Samuel Joseph Sophy

 The Eulogy of 

This is a poem I wrote especially for my uncle and his lasting impressions on me…

THE KING OF THE MOMENT

(For Uncle Sam)

We were his gifted children

bestowed by his caring brothers and sister

upon his unassuming life …

In return, we were presented

a clown prince in mismatched clothes -

the light in the room emanating from him.

As he would prance across the floor

he was the king of the moment

a whiskey glass his crown –

And we, his loyal subjects

would laugh in time 

to his rhythmic belly.

When he spoke,

the circles of his English dizzied us -

we were hung by his every word…

Love lived in the glint of his eye

and in the crook of his smile…

Did we ever really know the man

who was granted access to a father’s love

by a family overflowing with the riches of its seed?

We were his chosen children -

but who can speak of his hopes and fears?

Who can solve the mystery of his quiet hours 

that only he himself knew?

Heaven holds those answers now.

Death is the pendulum 

swinging twixt a grin and a tear 

The earth holds his bones now.

And in the end -

we were not surprised 

that his great heart gave out –

it was the part he used the most…

© Wayne M. Joseph

April 26, 2006

Samuel Sophy Joseph was born in Wheeling,  West Virginia on the first day of November in the year 1917. 

He was the third of the eight children of Doumit Youssef Antoun El-Safi and Victoria Daniel Elias El-Hitti. Although never married, he lived with and loved the beautiful Dorothy Ward for almost fifty years. Sam Joseph passed away on Sunday, April 23, 2006. He was 88 years old.

Uncle Sam made it a point in his life to be where his family needed him. Think, for a moment, about every Joseph family function – the great or glorious, the poignant or the heartbreaking …Call back those times and you will see, among the crowds, one smiling face…that of Uncle Sam.

The weddings, the funerals, the Camleback, in the hospital waiting rooms or the church gatherings…who was the constant face of his generation…Uncle Sammy… there to support or comfort or entertain.

There are a multitude of stories about this unique yet uncomplicated man. 

For the better part of my youth Uncle Sam lived with us. None of us could wait for his famous whiskey shot over holiday dinners. He would place one hand behind his head and a shot glass filled with V.O. in the other hand. He would gulp back the liquor and then contort his face in such a wild manner that we would all break out in genuine laughter.

And once, while living in Detroit, as the neighborhood was in serious decline, some kids set our garage on fire. Well after the blaze was extinguished and the fire trucks had departed, Uncle Sam came flying over the famous Ashland bridge and screeched into the driveway. He jumped from his car and came running to our safety. To help disperse the crowd of onlookers, he was carrying, of all things, a tack hammer. The absurdity of that moment, as he was standing slightly wild-eyed, threatening the crowd with that useless tool, was pure Uncle Sam. He was quite the character.

If you will allow me my most sacred memory of Uncle Sam, we have to return to Thanksgiving morning, 1961. My father was toiling over a gargantuan meal for the expected arrival of family and I was his designated “go-for”. Uncle Sam appeared in the kitchen and, seemingly ignoring the gigantic feast that was being prepared, he nonchalantly asked my dad if wanted to go to the Detroit Lions game that day. I’d love to have known what was running through my father’s head at that moment, when he finally said, “I can’t Sam, I’m up to my elbows in turkey and kibbee, but why don’t you take him” and pointed at me. Like a bolt I was out the door on my way to my first Lions game. So there I was, a saucer-eyed, 10 year old boy racing up the ramp of Briggs Stadium and into a fantasy world of an emerald green football field and sports heroes…The stands were filled with men in their overcoats and fedoras…the air was ripe with the intoxicating smell of cigar smoke and the excited murmur of the crowd…a memory forever bound into the psyche of a young boy compliments of his loving Uncle Sam. So began my lifelong addiction to the Detroit Lions… (in true form, they lost to Green  Bay).

Years later, I discovered a writing by the renowned poet Billy Collins, that perfectly brings me back to those days when the world ticked at a slower pace and life existed in black and white. This is a poem that reminds me of that time and all of the men like our uncles and our fathers who lived a simpler, happier life back then. It is entitled, 

“The Death of The Hat” – Billy Collins

Once every man wore a hat.

