone we’ve never met and probably never will? The answer is at least threefold.
First, what Abraham Lincoln called “the better angels of our nature” are more likely to come forth to our benefit when we’re willing to learn about those better angels that make up other people’s character; Second, the most constant partner in all of our lives is ultimately our good name. Some names just stand out. (Isn’t it always a bit shocking when there’s a headline about a man named Washington who is caught lying?) Third, it might be observed that the worth of your name or mine is initially up to you and me. Since that Thursday, November 26th, 1964, this man named Harry has embodied to me that gentle combination of strength, reliability, and wonderful humor that any person would be proud to be known for.
Sadly, it appears that Harry is approaching the twilight of his time with us. Sharon informs me that he’s captured the hearts of the nurses and medical staff who have cared for him. (I’m not the least bit surprised about that!)
Since the days of William Shakespeare humanity has asked, “What’s in a name?” My friend Harry has a very famous name which you all will recognize.
Still, Harry Potter is no wizard — he’s just folks!
RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED,
EDWIN COONEY
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