Remembering Ike, a member of ‘The Greatest Generation’

 

This column about my father Isaac “Ike” Kessler, originally was published on March 26, 2003, in The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro, MA. I’m posting it on my blog today, March 13, 2021, to honor the 18th anniversary of my father’s passing.

The column is also appropriate to publish in the same week that the one-year anniversary of the coronavirus pandemic has been observed, a scourge that has killed more than 530,000 Americans to date and that made 2020 the deadliest in American history.
Ike’s “Greatest Generation” eventually came together to defeat the Nazis and Imperial Japan --- no small feat after the devastation of the Dec. 7, 1941, attack on Pearl Harbor. World War II resulted in lasting changes and completely transformed American society, and the post-pandemic world may be nearly as transformative to American society.
Now, almost 80 years after the start of the United States’ entry into World War II, Americans have been battling a deadly virus that has become an invisible, but deadly, global plague. After a year, tremendous progress --- notably the rapid development of three effective vaccines --- has been made. But the discord and lack of unity or common resolve to defeat the virus is threatening to impede our progress, and could even set us back.
Instead of so many states turning their heads on the science by ending all restrictions well before it’s prudent to do so, we’d be better off as a nation if we took the lead from the World War II generation and united to defeat this virus once and for all, so we all can resume as much of our previous normal lives as possible.

Here is the column on my father Ike, which was published March 26, 2003, in The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro, MA --- 10 days after his graveside funeral.

With the United States again at war, it seems appropriate to remember a member of the rapidly disappearing World War II generation, which Tom Brokaw called “ The Greatest Generation.” I'd like to do that by sharing part of the eulogy I delivered at the March 16 funeral service for my father Isaac, whom everyone called Ike:
Ike was an everyday hero. He did not win the Congressional Medal of Honor, but he quietly did what his country asked him to do at a time of great need. Of course, that's precisely what the generation that grew up in the Great Depression did, so it wasn't surprising that Ike joined the Navy in 1943, became a radioman and spent the rest of the war prowling the North Atlantic on a destroyer escort as the allies fought their way to victory in Europe.
Like most World War II veterans, Ike didn't talk much about his wartime experience, even to his son, but he did occasionally reveal just enough to let you understand why he was never too rattled by the vicissitudes of everyday life in the post-war world.
His description of reciting what Ike liked to call the “major league” Yom Kippur confessional prayer, the ‘Al-Chait,’ while depth charges were going off all around him tells a lot about the man's character. He not only was a man of honor, but a man who had a healthy respect for God and was prone to talking to him in difficult times, not unlike Tevye the fictional milkman from “ Fiddler on the Roof.”
“Fiddler on the Roof” was among Ike's favorite plays, because unlike his son and daughter, the man had a beautiful voice. Ike couldn't afford to take many vacations too far away, but he and Mom never stopped talking about the time in the '60s when they saw Herschel Bernardi playing Tevye on Broadway, and got his autograph after the show.
Ike never gave up his love of singing, and in his later years he enjoyed singing to others, whether it was Passover seder songs to residents of the Hebrew Rehabilitation Center for the Aged in Roslindale, where he was a longtime volunteer, or to his friends at the Brookline apartment where he lived before entering a nursing home two years ago.
He loved singing to others because he was the personification of a people person. Ike was an amazing schmoozer. When he visited me while I lived in Florida, Ike met more people in my high-rise building — almost everyone — in a few days than I had met in almost a year. When I moved away, people were sad to see me go because that meant they'd never see Ike again.
Ike's desire to reach out was typical of what I'd call “ The Giving Generation,” and there were many ways in which Ike, to paraphrase the Wizard of Oz, showed himself to be a “ good deed-doer,” or a real mensch, which is how the wizard would have put it if Dorothy had landed in Miami Beach instead of Oz.
Growing up, Ike and my mother Sylvia were active in the Hebrew School in Dorchester that my sister and I attended. They routinely went the extra mile for the youngsters. In my father's case, that meant blowing his musical instrument of choice — the shofar — at the children's services for the Jewish New Year, and it meant taking busloads of Hebrew School kids to Fenway Park in the days when you could sit in the right field grandstand for less than a buck.
Ike never stopped giving, especially to my late mom. The depth of his commitment to her was exemplified by how well he took care of her in the waning years of her life while she battled Alzheimer's disease. His love for her knew no bounds, even when it jeopardized his health.
In his later years, his giving spirit extended to his grandkids. He doted on my daughter Arianna, his first grandchild, but his love didn't stop there. When my older sister got married for the first time almost four years ago, he embraced her husband's children, Stacy and Bryan. And Ike loved my wife Lynne like a daughter — even though she's an avid Yankee fan.
Ike understood hardship, which is why he gladly gave to charities, especially the Jimmy Fund. We could not go to a game at Fenway Park without Ike dropping change into one of the canisters inside the park.
The mention of Fenway Park forces me to discuss another aspect of his life where Ike gave his heart and soul. Yes, the man loved baseball. Born a Phillie fan, he saw the Phillies make the World Series in 1950 only to lose four straight to the New York Yankees. That left him no choice but to convert to Orthodox Red Soxism after moving to the Hub in 1953.
Ike's conversion meant we spent a lot of summers together at Fenway Park, especially in 1967. But even though we never saw the Sox win the World Series, Ike did experience every Red Sox fan's Impossible Dream of having the team win it all in his lifetime.
Yes, the Boston Red Sox last won the Big One on Sept. 11, 1918 — exactly one month to the day after Ike was born in Philadelphia. Which brings me to ask Ike to do me one small favor: Do what you can so those of my generation can make the same claim one day.