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.

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.

Jackie Melchior: Remembering Booie

Jackie with Al's Daughter Marcie in November, 2007

Jackie Melchior, a native Californian, came east in 1935 to visit her cousins Al, Miner and Erma. Though she shortly returned to the San Francisco Bay Area, she became a life-long friend and close confident to both Al and Erma. I remember so many conversations with Erma around Jackie and the family legacy in California, I know how much Jackie meant to her--and in so many talks with Al, he would really brighten up at the mention of Jackie, or when he would pick up the phone and Jackie was on the other line. So I know how much she meant to the both of them!

Jackie shares:
Remembering Booie:

I first met Albert Allen in early fall of 1935. Seventeen years old, I had just graduated from high school and had never been out of California. I was a little hick; he was two years older, one of the highly sophisticated eastern cousins who knew so much of the world. They called him Booie, the name his big sister, one year older than he, used for“Brother” when they were babies. I remember him lying on his bed after school listening to the stock market reports on the radio, I think even back then he was investing his allowance wisely and learning how to handle money.

Two incidents I remember vividly. One was my 18th birthday when I became an adult. Everybody gave me presents, but I only remember one of them. Erma, who had, on the day before, become a real adult of 21, was allowed to drive us to the City for tea on the tavern of the green. The law of Mass. permitted me to drink alcohol, so I was allowed to have my first drink—I chose from the menu an old fashioned which sounded safe, but on an empty stomach made me quite tipsy. Everybody said you’ll be okay when you get something to eat, so we went back to White Plains singing joyously. But I had nothing to eat until Booie brought me his present, half a cherry pie, at about four o’clock. We sat on the floor in my bedroom and ate it.

Couple hours later I went to the very special feast Minnie and Erma had created for me and I had trouble pretending to enjoy it on top of an old fashioned and a quarter of a cherry pie.

The other was after a nice dinner the Allens had prepared for another couple who were going with them to the Met. After they left us kids sat for a while around the table, laughing and talking. I waved my hand at something and knocked over my long stemmed goblet of water. I was mortified, wanted to die or at least hide under the table, when Booie said:
“Look what Jacky did! She did this:” and he knocked his goblet over, making the puddle on the table worse. Turning my gaffe into a huge joke that had everybody laughing.

So I loved Booie, like I guess everybody who knew him did. We will miss him, but his spirit lives on, for me every birthday when I think for a moment about that cherry pie as I blow out an increasing number of candles.


Here's Marcie's favorite picture of Jackie. In this picture, Jacky stands next to an old painting of her grandmother Butler, in front of her beautiful portrait by Erma, and near the wooden penguin door-stop given to her as a(strange?) going-away to college gift from Al's mom, Erma Revoir.

Susan: Father-in-Law

Al was the closest thing as to having my own Dad that I have ever known.

Just recently Al told me he remembered the day we met (over 30yrs.ago) and that he liked me instantly. You have to know it was mutual. Over the years and especially after Roie's passing we became closer and closer. I got to know his "quirks", enjoyed our talks, took most of his advice and best of all shared an unconditional love. He was the Go-To-Guy. If there was a fire, he was there with the hose, basement flooded, he's the guy with the bucket, but sick, and he wouldn't come near you with a 10 foot pole. Germs, you know?

Jeff and I so enjoyed being in Naples with Al and being able to swim with him in his pool. We would be in there for at least an hour at a time and he was the best swimmer (I'm the worst). He would hold court with the other swimmers and sunbathers and always engage them in conversation. When we left we knew where they were from, what the did, how many kids they had and where the older lady bought her kookie swimcap that "Dottie would look just great in". He would leave on his little scooter, towel around his neck, a box of Kleenex in the basket, a cap on his head and home to Dottie. I will miss him so much.
Happy Trails my friend,
Love,
Susan

Pumpky and Bapa

Pumpky! A loud booming voice rang through the house. I abruptly left Bo and Dot in the kitchen and headed to his room thinking that Larry had called me for something only to find out that Al had heard my voice and wanted me front and center. It was just three days before he died. So strong, so much in command of his life and those around him even at the end.

