When I was putting this eulogy together, I asked a lot of folks for input on how they would describe my Dad, and invariably, the descriptions that came back were consistent:


A quiet gentleman
Humble and stoic
Fearless
Deeply religious
A wonderful husband,
An exceptional father
A father-in-law who made his sons – and daughter – in law feel like an integral parts of the family
A fun & terrific grandfather
A brother/uncle/friend who always had your back
Dad was simply a Stand-up guy

As just about everyone in here knows – my dad never sought to be the center of attention.  Actually, his aversion to ever talking about himself made putting this testament together a bit of a challenge.  When I’d ask him why he joined the navy, he’d shrug it off with some self-deprecating comment about how he thought it would be easier than what the guys in the army had to go through.  What he never did say… and I had to find out from others,…..was that when he signed up, he didn’t know how to swim – something the navy pretty much requires.  Nor would he say much about qualifying as a naval aviator, becoming fluent in Japanese, his time spent in the Pacific theatre, or anything else that could remotely be considered as bragging or self serving.

The same could be said about the forty-plus years he spent going to work as an underwriter.  I know he worked hard every day of every one of those years – my sisters and I all do, because he and our mom instilled that work ethic into all of us – but again, dinnertime conversation never touched on what went on during his work day. 

The reason I’m bringing these things up are to serve as a prologue to what DID define my dad, and that’s easy.  He was first, last, and ALWAYS about his family.

Of course, telling the story of Jack Buckley is impossible without mentioning my Mom.  I can’t remember the exact age I was when I figured out that “PATANJACK” weren’t one word, but I’d be willing to bet it was pretty late! My mom and dad’s marriage was – and is – a classic example of two people completely devoted to each other.  High school sweethearts who went their separate ways during the war, God must have been smiling on them.  Now, the exact version of this part of the PATANJACK story depends on whether you hear the story from my mom, or you read the Communications class paper that Jack’s granddaughter Kerry wrote – Anyway, my mom, during an afternoon of bar-hopping in Boston – ran into Dad’s sisters Kay and Mary.  They tell Pat that Jack’s back from the Pacific and still carrying a huge torch for her.  Pat goes home  - writes a letter to Jack , to which he responds with an even longer letter (this is the 1940’s version of “RECONNECT ON FACEBOOK”) and the rest is history!  Regardless of what version you hear, they truly did go on to become a couple that the rest of us strive to emulate.  Again, back to the inputs I got for this eulogy, an excellent quote that I got was this:  “marriage isn’t marrying someone you can live with – it’s marrying someone you can’t live without.”

From then on, Dad lived his life for his family. Whether it was summertime at Sandy or Monument Beach, wintertime in the Cohasset backyard skating rink that he engineered for my sisters, or standing on the sidelines on a freezing day for one of my “spring” track meets, or at ANY time of the year for Ellie’s road races, he was always there for his kids.  Then there’s the decade’s worth of Dad supervising the loading, driving and unloading of various forms of UHAUL trailers and trucks for a total of 20 moves to and from Amherst after Julie established UMass as the unofficial school for Buckleys – which is almost as many times as he was on standby to help Mary and Paul move from state to state.
There’s a great picture of him tossing  my sister Mary up in the air, - this was back when they were little kids – I should’ve said that – anyway - he’s tossing Mary in the air, she’s totally loving it, absolutely having a great time, meanwhile, in the background, Jeannie is just about dancing, she’s so excited that she’s about to get her turn with Dad -.  It’s just a typical, classic Dad moment.

As a grandfather, he was the same way, only he got to have even more fun!  Whether it was letting the kids have chocolate for breakfast, or – if they were staying at the house on Moraine street - waking them up after their “official” bedtimes to make sure they saw the Brockton fairgrounds fireworks, he was the kind of grandpa every kid wants.

What made Dad such a class act was the fact that he treated EVERYONE he knew with the same care, compassion, and kindness that he gave his kids.  My mom and dad’s house was always WIDE open to anyone – not just for social visits, but to anyone who needed a quiet spot to catch their breath.  One thing that we recall about Dad was how well our friends got along with him.  When we were growing up, whenever our friends came over, he’d always sit down and converse with them, and by conversing, I mean that he’d listen as much as he’d talk – he was a GREAT listener.  These conversations always had a tone of mutual respect. He was very unflappable, very low-key, extremely intelligent, with a great, dry sense of humor.  

