What a Nice Man

My father was a very nice man. Not that he couldn't get angry. He could. Rarely, but he could. I can think of two times in the twenty-five years I knew him. But I think it is better to record a few stories that demonstrate how kind he could be.

My father worked for the same insurance company for over forty years. He worked his way up from the mailroom to Executive Vice President. I don't know if he actually started in the mail room or whether he used a popular cliche of the day to illustrate the progress he made. Either way, he moved up through the ranks.

I got to see him in action at work when I had a summer job in the Loan Department. He had a large office that sat off an open area filled with desks for clerical and secretarial staff. He didn't have to walk through that space because his office had a back door that opened to a small public lobby with an elevator and stairs.

I was rarely in his office but I was there one day when the back door opened and a young woman strode across his office to access the big clerical area.

"How ya doin', Mr. Kelly?" She was cheerful to the point of being jolly.

He replied with an equally cordial greeting as she passed in front of his desk.

I asked him why he didn't tell her it was a private office. He didn't think it really mattered. She only came through twice a day, was always pleasant, and never interrupted him. "If it becomes a problem, I'll suggest she use the other door." My opinion? He didn't want to embarrass her but, even more so, I imagine he got a kick out of the situation. He probably looked forward to her daily visits.

That was a nice man.

I found what might be his kindest action through the 1940 census. He never mentioned it.

At the time of the census, my parents had been married for three years and had two children. I wasn't one of them. I wouldn't be born for quite a while and by then they would be living in a house they owned. In 1940, I think they were still renting. I don’t have the exact address yet but I am fairly sure it had no more than four bedrooms. The people named as living in the house were listed based on their relationship to my father (head of household): my mother (wife), my sister (daughter aged 1), my brother (son aged 0), my grandmother (mother-in-law), my mother's sister (sister-in-law), my mother's half-sister (sister-in-law). I suspect my father was the only one working.

My grandmother's family had flourished during the Depression but as the 1930s came to an end, she found herself a widow for the second time. I don't know the details, but I recall my grandmother saying that the family made it through the Depression just fine, but then things took a downturn financially even before her husband died. (Her second husband owned an ice company. Have you heard of refrigerators?) I imagine that is how she and her other two daughters ended up living with a couple that were pretty close to newlyweds. 

That is a nice man.

After he died, my father was audited by the IRS. It was routine because the percentage of his income he gave to charity exceeded the standard maximum. I had to go through all his records and discovered he had missed some deductions. The IRS owed him. I’m still waiting For the money.

That's a nice man.

I could cite instances of his generosity on a personal level but let me just say there were many. He was a very nice man.

My father passed away on May 11, 1974 but his spirit had died almost three years earlier when my mother passed away. Watching his granddaughter while my sister worked gave his life some structure. Most days he walked the two-year-old to a near-by pub-like restaurant for lunch where they got to know the regular crowd. After my father died, my sister took her daughter there for lunch. All the patrons at the bar greeted Kelly warmly. They said they missed my father. They said he was a very nice man.

Yes, he was.

© 2023 Jane Kelly