Actually Al will never leave me. I know that for certain since my parent's and Roie's passing. They are always there, just over my left shoulder, urging me on, giving me guidance, helping me be a better wife, parent, friend. Case in point: August 29th, 7:30 am, 7th hole, 7 wood at the tee and I exclaimed "This one is for Al"- 1st drive and I hit the green within a few feet of the pin. I could feel Al cheering me on.

I feel truly blessed to be a part of the Allen family all these years - such zest for life, such honesty, such love.

Bapa's last words to me were "never vote for a person who has voted for war. Global Peace, Global Peace, that is what is important." And while we didn't always agree with one another, in fact he loved to "get me going" - on this one he is right on.

Love you Bapa!


(Pumpky and La at their Jamestown House)

Marcie: Remembrance of Father

As Father got older, how could I not get more and more impressed by him? He didn't get angry or bitter at life( for long) and acknowledged what a wonderful life he'd been given. He had two
beautiful wives, loving (if not perfect ) children, and a constant interest and concern for what the world was coming to.

Where did that energy and genuine interest for family and human affairs come from, and how did he sustain it?

Was he really interested in birds, or was it his way to connect with me that he always reported new bird sightings/behaviors from Florida? With Rich he might talk about the hubris of the current presidency; with Jeff the beloved Indians; with Lisa art and family; with Larry finances and paintings. He was genuinely interested in all these things, and informed as well, but I think a lot had to do with his aptitude in engaging people. He really liked assessing people and
their experiences.

As a child, he was always the voice of authority and the one to reckon with with, Roie being the one to give comfort and understanding. But that was the period, and I also remember dancing
on his feet( that was glorious) and holding onto his back when we dived into the waves at Good Harbor Beach and his hitting the tennis balls to me over and over again, trying to help me with my strokes.

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.

The intimidating part of being a child of his was that he really presumed you could do all the things he had: learn business operations, understand salesmanship, actually hit a golf ball, drive
without without ever once having an accident!, swim, sail, thread an 8 mm projector, fiberglass a dent in the hull, and "listen to your mother!"

He was so generous, it became difficult to accept. Why didn't he spend more money on himself? Well, it turned out to be simple; he had more fun giving it away.

And what I learned about my Father in his last years, and with wonderful Dot, is that he wanted to have fun! To meet new people, to talk about new ideas ( and his ideas of course) to engage with his grandchildren and to try to alert more people to need for a return to integrity in governance.

He really was a remarkable personality and I know the loss of his presence will only heighten with the years and the awful first holidays. And he was a FOP, a Friend of Phil, which I will always cherish!

This is one of the classics many of us have seen before, but on the back father wrote:"Can yoo ever believe we were that young. This was in Rockport in the summer of 1937- I was at Wm & Mary Love, Dad PS not fair- we should our life at the top- or should we-" I think the way he lived all his years, with the loving support of Dottie, Erma, Jacki, the Eckloffs and others was that you make the most of the years you're given, even when it's hard!

-Marcie

Marcie and Peg (Phil's Mom) and AL


Another view of Marcie and Phil's wedding in 1970, with Al in the foreground.

Rich: “boy, do they do a job.”

(Here Rich Allen presents an autographed photograph of pitcher Bob Feller, Al's favorite ever Cleveland Indians player!)


Dad’s favorite thing: Someone who does a good job.

Dad’s favorite saying – as a compliment: “boy, do they do a job.”

I have the memory of one scene, it was around Boston somewhere, in1957 or 58, that is so vivid: I’d been playing hooky in the 7th grade, as the situation at L.R. Peck Jr. High was so unacceptable, to me, that I was seriously thinking of leaving home and becoming a fur trapper, like Daniel Boone. I’d go off in the woods on school days to figure out how is there a future for me out there. Tiny Martin, the Principle, was inspired enough to bring over Fur Fish and Game magazines, but nothing seemed to being doing the trick for dad, who was busy trying to support the family and could do without this new problem and just wanted me to go to school and act normal.

