webbmcmahon

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BEVERLY MCMAHON EULOGY 11/1/20

On behalf of my brothers and sisters, we very much appreciate you coming during these highly unusual circumstances to celebrate the life of Beverly Wilson McMahon.

My mother was born and grew up in Mobile, Alabama. After graduating high school, her family moved to Baton Rouge and Mom enrolled in LSU.

She joined Phi Mu Sorority where she made many lifelong friends. She worked her way through college since her father wasn’t willing to pay for her school because he did not think it was necessary for girls to attend college.

She met my Dad who had just returned from serving in Korea. They fell in love and got married while my Dad was in law school. They had Sharon, my oldest sister, while in law school at LSU. After law school, Mom & Dad moved to Lake Charles where Susan and I were born. A few years later, they moved to Houma where Neal & Phe were born.

Dad practiced law and Mom taught school. She taught at a number of schools but spent most of her years teaching right here at St. Francis. I am sure that many of you here today were at one time students of my Mom.

In trying to describe Mom, I would first say that most of all, my Mom was a partner to my Dad. They had common interests and common friends. They genuinely liked being together and enjoyed each other’s company. They had complementary personalities that allowed them to adapt to each other’s quirks. They were both unique puzzle pieces that fit together really well.

For those of you that knew my Dad, you probably know that he could be rather loud, especially at home. He would regularly express his emotions at a very high volume. Our home was filled with the recurring sounds of very intense feelings expressed at maximum decibels.

Mom had this innate ability to just put aside or ignore my father’s frequent outbursts and just go on as if nothing had happened. As children growing up, I think we all learned from watching Mom and just accepted that that was how Dad communicated. We all learned to be happy in this very loud, raucous, argumentative environment, and I think that had a lot to do with Mom.

It is hard to think of Mom being separate from Dad because they were both such a big part of each other’s existence.

After my Dad passed away, I think Mom found it very difficult to be without him because he was so much a part of her. She found it difficult to even face things or events that reminded her of the loss of Dad and everything that was part of his world. I take solace knowing that they are reunited and my mother’s heart is no longer broken.

Mom was not only a dutiful wife. She was a dutiful daughter as well

Mom’s mother, or MawMaw as we called her, was an incredibly kind and nice person. She wasn’t the smartest or the worldliest person, but she was the kindest and the sweetest. MawMaw was like our own version of Forest Gump, and I mean that in the best way. She did not know a lot, but she knew what mattered. I think Mom’s kindness came from MawMaw. Until she died, Mom always took care of MawMaw and loved her the way that she was loved.

Mom was also a dutiful daughter-in-law. She also took care of my father’s mother who had Alzheimer’s. She lived at our house and Mom took care of her for a period of time toward the end of her life. Unlike MawMaw, Dad’s mother was not the bundle of sweetness and kindness that MawMaw was. If fact, she could be rather disagreeable. Anyone who has to take care of a disagreeable person in that condition can tell you, it takes a real servant’s heart to do that.

Family was everything to Mom. Besides being with Dad, I would say being a mother to our family and to us kids was a big part of who Mom was. I credit Mom with creating this world of safety and love inside our otherwise very crazy family existence.

Mom was solely responsible for one of our regular rituals that were these big family dinners that we had every Saturday or Sunday. It was our weekly gathering. These dinners were always loud, usually funny, and occasionally dysfunctional. A weekly forum for jokes, arguments, and conversation.

It was a ritual that taught us that despite living in this very loud, argumentative, somewhat abnormal environment, we were loved and accepted. And that was largely due to Mom.

Looking back on Mom & Dad, I think one of the striking things about them was their idea of extended family.

Mom and Dad were not only were they interested in the lives of their children, but they were equally as interested in the lives of our friends. And that was the same for all of my brothers and sisters. They basically considered our friends part of their extended family.

Mom was always supportive and complementary. To quote my niece Mallory, ‘She made you feel like you were the most accomplished and best-looking person in the world”. She would always tell you that you looked great. You could have your head cut off, and she would have still told you that you looked great! No matter what.

If I had to list Mom’s biggest personality trait, I would say it was kindness. When we were young, we had a maid by the name of Mary Manuel who played a big part in bringing us up when we were little. As Mary grew older, she could no longer work or get around, so Mom would regularly check in on her and bring her groceries, and get medicine for her. Like our friends, Mary was part of our extended family and that was forever. Once you were in the club, you were never forgotten.

Mom was social. She loved to talk and loved to be with people. I can’t think about Mom or Dad without thinking about all of their friends and that whole generation.

