Al and Roie 1940-1950??

Albert C. Allen, 1916 - 2008

ALLEN, ALBERT C., 91, of Naples, FL and Warren, formerly of Barrington, passed away at his Warren home on Friday, August 15th surrounded by his family. He was the loving husband of Dorothy Wilmot for over 16 years and the late Rosemary (Reed) Allen for over 48 years.

Born in Lakewood, OH, he was the son of the late Miner W. and Erma (Wing) Allen. He honored these roots with a life-long devotion to the Cleveland Indians baseball team.

Mr. Allen attended William and Mary College and played football there. A life-long learner, he later attended Brown and was an avid reader. He moved to Rhode Island in 1954 to form Allen Distributing Company in Providence, just in time for Hurricane Carol to destroy his warehouse full of TVs and appliances. He recovered, and with great entrepreneurial and personal leadership skills, the company evolved to become the Avid Corporation of East Providence, an innovative leader in audio visual equipment for education, airline passenger entertainment headsets and consumer stereo speakers. He sold the company in 1981.

Through his long retirement years, he enjoyed golf at the Rhode Island Country Club and tournament level bridge play in which he was a Life Master of the American Bridge Association. A successful investor, he established a scholarship fund in his name at Johnson and Wales University, as well as making numerous zestful, spontaneous philanthropic gifts, often to strangers. In his last years, he wrote and published A Grandfather Asks, in response to the 9/11 attacks. A life long Ike Republican, he spoke against the Bush/Cheney administration, believing that unilateral war is a grave mistake and peace through broad coalitions will be necessary for human survival in the 21st century.

He is survived by his wife Dorothy and his children, Jeffery M. and Susan Allen of Barrington; Richard R. Allen of Bristol; Lawrence A. and Elizabeth Allen of Green Turtle Cay and Jamestown; Marcia Lindsay of Jamestown and Lisa and Glen Lipscomb of Richmond; stepson William Wilmot of Warwick, 11 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. He was the loving brother of the late Miner D. Allen and Erma Wheeler of Gloucester, MA.

The family expresses its sincerest thanks for the loving support of nurses and caregivers who eased his last days. In lieu of flowers, memorial gifts may be made to VNA-Hospice, 375 Kilvert St., Warwick, RI 02886 or Barrington Congregational Church, 461 County Rd., Barrington, RI 02806. A memorial service will be held at the Barrington Congregational Church on County Rd. at 11 AM on Friday, September 12 . Visit smithmason.com for information and on-line condolences.

Jackie and Al and Freddy??

Houqa 1958!

Rich has added the following from a sailing trip long ago on the houqa with Al and Miner.

Jeff up the mast before sailing.



"Uncle miner told the weather by how far his shirt billowed - this day he declared "She's a gonna blow!""


When we got off shore it was stormy and Al was navigating to a nearby island for safety:


then a big wave hit and we almost lost someone overboard



"As we had no more food aboard, we rowed ashore and then walked a few miles into town for supplies"

Ted: Letters from Al

Ted writes: Al wasn’t what I would call a great letter writer. I think of his letters as extremely functional and minimalist. He also had what I sometimes interpreted as an intentional disdain for orthography and syntax.

Letter to Ted in 2005 regarding :Grandfather Asks"

But whatever Al’s letters lacked in style was more than compensated for by his enthusiasm for sharing his thoughts and advice. Succinct and to the point, he often went straight to his opinion without pausing to detail why he had arrived at a certain opinion. And the letters were written in a style that was entirely consistent with his character. Instead of pretense and nuance, his letters were sincere and candid.

Throughout my travels during the 1990s Al was one of my most loyal and consistent correspondents. Even after I returned, we continued to write one another frequently. I have a box full of letters and cards from Al that I have been going through in the last week. I had a lot of fun reading them again and decided to use this space to share some of his sage advice and ideas from those letters. I’ll group them by the subject matter. I am also keeping the syntax as he wrote it; that’s part of the charm!

I’d also like others to share some of their favorite lines from letters they received from Al.

The Stock Market
“The large pice (sic) appreciation of many stocks probably will not happe (sic) again soon. So what do you do? You buy stocks that are undervalued – stocks that are showing growth in earnings, good balance sheet, and low P.E. – The stock market is often incorrect (sic) in showing the good or bad in a stock – there is a herd mentality in the market – avoid that.
I have always done well in the stock market. I think it is because I stick to certain principles. I avoid following stocks that Wall Street brokers and investors are promoting. I try to find stocks that seem undervalued and with growth possibilities. Low P.E.s – if one stock looks particularly good I might invest 1/3 of my funds in that one stock. “ (November 21, 2000)

Politics
“Looks like Bush is in – Dean or one of the others (Democrats) would have walked in. A danger comes to our country when one party is so weak. I believe this country will be in serious trouble within 10 yrs no matter what is done now – the reason for voting against Bush is he will take us into further wars and deeper religious problems.” (October 2004)

Direction
“Be in charge of your own ship. You will always make mistakes but each year try to improve your batting average.” (December 21, 1993)

Baseball
“Well the baseball season has finely (sic) started. I am so mad at the players I gave Jeff all my Indian caps. Lenny Dykster (sic) was the only player who spoke up and said he was going to play no matter what. I have waited since 1954 – 41 years and they spoil it with strikes. The average pay in 1994 was 1.25 million to Major League players!” (May 30, 1995)

Religion
“I do not think of myself as an atheist but I am far from being impressed with the major religions of the world…

If you are born in Iran you are brought up a Muslim and after the first ten years of your life you are brain washed and will probably stay the same; in Catholic Ireland the same; in Hindu India the same; Southern Baptist the same. Each religion trying to say they are worshipping the only God – theirs.

Am I an atheist? No I am not. I believe this wonderful Universe was created. By whom or why I do not know. So I guess I am a Deist, one who believes in God. I believe in doing good for mankind…

I BELIEVE:
Every good thing might teach others!
Do not be afraid to question or think!
Do not be afraid – God is good!
Religion is the acceptance of life.
Experience! And take care of yourself.”
(November 12, 1995)

Aging
“I can not (sic) believe the summer has almost gone. The older you get, the faster it goes and I find it harder to get anything done. I am seventy-nine today and hope to have a few good years to accomplish some goals I have in mind.” (August 29, 1995)

News Flash: Al Allen Wins Al Allen Baseball Trophy!