Tiny suggested that Dad take me with him to work during the school day, so I could see for myself what work was like. So one morning after a snow Dad and I drove from RI up toward Boston as he made sales calls on appliance stores and restaurants, where he moonlighted selling background music. There was more snow near Boston but it was warm, as I remember, we had the car windows open, so I guess it was early spring. I forgot what he was doing, exactly, but I mostly waited in the car. Once I went with him into where someone signed something for dad, then offered him a cigarette, then offered me one. Dad interrupted, saying, “no, no, I hope he won’t be doing that for a while.”

Heading home we were at an intersection and I look to the right at a man in his car at the light, his window is open and he’s looking at us. Just then a truck crosses in front and sends a huge pile of dirty slush right up into the man’s face and drives off. The man was swearing and yelling back at the truck, brushing the slush from his face. Dad was laughing at the swearing man and thought it was the funny thing he’s ever seen. Later, he tried to describe what made him laugh - it wasn’t the swearing. Almost home, he was still shaking his head, saying “that poor guy.” I’ve asked him if he remembered this a few times, but he has no recollection of it. Another time we were talking of our relationship in those days and he got a hurt look and said “you threw stones at my car.” I vaguely remember being mad and picking up stones from the drive way and throwing them at his car as he drove away from me. Neither of these incidences seems important, but they must have been, because we remembered them.

Bo will get off his Ass

I recently had the unorthodox pleasure of reading Bapa’s, Al’s, memoirs. He had suggested I edit it. This task was, and is for the time being, too daunting, but I had the privilege of reading it and marking points of interest, of which there were many. To loosely quote one relevant such passage, “I have a secret hope that after I die I will live on in the subconscious minds of my grandchildren, so I can help guide them in the right direction.” Horror movies have been made about such possibilities, but I feel that this hope of his is in many ways inevitable, and I know that, though in my personal case I don’t really want to expose him to such sordidness, he has found home in all of us.

From the few times that I saw him, it seems to me that Bapa lived the last few months of his life in a way that should make us all proud – straightforwardly and with a strange and, yes, in many way new positivism that in no way masked his concerns and reflection (there was one point that he greeted my mom, “PUMPKY!!”, with such a sincere, spontaneous, and booming energy, that it actually stunned me).

I love you Bapa, and I will do my best to get off my ass.

Matt: Remembering Al

(Al, Cassie, Jamie, Marcie, Matt and Dot)

There is a definite evolution to the relationship you have with your grandparents. For me, as a young child grandparents were these figures that floated in and out of your life, spoiled you, and were relative pushovers. As you grow, grandparents continue to spoil you, dote on you, but you only view grandparents through the lens of their relationship with you and your family. Eventually, you realize they are not simply "grandpa/Bapa" or "grammy/granma", but individuals with their own lives, experiences, and stories. And Al certainly had an abundance of stories.

We only have four grandparents. On my father's side I never knew my grandfather, while my paternal grandmother is one of the strongest people I will ever know. I feel that I have fewer strong memories of Roie than perhaps Katie, Peter, Ted & Sara, who are a few years older than me. I don't think I was old enough to appreciate her as an individual, although I have memories of her as a loving grandmother.

So it was both a relative surprise and a pleasure for me to see how my relationship with Al grew over the past decade. In high school I went out to lunch with Al, who told me he was investing a certain amount of money for me in the stock market, but I couldn't touch it until I was 35. We went through which stocks he was investing in and why, and the basics of how to play the market. But imagine my consternation - 35! - that's like 18 years (basically a lifetime!) away.

So, like most teenagers I mostly ignored the investments. However, Al had cracked my exterior, made me think a little, and gotten me somewhat interested in this investment thing. His story that day stuck with me. Al had each received a certain amount of money from their father. Although he was young, Al had invested this windfall for the long haul.