My parent’s generation brings to mind two things; cocktail parties and very, very large families. It seemed like most of my Mom’s friends had 5 or more children! In that group, you were kind of a slacker if you only had 3 or 4 kids! These were families who were TOTALLY committed to procreation! As a parent, I don’t know how you people did it, but I totally understand your need for numerous cocktail parties.

When I think about Mom, I think about her on the porch next door with our life-long neighbor and dear friend, Mrs. Mary Clair Ward, having evening drinks with their friends.

I also think of our Christmas party that we had every year where all of my parent’s friends came and we were allowed to invite all of our friends too so it was like this big wonderful, extended family.

When I think of Mom, I think back to that circle of people. This snapshot of who we were. I think of all of my parent’s friends. And, I think of my friends and all of my brothers and sisters friends. When I look back now, I think what a great time it was and what a unique and special universe of friendship and love that we all existed in, and that we all grew up in and grew older in.

That picture. That place in time. That was US. That was ALL of us. And it was a great time and a great period in our life. That was also the place where Mom was most at home. And that place was with all of you.

On behalf of my mother, I would like to thank you for being part of her universe and for being part of her life. You mattered to her and you all had a place in her heart.

Thank you again for coming to show my Mom your love one last time. Thank God for blessing me with a Mother who truly loved me and who loved my brothers and sisters, and who loved her friends.

We look forward to the day we can all be reunited. As it was in past, so let it be again in the future, we pray.

[webbmcmahon]

Philip J. McMahon Eulogy (10/2/15)

My father, Philip John McMahon, grew up in Baton Rouge in a large family with 3 brothers and 1 sister.  His father was a law professor, and his mother took care of the kids and the house.  I think a lot of my father’s personality and his sense of family came from the type of family he was raised in.  From what I can remember, the family gatherings on my Dad’s side of the family were always loud and boisterous; like a group of unsupervised 12-year old boys where everyone is trying to taking control of the conversation by raising their voice at the same time.

 Most of my father’s memories of his childhood and adolescence involve growing up in Baton Rouge around Tiger Town next to LSU.  The stories all sounded like some 1940’s version of Tom Sawyer & Huck Finn of Baton Rouge with many tales involving near fatal incidents or major injuries; crazy stories like getting bit by a water moccasin in the lake around the Capital and having the poison sucked out by some old black man who witnessed the event. There was another story about my Dad & his brother Dan hiring neighborhood kids to stage a fake party in their front yard to celebrate his sister getting a blind date with the party in full revelry compete with balloons and party hats when her blind date approached the door.   And there were other stories about fights with neighborhood kids where some kid got knocked out cold after being hit in the head with a shovel.   In short, I did not get the picture that my father or his brothers were well supervised in their youth.

In 1950, two important things happened that shaped my father’s life.  My father entered LSU, and the United States declared war on North Korea.

My Dad’s father, or “Grandfather” as we used to call him, had belonged to Kappa Sigma fraternity at LSU and was the President of the fraternity when he was an undergraduate. When my father was born, the Kappa Sig chapter gave my Dad a silver baby cup with Kappa Sig engraved on it.  When my father went through rush at LSU, his older brother, Henry, was an active member of Kappa Sig.

In what would become a life-long trait of being a contrarian, my father bucked family tradition and joined Deke fraternity to the dismay of his family.  From what I can tell from his stories, he spent the next two years playing poker at the Deke house which was apparently the sum total of his ambition at the time.  Then, being motivated by an invitation from the university to take a break in his scholastic pursuits, he decided to join the army and was shortly thereafter deployed to Korea.

 My father was trained as a demolitions expert and spent most of his time in Korea fighting on the front lines.  He was shot in one knee and got shrapnel from a grenade in the other. He spent 15 months in combat.  Born on Christmas day, my father spent his 22nd birthday in the snow covered mountains of Korea for a solder’s White Christmas.  

 My Dad told me one story about going out on a patrol with approximately 40 men where my father was near the front of the patrol.  The patrol was ambushed.  When ambushing a patrol moving through an area, the ambush is more lethal if some of the patrol passes by so that the group in hiding can fire in the middle to kill as many people as possible.  My father and some of the guys at the front of the patrol were cut off and forced deep into enemy territory behind the lines for several days.  He was listed as “missing in action”.   Out of the 40 men on patrol, only 3 men made it back including my father.

