Our families, Krouks, Ackermans, and others are lucky in having some wonderful fathers. I imagine that, for a son in my position, we probably have the same few things to say. I am lucky to be able to say them.

First, I want to say he was a wonderful father and I love him. And, while the occasion is sad, I am glad to be amongst all of you who also love him. One: Love.

Second, I want to say that I am grateful for all that he taught me about life … so much. Among those things, he taught that life is wonderful and constantly calls upon us to experience its fascinations, pursue its adventures, and share with those that we love. He taught by example how important it is to be polite and caring towards others. He taught me too many things to mention. But, I believe these things are his parenting legacy. Two: The Most Important Lessons in Life.

There is a third thing which I want to say. I will save it for the end of my remarks. In the meantime time, I would like to share with you a few things about my dad from our times together.

Oddly, I was raised by an atheist named Bernie but, I find myself at a Jewish funeral for a man named Ben. I think perhaps that, to a greater or lesser degree, we all contain multitudes. Maybe my father a bit more so than others.

I suspect we all would recognize him as Captain Krouk. My father loved his career as a pilot. He found the idea that humans could lift themselves off the surface of the earth and soar in the clouds wonderful beyond words. He was enthusiastic beyond measure that HE HIMSELF could, by applying his mind (and in the early years his physical talents), make a machine accomplish this whenever he liked … and he could take others with him on the ride. He loved the doing of it and the doing of things in general.

I cannot think of a single thing that my dad did not like about his career as a pilot. He was very lucky in that regard. His love of it all extended to aspects which many could not quite fathom. When I was a teenager, he used to call me up and suggest that we meet in a city, such as San Francisco, for lunch at the tail-end of one of his work trips. It wasn’t that it was particularly convenient for either of us to get there. We flew strictly space available and typically had to change planes twice to make it in those days. And, we weren’t even traveling together. To me, this seemed like a lot of work to see a guy who would otherwise be home later that same day. But, to him, he just thought, how could anyone not want to go? How could you not want to DO it? And so, sometimes we did.

My father loved exploration and adventure. These are particularly wonderful attributes in a father. Let’s rent a plane and look down on our own house! Let’s race go-carts! Let’s meet legendary cyclist Eddie Merckx! Let’s get a tour of an automobile factory! Let’s take a sea-plane between these Caribbean islands! Let’s clock our dog’s top running speed in our VW Bug! Let’s go to a jazz club in Montreal! Let’s snorkel! Let’s see the Soviet Union! Let’s tour Italy using only public transportation! Let’s figure out how to sail (again)! Let’s see an Edward Albee play! Let’s go on a 50 mile bike-ride, including a summit of Sugarloaf Mountain!

I would be remiss if I did not make clear that the adventure did not always have to be new … in virgin territory that is. He loved just walking around, particularly in cities, to “stumble into” things or to go on a quest to find particular things. I very much enjoyed many adventures with him in Manhattan that involved nothing more than walking around and perhaps looking for “that old falafel place” in the Village. Or, having him to host us for a dinner at Tele’s, that Greek restaurant in Queens.

My father, much to the horror of my mother, wanted us to find our passions in life and pursue them … to be happy by doing, rather than to acquire the means that might make us happy. Between the two of them, it was clear that I absolutely had to work very hard at something that paid well AND, at the same time, do what made me happy regardless of compensation. I think it is fair to say that love and respect was not the reason that the marriage didn’t last.

Actually, I do not know why my parents’ relationship did not work out; I do not even know if they did. But, I know that he was very sad about it and he cared about my mother deeply. I believe that to be true for all of the women that he made a life with, or seriously considered making a life with. My impression is that he was very genuine and loving in all of his relationships and saddened by their ends.

My father was very intelligent; remarkably and proudly so. He loved to put his mind to work … to DO things with his mind. To know how things work, why they work, and to know how to alter the outcome. That gave him great joy.

At the same time, he was a gentle and caring guy. I think that this combination of intelligence and gentleness sometimes led him to feel lonely. I think there were things that he knew to be true and yet could not bring himself to say. I think he chose to believe that people have in them goodness and good sense and that, given time, those properties would bubble up around the internal obstacles to effervesce at the surface. Many are the times, not just as a child, that I only saw in retrospect the long time that he waited for the better parts of me to surface and make right my course. That can be lonely. It requires patience and love. He was deeply kind and caring.