Fast forward 5 years or so. Thanks to Al I had a significant nest egg, and being mostly ignorant and self-consumed, at least I hadn't frittered it all away. I came out of college with a degree, and a beautiful woman that is the love of my life. Jamie and I met with Al - Jamie loved the way he welcomed her into the family, I was sorry I disappointed him -- "You should have sold it all in 2000" he told me!

But our relationship continued to grow, and I will always be indebted to all not only for the financial place he put me in - he helped put me through college, a bond he purchased supplemented my purchase of Jamie's engagement/wedding ring, and helped us purchase our house - but the important messages he shared. Work hard, play fair, think big, and love your family.

Jamie and I were able to see him just the weekend before he passed away. He told us how proud he was of us and as was often the case with Al, more important than his words were his actions. He asked Dot and my mom to take updated photos of me & Jamie and put them on his computer. And when some nurses came in to talk to him he told them he was fine and just wanted to see his grandson.

There was no great secret to life he told me. Just work hard, and stick with her, he pointed at Jamie. As we were leaving, he called me in again. His final words to me "Don't root for the Yankees!". One final promise I am sure I can live up to.

Sorry to go on so long, but I felt its important to share these remembrances. I have included a few photos from the Allen Family Olympics: Part Deux. Photo 1 - Al, Marcie & Dot. Photo 2 - Peter shows Al the prizes for the Allen Olympics - framed photos of Al you can find in this blog.

- Matt

Another view of Marcie's wedding with Al in the foreground.

Lala on Al as a Father

(Lala, Reed, Susan, Roie, Al--I am pretty sure this is at one of my first lacrosse games at Tabor Academy, about 1988!)

You would think that we would learn, but men just don’t seem to. Time after time in every generation we repeat our father’s mistake. Being a Dad is arguably the most important thing that a man may do, but there is no preparation. Harvard should shut down it’s business school (look what that has brought us!- sorry Mike ) and start a School of Parenting.

You would think that I would have learned from my own upbringing, and my involvement (joyous!) in Jeff’s first clutch of kids, but I didn’t. It is so much easier being an Uncle! Men are not prepared for true love, that moment when the little hand grasps his smallest finger. Women, at least in my happy experience, are prepared.

Responsibility! That is a father’s task; to provide and prepare the children for the world that exists beyond the Mother’s arms. Somehow, life must be distilled into a lesson, a lesson which has no end and an “A” not in the cards. Dad did this, Jeff did, I do, especially to our sons whom we love so much- and often sorely test that love - in an attempt to make them all the better. No doubt this is why Bo has taken up with Zen, which, as I understand it, allows that we are all perfect in ourselves.

I remember at one period in my life when I was still into dinosaurs and science and not physically active enough that he gave me a book, “Push Yourself” which urged young men to take up the pugilistic sport. Not for me! But he kept on trying and brought me to love tennis and all racquet sports.

Dad was not content to improve his own children, but really hit his stride with his grandchildren who were urged on by the force of his personality and by well - timed capitalistic bribes! His effort to bring the grandchildren to political awareness was remarkable for a man his age, as was his embracement of the new technologies that so shape our society. By seeking to improve those about him, he so improved himself! He was growing in wisdom throughout his later years, and approached his death in a manner of which I can only characterize as in a state of grace.

Throughout his life Dad’s love was often masked in his generosity and in a self assured conviction that he was the center of the family (He is, but Mom is the lodestone). He often saw in himself the font of all success and happiness, while sometimes neglecting that we all need to feel that we have done something worthwhile on our own.

In his conviction that he could so guide and help his progeny there is a certain naivete, a certain self-centerness but also a nobility that is thrust on a man when he becomes a father. He thought he could make us all better, and he did. I am proud of him.

Thanks Dad.
Lala

Ted Allen: Remembrance of ACA

(Ted A making a toast at Al's 90th)

I am very fortunate to have been Al’s grandson, and I am grateful for his life and friendship.

