Thomas Sophy Joseph

Thomas Sophy Joseph was the first born member of his generation. He began the migration to Detroit from West Virginia in 1928 when he found work at the Henkell Flour Mill. He brought his brother Lefty to join him in 1929 and the rest of the family followed soon after. Uncle Tom had many firsts. The first to marry. He wed Virginia "Bea" Lesha in 1935. The first grandchild for Doumit & Victoria. Carol Ann known as "Tootsie" was born in 1936. And the first great grandchild, Monica Evelyn, was born to Tom's only son, John, in 1966. Aunt Bea may have been "short" changed in height but she towered over everyone when it came to loving all of her family. She was a strong woman, a great cook and she loved to have fun as you will see her mugging for the camera in many of the photos. To add to his status, Tom was also the tallest of the brothers and lived the longest, passing away at the age of 94. He did have the reputation of being the most parsimonious of the brothers. That's a polite way of saying he was the "cheapest".  Money was hard to come by, and he protected it his entire life. Nonetheless, he was the vanguard of this family. He pioneered the resettlement of our family into Detroit. For that, among many other deeds, we owe Uncle Tom a serious debt. In his eulogy, I wrote this elegy to him entitled IN CHEVRON FLIGHT. 

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…

John Charles Joseph was the eldest male child of Tom and Bea Joseph. By birthright, he was the eldest grandson of Doumit and Victoria. He not only led his generation, but exampled, for all of us, what heritage meant. He ascended to his leadership position with ease building bridges as he went. He took over the Detroit versus Cleveland Camelback Golf Outing. Under his leadership the Camelback enjoyed unprecedented membership. If you were wondering how John received the ceremonial moniker of "Messiah," he needed a position higher than "Emperor" which was already bestowed on our beloved Uncle Sam, so he appointed himself "Messiah." A nickname that fit him both in ancestral stature and humor. He faced plenty of challenges in his life and handled them with an amiability and confidence that made us all admire. Every day, I miss his ready wit and his sense of family. I wrote the following poem for Cousin John entitled MESSIAH...SORT OF.

(for John Charles Joseph)

It wasn’t until I clattered the keyboard 

and his name emerged…

It wasn’t until the hammering message

affixed in truth… 

It wasn’t until the ignominious word ‘eulogy’ 

stared back at me like a dagger…

Then, it became real -

          like his last breath…

Even now, I expected to see him

whistling past the graveyard

forestalling the inevitable as he had countless times.

As a young boy  his heart stricken in scarlet -

a life delayed but not denied.

As a man utilizing nine lives

like a cat clawing at the Dark Angel’s gown.

Even his inability to dodge bullets

hinted at immortality

a ‘messiah’…sort of -

He wore his ancestry like a majestic plume

each feather, the face of relatives

who were and were yet to be.

And the days he built, though not all of them steel,

will be fashioned into skyscrapers by those who loved him.

The news of his departure shattered his façade

and left us here mourning and mortal.

His death can take from us  what we had -

          but it cannot steal away who he was… 

(For Vickie)

Is it “up there”…

this place called Heaven?

How do you imagine you arrive…

is it floating in a never-ending dream?

Does God gently tug your soul

off His good earth?

Is it the work of angels

to enfold you in love?

Is silence Heaven’s language?

for words lose their meaning

amidst the utter beauty of it all…

When you cross-over into the light

is the passage rife with the spirit

of loved ones?

The enigma that is paradise

shall never unravel…

Its mystery is meant to be revealed

when we appear at its gate…

until then we send more inquiries 

into the unquestionable stillness

we are left to ponder

and all our blissful thoughts 

turn to peace…