Incredibly, despite missing the entirety of the baseball playoffs this year, Al Allen has won this year's Albert C. Allen Annual Baseball trophy. For those of you that don't know, or don't remember, each Spring Al sponsored a competition in which family members pick which teams will win each division in baseball, and who will go onto the playoffs! Family members submit their picks by opening day, and come October we see who wins. This year, Al was the overall victor! 

He inherits the trophy from Ken Wing, the 2007 winner, who held the trophy exemplary-ly during his year tenure. 

Al did not get a single point in the post-season, but his 20 points was enough to hold off second place finishers Mark McCloud with 17 points, (who selected more playoff teams than AL, but failed to see any team advance to the next rounds!), and Mike Wheeler, also with 17 points. Sara and near winner last year Cassie rounded out the top 5 both with 15 points. Reed, Marcie, Jeff and Jay (who made up for an abysmal performance last year!) all finished with 14 points. Others rounded out the field, with Lisa taking over the annual laterne rouge trophy for last place from Jay Steele. 

Way to go AL!

FINANCIAL PANIC!!!!!

It seems to me if you want to avoid financial panic, you should stop screaming 'financial panic' all the time!

Still, the bail out and financial panic and collapsing stock market all got me wondering, what would Al make of all this?? And how nice it would be to pick up the phone, or drive over to Warren, and plug into Al for some sound, wise market advice. Just a reminder of how much we miss him.

Anyone out there with some thoughts on what Al would make of this? Pro/anti Bailout? Anyone want to pick up the slack on stock advice for the younger generation?

thanks, Pete

LIght House Beach Video, Erma and Pop

(From 100 years inthe making).

Al and Buisnessweek!

This is the front page of a small direct mail campaign done by Business Week Magazine in 1984. Shows Dad as a young 18 year old reader in 1934 and 50 years later in 1984. He got me a subscription to Business Week magazine when I got out of college in 1963.
-Jeff

Jeff Allen Remarks at Al's Service

Albert C. Allen Remembered

Welcome Good morning! I am Jeff, Albert Allen’s oldest child, and it is my honor to speak to you today about my Dad. On behalf of all his family, thanks so much for coming to this memorial service. It is wonderful to see so many relatives that have come from all over the country, and so many friends of our families and people that used to work with him years ago. Also, some of the wonderful caretakers who help him during his last weeks at home are here today and want to give them a special thanks for all that they did. He enjoyed getting to know you and your care and compassion for him will never be forgotten. Thanks so much to all of you for coming!

Dad died Friday morning, August 15th at home at his condominium in Warren with his family nearby. He was cremated and two weeks later, on what would have been his 92nd birthday, August 29th, we buried his ashes beside my mother, Rosemary Allen, his wife of 48 years, in a small ceremony at Forest Chapel cemetery in Barrington. Today, we gather not to mourn him, but to remember him and celebrate life. And, what a great life he had, and what a great Dad and wonderful man he was!

Shortly after his death, some of his grandchildren, led by Rich’s son Peter and my son Ted, established a website, a blog I guess you would call it, in his memory and for the past few weeks family and friends have been posting on it. I heard it was up to 95 pages the other day and still growing. It is a wonderful tribute to his life, his sense of humor and the impact he had on people close to him –his family, friends and former employees. If you have time, I hope you will come to the reception in the church hall following this service to see some of the photos and comments collected in the blog or check it on-line.

When someone lives almost 92 years, has such a large family, and plays such an active role in all their lives, it is daunting task to try to try to summarize it. The blog is a good start, but even just scratches the surface and I certainly I can’t try to do so today, so I’ll just going to try to hit on a few major things that I think marked his life and the man.

First, consider how fortunate he was growing up. Two caring parents from very different backgrounds and different parts of the country – one from the Midwest, a conservative descendent of some of the original founders of Akron Ohio; the other a romantic, would be opera star who had come east from California to pursue her career – combined with a bunch of interesting relatives from both their families that would come to live with them for months at a time, so enriched his life growing up. Imagine growing up in 1920’s and 1930’s in an 8 bedroom, eight bathroom house in White Plains, New York, summering in a huge summer house of equal grandeur in the beautiful art colony of Rockport, Massachusetts, and having the luxury of taking a cross country trip by family car to spend the your summer with relatives in San Francisco and California during the middle of the great depression. He got to travel the country and enjoy the best of times during what was the worse of times for most American families. Wow! How lucky he was. But, he knew this and always appreciated it.

Given all the advantages that he had growing up, it always amazes me that Dad wasn’t spoiled or complacent. Instead, he had a built-in drive to succeed and to take care of his family. And, most of his life was focused on doing just that.

With no college degree (he had flunked out of college in 1938),and a family of four by the time he was 30, he had to make it on his own, and he did. There were many lean years, especially in the 1950’s and early 1960’s, that would test his abilities to the limit, but he would always persevere. I remember Dad starting Allen Distributing in 1954, and our moving to Rhode Island just as Hurricane Carol stuck and wiped out his inventory of TV sets and appliances that were stored in warehouses along the Providence River. And, I remember the really difficult times in the early 1960’s after he lost some his key product lines and he had to relocate the company from Providence to Warren and scrambled to make ends meet by developing a background music service called “Moodmaster,” then a small boat and boat trailer line called “Allencraft”. If they look hard, Dick and Mary Glenn might even find a few Moodmaster tapes hiding in their basement at our old house at 29 Rumstick.Road today. He spent many a night making tapes down there. One way or another, Dad always made ends meet and through his hard work, and great business sense and he preserved. He was a great entrepreneur. Through his talent and efforts, Allen Distributing evolved into Avid Corporation where he went on to develop concepts like Travelab – mobile educational facilities that were sold from Alaska to Puerto Rico in the educational revolution that took place under President Johnson in 60’s and early 70’s; to develop a top-rated line of stereo speakers that were sold around the world under the Avid name in the mid and late 1970’s ; and to capture a 90% share in the world-wide airline passenger market. At its peak, company employed over 450 people and made or assembled all its own products. In 1982, at the age of 65, Dad was able to cash in on his success. He sold the company (the stock market was about 770) and spent the rest of his life investing successfully and living comfortably. In fact, he always said that did better financially after he retired than before.