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. To the very end Al sought to grow, becoming gentler and more affectionate; to take on new challenges, penning his autobiography; and to help others, through sound advice and often generous financial support.

As strong a presence as Al was in my life, it took me a while to develop a mature appreciation of his individual qualities. Throughout my childhood and adolescence I didn’t really know Al independent of my grandmother, Roie. To me he was part of a greater entity that I knew simply as “Roie and Al.” It wouldn’t be until after her death that I began to know Al more fully.

Knowing Al as I do now, I can see experiences from my childhood that gave me my first glimpses of Al’s world and complex personality. For instance, one of my favorite places to play was Al’s library. It was a special place in the house, and playing there depended on his mood. If I had permission to play there on my many stays at the house, I would go to the library and take down huge books to spread out on the floor and read. I loved his military atlases and paintings of historic battles or events. Roie and I would also look through Al’s collection of albums and put on different operas or big band music for me to listen to while I spent hours on the floor flipping through the pages of the books. I can vividly recall the sound of the music, the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the room and the smell of the wood paneling and bookshelves. The smell of the library was completely distinct from the rest of the house, which was full of bright rooms permeated with Roie’s fragrance. When Al would come home Roie would hustle me out of the room so he could get ready for guests to come over for a game of bridge. Sometimes the game would just be ending the next morning when I got up. All the late night activity just made me more curious about Al.

If most of my interaction as a child was with Roie, there were several occasions that Al sought me out by himself to encourage me to begin taking on responsibilities. When I was about six, shortly after my parents separated, I had a day off from school because of a typical New England wintry mix of snow, sleet and then rain. There were about six inches of snow before the temperature warmed enough for change the precipitation to sleet and rain. That afternoon Al drove up to visit us and came in with a gift for me: a snow shovel. He said I should try to help out my mother by shoveling the driveway. I’m afraid I wasn’t much help, because the mess on the ground was heavy and thick, too much for a six year old. But the impression it left on me was distinct and helped me begin to understand who he was, separate and apart from Roie.

When Roie died suddenly in 1989, my interaction with Al became more frequent. Shortly after her death, I stayed with Al at 482 Washington Rd. while my father and step-mother took a short trip to the Caribbean. Every night we stayed up late talking about Roie and how much we were going to miss her. It was the first time Al had shared stories of his life with Roie with me, stories he would elaborate on further over the years. Although some of it was uncomfortable to hear, it helped me understand the complexities of a man I had known all my life, but didn’t fully understand.

Over the next few years, Al gave me a lot of advice and encouragement as I tried to find my way in life. Sometimes he did it with positive support and other times he did it by calling me out on my flaws (which are many!). He was good at recognizing a problem and calling it what it was. He never beat around the bush about his opinions, and they were usually spot on.

When my first effort at college ended badly, he told me do find something I liked doing and he would help me pursue it. Knowing that I was interested in cooking, he introduced me to his friend Mo Gabe, the Chancellor at Johnson & Wales, and helped me enroll there. He also set aside some money for me for my future. Later he had some harsh words for me when I lost interest at Johnson & Wales and I used the money he had set aside for me to buy a ticket to Australia. I remember the long conversation we had at his house on North Lake Drive when I told him what I had done (I think my Dad drove me over there, saying I owed Al an explanation). Al told me I was lost and swore that he would never give me money again in his life. I walked out of there with my tail between my legs thinking I had damaged my relationship with him beyond repair. But whether he forgot what he had said or just forgave me, in the end that pledge is the only one I can think of that he never followed through on.

