Brendan O’Connor passed away last month. He died here in Tarpon Springs, at eighty-three years of age after a prolonged illness. That’s unnerving for me, with a brand new Medicare “Senior Citizen Membership Card” in my wallet: I never thought of my first cousin Brendan as “old”.
I first met Brendan when I was six. We were living in Cincinnati in the early 1960’s, and Brendan came to visit. You see, my mother was from England, and most of her large family was still there. Brendan was the son of her oldest brother Leslie, and like his sister before, he came to visit America and stay with my parents, his aunt and uncle. It was a family tradition, a kind of O’Connor rite of passage. It’s the rite Mom did before “the war” (World War II). She stayed with Leslie and his wife Marjorie in Belgium, where she was enrolled in “finishing school”, and she was happy to repay her brother’s family the favor.
Leslie was killed flying his personal airplane in 1959, so when Brendan arrived in 1962, recently out of the British Army, the accident was still fresh. But I didn’t know about all that. What I knew was that this HUGE man, my cousin, was here. You see, I would grow up to be by far the tallest in our immediate family at 5’7” – so we are diminutive group. When twenty four year old Brendan arrived at 6’2” plus, he seemed enormous. He was very climbable.
Brendan stayed for a month or two, exploring Cincinnati, then I think he went back home to England. But he soon returned, this time to stay and make his life here in America, and for the first few months, with us.
Brendan ultimately took US citizenship, but was, as Gilbert and Sullivan would say, “HE IS AN ENGLISHMAN!” He was kind hearted, with that British accent. When he came in the door there was always a big “Hel—Lo!!!”, always two parts with the pause in the middle. He became a salesman, finding a niche in selling artificial flowers. First it was in Cincinnati, then he moved throughout the Midwest. Everyone knew the big Englishman with a trunk full of flowers and a hearty laugh.
For a long time, Brendan was “on the road”, travelling from town to town selling his products. When I turned sixteen, I bought my first car from him. It was a 1969 Plymouth Fury III, and it was only three years old – a new car to me. But the Plymouth already had well over a hundred thousand miles. Brendan covered his “territory” many times, across Iowa and Kansas, Indiana and Illinois.
He always stayed in touch with us, close to our family and particularly to Mom. When he fell asleep at the wheel and literally drove into a train, Brendan left his totaled car in Kansas and came straight to Cincinnati to recover. And he was always back to our house for Mom’s holidays and birthdays, and especially Christmas. Mom made everything “English” for Christmas. For Brendan it was just like home. He was a part of our family, and he was definitely Mom’s favorite.
Brendan moved to Chicago and eventually found Carolyn, and they got married and settled there. We saw a bit less of him then, but still stayed connected. And there were what my Mom would call one of her “coincidences”. Our family went on summer vacation to Cape Cod. Brendan knew we were there, but no plans were made. I don’t think he even knew we were at a fisherman’s cottage in Chatham.
We were out exploring, wandering through the small towns on the Cape. We stopped at a grocery store. As we gathered our supplies, we heard a familiar voice on the other side of the shelves. “Mom – I think Brendan and Carolyn are here!” There was a joyous reunion in the parking lot!
Brendan became involved in the “British” club in Chicago. And while he was always a proud son of England, he also was proud of his adopted country, now thirty years his home. He applied for American citizenship, and was honored to take on the obligations of this nation. His friend, Federal Judge Art Spiegel, was proud to administer the oath. So he was both, the Englishman and now American. It was a good life.
Unfortunately Carolyn got sick, leaving Brendan a widower far too soon. He was just sad, alone. So he closed up his Chicago operation and moved here to Tarpon Springs. He got involved here too, as President and District Lieutenant Governor of the Tarpon Springs Kiwanis. And he met Mary Watts, a retired school administrator and also a widow. They soon fell in love and married.
They found a beautiful home tucked away on along the golf course, opening to their own swimming pool in the back. It was an ideal place to “retire”. But Brendan and Mary were more than just Florida retirees. They stayed involved in the community and church. They went on cruises with their friends, and entertained poolside at their home. And they stayed connected to our family in Ohio, and the rest of the clan back in England.
When Brendan got sick, it was Mary who stood loyally by him, taking care and managing hospitals, nursing homes and doctors.
I last saw Brendan at his 80th birthday party, at their home here. Family was “represented” – I drove over from Vero Beach where my wife and I were camping, my sister Pat flew in from New York, and Brendan’s nephew David came in from England. Brendan was already battling illness, but we all had a good time reminiscing about the past and doing our best to avoid present-day politics. At breakfast Sunday morning, Brendan, aware of his own mortality, asked me if I would do this eulogy. I was honored to tell him I would, and, in spite of the difficulties of our current era, I am honored to be here today.
He led a good life, an adventurous life, and a life that made those around him better. He was the model, of “AN ENGLISHMAN”, but also an example of the best of America. He came and started a new life here, and had success in business and family, and had love in life. What more could a man ask?
Rest in well-earned Peace Brendan: we look forward to hearing your “Hel-Lo!!” once again.