But, what is more important to me is what the chose to do with his success once he had it. After retirement, Dad funded most of the college education for most of his 11 grandchildren and was a “zesty philanthropist” to many. By no means am I talking about huge sums of money, just about making a difference in some peoples lives. He would meet people in their work at a restaurant, engage them in conversation as he so liked to do, learn their life story, and wanted to make a difference. And, in a number of cases, he did just that helping previously unknown young people with the tuition to get a get a college degree get a new car or whatever was most needed. He didn’t want a lot for himself and he always had a big heart for others!

Dad had a unique sense of humor and his practical jokes were legendary. Here is one: In 1936, when Dad first tried out for football at William & Mary he had to take a brief physical during which time they also took measurements for uniforms. The varsity line coach, Ottis Douglas was in charge with another assistant taking down the measurements. One such measurement was the player's chest measurements inhaled and exhaled. It was a measurement of lung capacity. The coach stood behind Dad holding the tape in the middle of his back and asked him to inhale deeply---hold--then exhale. He heard the coach say, "look at this. It is unbelievable." By the oo's and ah' s that he heard from the people at his back, Dad figured that he had just set the record by a large amount. In fact, so much so that Coach Douglass asked the head coach to come over to the bench and then asked him to repeat the procedure. Dad hoped that he could match the same record and an audience grew to watch. They all stood from behind (thank heavens) and watched the tape measurement as Dad filled his lungs to the full -extent and Dad carefully, discretely, stuck a finger under the tape on the front of his chest and gradually

pulled the tape about the 5 inches that he estimated he had pulled it the first time, then quickly exhaled before he could be caught. There were applause and whistles and Dad figures his record still stands.

The audacity of him at that age! He remained a great practical joker all his life.

Another observation, Dad was generally a good judge of people, but nowhere did he do better than in picking his life partners. My mom was a saint to all of her children, and greatly loved by all who knew her. Simply put, she was the greatest! Fun at heart, a wonderful mother, friend and wife. When she died of a stroke in 1989, Mom and Dad had been married for 48 years and were just beginning to focus in on doing more of the things that they wanted to do in life. We were all devastated and there was a huge void in Dad’s life. Fortunately, for all of us, he decided to really pursue the game of bridge that he loved so much and to try to become a “life master”, the highest level of the sport, in the shortest possible time. That’s where he met Dottie Wilmot who only a few years earlier had lost her husband Bill after a long illness. They were so compatible, shared the same interests. In 1992, they married and have enjoyed a wonderful life together building a house in Florida, playing bridge, finding new friendships while remaining the focal point of our great family. In fact, today it is hard to think of Dad’s life as having been complete with out Dot having been in it. Dot, on behalf of the whole family, I want to say thank you for all happiness that you brought Dad these past 16 years and for taking care of him so well in his last months. We are so thankful that he had you to share this time together and so proud to have you as part of our family. Much love to you Dot.

Finally, I want to comment on the way he handled his exit from this world. I had always considered Dad as somewhat of a hypochondriac and he certainly had an aversion to hospitals and anyone with an illness. So, as he grew ill, we were most fearful for how he would be able to handle his deteriorating condition. Yet, as he grew weaker and he faced the most difficult time, he stood the tallest and shined to me as never before. His big heart took over and as new caretakers would come on the scene, to the extent that he could, he found himself engaging with them, learning their life’s story and being concerned with their life issues, not just dwelling on his own problems. To the end, he maintained great personal dignity, a sense of humor and a loving interest in others. I was so proud of him!

Dad was truly blessed to have had such a wonderful life and we were truly blessed to have him with us for so long. We thank God for that and we will miss him greatly. Bon Voyage Dad!

Ted Allen's Remarks on Al's Life (Sept. 12, 2008)

Good morning everyone. I am Ted Allen, Jeff’s eldest son and the third of Al’s eleven grandchildren.

When my sisters and I were very young my grandfather asked us to call him by his first name. Over the years my friends wondered who was this friend of mine that I was always talking about, but they never saw. I had to explain to them that he was my grandfather.

But in fact he was as much a friend as a grandfather. So I will continue to refer to him in my remarks simply as Al.

I think we all desire, to a greater or lesser extent, the attention and interest of other people. In Al’s case, I think it was a greater extent. I don’t mean that Al needed to be a big shot, just that it seemed to me that he loved knowing that people were thinking about him. And I’m sure that as he looks down upon this gathering of friends and family, he must surely be having fun listening in on the conversations and remembrances we are all sharing.

Al had a wide array of methods for getting people to pay attention to him, and a lot of fun in the process. Sometimes Al’s way of getting attention was through his pranks, which are too numerous to recount here, but mostly he got other people’s attention by taking a genuine interest in them and trying to help them in any way he could.

Even if the attention was sometimes intense, for Al’s eleven grandchildren, this attention was a blessing. Especially for those of us with strong memories of our adolescence with our grandmother Roie, his presence and interest in our welfare, though very different in style than hers, helped give our lives a through-line for which I am personally grateful.

So I hope we gave him enough attention in return to let him know how much we loved and enjoyed him. But just so we’re clear: thank you, Al!

One thing that has become even clearer to me as our family has begun putting his life in perspective is that Al’s story is a great one. I encourage you to take a moment to look at the blog we have created in tribute to him. From the thoughtful words his family and friends have contributed, to the beautiful pictures of his long life, you get the sense of someone who’s story was full, dramatic and, yes, romantic.

And Al did make an effort to tell that story. He wrote an autobiography that, fortunately or unfortunately – depending on your view – did not find a publisher. But really, Al’s life was so rich and so full of distinct phases and unique characters that it could have been better told as a novel (although some of us who have read it believe that parts of it were already fictionalized).

