Thomas Sophy Joseph

The Eulogy of 

This is a poem I wrote especially for my Uncle Tom, the eldest of the Joseph brothers:

IN CHEVRON FLIGHT

(for Uncle Tom)

The boy picnicked on a West Virginia hillside

while the newborn 20th century burgeoned about him.

Sprawled amid the ochre field of dandelions

his yellowed fingers sandwiched the uprooted plant

inside his mother’s still warm bread -

and the bitter sweet swallows tasted of paradise…

Could he have thought then, what life would hold for him?

An immigrant’s son never feeling the poverty

only the responsibility to survive - and to endure…

He would lead his brothers and sister from these hills

toward the vague promise of the factories

and a big city dream …

He stood the tallest…not just stature

but by the order of birth…

He would smirk at the Great Depression -

destitution was nothing new -

no man could shoulder more burden…

He used his heart as his compass -

His pioneer spirit would burn an ancestral trail -

all the while, he was the lead bird in chevron flight -

he was the point of the ‘V’ -

for nine decades we have drafted off of him.

Maybe that morning, in the Wheeling countryside,

a young man envisioned his role, 

his duty and our direction -

And gazing out on the new day 

he discovered what faith would mean throughout his life.

He knew then, as he does this day,

that when he put out his hand in the dark 

he would find it held by his family…

© Wayne M. Joseph

March 27, 2007
 

Thomas Sophy Joseph was born in Wheeling, West Virginia on the twentieth day of November in the year 1912. He was the eldest of the eight children of Doumit and Victoria Joseph. He told his son, John, that he would live to be older than his mother who died at the age of 93…and he did… Tom Joseph passed away on Sat.  March 24, 2007. He was 94 years old.

Uncle Tom was married on June 2, 1935 to Virginia Marie Lesha, lovingly known as “Bea”. They met as neighbors on Congress and Fort Streets as their houses used to back up to each other. As a little boy, my Uncle Don always used to sneak into Aunt Bea’s backyard and up into their pear tree until “as the story goes” she asked my Uncle Tom who was the blond-haired, blue-eyed kid stealing our fruit. Aunt Bea preceded Uncle Tom in death on December 20, 1979. They were married for 34 years. 

Uncle Tom and Aunt Bea had four children, his late daughter Carol, affectionately known as “Toots”. His only son, John, another daughter, the late Vicki and his youngest child, Kathy. There are five grandchildren, Monica, Sandra, David, Andrea and Anthony and three great grandchildren, Joseph, Michael and Megan.

Uncle Tom held several jobs across his 90+ years. In Wheeling, he worked as a bus boy, where he labored 12 hours a day, 7 days a week for $12 dollars a week. In 1928, he moved to Detroit, by himself, and got a job at the Henkell Flour Mill which more than doubled his pay…all the way up to 30¢ an hour. Uncle Tom also worked for 20 years at the Chrysler Jefferson Avenue plant. In the late 1940’s Uncle Tom began to drive a truck and sold, among other things, candy and tobacco to various stores. In the early 1950’s Uncle Tom purchased Mack Avenue Tobacco and ran that store until it was burned down in the Detroit riots in 1967. He also owned a Tastee Freeze for several years in the 1970’s until he finally retired.

My uncle never shied from the limelight. He had a good sense of humor. I remember him singing the song “Li-ku, Li-ku” while him, my Uncle Don and Joe Saad would dress up in drag…and you wonder why some of us are in therapy…But he is probably best known for his rendition of the ‘‘Kibbee Nyee” song. Sung to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, there was a real glint in his eye when he would belt out “Glory, Glory, Kibbee Nyee”.

Uncle Tom was the final remaining member of the original Detroit -Cleveland group who would play basketball and softball back in the 30’s. It then led to bowling (at which my uncle was very adept) and eventually it turned into the Camelback Golf tournament of today. Uncle Tom was a charter member of the American Syrian Lebanese Association. 