And, this is more or less where I want to end my remarks … the third attributes that sons of wonderful fathers wish to share on the occasion of their passing. Three: Kindness.
I believe that the last months came as a surprise to him. I know that they did to me. Because of him, I know life to be full of wonder. In many respects, he led a charmed life. So much luck, adventure, joy, and love. Now, I see with aching clarity that life cannot be counted upon to be wonderful or even humane back to us. Why these unspeakable events? I am sad to say that I see no reason for them. A final, tragic lesson about life.

I also know that this is one of those truths that he would think is better not said. And, I know that he would wait for my better self to effervesce. So, he has had one last patience to endure with me.

Truly, though, his suffering is finally over. So, let us be thankful for that.
Our families are lucky to have many wonderful fathers. I was lucky to have one of them as my own.

Now, my father is gone. I will miss sharing adventures and love with him.

Paul Francis Wasielewski passed away on September 15, 2015, at age 73. Paul did his undergraduate work at Georgetown University, and earned a PhD in nuclear physics from Yale. He won an Adenauer Scholarship which allowed him to do post-graduate work in Germany for a year.

After completing his education he worked as a scientist for General Motors for 35 years, while raising his family in Detroit Michigan. He retired to the city of Chicago, where he enjoyed traveling the world, riding his bicycle, playing the piano, attending the symphony and opera, hiking, and studying languages.

He leaves behind his loving wife Margaret, three children: Karen, Lynn, and Carl, two grandchildren: Will and Mathilda, and four sisters: Fran, Ellen, Rita, and Laura.

IN MEMORIAM:

William Joseph Maxson passed away peacefully on Thursday, August 27, 2015 at home in Houston, Texas. He was blessed with ninety-seven years on Earth.

He will be missed and lovingly remembered by his son Denis M. Maxson and his wife, Elizabeth; four grandchildren, Denis J. Maxson and his wife, Kelly, Noreen Maxson, Tara Maxson, Eileen Maxson and her husband, Arie Bouman; great-grandson William Augustus Maxson; sister, Josephine McGahan of Dingman’s Ferry, Pennsylvania; nephew Michael Gallo and niece, Loretta Coleman and her husband, Hubert of Connellsville, Pennsylvania; and many more nieces, nephews and extended family and friends.

William began life on 54th Street in Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan on May 14, 1918. He was the son of Arthur and Lauretta Wynn Maxson, and brother to a loving and motley crew of eleven brothers and sisters: Arthur, Loretta, Edward, Irene, James, Robert, Josephine, Eugene, Valentine and Ann. While the rough-and-tumble neighborhood they all knew has long since changed, William still fondly remembered chopping firewood for his mother and her friends, Mrs. Rosenback and Mrs. Wolfe, to use in their cooking stoves, and the years he was afforded an education at Saint Ambrose Catholic Grammar School down the street. Happier memories still, he could recall mornings spent rivaling over his mother’s pancakes with his brother, Eddy and his sister, Irene.

At the age of twenty-one, William met Marguerite Portzelt, the love of his life, and married her the same year on November 26, 1939 at Sacred Heart Church on West 51st Street. They enjoyed thirty-eight years of marriage and had two children together, Denis Michael and Kathleen Ann. As a family, their life together was filled with love and laughter, typified by William using any (any every) occasion to sing his sweetheart a song, often times “If I Had It My Way” by Bing Crosby. Forever devoted, William remained a widower after Marguerite’s passing in January 1977.

More than anything, William found joy, laughter and happiness in his family and in his children; first as a father, then as a grandfather and great-grandfather. He coached his son’s rag-tag baseball team in the Bronx, and could even find fun as a disciplinarian. When Denis was grounded, William liked to pretend that all of Denis’ friends were coming to call for him. He would open the front door and say, loud enough for Denis to hear, “I’m so sorry, but Denis can’t come out and play. He did such and such a thing. He’s grounded. Have lots of fun!”. As “Gramps”, he reveled in our laughter at his practical jokes, and our delight when he “found” money behind our ears. At Christmas time, his performance as Santa was an institution. Every year, he generously passed out gifts to the kids and wise cracks to the adults in equal measure.

On a somber point, an impactful period of William’s life was time spent as a soldier. During World War II, he served honorably in the United States Army in the storied 29th Division, 115th Infantry, Company B. He fought in Holland and Germany during two fierce, hand to hand combat battles which earned him the Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, among other awards and decorations. Wounds inflicted during his service impacted William for the rest of his life. Fragments of shrapnel, too deep to remove, remained in his body for over seventy years, as did the psychological impact of war.