Which got me thinking in the past few days: if we were to write a novel of his life, what style would we write it in? You could try a Russian 19th century style, with a main character full of virtue but also many flaws, and a family tree so large that telling the story would take 1,000 pages. Or you could use an existentialist approach, with a philosophical main character searching for answers. No… that wouldn’t do.

Personally, I would pick the picaresque tradition, with Al as an engaging and prankish hero who overcomes the challenges he faces not just but good fortune but by his intellect and keen wits. Telling the story of his long years, you would weave in the many humorous episodes that he created and lived, and in the process you would see a wonderful story of the world he grew up in and took such great interest in.

And for such a book, what would be the perfect ending? I think it would have to be some occurrence or event in which the main character came to comprehend the depth of the gifts he had given to others through his own existence.

In truth, I think that is exactly what might have happened for Al in the last few months of his life. Maybe his kids or even Al viewed it differently, but from where I stood something subtle and beautiful was happening that, in my heart, I am sure must have given Al great pleasure.

My dad has already commented on the dignity, good humor and tranquility Al displayed to the very end. And it stuck me as quintessentially Al that, in one of our last phone conversations, he told me, “you know, Ted, this is a very interesting stage of my life.” He accepted the process and everyone, especially his children, marveled at it.

My father, my aunts and uncles constantly commented on how proud of him during those tough days. But what did Al observe?

He must have seen how faithful, attentive and gentle his children were with him, throughout his life of course, but especially near the end. For my part, I have never been prouder of my father than watching him care for Al, as well as all my aunts and uncles.

I think that if you ever want to evaluate the impact and influence you have had on others, it is always on display in the way people treat you in return. And from what Al must have observed, I believe he could not but have taken great satisfaction and comfort in the knowledge that through his example had helped shape the character and values of his very loving and loyal children.

To me that truly is the perfect ending to Al’s extraordinary story. I want to thank my father and my aunts and uncles for giving it to him.

Family Remembrances from Sept. 12 service - Matt Lindsay

I'm Matt Lindsay, Marcie's son and one of Al's 11 grandchildren. (Al also had 3 great grandchildren).

In remembering Al today I'll be following some advice that Al himself dispensed to his oldest son Jeff in a birthday card in 1991. Jeff was in his fifties – that's 5-0-t-i-e-s in Albertese…

That advice? "Have fun, before things get tough"

Luckily, I think Al was able to follow his own advice, and have fun, even when things did get tough.

The remembrances that have been posted in recent days on the blog that Peter & Ted Allen created are a testament to all the fun that Al had. Although I must say that only on an Allen family blog would food, practical jokes, and baseball generate the most posts! But the fact that our most vivid memories of Al surround these subjects is to me a sign of a life well lived.

Al forged a unique relationship with each of his 11 grandchildren, a relationship as distinct as each of our personalities. And while we are all individuals, each us has inherited a different part of Al.

Now Al wouldn't want me to opine on which of his characteristics I see in each of my cousins.

He wouldn't want me to say that

-- Ted got his curiosity

-- Or that Molly got his sincerity

-- Or that Sara has his warmth

-- Or that Katie has his drive

-- He wouldn't want me to say that Peter got his intelligence

-- That Bo got his imagination

-- Or Cassie his passion

-- He wouldn't want me to say Ben has his charisma

-- Lauren his creativity

-- Reed his genuineness

-- Or that I evidently got some of his work ethic

No, Al wouldn't want me to say any of that.

Because as far as I can tell from the time I spent with Al, he didn't believe in sharing his opinions.

And if he did hold strong opinions, I'm just not sure he ever felt comfortable sharing them his family.

In seriousness, as I look back over Al's life and the impact he had on each of us, it is amazing how much he shared. I think Al felt, if you're not sharing, you're not caring, and I'm not sure he disdained anything more than ambivalence.

Whether he was sharing life lessons, his opinion on world politics, financial advice, reasons why the Cleveland Indians were really the only baseball team an Allen should root for, or the amazing richness of an Awful Awful, Al was telling you he cared.

And he cared about each of us as individuals – our interests, our goals, our passions – and tried to share what he thought would be relevant to each of us.

Not that he always got it right. In a remembrance my mother wrote "He introduced me to photography and printing, which I enjoyed for years, stock analysis which I'm still learning, he gave me binoculars, cameras, and some lucite sculptures I'm still not quite
sure of."

Isn't that great? We never know exactly what we share will stick – but we greatly improve our chances by casting a wide net.

And some things we share may not have an immediate impact. But Al was patient. (And he had to be with this group of grandchildren).

He realized if he could plant the seed it might not sprout until decades later, but eventually we would realize, oh, I see what Al was saying, and that's why I should care!

Many of you know in his later years Al challenged his grandchildren to respond to a series of questions in his "A Grandfather Asks." Al was not shy in sharing his opinions while asking a question, but he was genuinely interested in what our generation had to say.

And more importantly he challenged us to think about the world around us and our place in it. By encouraging us to share our thoughts he hoped to entice us to think and to care more about the state of our world.

Sharing and caring, that's what Al was about.

As evidence of that, let me read a few short quotes I pulled from remembrances of Al written by his grandchildren:

-- "Al was much more than just a 'grandfather,' he was a life coach, offering you all his years of wisdom and learning, and bending you subtly on to a better path."

-- "From my earliest memories to my last moments with Al, he was always encouraging me to grow as a human being, to take on new challenges and to contribute the happiness and welfare of others. Lots of people give such encouragement, but few live up to the same ideals with their own actions."

-- "I always remember how much Bapa loved his family and all of his grandchildren and how he took a special interest in all of our lives, relating to each one of us in his own way."

-- "I loved most of all the wisdom, of all those acquired years, in a mind that was smart from youth, but still so active and intelligent in old age."

It was that intellectual activity and curiosity that drove Al to care about a variety of issues. I came to appreciate that while he was opinionated, Al allowed his opinions to change over time. Be it political views, investment principles, or facial hair (he dabbled with a new look at 90, growing a moustache), Al was open to change and new ideas.