As a young man, I was curious about war and battle.  I remember asking my Dad if he ever killed anyone.  He said he did.  He was on patrol and was spotted by a Korean solder, and a firefight ensued.  My Dad said it was either him or the Korean soldier. Still being curious, I asked him if it was hard to kill another man.  His frank response was, “It is easier than you think when they are trying to kill you”.

He never talked much about the war and never acted like any of it was heroic or brave. From his perspective, he was just doing what had to be done and that was all there was to it. He did tell me about being dug in foxholes at night sleeping with a bayonet in hand in case the Koreans overran your post and you woke up with one of them jumping down on you to kill you.  He also told me about his memories of hearing young newly arrived soldiers in their foxholes crying at night.  I remember him telling me about how the North Koreans copied Japan’s Tokyo Rose idea from WWII and had set up a P.A system where they would broadcast to the front lines telling the American soldiers that they were going to die, sometimes calling them out by name when they had come upon that information from capturing and torturing American soldiers.  He also talked how uncomfortably cold it was there. But, these were little bits of stories or recollections that were rare.  Generally, he did not talk about the war much.  I do know that when he came home, he slept with a bayonet for a while. I guess it still gave him a sense of security.  

My father spent his last few years of his life in the company of fellow soldiers at the V.A. Nursing Home in located between New Orleans and Baton Rouge.  In closing out his military record, it was discovered that my Dad had been offered a Purple Heart Medal for his combat service in Korea, but had refused it because he did not want his mother to be notified that her son had been wounded.  Because my Dad was listed as “missing in action”, his mother would have already had endured the torment of not knowing whether or not her son had been killed. To spare her from additional anguish, he refused the medal, which is kind of typical of how my Dad operated. It was also characteristic of him that he never told anyone else about the Purple Heart.  No one; not me nor my brothers or sisters or my Mom or anyone in his family knew anything about the Purple Heart.  He kept it to himself and never told another living soul about it.

 Outside of the war, my father enjoyed the military and credited it with giving him a sense of discipline and purpose.  He came back to Baton Rouge, completed his undergraduate degree and entered law school. He also met my mother, Beverly Elaine Wilson, who was a young Phi Mu from Mobile.  

They married and had their first child, my sister Sharon, while he was in law school living in the married student’s dorm.  Upon graduating, he took a job with a firm in Lake Charles where Susan and I were born. Then, he was contacted by an old friend and fraternity brother from Deke, Joe Waitz, about a job with a firm in Houma. He moved to Houma which became his life-long home.  My brothers, Neal and Phe, were born in Houma a few years later.

He practiced law and specialized in defense trail work.  He was admitted to practice before the United States Supreme Court, the U.S Federal Court and the Louisiana Supreme Court.  He had many partners and associates that he enjoyed working and practicing with.  He was very close to his long time partner, Mr. Edmund McCollum, who recently passed away, and also to Mr. Bill Bass who now practices law in Lafayette when he is not hunting.  He looked on both of these men as younger brothers and admired not only their skill as lawyers, but also equally admired their character.  

His lifelong secretaries, Cecile Allemond and Elmay Hotard, were like daughters to him.  He could not function without them, and was greatly endeared to both of them.  He used to laugh about how Cecile would regularly tell him that he “needed to get his ass to court”, and thought that was something that you could only hear in Houma.  He was probably right.  I doubt if anyone at Jones Walker or McGlinchey Stafford  in New Orleans is informed of their potential tardiness is a similar manner.

My father served on the board of Southdown Plantation Museum and the Regional Military Museum in Houma. He also served as President and in various capacities for Terrebonne Recreation and Parks.

His proudest accomplishment was being asked to serve on the Louisiana Judiciary Commission which is the state body appointed by the legal community to oversee the professional conduct of judges throughout the state.  He was proudest of this because this was something that was bestowed on him by his peers in recognition of his integrity and character.   In 1999, he served a chairman for the Judiciary Commission.

 For those of you who only knew my Dad from a legal or profession standpoint, it might surprise you that my Dad could be rather loud.  He was not one to keep his feelings bottled up inside him.  Basically, his release valve was set to go off on a fairly regular basis.    He never said anything mean or cutting, but would fully express his anger or frustration in no uncertain terms.  It was just the way he communicated, at least in a family setting.  His form of communication at home could be best characterized as unhindered emotion expressed at high decibels.  Think of Raphie’s father from the movie “A Christmas Story”, and that is a pretty close portrayal of my Dad at home. His frequent outbursts entertained my friends and scared my girlfriends.  Most of us kids basically became immune to it and just accepted it as the way my Dad communicated.