In the ashen newsreels,
the avenues of cities
are broad rivers flowing with hats.

The ballparks swelled
with thousands of strawhats,
brims and bands,
rows of men smoking
and cheering in shirtsleeves.

Hats were the law.
They went without saying.
You noticed a man without a hat in a crowd.

You bought them from Adams or Dobbs
who branded your initials in gold
on the inside band.

Trolleys crisscrossed the city.
Steamships sailed in and out of the harbor.
Men with hats gathered on the docks.

There was a person to block your hat
and a hatcheck girl to mind it
while you had a drink
or ate a steak with peas and a baked potato.
In your office stood a hat rack.

The day war was declared
everyone in the street was wearing a hat.
And they were wearing hats
when a ship loaded with men sank in the icy sea.

My father wore one to work every day
and returned home
carrying the evening paper,
the winter chill radiating from his overcoat.

But today we go bareheaded
into the winter streets,
stand hatless on frozen platforms.

Today the mailboxes on the roadside
and the spruce trees behind the house
wear cold white hats of snow.

Mice scurry from the stone walls at night
in their thin fur hats
to eat the birdseed that has spilled.

And now my father, after a life of work,
wears a hat of earth,
and on top of that,
a lighter one of cloud and sky--a hat of wind.

Other celebrated stories of my Uncle Sam must surely include his famous dances at our family functions. As we stood in awe, did any of us ever expect that glass to slide off his head when he skipped across the dance floor? Not me…he was the master…you were in the presence of greatness. And, when he danced with Aunt Viv or Dorothy and he displayed his irreverent version of the Sam Joseph Belly Dance. With a tug of his pants to below his stomach and the bawdy “hiss-sa” of his belly, we all laughed - half out of joy and half out of embarrassment. No family gathering was complete without the Uncle Sam dance ritual. Our family-loving Uncle was always ready for a good time.

One of the most under-appreciated traits of our beloved uncle was his manner of speech and his inimitable butchering of the English language. Who can forget such cherished phrases as “It’s like slapping me in the face with a cold piece of ice”…or… “What makes a difference”? You haven’t lived until Uncle Sam told you to “Go play with your toilet”…and could someone please explain to me what “Rub salt” means? I think my loving wife Carolyn put it best when she said, “I love your Uncle Sam but I wouldn’t want to diagram his sentences”. To that end, I have transcribed a quote from a video tape of Uncle Sam in which he is giving advice to the descendants of the Joseph family. I hope I can do this justice because there is a message in his speech. So, here are the exact words of Uncle Sam: 

“My advice to people, the future generation of Joseph, if you can keep a close unit, by being the poor the way we were – even all the relatives, they all had love for each other and they enjoyed each other’s company, and I tell you that was the…right there…but, I would say just, as they’re growing up, to get an education.”

I think you’re right, honey. It would take a classroom of chalkboards to diagram that sentence.

As a family, we continue to orbit through the years as we celebrate the additions to our lineage and we endure the passings of these larger-than-life figures. We are truly blessed that we are still able to share their wisdom and honor their life-long accomplishments. At times like this, we may not always see the presence of the Almighty in our lives. But, we know that God is everywhere…Even in these difficult moments where we are left to ponder life without another of our giants…God is here…So, in closing, I would like to share with you the lyrics of song that clearly illustrates that God is here in our sorrow even as He is there at all the joyous times. These are the lyrics to a song entitled “God Is In The Roses” by Roseanne Cash.

God is in the roses

the petals and the thorns

storms out on the oceans

the souls who will be born

and every drop of rain that falls

falls for those who mourn

God is in the roses and the thorns…

The sun is on the cemetery

leaves are on the stones

there never was a place on earth

that felt so much like home

we’re falling like the velvet petals 

we’re bleeding and we’re torn

but God is in the roses and the thorns…

I love you like a brother

like a father and a son

it may not last forever

but it never will be done

our whole world fits inside this moment

we saw you be re-born

God is in the roses -

and this day is filled with roses -

God is in the roses and the thorns…

And now, to us who have been chosen from among the many that he loved to do the last, sad office for the dead – we give this sacred dust. 

Speech cannot contain our love. 

There was, there is, no greater, stronger life than that of this simple man.

Go Lions…