One constant was his willingness to share. The last time I saw Al his advice was that success isn't as much a secret as it is a reward for hard work.

If I am able to share half as much with my grandchildren as Al did with each of us, it will be a major success.

So what is it I will remember about Al? I will remember that he truly shared and he truly cared.

And there is not much more you can ask for in a grandfather.

young allens

A strikingly familiar pose by the NEXT GENERATION!
m

Marcie, you forgot the women!

And here's the original, Pete

Al Allen's lamp, from Kate Wheeler

Whenever I think of any Allen, I think of many Allens. If mentioning Jeff, Larry, Lisa, Marcie or Richie in a tale, I call them Aunts and Uncles, partly because it's quicker, but also because it better befits their importance. The taxonomy of my many brilliant cousins confounds me too, but at least 'cousin' is a title that can be applied. Al, though of the grand-generation, was also entitled Uncle. Uncle Al. I confess I don't know what the 'C' in his name stood for, but I think 'Caesar' would be befitting -- I can easily imagine his head in laurels, and I think we should all consider the comfort and freedom of togas for some upcoming holiday event. I bring up the naming only because when thinking of the title 'great uncle' I laughed because I thought it so appropriate for him: an uncle, only more storied and expansive.

But imagining Al, I can't help but see his children and grandchildren, in whose company he positively beamed. And I can't help but see his big sister Erma beside him, they with their twin broad foreheads and twin broad smiles. Though they lately explored Alaska and central America, I'll forever see them on that long lawn: Erma in the kitchen, stirring, lecturing, laughing; the screen door constantly clacking open and closed; Al -- just as Cally described! -- holding court on the lawn, later even with a cane grasped lightly as a sceptre. Though Al and Erma both dearly loved to hold forth, they were also able to hold back and listen. Since the très sportif gene seemed to skip me, I liked to listen too, and I liked watching him bask in the enjoyment of his constellation of children and their children. Erma and Al venerated history, but showed no less reverence for personal history, and so (out of genuine concern and unabashed nosiness) they pressed for every mundane detail. Grand ideas could be distilled to simple parts, and built back again.

One night in the living room, we watched a tape of Al being interviewed. He was bravely repudiating his earlier support for the Current Occupant. He was a kettle boiling over with points to make, and was not ashamed to say that he'd changed his mind, and that Bush was a disaster. That was an amazing attribute that he and Erma shared -- they could be so opinionated, so stubborn, and then they could, upon reflection, and with the most maddening lack of fanfare, change their minds. They were self-important but silly, loners and centers, dreamers with practicality. The contradictions are what made them endlessly interesting. Sitting on the long lawn, you heard discussions of politics and art, cooking and intellectual pursuits sprinkled liberally with sports. And so we found ourselves there in Erma's living room, with the ancient warped floor, the beloved old cat safe behind her feet, the tables cluttered with books and mail and articles, and Al on the television excoriating Bush.

That night we listened to the whole interview, applauding at appropriate times, and when the tape ended, Erma sat back in her chair, broad brow raised, broad smile blazing. "I am so proud of my little brother!" said she; and we all agreed.

Cally Wheeler's thoughts on Al as a brother

Late as I am to the Al blogosphere, I have the advantage of having read everyone's wonderful reflections before I write. This is, if I may say so, a remarkable family, and as a collective, a fitting tribute to Uncle Al. But reading my cousin's thoughts, I realize that I had a very different experience of Al. Perhaps, this is because for Kate and I, it was Erma who graciously offered the "fireside chat", life-checkup format- sometimes even unsolicitedly if you can believe it.

So my experience of Al was much simpler. While I remember his warmth and enthusiasm for us acutely, I most admire him in his role as a brother. Al and Erma were in cahoots, I think it is fair to say, for their whole lives; and they held court over every fourth of July and family event in between. I can remember walking through Erma's kitchen door many times and seeing her in her blue chair with her feet up, and the phone to her ear. Most people would get ousted off the other end of the line pretty quickly, upon the entrance of a grandchild, but I remember the conversations with Al would go on and on, sometimes she would say they had talked for hours at a time. Most Al updates from Erma inevitably transitioned into her showing a melodramatic long face, followed by her recollection of how her little brother had tormented her ceaselessly as a little girl... I believe the name "Wormie Ermie" made a lasting impression. Childhood woes aside, I think they took wonderful care of one another, and I am so grateful that Al whisked Erma away on their adventures in Panama and Alaska in her later years. I don't know where their particular mix of humor, loyalty, brutal honesty and sincere open-heartedness came from, but I am proud to see it exemplified in their offspring.

And so we beat on, backyard wiffle ball stars, hamming it up for the camera, ready to offer total candor to the next generation of Allens, already in our midst.

Roie Olympics

Just one picture from a great day and a great tradition.
Roie Olympics 1984.

These were "Roie's" olympics, but I think Al really enjoyed them, for they brought together his favorite things: athletics, competition, family. And for many of us grandkids, during the 1980s, it was one of the few times we saw Al cut loose, and really be that fun grandfather we would see some much of later in life. L to R is: Rich, Ted, Kate Wheeler, Mike Wheeler, Reed, Al, Susan, me and my own feet behind Susan, Phil, Lisa, Cassie.

Jeff Allen: Pictures of AL

(Al at white plains in the 1940s)

Al with dog Petera in the 1930s.

Al at his high school graduation


Al in the early 1950s


At at Jeff A.'s graduation!


Al and Jeff on Al's boat the Houqua in 1956!


Al and Roie and Art Carney in the late 50's early 60's!


At Jeff's House in 2007

Pete A: Young Al: Posing with Family

Al meant so much to me and was such a huge influence on my life, I now find myself completely at a loss of words to describe that importance. And I'd rather not start this blog with a lengthy emotional entry--so I'll jump right to some of my favorite pictures and say only one thing for now: it's unbeliveable how much I will need and miss him as a source of wise advice in the years ahead. I'll start off with one of my favorite Allen Family images of all time! Here's Al and Miner and Erma long ago. If anyone has any guesses for the date and the place, I'd love to know! But I love the poise and swagger of Al's pose, and the joyous grin on Erma's face, and that Miner looks here to be the most serious and responsible of the three!


