Papa was a salesman for most of his life. A produce salesman for almost fifty years, not like you would see at a fruit stand or even a grocery store, he was a broker that moved truckloads of produce each and every day to and from Boston to wherever it needed to go nationwide, usually a supermarket or a warehouse owned by a supermarket chain. His days started as early in the morning as the roosters and many times, in his prime, it ended relatively close to the start of the next day. A lot of his days were spent on the phone with the buyer and/or seller, but he also made appearances to his vendors and distributors across the New England area fairly regularly and occasionally out of the country. A large amount of his career was spent managing multiple sales teams. Hiring and when necessary firing, evaluating, coaching, and recruiting members of his sales teams, as well as serving and selling to the customers, were all part of his job. He had many accolades over the years and earned many incentives and trips and a pretty good living that allowed him to retire in the financial sense when he was 65, even though mentally he wasn't ready and continued to work at least part-time until he was 85.
What I remember about Papa though, is as opinionated and abrupt as he was, everyone that he associated with respected him. He may not have always been right, of course he may argue that point, but he always let you know where he stood and you would have to have facts and tangible evidence if he was going to sway at all.
He was the glue, the patriarch, that made it possible for five generations of cousins and cousins' cousins to keep in touch and in a lot of circumstances visit regularly. Papa outlived two wives. He had two children with his first wife and two stepchildren from his second. Everyone from all sides of both families considered him a member of their family. No matter how far down the ancestry tree they were or how many marriages removed, the notion of being a "blood relative" was not necessary for him to love and care about you.
He had a temper, which I personally experienced several times in my youth and a few more as an adult. He had the same sense of humor as I do. As near as I can tell, it is hard-coded in the Brick family, male and female. We are all sarcastic at varying degrees.
He had this ritual every day, yes every day, that involved him sitting someplace quiet, since he wasn't always home, and he would enjoy a four finger glass of scotch. In the early years, the brand didn't seem to matter, although there was Cutty Sark most of the time in the kitchen cabinet. Later, he acquired a taste more refined and switched to Glenfiddich. I still have his last bottle of Glenfiddich. I originally kept it more as a memoriam than to drink, but I enjoyed a four finger glass on the tenth anniversary of Papa's passing and I had a shot last October when Matthew, my son turned 13. I will have one this March when my daughter Rachel turns 18. The rest will wait for events of equal or greater significance.
Yesterday was Papa's birthday. I had a beer that was distilled in scotch barrels. I hope he had a glass of scotch.
that's the Brick Way...
