As is true of us all, Chappie O'Leary was many things to many people. He was a husband and lover, a father, a grandfather, a son and sibling, an uncle and relative, a policeman and bail commissioner, a leather worker, a businessman and realtor, a chauffeur and directions giver, a golf player and sports fan, a joke teller and raconteur, a Christian, a card player and a dancer and, mostly, a friend .
As husband to Millie, he was an unending source of the family values of love, selflessness and tolerance. He was, in mother's words, "the most kind, gentle and considerate man I ever met."
As a father, he was a strong, calm, forgiving presence in our home. His easygoing, supportive manner made him an approachable source of good, down-to- earth advice. His expansive, non-judgmental nature was a reassurance to us as we struggled with growing up and becoming individuals. And he never took that personally. He never seemed to feel that our mistakes were his, or that he should live his life through ours. We always felt he trusted us to make the right choice, and, if we erred, to do the right thing to make up for it.
None of us ever felt he was ever disappointed in any way in anything we said or did. And, believe me, I tested his patience to the limit. He never even flinched when my sister Dianne, working as a waitress at Hampton Beach her freshman summer of college, told him she needed a six-pack of beer each week to get the salt out of her hair. I remember many times that he would give us jobs to do while he was at work, either to shovel the driveway or mow the lawn. He would then come back from work, only to find the driveway shoveled only to the point where we could play basketball or the mower silent in the middle of the half-mowed lawn while we played wiffleball out back. He would grumble and mutter, and then get out and finish the job.
Chappie was a wonderful grandfather. He delighted in his grandchildren, seeing something special in each one and making each one feel his love. He loved to hear and tell stories about them; he listened to them carefully and always remembered what they said for the next visit. He engaged their love and attention and drew them into his heart. He made each grandchild feel special. He was huge to them in size and depth. We all have images of our children standing before him, looking straight up with their heads all the way back as he leaned over them, filling their sight and world.
As an uncle and relative, Chappie was free with his home as well as his love. He opened hi s home to many relatives, starting with Aunt Priscilla when she lost her father at 16 (she still feels he was her dad, too) to his invalid sister Marguerite, his mother Nora, Millie 's mother Effie, and even to friends here today. He was at every family function, listening and laughing and trying to help.
Chappie loved to play cards and dance. The most common sight in his house was a card game around the kitchen table, with young and old joining in. His dancing was superb. Images of Chappie and Millie gliding around the floor on their 50th wedding anniversary still linger.
Chappie was also a policeman. He loved the law-the order and permanence of it, and struggled to understand those who disobeyed it. The pain and suffering he saw as a policeman eventually forced him to leave the profession, but as bail commissioner, he was a consistent source of support for the force. He came every time called, doing hi s part for the law. I think he saw the law as a permanence of order and logic intended to lead people to the right course of action.
However, his love of order was most severely tested by the Boston Red Sox. No player, save for perhaps Ted Williams, ever hit the ball squarely enough, made the correct throw to first, or threw the correct pitch. Their inept play offended him to no end and generated a constant stream of disgusted looks and grunts and mutterings from him. But, as many times as he gave up on them, he was always as quick to tune in the next game.
Chappie was a chauffeur. How many times did he have to go over Temple Mountain on a snowy winter night to watch his sons and daughter flail about on the court, often losing by 20 or 30 points, then follow the bus back, pick us up and offer no criticism or comment? It was as if everything that happened was suppose to happen just that way, and that somehow, it was for the better.
However, as a driver, Chappie showed a less selfless side. Let' s face it, although he was careful and rarely had accidents, he drove fast and close everywhere, even to the store. To be in the car with Dad was to experience a driver who drove very close to other cars, who questioned the skill of virtually every other driver on the road, and who often muttered "five miles and hour for an experienced driver" if mother inquired as to the speed limit. But the times he careened along snow banks or slid around cars on icy streets never even made mother pause from her knitting.
Along with Chapple's love for driving was his ability to remember the routes. He had a singular talent and uncanny knack for giving directions. They were clear, detailed and correct. He always knew what route to take, specifically which turn to make, exactly how many roads to pass, and the color of houses or the names of businesses along the way. I guess the English teacher in me sees the symbolism in this. He always knew where he was, how he got there and how to get back home.
Chappie was a faithful Christian. His belief in and love of Jesus Christ was, like so many things in his life, sincere and deep. Perhaps it was this deep belief which generated his calm acceptance of people. He told me once that he used to struggle to see any justice and charity in so much suffering by so many good people, but that he finally concluded that those who suffer here on earth will be with Jesus sooner after death.
But above all, Chappie was a friend to us all. He embraced and embodied the virtues of tolerance, compassion, humility and simplicity. We cannot escape the integrity of his values—honesty, sincerity and a calm acceptance of himself and others—and through us, and those values in us , Chappie will live on.
Ultimately, all we can hope for in our lives is that we can make a difference. Chappie unselfishly made a difference to so many.
To some—close friends and family—the depth of our sense of loss attests to the difference he made. As my brother Kevin told me, "He is the best friend I ever had. No one ever treated me better."
That is a fitting epitaph for Chappie O'Leary.
Written by Michael O'Leary