With this in mind, the family asks that, in lieu of flowers, please consider making a donation to the Wounded Warrior Project:

https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org/

The family would like to thank the following extraordinary people who provided great support and love to William during his final years with us:

Freddie Ruth Arceneaux, Caregiver
Debra Hunter-Shivers, Caregiver and Owner, Mimi’s Caring Angels
Nik Taylor, Registered Nurse
Jessieca Walker, Caregiver
Ann Prasek, Minister of Holy Communion

Eulogy, Denis J. Maxson

I would like to begin by thanking some of the wonderful people who helped my parents take care of my grandfather, or Gramps as we called him:

Debra Hunter-Shivers, Jessieca Walker, Freddie Arceneaux, Nik Taylor and Ann Prasak.

Anyone who was fortunate enough to know Gramps remembered him as the life of any party with a sharp wit and ability to make anyone smile or laugh. He especially loved to make children happy, most notably my 3 sisters and I, sometimes to the dismay of our parents.

For much of our childhood Gramps only lived a few doors down from us with our Aunt Kathleen. If Mom and Dad said “no” to something, “yes” was often only a few houses away.

Here are some of the great memories that we shared over the years:

Every year on my sister Noreen’s birthday just before Christmas, Gramps dressed up as Santa Claus to our joy and amazement. He was so good at playing the part that we did not even realize it was him for many years.

We spent a lot of time growing up at Gramps’ summer house in the Pocono Mountains. There we explored the woods, walked down to the general store for ice cream, swam in the lake, and sat out on the screened porch talking and playing in the evenings.

One on one time with Gramps was always very special to all of us. I still fondly remember learning about baseball while playing catch in his driveway. He was always mindful to make sure we all felt very special.

As we got a little older you would not believe how often Gramps found money on the floor that we had “dropped” or somehow had lodged itself behind our ears.

Then when I was a teenager, while on my way out to the beach, Gramps came running out the front door after me with his bathing suit and beach towel in hand, saying he was ready to go!

He may not have remembered your name as many a “Whoseit" could tell you but Gramps still made them all smile and laugh.

Going back, one of the most famous stories in our family lore took place at the Poconos house during a family Labor Day party in 1970. My Dad announced my parents wedding engagement to the group. Before anyone could react however Gramps added, “Don’t worry. He does this every year with a different girl.”. Everyone erupted with laughter, even my parents. Well at least that is what they say now, 45 years later.

Even a couple of weeks before he passed away, Gramps still had his moments. After a weekend meal at my parents’ house we decided to bathe his great grandson Gus before heading home. To get to the bath we had to walk past Gramps’ bedroom where he was watching a baseball game. After a 30 minute battle Royale of a bath, Gus skipped out clean and happy, followed by me exhausted, soaking wet, and even bloodied. Gramps looked up at me as we approached him and said, “Oh are you done? I was just about to get up and come in there to help you.”

I laughed and walked out of the room with a big smile on my face.

Gramps we all love you and will miss you.

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My daughter was traveling with her dad to Whippoorwill Camp Grounds to go camping and see what New Jersey had to offer when their car was t-boned by a drunk driver. My daughter did not die instantly. The first witness on the scene said she crawled in the car with Emandalee and talked to her until she took her last breath. Emandalee's aorta was severed from the bottom of her heart and she bled out internally. She was dead by the time paramedics got to the scene.

I have zero tolerance for drunk drivers who could care less and have no respect for other's lives. My family continues to be deeply, deeply hurt and saddened by this.

Barbara K. Jasin passed away on September 2, 2015 at her home in Apache Junction, AZ. She was born in Kankakee, Il on November 17, 1935. She was the daughter of Hazel and Charles Bostwick,had a sister Carolyn who preceded her in death. She is survived by her husband Robert M Jasin, three sons Mike Kinney of Monee, Il, Mark Bohn of Bloomfield, In, Terry Bohn of Mesa, Az. A brother Charles Bostwick of Satellite Beach, Fl and several grandchildren and step-grandchildren.

Barbara enjoyed the outdoors, fishing and camping. She was an avid fan of NASCAR. One of her favorite activities was hopping a bus to the Casino. She will be missed by all.

She was the youngest of the children of Nikollë and Dranafile Bojaxhiu (Bernai).[18] Her father, who was involved in Albanian politics, died in 1919 when she was eight years old.[15][19] Her father may have been from Prizren, Kosovo while her mother may have been from a village near Gjakova.[20]