Katie adds: It is incredible to see how Al lives in us all. In the photo of Al with Erma and Miner (I'm guessing 1922), I can see Peter, Lisa, Ben, Jeff, Sara, Reed and Brooks.


Another great image. Here's Al, Pop and Miner. I haven't seen many images that really show what a fit athlete Al was early on, and this one you can really see that athelitic genes used to run in the family--and these bathing suits!

Pete

Ben jokingly notes: "I had no idea that such masculine physique ran in the family."

The Allen men certainly had big chests, but Dad took his to new heights when trying out for football and William and Mary. Check out his prank in that section of the website.....Jeff

Rich adds these two wonderful pictures of Al from his teenage years!

My Remembrances of Dad……Jeff

(Al and Jeff in 1943)

My Remembrances of Dad……Jeff

What a wonderful man! What a great life! What a Dad! How he will be missed!

Growing up, it seemed that we were constantly on the move as he took on new job responsibilities in Massachusetts, New York, Chicago, and then finally Rhode Island. One of my earliest memories is falling out of a car in Salem, Massachusetts way back in 1944 or 1945. I don't remember the house that we rented there or the surroundings, but this picture of Dad holding me as a toddler in 1943 might have been taken there. I was riding in the back seat and I leaned on the door, it came open and I spilled out on to the road. Luckily, I didn't fall under the wheels or get hit by the traffic, but I remember Mom was really upset with Dad because the door had a broken hinge and had just been tied on. Dad wasn't very good with maintenance issues.

The first house that I remember was our home on Ellison Place in Bronxville, NY. (1945-1949) Rich and I shared a bedroom ( we did so until we were about 16) and we would chase the car shadows on the bedroom walls at night whenever cars came down the short, steep hill that Ellison Place was. We' be having a ball and Dad would have to come in and tell us to "stop gooping (not goofing) around", and we would. Rich and I certainly heard that line a lot over the years!

I remember the first baseball glove that he got me. The finger pockets of the glove were not connected by any webbing and there wasn't much padding, but how I loved it. Dad would throw Rich and I ground balls on the pitched little front yard that bordered Ellison place and teach us to "hop" as we turned to throw. It was the first sport that I remember learning and over the years he would go on to teach us football, basketball and tennis. He must have spent a fair amount of time at it and been a good teacher because Rich and I generally were well ahead of our peers at an early age when it came to sports.

Early on, Dad drove home some important lessons about honesty, and responsibility. When I was probably about 6 years old, in the first grade in Bronxville, I had a friend named Jack Northway and on occasion I would spend the part of the day at his house after school. One day, for some strange reason, I took some money out of his mother's pocket book that she had left by on the floor by a door, put it in my pocket and took it home. When I took a bath that night, my mom found the money called Mrs. Northway and I was discovered. Dad took over and explained the seriousness of what I had done and told me that I would have to stand up for my actions and personally return the money with an apology to Mrs. Northway. I will never forget us driving over to the Northway's house, Dad letting me out at the curb and my making the long walk to the doorway, making my apology and returning the money. That certainly never happened again!

The years that we lived in Skokie, a northwestern suburb of Chicago, 1950-1953, were the years that Dad truly was almost never around. He was the Midwestern Region Sales Manager for Dumont television and his territory spanned from Western Pennsylvania to Okalahoma. He was on the road every week and many weekends flying all over the Midwest in the early prop aircraft of the time. Highlight memories those years were watching the Milton Berle Texaco Star theater and Friday night dinners at "Andy's" or "Cooley's Cupboard" with alone with mom, not with Dad. It wasn't Dad's fault. His job just demanded the time, and I know what little free time that he did have he devoted to the family.

While living in Chicago, we would go back to our grandparent’s house in Rockport, Massachusetts for the summer. It was our second home growing up, and, somehow Dad always made it back to help us get established in little league or some special events there. One of those summers, he spent his whole 2 week vacation with us in Rockport and we built a small wooden sailboat, a "Turnabout", from a kit, painted it yellow, named it "The Minnie" after our grandparents beloved live-in household helper, launched it, and raced it at the Sandy Bay Yacht Club before he had to return to work in Chicago. We were just getting into sailing and it was a great learning experience for us and fun family project. I'm sure there were plenty of other things that Dad could have been doing on his vacation, but I always had the feeling that he put his family first and loved to spend the little spare time that he had with us.

After the family moved back east in 1954, Dad was home a lot more and played a much more active role in our daily lives. He was always trying to teach us bridge, get us interested in stocks, and to develop self-assurance and responsibility by having us work. By the time I was 13, I was working as a baby sitter watching the young Cotter boys who lived behind us on Woodland Road, shoveling Mr. Myer's long driveway on Jenny's Lane, or working with Rich in the warehouse at Allen Distributing in Providence. Rich and I were more interested in the New York System hot weenie joint just down the street from his office than working, but Dad put up with us. Shortly after I had learned to drive, he had me on the road delivering "Allencraft" boat trailers stacked six high to Jordon Marsh on the North Shore of Boston and other dealers that he had set up around New England. And, later servicing his "Moodmaster" background music accounts and collecting monthly rental fees from his customers throughout Rhode Island and Massachusetts. The importance of work, earning your own money, and taking responsibility for your actions were constant themes.

Dad's love of food and his strange eating habits were almost as legendary as his sense of humor and love practical jokes. His car was always chock full of Nabisco products, packets of Klennex, and empty milk shake containers.

As he was an eater, Dad was an "impulse buyer" and loved being sold new product by a good salesman. Witness the Edsel that my mom drove in the late fifties. I'll never forget how on occasion she would have to drive home from Chellel's market with the push button in the center of the wheel stuck in reverse.