Like a lot of guys from that era that served in Korea or World War II, my Dad’s language was filled with the words “Damn, Damn It and Hell”.  They were the preferred modifiers of choice at my house and were probably the most used words by my Dad, close behind the words “the” and “and”.  

My father used these words to express incredulity, like “Damn, that was a good run”, or to express displeasure like “Damn it Webb, where did you leave my car keys!”   The phrase “Damn it", followed by our first name was fairly common.  If fact, I heard “Damn it Webb” so often, I thought “Damn it” was actually my first name and Webb was my middle name.  

The word “Hell” was used to express a higher than normal level or degree like “It is hot as hell” or “He is fast as hell”.  “Damn” was used to magnify succeeding adjectives like “Racetrack has damn good coffee”, or “Jimmy Carter is a damn idiot”. This was the language of our house.

Being a trial lawyer, my Dad liked the sport of verbal argument.  He loved to take one side of an argument and go about intellectually dueling to determine who had the best case.  As kids, we learned all the tactics of arguing from my father.

My father was extremely quick witted and funny. Most of us kids learned how to be funny from our Dad. My father delighted in making us laugh. He could also be very sarcastic, another skill that we all learned, much to the chagrin of our spouses.  

On Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons, we would have the big family breakfast or dinner.  Loud and spirited debates were usually part of the program.  Arguments and jokes; one-liners and interrogations. Like a dinner club for the debating society or moot court with a buffet.   It was always loud and usually funny and frequently dysfunctional.  My Dad, as sarcastic as Don Rickles and as loud as  Sam Kinison, plied his arguments and logic to rattle the witness, which was usually one of us kids.  

My brother, Neal, says that our family was like George Costanzia’s family from Seinfeld, but not as quite as funny.  It was usually quite the eye opener for our future spouses when they first encountered the group dinner gathering.  They always went home knowing that their family was not nearly as weird as they thought it was, and that they were entering a much stranger family than they were accustomed to.

 Although my father had a quick temper, he never held a grudge and always forgave.  He was an eternal optimist and always tried to look on the positive side of any situation.    My father had a complete lack of pride.  There was no one on earth that he felt himself superior to, nor anyone who he felt inferior to.  He thought every person was valuable and worthy of respect regardless of their position or status; from the guy cutting the yard to the guy that owns half the town; all were worthy of respect based on their character.  My Dad also taught us that any job well done was worthy of respect.

My father enjoyed being with his close friends, but he disliked anything that had to do with society.  He had no interest whatsoever in society and status, and actually detested it.

Another thing my Dad did not like was hippies.  Growing up as a kid in the 70’s, there was an ample supply of them around, and my Dad was not a fan.  I think my Dad also holds the world record for telling the most young men ever that they needed to get a haircut.  Whenever the subject of my Dad comes up with my friends or friends of my brothers, they usually conclude whatever recollections they have with the statement, “He always told me I needed to get a haircut”.

Dad was smart and intelligent.  He was always fun and interesting.  He was opinionated and articulate.  There were very few things my father was lukewarm about or things that he did not have an opinion on.

My father never complained about getting the short end of the stick or getting a bad break.  He could not abide with self-pity; either in himself or anyone else.  Feeling sorry for yourself was not allowed in our house.

Something that I attributed to his experience in the war was that my Dad had an unusual level of attraction to certain things that I guess have something to do with survival such as canteens, thermoses, knifes, flash lights, radios and supplies in general. It seemed like we had hundreds of these items around the house at all times. When we went fishing, we always brought along an incredible number of these things, and packed enough sandwiches and drinks to last for 6 months on the open sea.  If Tom Hanks would have been a castaway with us, he could have lived a very comfortable existence.

Dad was an eternal optimist. He always saw the sun coming up and never setting.  He always tried to find the silver lining in every cloud and to focus on the good in any situation.  I am thankful that Dad passed on that perspective to his children.  It also served him well in the final chapter of his life as he dealt with his mind and body losing its function and all of the challenges that go with that stage of life.

My father did not like or feel comfortable being in the lime light.  He never did anything to draw attention to himself, and was visibly uncomfortable when he found himself in those circumstances where attention was directed at him.  He was always humble and never bragged or boasted about anything he had ever experienced or accomplished.