I like to think that Al was pleased to see what I did when I began traveling. Somehow, it got me interested in the world around me, I became excited about learning new languages, and began challenging myself to reach for bigger and better things. We corresponded throughout my travels (and I kept every one of his letters) and he seemed as excited as I was with all my new experiences. When I returned to the US nearly five years later, I worked in Boston and took classes at Harvard Extension School as I prepared to apply to Brown University. When I was accepted and I returned to Providence to live on the same street where he had owned a building years before, Al and I sat down again, this time for a more positive conversation. He told me that while he didn’t approve of my quitting on school and taking the money to get started in my travels, he was proud of the things I had done during those years and happy that I had finally found a direction. Later he would tell me, only partly in jest, “It was the best money you ever spent that wasn’t your own!”

During the last ten years, Al and I grew closer. We shared a love for baseball and our weekly phone calls always involved some mention of the Indians and the Red Sox. We talked about my work, job opportunity, love interests, and life in Washington DC—which invariably led us to the subject of politics. It was fascinating to me to watch the transformation of Al from life-long Republican to a harsh critic of George Bush. In that political evolution, Al continued to show that he practiced what he preached, growing as a person even as he neared the end of his life.

When I visited Al in Florida last December, he told me he thought the next year would be his last. I’m not sure I believed him because he still seemed so strong to me. We swam together in his pool a couple of times and he seemed vigorous, swimming laps and maintaining a conversation with me at the same time. He retold stories of his life with Roie, lectured me about the virtues of a balanced budget, and went on about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He seemed like he would keep on going forever, learning and growing as a person and always remaining true to his principles: fiscal responsibility, peace and leaving things better than you found them.

I think it is entirely appropriate that Al preferred for me and my sisters to call him by his first name. He was as much a friend as a grandfather. I will miss my friend greatly.

- Ted

Dot Remembers

(As told by Dot to Marcie)

Al and DorOthy (he always said he was surprised that the name had a second O) were married on May 14, 1992 after a courtship over the bridge tables and dance-floors of New England. She feels that her 16 years of marriage were like a vacation("Every day we'd get up and say: ‘What could we do today?’"); but we all marvel at the love and the care and support she gave through his decline over the year.


Al and Dot's Wedding in 1992.


She was with him every day, and when he died.

They were a good match she felt because they shared feelings of the enormity of the lost of their beloved first partners Bill and Rosemary, with whom they both chose to be laid to rest. They both loved dancing, the "American songbook," bridge, dining out and a hot cup of tea when they'd return home. They enjoyed their winters in Florida, and especially the new friendships they forged as a couple, especially with Frank and Violet Eckloff, Nancy Oden, and Tony Romano.

Dottie shared a wonderful story about when they were first dating and Al was inexcusably late for a family party—She disinvited him. When her son Billy asked why Al hadn't been at the family party as planned, she said "It's a long story." Al tried to make up for the misunderstanding by buying up an entire florists potted plants, and delivering them to her house later. When Dottie returned to the house, Billy reported: "The long story's been here!"



She also knew that Al needed his independence and privacy. For all of their marriage she'd spend one night a week at her home in Warwick. Until he was too weakened by disease, she honored his personal wishes. She remarked " He'd like to see the backside of me!"

In his last months he also acknowledged the gift that she and and Lisa had given him, that religions can offer in the power of prayer, hoping to be reunited with loved ones and acceptance of cycle of life. Dot prayed with Al, and she was so moved when he said: "I said a prayer, that God will take care of you after I die."

And so shall we all.


"The Outlaws" as Dottie said:
Her brother Gerry and Ron Carr, Al, Shirley and the late George Carr, and Dottie in front.

From the Wheelers

Mike and Candy Wheeler on the floor at the Democratic National Convention, 2008. (Al would have been proud!-see the Al and politics post!) (okay this webmaster cannot resist a GO OBAMA!)

There are so many fabulous memories – where to begin?

How about with Al and Miner in the garage building a Turnabout from a kit? The project went in fits and starts. (Al must have been shuttling back and forth from Illinois -- or was this after the move to RI?) As I recall, construction took so that the boat got a newer number, but finally the "Minnie," painted a cheerful yellow, was launched.