When I was about 17, Dad taught me another lesson about using good judgment and being responsible for you’re actions. Dad had gotten a used Ford station wagon for me to use making "Moodmaster" calls and trailer deliveries. I was cruising the town early one night, I think Rich was with me, and a friend pulled up alongside me on Nayatt Road near the elementary school and asked us, "do you want to drag." Of course, I said yes even though my friend had a souped-up dragster and my car was just an old 6 cylinder, Ford hydromatic wagon. We "peeled out", or at least he did, and race a couple hundred yards up the hill to the intersection of Rumstick Road. Nothing eventful had happened, but a friend of Dad's had seen us and called Dad about it. Dad was going teach me a lesson. He confronted me and told me that there had been a police report that someone in a car like mine had been seen racing on Nayatt Road. Did I know anything about it? Not being much of a liar, I admitted everything and he told me that I had to go to the police station and turn in my driver license because I had broken the law and the police were going to confiscate it for six-months. I did and it was 6-months before I got my license back. It was only then that he told me that the police had never really called. He had arranged everything with them to teach me a lesson.

I had the great privilege of working with Dad at Avid Corporation from 1971 until the business was sold and he retired on January 1982. During that period, I came to truly appreciate the extraordinary business talent that he was and just how great he was with his employees and people. He was a man of great integrity and a great entrepreneur who was deeply admired by his employees.

Some of the qualities that I admired most about Dad evidenced themselves to me after his retirement. He was a man who lived modestly all his life and he was extremely generous. He didn't need to be a big shot. Once he had secured himself financially, he set about providing for the education of his grandchildren funding most of the college education expenses for most of his 11 grandchildren. More than that, he engaged himself in their lives growing up and challenged them with projects like his famous "Grandfather Asks" book in 2001, and then kept asking and assigning follow up challenges to all. Dad always looked ahead, not back, and what the world was going to be like for the young people of tomorrow was of great interest and concern to him and he challenged his grandchildren to think about it. He was always "with it."

Besides his family generosity, Dad was a spontaneous philanthropist with other young people as well. Coming across young people working in restaurants or other business, he would engage in conversation with them, find out their life's history and often find some way of helping them. He helped several young people from different parts of the country, world, to attend college and have a better chance in life.

Although Dad never graduated college, he always had a great intellectual curiosity and a quest for knowledge. He loved to read and after retiring, he returned to take classes at Brown University. Although he didn't finish with a degree, he really enjoyed being an older student, adding his voice to the discussion and engaging with the young people in class with him. He was really on top of current events all his life and didn't dwell on the past even though he did love history.

Until the last few months of his life Dad remained focus on being engaged with family and friends and in making a difference in their lives. He was blessed to have a long, prosperous and healthy life and lived it well. Bon voyage Dad and thanks for the loving memories!

(Jeff and Al at 80th birthday party?)

Pete A: AL and ME

Peter Allen's Tabor graduation (1988)

With Roie, Lisa, my Mom, me and my other grandma.

Al and me.

My long, cherished relationship with Al had a lot of twists and turns, an unusual grandfather-grandson relationship, so it bears some explaining, in lengthy form-so my apologies in advance!

Unlike some other grandchildren, my relationship with Al did not really begin until late into my first decade, when my father won legal visiting rights and began making the trip down every summer to rural Arkansas, where he’d fetch me and bring me back to Rhode Island. The first year I cried in the backseat for my mother across all of Arkansas, all of Tennessee, and half-way up the eastern seaboard. By the second year, however, those cries were replaced by gleeful chant, that would now begin by Tennessee and get louder and louder as we moved up the coast: ROIE! Soon we would see Roie, and I could hardly contain my excitement.

Al, of course, was Roie’s husband, I knew that. Beyond that, I knew that he was serious, in charge, and in those days, mostly distant. While our life was “All Roie” all the time, his life seemed a secret world, centered around his office in the back of the house on Washington Road, and especially, bridge games. Ted, Sara and I, loved to sneak into that office and clown around--it’s was Al’s zone, and off-limits, which made it all the more, secretively, appealing. Two moments with Al do stand out, though: Al teasing me just after turning 9 on how my next birthday would be “double-digits,” double-digits, he exclaimed, how incredible! (this from a guy that would almost make it to triple-digits!) The other was one I don’t remember myself, but was probably his favorite story he loved to recall in later years: We were all eating dinner in the kitchen, the grandkids and me and Roie and Al. All the grandkids were talking and laughing and going on, but Roie was trying to speak. According to AL, I got up, banged on the table, and said ‘Hey everyone, be quiet, Roie is trying to speak,’ and the whole table went silent. Al must have been impressed because he so loved that story.

Nonetheless, I was a part-time, summer only visitor to Al and the Allen clan. This changed greatly in the mid 1980s. My mom was struggling with her own alcoholism and other demons (not to mention the abysmal Arkansas schools system for me), and entering her second divorce, --somehow she saw that path she was on was not going to be a pretty one, and despite all that must have been going on around her, somehow summoned the courage to call Al. I’m still amazed she did it, but somehow she must have bared her soul pretty good, and made a pretty convincing case, because she convinced Al to take me on. Al graciously agreed to send me to bordering school in New England and support my education and boarding. Indeed, Al the college dropout would go onto become a passionate believer in education, and send all eleven grandchildren to college. (So in some way I am responsible for this, and you guys all owe me!!).

Al and Roie now became something like parents, more than grandparents. Roie took me shopping for clothes, she washed and folded it all, and wrote my name in my underwear and in the collar of every shirt. Al gave me a nice speech on the opportunity and encouraged me to do well. And I knew I owed it to him to do so. Roie and Al dropped me off at my dorm at elite Tabor academy, fresh off 12 years of rural Arkansas education and styling. My main worry was--if only someone had taught me how to tie a tie! My first day, as I knew this idea of “matching” your clothes was important, so I wore all blue--coat, tie, shirt, pants, socks, and for my tie, well, the little end was below my belt, and the fat end near my chin. Over the next three years, as I evolved a lot at Tabor, I saw Roie very frequently as she would visit often. Al would stop by on his trips to the nearby famous Marion, MA golf course, to offer encouragement. I knew during this time that he grew proud of me, at how I was adapting and performing at Tabor. He would laugh and shake his head at me when he saw me--wow! he would say. (and I know each and everyone of you know what it was like when Al said: WoW!)