 The biggest influence on my father was his father, Henry George McMahon.  “Grandfather” as he was known to us kids, was a brilliant man. He was a law professor and a true scholar.  He worked for Naval Intelligence during World War II and was an expert in French and Spanish law.  He was fluent in 5 foreign languages and proficient in many more.  He was Dean of LSU’s law school and single-handedly wrote the entire civil procedure code for the state of Louisiana.  That is a book that basically set up the framework for legal procedures for Louisiana law, and is also about twice the size of the bible. His reputation for integrity and scholarship was universal.

My father worshiped and adored his father.  His moral compass was definitely set by his father. If there is any solace in the passing of my father, it is in knowing that he is reunited with his father whom he deeply loved.  My Grandfather had a great influence on my father’s view on morality and justice, and particularly on law and it place or importance in society.

My father had a very old school view of the legal profession.  He had a deep reverence for the law and the profession of being an attorney.  He thought it was a profession based on honor. He did not view it as a business or even an occupation, but thought the law was something that placed a responsibility on those that practiced law to uphold a standard beyond what is required by any other occupation or endeavor.  

And when it came to honor, my father wasn’t one to cut corners.  I remember when I was young, I was talking with my father the business of being an attorney.  The conversation turned to a discussion about a business practice my Dad considered unethical.   My youthful response was, “but Dad, if it makes you a lot of money, why wouldn’t you be willing to do it”.    After taking a moment to frame his response as a life lesson to his son, rather than a simple answer to a question, he looked me in the eye and told me, “Webb, in life, you have to figure out who you are and what you really believe, and BE that person”.

LSU was another attachment to my father’s heart.  He was practically raised at LSU.  Since my grandfather was a professor, their family’s entire social world was centered around LSU. Everything about my Dad’s life began at or near LSU.  At our house, LSU was a religion, and my Dad defended it like some secret order that he had made an eternal pledge of allegiance to.  We drove to Baton Rouge for every single football game every year.  My father would get upset when they lost, and it usually took him a few days to get over a tough loss.  

Because my father felt a deep attachment to LSU, he could not abide anyone that was unduly critical of LSU.  It was as if someone were calling his baby ugly or saying something derogatory about his family.  I remember going to an LSU game with my dad when I was about 8.  There was one of these guys in the stands a few rows behind us that was drunk and totally ripping LSU and booing them, and basically being loud and obnoxious.  My dad always considered those type of people Benedict Arnold's; traitors of the worst kind; unworthily to even be allowed into the stadium.  So, my dad, in the loudest voice possible, says something to me (which really wasn’t meant for me) about “Some of these loudmouth idiots need to shut up, or they are going to smacked in the mouth”.  So, I am thinking that my Dad and this drunk guy behind us are about to get in a fight, and I am thinking all these thoughts that a 8 year old kid should not ever have to think like ‘Where is the nearest cop?’, and ‘If the cops drag my father off for fighting, how will I get back to Houma?’  But, that was who my Dad was.  He absolutely could not abide anyone cutting down the things he held dear.

 My Dad thought of himself first and foremost as a Father, and later as a Grandfather.  He always saw each of us, not for what we were, but for what we could become.  In front of my friends, my Dad would sometimes call me “Captain Flake” because I am sometimes a little flighty or out in space.  This usually got a big laugh from my friends which is the audience my Dad was playing to.  But the truth is, my Dad thought I could do anything.  He thought the same of all of his children.  He always saw the better version of us.  As for as his kids were concerned, he saw only possibility and potential.  

My little brothers laugh because my father once told them that I could have been All State in football. The only problem was I never played football, except for a couple of years in little league.  I was also doublely cursed with not only being small, but also being relatively slow.  But, based on my two years in little league, that is what my father truly believed. He always thought more of us than we thought of ourselves, and believed in us more than we ever could.

This attachment to his children continued with all of his grandchildren.  My father was continually telling me about endless revelations and observations he discovered about the grandkids where my Dad was amazed and astounded by some personal attribute or unknown talent that one of the grandkids displayed.  And this was true for every single grandkid.  He truly and whole heartly thought each and every one of you were the most unique and remarkable kids on earth.   He could not have been prouder of each of you.

My father was always close to his siblings who were frequently at our holiday gatherings. The volume of the conversation got louder, the laughs were more robust and the stories got a little crazier when my Dad’s family was in town.  My father was most at home when he was with his brothers and sister.

 The most consequential attachment of my Dad’s heart was to my mother.  My Mom and Dad were like to puzzle pieces that fit together.  With my father being somewhat of an unusual character, I don’t know who else could have been paired with him but my Mom.  

