Monday, May 30, 2022
Jimmy was my “big brother” from the time I was born until I entered college. He had a special place in our household and our hearts. I remember crying every time he left us, which seemed much too often, and how I joyfully anticipated his coming back. He always spent the summer with us or at Grampa Carney’s. Jimmy took me swimming with him at the park, and once off the hospital dock, but I almost drowned when a tugboat passed by setting up a terrific undertow that dragged me under; Jimmy was there to save me, though. The first time Jimmy saved my life was when I was 4-yrs old. A group of neighborhood big boys were breaking glass bottles on the High Rocks behind my parents’ house. I picked up a bottle to throw but held on too long and went headlong with the bottle, falling about 8 feet and landing on broken glass, slicing open my right wrist. Jimmy rushed to me, took off his long-sleeved shirt and tightly wrapped the cut, then he picked me up and carried me up the hill and into the kitchen from the back porch, all the time screaming for help. Dr. Recupero’s office was only a few hundred feet away on Church Street, and Jimmy carried me all the way there, then stayed next to me while Dr. Recupero stitched closed my wound. He even carried me back home afterward. One and a half decades later, on 1 January 1972, Jimmy picked me up at the North Syracuse bus station; I was to spend the night at Molly and Jim’s before returning to college the next day. Jimmy suggested we go get a beer before going home, reminding me that I couldn’t do that legally when I got back to Indiana. About 9:25pm my future wife and her sister walked into the pub. Jimmy saw them first and said, “I’ll take the tall one. You take the shorter one, she looks more your type.” He was, as usual, right. Jimmy was best man at our wedding the following May. We just celebrated our 50th anniversary. Thank you, Jimmy, for being my “big brother.” I’ll always treasure our special relationship, and pray for you. Love, B