Then I can see Jeffie, Richie, and me -- all barely teenagers riding in the backseat of a car. Al is driving and has turned down Bridgewater Street towards Lobster Cove in Annisquam. A pretty girl is walking up the hill. Al stops, rolls, down the window, and asks her, "Excuse me, but my boys back there are very shy. Could you give them some suggestions about how they can talk with young ladies?" The fact that I remember exactly where this took place speaks volumes about how embarrassing that was -- which was the whole point, of course.

And I remember a damp voyage on the "Hoqua," the end of one summer, from Rockport to Rhode Island. The weather had been lousy for a couple of days, so departure was postponed, but finally we took off at night and in the fog, too, I think. (This in days before GPS or radar on pleasure boats.) Together with Miner, Jeff, Rich, and Al, of course, it was my first sea-going adventure. When we put into the Harbor of Refuge on the Cape Cod Canal, I felt like a real mariner.

Then there are memories of events that took place long before I was born but which were retold so often it seems like I was there: Al (and Freddie Steele?) supposedly bursting through a flimsy schoolroom wall at Roger Ascham. Or Al getting caught in the 1938 hurricane on his way back to White Plains. And the family's cross-country trips -- which must have been a hoot. Also, of course, the picnics and backyard games that were blessedly caught on camera – and that remain a family tradition today.

For all of that, though, it isn’t just specific events I recall. It’s also Al’s presence, his engagement with life. Even when he was sitting down, he wasn’t sitting still. He’s a guy who prodded his grandchildren to think about their lives, the own future, and that of the world. He’s someone who wrote his memoirs, but then this spring looked at his life in a new light. “I’ve been very fortunate, especially when it comes to family” he told lots of people. “Isn’t it interesting,” he added, “how sometimes you can see things from another perspective?” (“I guess there’s hope for us all, Uncle Al,” I answered.)

When Candace and I visited for the last time, barely a month ago, he received us in his bedroom. It would be short stay, we’d been told, but we ended up talking for more than an hour. Al was eager to hear more about Candace's job, what exactly she did, especially the policy and personnel problems that she was confronting.

He listened thoughtfully, offered advice, and then said, "I love a challenge.” And so he did. Al had resilience in business and in his personal life, always bouncing back, always focused on whatever new might be coming next. What an inspiration for everyone!

Lauren on Bapa!

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. With me he would always ask about my art or sports or talk about a particular painter or an artist he once knew. I was always pleased and surprised with how well he would remember the things I told him and with his genuine interest in my life. I hope that I will be able to learn from him and maintain the same sense of curiosity in the world and the people around me throughout my life as he did in his.
When I was younger we exchanged letters several times and he would share with me an anecdote from his youth, usually about some sort of trouble he had gotten in to and how he learned a life lesson from it, which was inevitably passed on to me through his story telling. I wish I had those letters on hand; they are all at home in RI, so that I could share some of his pearls of wisdom, although chances are he already passed them on to each of you in other ways.
I admire him for so many reasons and it really saddens me that I am not going to be there for his service. I really wish I could be with everyone in the same space to share memories and remember his life and reflect on the impact that he had on his friends and family. Through my travels though I enjoy very much turning to this blog and reading what everyone has to share and look through the pictures of Bapa. I can't help but think how different all family gatherings will be from now on without his presence. But I know we will all keep him with us and remember him fondly always.

Lisa A Remembrance

Lisa's shares...

I love this one of my dad on the swing at Larry's at Paradise Farm.
What a swingin' Dad.

I'll always be daddy's little girl! I 'd hide under the Chinese table at my grandparents house in Rockport where this photo was taken in the late 50's, and love to hear the voices calling, "Lisa, where are you?"

In his last months, dad asked me to help him with a new monument for the Forest Chapel Cemetery where he wanted to be buried with our mom Rosemary. I was glad I could help him see it through, and he was pleased. I'd rather have shared pictures of my father and I through the years, but they're all in a storage unit in Richmond, where I've just moved.

(Molly, Lisa, Al, and Ben)