Mom & Dad were both avid readers and lovers of history.  Both Mom & Dad truly enjoyed each other’s company and conversation, and always found the other extremely interesting and engaging.  They shared the same friends and the same interests. And both put up with the other’s temperament and personality quirks because they were each other’s best friend. In his own unusual way, my Dad depended on my Mom more than anyone and felt incomplete without her.  She was his life-long best friend.

Since my Dad and Mom were lovers of history, our vacations usually consisted of them dragging all of us kids across the country every summer to various historical sites; usually in a station wagon towing a small trailer that all 7 of us would sleep in; that would be 2 grown adults and 5 children!  Imagine that.   After driving 500 miles a day across the country for several days on end with 5 unhappy children in a station wagon, your reward at the end of the day is to cram yourself and the entire clan into a submarine type space not much larger than your average closet today.  I cannot imagine how my father thought this was fun, but he did.  He loved it.  We were a cross between the Griswold’s and a group of migrant workers.  All I can say about those vacations is that when I die, if there is a station wagon with a trailer attached to it at the end of the tunnel of light, I will know things did not turn out as planned.

 Dogs were a significant attachment for my father.  Although my Dad could be kind of rough on the outside, he was pretty much of a softy on the inside.  That was most evident when it came to dogs.  My Dad was a sucker for dogs.  We had this little silky terrier called Blue who was a great little dog; trusting, brave and full of life.  He was my Dad’s constant sidekick.  When Blue died, my Dad was pretty torn up.  So when my Dad finally got over Blue’s death, he got another silky terrier that looked exactly like Blue, and also gave him the name of Blue.  This continued throughout an endless succession of numerous dogs, all named Blue.  Like the lineage of Louis XVI, the succession of Blue’s went on forever, making my Dad happy and keeping our Veterinarian on his toes.

And Blue (or the succession of Blues to be more accurate) was not our only dog.  We had lots of dogs; continually and throughout our life. At one time we had 5 dogs, all living in the house.  We were like a family of dog herders.  We should have all been given shepherd staffs like Moses, but with pooper-scoopers attached to the bottom.

 The last thing my father was truly attached to was Houma.  Baton Rouge was his youth, but Houma was his home.  He loved the people.  He loved everyone he worked with and the people he came in contact with through his work.  He loved his friends.  He loved the friends of his children.  He loved the entire universe of people that comprised Houma.  He was also very proud of Houma and spoke of it in possessive terms like it was one of his kids.  

After I moved away, he was always telling me with great pride about some new something or other that was opening in Houma almost boasting and taunting like I was on some competing team since I moved away.  Like his children and grandchildren, he was constantly amazed at the vitality and warmth of the people of Houma.  Most of all, he and Mom loved their circle of friends.  Their friends, and the friends of his children, are what comprised Houma to him, and he was greatly endeared to everyone in that circle.

  Being blessed with parents that love you and with good friends are one of those things that you don’t really notice at the time, but looking back on it, you can see how lucky you were to be blessed with those people and what a profound effect they had on who and what you became.  Later in life, you meet people who were not fortunate enough to have the same blessing, and you see what a hole that absence creates, and you realize that God blessed you with the best thing he could have given you.

It is always revealing to me when a good man dies, and you realize how important one man’s life can be. With all of the millions and billions of people in the world, it doesn’t seem like the passing of one good man would matter, but it matters infinitely, and the world seems less than it did before, not just here and now, but everywhere and forever.  I think that is the way God sees it too, and that is why a single life is so important to him.  Because it really does matter, and the world really is less when a good man leaves it.

 I miss my father.  I miss talking with him and laughing at his sarcastic comments.  I miss debating with him about something insignificant just for the fun of it.  I miss hearing about ‘damn good coffee” and hearing what amazing thing one of the grandkids did.  I miss seeing seeing my parents with their close friends on the porch next door or at our house on Christmas Eve.   I miss talking LSU football or politics with him, or eating boudin with him from some meat market down the bayou. I miss seeing my Dad & Son together having my son experience all the craziness that was and is our family.  I will miss it all.

I thank God for everyone here today; for the people that God placed in my father’s life because my father did love his life and everyone that was part of it.   On behalf of my Dad and my brothers and sisters, I want to thank each of you for blessing my father with your friendship and love and making his life a full one.

Most of all, I am thankful to God for giving me a great Dad and a great friend.  Father. Loyal defender. Protector.  Adviser. Eternal optimist. My biggest fan.  Believer in all that is good in me, and the single best blessing God gave me.        THAT was my Dad.     And I thank God for putting him in my life.