Alas, our relationship took a turn for the worse, when I moved on to college in Boston. Another of Al’s favorite stories concerning me, was when he called me up in my freshman year to see how I was doing! Great I said, I’ve been going to see a lot of music! Al took this to mean classical music, the symphony. But the next time we talked, he asked how I was liking the symphony, and I had no idea what he was talking about, we figured it out--no rock music I said! And it was true, Boston in the late 1980s to early 1990s was one of the great pioneering spots for alternative rock music, and my roommate and I spent most every other night out at shows. Al loved this story in later life, but at the time, didn’t like this development very much, nor when I came home with died hair, nor when I added an earring. I came remember him so clearly, we were driving on Washington Road and he lit into me, you look awful, what is a matter with you! But for me, it was the first time I had ever really had friends, a social life, and social fun, so, unfortunately, I pretty much ignored his advice!

The low point in all my years with Al was when Roie died. First, at the time, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with my life, but I loved history and had developed a love for archeology. Through a teacher I had arranged to spend the summer at a dig in Sardinia to see if I liked it, after which, she thought I could apply to grad school in the field. But you had to pay 3,000 up front, which Roie, seeing how excited I was, agreed to do when I saw her about a month before she died. The day of her stroke, I was in class and practice all day, so I didn’t get any news about Roie until I talked to uncle Phil late in the day. We agreed the best plan was for me to take the earliest train I could down to Providence and Phil would pick me up. I remember only 4 things from the next day. First, seeing Phil and Jeff and their faces the next morning at Amtrak station and knowing I was too late to ever see Roie again. Second, arriving at Washington Road and being so happy to see Erma, but not being able to hug her because she had just smashed her own face into her own refrigerator, and was covered in bruises and very large sunglasses!) 3rd, with Ted on the 4th tee talking about Roie. And 4th, when I saw Al: he wasted no time lighting into me for being no good, ugly, and wasting my chance at College. (Here of course, he was right as almost always). And When I saw him next he lit into for trying to exploit Roie for money. Things turned for the worse when summer came and I told him I was dropping out of school--he said he’d never pay for school or support me in anything if I did.

Of course, I knew at the time that Al was really hurting, and that he didn't mean the things he said. I only wished I could have been there for him in a different, more helpful way. I can't imagine the pain he was going through, nor how to help him. So instead, I ended up working the summer in a Newport RI restaurant. Thank god Ted was working at nearby Block Island and was a frequent visitor, and my boss at the Moorings gave me sort-of parental soul to guide me. Al and I ending up having a lot of "talks" that summer, and in the next few years. Somehow I righted myself from the emotional summer, and returned to school in better form than before, and Al and I began once again to grew closer and closer. (Though ironically, the cooking experience I gained that summer enabled me to earn a living as I wandered about in the future, probably the last thing Al would want to encourage!)

This next phase of Al I call the “just GO for it!” Al. Neither Ted or I had any idea what to do with our lives, and we spent a lot of time on shorter or longer layovers in Rhode Island, in between explorations abroad trying to figure out what we were doing, and many, many lunches with Al discussing life in general. These were frequently at the Newport creamery, which still to this day I can not walk into without a mix of apprehension, excitement and love for Al and Roie. Al was constantly encouraging us. Go For It was his mantra. He was right of course, but more often than not, Go for What? was what I wanted to ask him in return. One winter in particular, Ted and I ended up sharing a house in Providence. Al had given me a series of tapes by a motivational speaker, Les Brown to encourage me. Ted and I listened to those tapes again and again, howling with laughter! We soon had the tapes memorized and were citing lines back to Al, telling how much we loved the tapes, though not how we took laughing. Of course, we both knew Al and Les Brown were right--you did have to find something, and you did have to go for it! And the whole experience drove both of us closer to Al, I think. We realized how much he truly cared for us and how much he really felt we could achieve something great. For me it was when I really started to feel like Al was a warm-hearted soul, a kind person who loved us and wanted the best from us. From Les Brown on, the rest of our years together would be marked by this increasing warmness, needed encouragement from his part, and ultimately, friendship.

Eventually, each grandchild (at least the ones in the first generation did--the young ones are only there now!) did find their way, and did start going for it! Ted and I both wandered further, but found our own path, at least we hope so AL!, Sara moved steadily forward into teaching, Katie made it 2 of 3 Allens to graduate William and Mary! Matt we never had to worry about of course, and he went straight through on course, as did Cassie in her way too (being generation 1.5, I know less of their struggles). But none of us would have made it without Al’s encouragement and wisdom to guide us. How much we will miss it going forward!

My last years with Al were somewhat contradictory. Some of the things that happened between us hurt me greatly, and I felt sometimes that I was less a true grandchild than an accidental one, pushed back on him by a mother in a desperate and worsening situation. On the other hand, I was never closer to Al, never felt more like he was my friend, never valued talking to him on phone or in person more. Especially when Erma passed on, and my visits home to New England seemed a little lost, it was Al that increasingly became the highlight of my time there. I wasn’t chanting his name up the eastern seaboard in the back of my dad’s old pinto, but I couldn’t wait to get back to RI and see him, nor to pick up the phone and talk to him from California. Heck, I think I may have talked to him more in the past five years than all the years beforehand, and certainly we connected more often. While my talks with Erma were delightful rambling discursive affairs, wandering throughout family, and red sox, history; Al and I kept it pretty short and moved pretty directly through baseball, the economy, and ultimately--always ultimately--politics. But I loved how his face would light up when he saw me, or how you could hear the same face in his voice when he answered, or the ‘oh boy’s’ that would come talking when we moved to baseball and the Indians. And I loved that laugh he seemed to Al developed, such fun to talk to! (at least one I don’t remember from being young, but I am sure was there). And of course I loved his political vision and disdain for Bush, whether you call it a new one or his old one. But I loved most of all the wisdom, of all those acquired years, in a mind that was smart from youth, but still so active and intelligent in old age. I think he was happy how I turned out, and now even though my path is pretty well set, I feel I could use his advice and wisdom now more than ever. How much I will miss him going forward.