Louis Edward Joseph

The Eulogy of 

“I knew a man – I held his hand – I was just a child

He showed me his dreams and I watched him let them die

If I could stand again by his side –

I’d tell him that love is why we’re alive

I’d tell the world I believe” – (Kenny Loggins)

‘cause that’s how you taught it to me – and – 

“I am your child –

wherever I go – you take me to -

whatever I know – I learned from you – 

whatever I do – you taught me to do –

I am your hope – I am your chance – I am your child – (Barry Manilow)

I am the third child of four of Louis Edward Joseph. Through my father’s passing, I have discovered that when you lose a loved one so dear to you, it is the day your heart explodes. On Sunday, when my dad passed away, many hearts were left in shambles across that hospital room as all of his family surrounded his poor, weakened body when it finally succumbed. Those of us who loved him and honor him on this day knew that the last few years of my father’s life were an agonizing, torturous existence for a man who was always so strong and virile. I will not elevate my father in death to something higher than he was in life. But, I will allow each loving remembrance that we share of this man known as Eddie Joseph, to heal the fabric of our tattered souls and form a patchwork quilt of fond memories that will envelope us – and warm us – and help to repair our broken hearts.

Several key memories stand out about my father. He was a simple man with fairly simple tastes. He could describe a coney island as if it were a gourmet meal with that special ‘snap’ from the skin casing of the hot dog. A hot pepper or a bottle of Vernor’s couldn’t be any good unless it had “that bite”. He loved to cook and was quite good at making certain Arabic dishes, particularly Kibbee.

It was when he would experiment with pastry and dessert combinations that we would all grimace at his new creations. You hadn’t lived until you tried, or were forced to try some bizarre, mutant peach-pomegranate pastry concoction that tasted more like ‘fruity road kill’ than any kind of dessert.

My dad had his own vocabulary. Did you ever taste the spices “OREGONO” (Oregano) or “KAMOON” (Cumin)? Or if something had a phony exterior, it was a “FAKADE” not a façade. My father, a Cecil B. DeMille wanna-be, used a four letter, two syllable product to shoot home movies, something he called “FILL-EM” (Film).

My father was, in the kindest sense of the term, a degenerate gambler. He loved to go to Las Vegas and to the track. But more than that, he loved to bet on Football. The only problem was, he very rarely won. He was always “so close” every weekend. I can’t tell you how many times we would be sitting around on a Sunday night and he would lament “Just give me 7 points to spread around my sheets and I would’ve hit every ticket.” During the vigil at my dad’s bedside in Bon Secours Hospital on Sunday, while we were all awaiting the arrival of his sister from California, my brother-in-law Jim told me that my father was clinging to life not until Aunt Viv showed up, but until they began this year’s Super Bowl. My dad passed away 10 minutes after kickoff. The big game will never be the same to me again. Every year, just after kickoff, I will raise a toast to Fast Eddie.

I am sure that’s what he would want.

By the way, he bet the dog, Atlanta…they didn’t cover.

But above all else, if you are to gauge my father’s life on any scale, then let him be judged by his undying love of his family. Every day that he awoke on this planet, he carried with him a deep sense of family. He demonstrated an enormous capacity to love and cherish all of his family. He would always open the doors of our home to every relative, from his mother, who lived primarily with him over the last 35 years of her life, to his brothers and sister and their families, who would all visit frequently. My father taught us that our ability to love and give love is unlimited. He proved that daily while living with and loving our mother, his devoted wife of 53 years, Georgia. It was no secret that my dad lived vicariously through my big brother George. My father fashioned himself as a Vegas kind of guy. And to have his eldest son live that lifestyle brought him unending levels of enjoyment. He was always proud of my accomplishments in the broadcast business, as well as the family films that I produced. And what my brother Larry learned at my father’s hand was an extraordinary joy to my dad. It goes without saying how much he loved his 6 grandchildren and took great pride in even the simplest of their achievements. He loved his daughters-in-law, Carolyn and Candice, and they returned the favor. And, quite honestly, his son-in-law Jim was as much a son to my father as any of his sons, probably more. But if you are to judge the success of his immediate family, there is no doubt that what my father would tell you was his greatest accomplishment and what is a living tribute to the spirit and the soul of the Joseph family, it would be his loving daughter Carm. My sister is the embodiment of all that my father taught us about unconditional love and unquestioned dedication to family. In the upcoming days, when I will miss my father the most, I can turn to my sister who will be there as a shining example of all that was good and courageous and special about Eddie Joseph.

A poet/songwriter Marc Cohn, once wrote these words to his unborn child. They seem apropos for this moment:

“You may not always be so grateful for the way that you were made.

Maybe some feature of your father’s that you’d gladly sell or trade.

And one day you may look at us and say that you were cursed.

But all the time that line has been extremely well rehearsed -

by our fathers and their fathers

in some old and distant town

from places no one here remembers come 

the things we’ve handed down…”

Father, your children are grateful for the things you’ve handed down. We wear them as a badge of honor. And we see them already having a positive influence on your grandchildren and their cousins and friends.

Dad, if you cut us, we bleed family.

It is what we know the best.

It is what you have demonstrated to us the best.

It is what we can teach and display the best.

It is the best of us.

Dad, you were our teacher, our confidant and most significantly, our friend.

Pops, we will always need your help.

Because of you, your children will always be able to help others.

Because, my dearest father, you have taught us love.

That is what we will hand down.

And that will last forever.

In closing, to my immediate family, to his brothers Tom, Sam, Joe – who is desperately ill in the hospital, George and Don, to his sister Vivian, to all my cousins and friends of our families who are gathered here this morning to say goodbye to Eddie, please know how much he loved you all, even if he was thumbing his nose at the rest of the world. I would like you to hear the voice of my father in this final poem:

TO THOSE I LOVE AND THOSE WHO LOVE ME (Anonymous)

When I am gone, release me, let me go.

I have so many things to see and do.

You must not tie yourself to me with tears.

Be happy that we had so many years.

I gave you my love, you can only guess

how much you gave me in happiness.

I thank you for the love you each have shown,

but now it’s time I travel on alone.

So grieve a while for me, if grieve you must.

Then let your grief be comforted by trust.

It is only for a while that we must part.

So bless the memories within your heart.

I will not be far away. For life goes on.

So if you need me, call and I will come.

Though you cannot see or touch me, I’ll be near.

And listen with your heart – you will hear

all of my love around you soft and clear.

And then, when you must come this way alone,

I will greet you with a smile and a “welcome home”.

AHNA BAH HIB BUCK BY YEE  (I love you, Dad)…