The Breaking of the Mold

But love is a power greater than death, 

just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, 

she broke the mold...

"Terry's Song"

(Bruce Springsteen)

This past weekend, courtesy of information that my long-time friend, Dave Joy (who joined Club 53 yesterday), had posted on Facebook, which post Margaret saw, I learned the sad news that one of the finest men who it has ever been my privilege to know had died.  Dave's father, Stanley A. Joy, Jr., was simply extraordinary.  

I have had the great fortune of knowing Dave since we were little.  Well, full disclosure demands that I note no historical record of Dave Joy being "little" has ever been unearthed.  He was young once, for sure.  Little? No sir.  Rumor has it that he was born six feet tall and simply grew taller from there.  

Semantics aside, Dave and I have known one another since high school, which is at least a lifetime or two ago.  We played basketball and soccer together.  We remained great friends after graduation. So much so in fact that when he married his beautiful bride, Christine, in July, 1992, it was my honor to stand next to him as his best man.  Eleven months later, when my beautiful bride, Margaret, did me the great favor of marrying me, Dave stood next to me as my best man.  

A lifetime ago, when we were in college, Dave and I seemed to go on an endless series of adventures, accompanied by the third member of our holy trinity, Andy McElroy.  Andy is the youngest brother of Dave's brother-in-law, John, to whom Dave's sister Linda is married.  Although I have a few years on him (Andy shall not join Club 53 for several years), we had quite a lot in common.  Andy and I both were raised by strong, brave Irish moms following the far-too-early deaths of our fathers.  

Dave's parents, Stan and Mary, became a second set of parents for me - and for Andy too.  The three of us used to test their patience regularly, usually by wandering home to Dave's house at some point after 2:00 am but before sunrise following a summer night's drinking and late-night/early-morning dining at the Scotchwood Diner.  Occasionally, when our enthusiasm outpaced our common sense and we arrived later than usual or after having imbibed more heavily than we should have (having made it home in one piece courtesy of the world's largest Designated Driver, the great Stu Solomon), Mr. and Mrs. Joy made us aware of their displeasure.  

Never though, to my memory, did Mr. Joy ever have to yell at any of the three of us to command our attention.  I remember still him telling us following an evening when we beat the sunrise home by mere minutes how disappointed he was in our decision-making.  Not angry.  Not sad.  Disappointed.  It cut me to my core.  Among the people on the planet who I least wanted to disappoint were Stan and Mary Joy.  

Dave's mom died back in 2012. Sadly, he has now joined the ranks of the "Over-50 Orphans Club".  I hope though - at least a little - that he, Linda, Leslie, and the rest of the Joys take more than a little comfort from two things.  

First, their dad did indeed live a most wonderful life and one in which he made an indelible impression on countless others.  Not all of us who pass through this world leave it a better place than we found it by making those around us aware of how much they are loved.  Stan Joy did. 

Second, while he has bade them farewell, he is now back in the company of his best girl, Mary, walking with her arm in arm and grinning that unmistakable grin.  That, undoubtedly, is a good thing. Maybe even the best thing.  

Safe journey, Mr. Joy, and thank you again for every kindness you ever showed me.  

Consider the mold broken...

-AK