My uncle was blessed with a length of years unprecedented in his family …a testament to his strength and stamina. If you were to ask him his secret to such a long life, he would most probably have credited it to something his grandchildren lovingly called “The Jidu Special”. This was a cereal concoction that he prepared every day. Trust me, this mixture was something for nutritionists and psychiatrists to study. Follow me on this…you start with a very large bowl… and line the bottom with eight grapes…not seven…not nine…but eight grapes sliced in half…then you would layer the first of eight different types of cereal…then some other sliced fruit and more singular layers of cereal…and then more fruit…and then more layers of cereal…wait, we’re not done yet…then two layers of wheat germ…and then the milk would be poured in a circular motion until it filled the bowl…and then, after all this meticulous care, he would stir the entire amalgamation together and enjoy his breakfast...I think we should add the acronym “OCD” to “The Jidu Special”.

You couldn’t say the name “Tom Joseph” without the word “frugal” coming to mind. They say he still had his First Communion money. I’m sure that the difficult, impoverished times he faced as a young man were certainly the cause of his parsimonious character… (If you use really big words, it makes it sound more polite). Allow me a personal anecdote about my uncle’s penurious attributes, we were all playing poker at one of the stag parties and Uncle Tom was losing hand after hand. Finally, in the middle of an extended losing streak, puffing wildly on his ever-present cigar, he uttered, in sheer frustration, “I ain’t won a hand in 25 dollars”! His daughter, Kathy relates another story that, at the time, her 92 year old father would rise at 5:30 in the morning, just to get to Meijer’s to secure the best handicapped parking spot. There he’d be, coupons in hand, ready for the 6:00AM specials. Rest assured though, that there were several times when family and friends were in need and Uncle Tom stepped up to help…However, his reputation preceded him…and “frugal to a fault” may aptly describe his nature.

It would be fair to say that Tom Joseph wasn’t cheated by life living as long and independently as he did. He was driving his car just days before his death. He would drive himself to 9:30 Mass here at St. Sharbel arriving at 8:45AM, as you would guess, to get the best handicap parking space. After his major back surgery at the age of 92, Kathy still brought him to mass every Sunday. He sat in the back row where communion was brought to him.

My uncle, as the eldest child of eight, had great love and respect for his entire family. I asked him once what advice he would give to his descendants, this was his reply: “Growing up, we learned how to take care of our parents. That’s the one thing I want future generations to know. They’d see how we treated our mother and father and our grandmother when she came over from the old country and that’s how children learn. I think, in my opinion, we have the best family in the world. And if all families were like our family, nobody would ever have any trouble – everybody helps each other”.

We are gathered here this morning to celebrate a fulfilled life. Tom Joseph lived out his days with courage, determination, joy and purpose. So, if tears come, they will be tears of feeling the loss of a mighty presence in our lives, but not tears of sadness for his death. 

Uncle Tom struck out on his own at the age of sixteen to burn a trail for this family. He was our pioneer who found us our home. To that end, I would like to share with you the lyrics of song that embody this vanguard spirit. 

The song, by David Wilcox is entitled: VISTA 

The mountains were high from the valley below
But back in those days they didn't know what 

was waiting for them over the divide
And who would be the first to see the other side
 

But you made the climb up to the crest
Seeing it all ahead of the rest
And your expression showed the wonder of the place
Looking westward with the sunlight on your face
 

At the wide open vista
At the wide open sweet someday
Climbing over the ridge top to finally see the view
that none of us ever have known
Crossing over to home
In the vista - Home
 

The flowers are bright here at your side
All of us came to say our goodbye
The light of morning shines stronger in the room
Your breathing changes, the time is coming soon
We speak our love, we say our words
You squeeze our hands to say that you've heard
And in your eyes we watch the twinkle in the blue
Looking over the ridge and out into the view
 

At the wide open vista
At the wide open sweet someday
Climbing over the ridge top to finally see the view
that none of us ever have known
Crossing over to home
In the vista
The wide-open sweet someday
The wide open vista

The perfect father does not exist in life – and we should be heartened by that. No child could stand that or ever be free from him. But the father of whom you can say, loved you unconditionally, gave you purpose in life and shows you what it means to live faithfully, to age courageously, and to die at peace with himself – that is the father any child could hope for. That is the man Thomas Joseph was. Thank you for being just who you were and thanks be to God for your life.

And I would ask him “How ya’ doin’, Uncle?"

And he would reply, “Everybody I can, and the weak ones, twice."

April 1, 1913 - December 20, 1979

An elegiac poem written by Bea's then 13 year old granddaughter Monica Joseph in 1979