My Father's Funeral, 2007

Fredric Thomas Suss, Sr.

My Parting Words...

Pop had class. His kind of star quality shined quietly and sure. Throughout his life he met all challenges, intelligently, dispassionately. Whether it was dealing with Mom’s deterioration, various traumas visited upon him by his kids (not the least of which was me), or financial strains, he always kept his poise and equanimity. His patience, like his hospitality, was legendary. I never heard him complain about the psychedelic music blaring on the radio as he drove me somewhere; and to my friends he was ever the accommodating and cheerful host. He was a man of great faith – a faith that showed he knew his own limits – a faith that knew how to unblinkingly dispatch unnecessary worry to a power greater than himself. Never preachy, still, he displayed an ethical certitude about things in a way that epitomized and defined his generation. His voice came through to me in the letters he wrote – a voice that was an eternal flame of hope and kind encouragement, as I bungled from one venture to another.

In 1986, when he was over 70-years old, without a second thought, he fearlessly agreed to accompany me – onto the wind-chopped waters of the Wye River, under a blackened, threatening sky – to help me tow my sinking sailboat down the way to where I could safely pull it onto land. In 1988, when I was clerking for a judge, he helped me brief a ton of probation cases for a project I was tasked to do. He applied his usual, generous and tenacious skill to these tasks, never questioning my motives or capabilities, acting with a certain, trusting openness that I have long admired. Once, in the early ‘90s, after watching me demonstrate some sort of social dexterity as I interacted with some other person, he suddenly said that I would be a bigger success than he could ever have been. He also complimented me on my letter writing ability – almost each time he got one of my letters. I tried to tell him that I learned these things from observing him – from witnessing his interactions with others, from seeing the way he expressed himself in his own writing. In fact, I cannot hope to come close to Pop, his personal and professional accomplishments, and his relentlessly good-natured, good-humored and well-adjusted persona.

Just as I was coming to know him as an adult, it was almost too late. Still, although Pop was deteriorating, we seemed to have found a quiet place of understanding between us. And as time went by, I wondered whether he saw me more as Jack his long-departed brother, rather than Jack his son. He bore the indignities of his last years’ debilitating incapacity with a certain unquestioning dignity. Even here there is much to admire. Yes, Fred Suss, Sr. was a special person all right. And the honor I feel of being his son is outweighed only by the debt of thanks I have for this son-of-immigrants who did so much for so many during his long lifetime. His legacy is in the example of the honest life he lived. For this I salute you, Pop, now and forever.