One little anecdote that shows a lot of those qualities in a short space is this: Deirdre and my kids and I were up staying in Brockton for a visit.  We had missed the early mass at Lady of Lourdes, and wanted to try to find another one so we could go to church and still get an early start back down to Delaware. My dad was in the kitchen (no early mass for him, he was singing in the choir at the 11:00 at Lady of Lourdes).  He was in the midst of making his signature special – bacon and eggs breakfast for us – that was another of his standards.  Anyway, Dad suggested we might catch an early mass at St. Coleman’s, but that I should check what their schedule was.  I was in a rush, so I quickly called directory assistance.  However, I also hadn’t had my first cup of coffee, so instead of dialing FOUR one-one, I dialed NINE one-one.  I realized my mistake as soon as I made it, and it put me in a bit of a panic!  I tried to tell the emergency operator that I had just…you know – screwed up, but she wasn’t having it. Anyway, I hung up, and was wondering out loud how this was going to play out.  As I was doing that, the phone rang.  Dad goes to the phone, picks it up, and starts answering….”yes”….”uh-huh”…”yes, OK, g’bye”.  Then he went back to making breakfast, and in a completely conversational tone says,….. “Well, they’re coming over”.  Half a minute later, Brockton’s finest come screaming up in two cruisers!  Dad goes to the front door, chills them out with the story that it was just a mistake made by his numerically challenged son, but would they like to come in and have a cup of coffee or bacon & eggs anyway?
Whats worse – or funnier, depending on your point of view – is that I heard from Ellie that later after we had left, Dad remarked to her that “I had…at times….wondered if any of Johnny’s adventures in his younger days might result in the cops coming by for a visit.  I’m quite pleased that it happened because he was trying to get to mass!”

Over the last couple of months, Dad knew his time on earth was coming to an end.  His firm – and I do mean firm – faith in his religion carried him then the way it did his whole life. He faced this challenge the same way he did with everything else, with dignity, grace, and humor.  Before he died last week, he had a few close calls.  On one of those close calls, I had made a last minute trip to get up to see him.  After about a day, he had stabilized to the point that - for the time being, he appeared to be out of the woods.  It seemed that way to me anyway, so I was heading back to Delaware.  When I was saying my good-bys to him, I said I was going to be back up in a couple of weeks, and I had every expectation that I’d be seeing him again.  His response was this:   “Yeah, I think I agree with you.  But on the off chance you’re wrong, if I don’t see you in the future, I’ll see you in the pasture”

Even during this tough time, he still made us smile.  When he was at Cape Cod Hospital, one day he noticed on the white board on the wall that one of the nurses had written in big block letters S.O.B.  Dad was very concerned about this – so when the nurse came in, he said, “I know I might have given you some problems, but am I so bad that you had to write THAT on the board?”  The nurse burst out laughing – the SOB was for “shortness of breath” not some other acronym!

Right before he died, as sad as we all were knowing what was to come, the one thing that  made the thought of his passing somewhat bearable to us was the fact that it meant that he and his beloved daughter Katie would be re-united.  When I was asking for input for this eulogy, a very good friend sent me this poem:

I stood and watched as the ship sailed out to sea.
The setting sun tinted his white sails with a golden light,
And as he disappeared from sight a voice at my side
Whispered, "He is gone."
 
But the sea was a narrow one.
On the farther shore a band of friends had gathered to 
Watch and wait in happy expectation.
Suddenly they caught sight of the sail and, at the very
Moment when my companion had whispered, "He is gone,"
A glad shout went up in joyous welcome,
 "Here he comes!"

Ellen, 

We are so sorry for the loss of your dad. You and your family are in our thoughts and prayers. We love you.
Love,
Pete & Nick

Terribly sorry to hear of your loss.  My sincere sympathies to you and your family.

Though he was always "Mr. Buckley" to me, I always admired Jack for being such a stand up guy and a true gentleman. He was an extremely caring and devoted husband to Pat, as well as a great father to John and all his sisters. 

If not for the bravery of men like Jack, answering the call and going off to fight in World War II, who knows what this country would be like today? Many of the freedoms we enjoy today, we have because of people like Jack and the sacrifices they made in their own lives.  

But, you wouldn't hear that from Jack.  He was extremely humble.  He just went about the business of being a terrific husband, father, and grandfather to his wife, kids, and grandkids. We are all very lucky to have had Jack in our lives for the time we did.  

I'm honored to have known and spent time with him. He was a great role model for me growing up. A truly great family man with a lot of class and humility.

Our heartfelt condolences go out to all of the Buckley's. 
Mr. and Mrs. Buckley became like my extended family after John and I met up at the Maritime. I remember Mr. Buckley always feeling like he had to apologize to me when I showed up on Sunday to give John a ride back to school but John wasn't home yet.  
You will be missed.

Spic and Family

OBITUARY

John D. Buckley

Doane Beal & Ames

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