Obituary of my grandfather Daniel J. Duffy

This article appeared in a Philadelphia newspaper during the week of August 4, 1935.

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DANIEL J. DUFFY, SR.

NOTED MEAT PACKER

IS CLAIMED BY DEATH

Well-known Business Man, Founder of Duffy Brothers, Inc., Passes Away at His Home – Helped Establish the Meat Packing Business Located at Front and Venango Streets – Was Energetic and Enterprising and Devoted to Every Cause That Promised Betterment of the Community.

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Philadelphia, its environs and many other communities were shocked to hear of the death of Daniel J. Duffy, Sr., president of Duffy Brothers, Inc., meat packers who passed away at his home, 1139 Dyre Street, last Friday, August 2. His qualities as a citizen and a business man were such that he will be sorely missed.

Mr. Duffy belonged to that sturdy and dependable race of business builders who showed initiative and energy and truly devoted their lives to the betterment of mankind. Mr. Duffy devoted himself to the conduct of a firm that gave employment to many and always maintained the highest traditions of business integrity.

Mr. Duffy was the founder of the meat packing business located at Front and Venango Streets - an enterprise that has grown in volume and reflects the resourcefulness and personality of its founder. It will be continued along the traditional lines of honest business methods which has made the firm an outstanding success.

 Mr. Duffy was born in Strabon, Ireland, June 16, 1878. He came to America with his parents when only six months of age. He received his early education in the parochial schools of Philadelphia and started in the meat business around 1895. From a small beginning – like every pioneer – his firm has become one of the best known in this section.

Mr. Duffy was always interested in furthering any progressive movement in the meat industry throughout the United States. He was considered the best judge of livestock in the East.

Favored with a progressive and energetic type of mind, Mr. Duffy was successful in maintaining an enterprise which was noted for the high quality of its products. It is a tradition to this day that anything which comes from Duffy Brothers, Inc. is to be depended upon. Employing the most skilled workmen, the business also has the advantage of skilled management. The result was noticeable in the steady progress made by this alert and widely respected concern.

Mr. Duffy was a member of the American Institute of Meat Packers and the Holy Name Society of St. Martin’s Roman Catholic Church.

Aside from his business qualifications, Mr. Duffy was an upright and conscientious citizen always keen to help in any movement that looked forward to the betterment of the community in which he lived. His whole environment was made brighter for his presence.

The business which he established will be carried on by the survivors in the enterprise – his two sons, Daniel, Jr. and Andrew Duffy. Besides these, he is survived by his wife, Mrs. Mary E. Duffy and two daughters, Elizabeth and Anna. To all of these the community extends heartfelt sympathy in the hour of their bereavement.

Funeral services took place Tuesday, August 6, from his late residence, 1139 Dyre Street, attended by relatives, friends and employees of Duffy Brothers, Inc. with Solemn Requiem Mass at St. Martin’s Church, at 10 A. M. Interment was in Holy Sepulchre Cemetery.

MR. DUFFY IS IN BACK ROW 3^RD FROM RIGHT. HIS ELDEST SON AND MY UNCLE, DAN, IS TO HIS RIGHT.

FRONT AND VENANGO THEN AND NOW

THE PLANT EVEN HAD ITS OWN RAIL SIDING

v  I transcribed this verbatim from a blurred copy of a copy.

v  The actual name of the business was DUFFY & BROTHERS.

v  He was born in Strabane, not Strabon.

v  The year was 1935.

v  The business was sold later, I’m not sure when. It became Cross Brothers Meats which closed in 1979.

I live in North Texas and work in Irving Texas which is supposed to be some hotbed of Islamic terrorism and sharia law. Yeah, I'm really scared of terrorists. NOT! There are 2 things that terrify me more here and neither one of them is Islamic terrorists.
#1 is people driving their cars with no regard for their fellow man. All they give a shit about is their phones. No shit. 75 miles an hour on the highway with their heads down looking at Facebook?, email? What? Probably catching up on the latest bullshit from the candidates. Oh yeah, red lights mean nothing either. Just like in Starman, "Green means go, yellow means go faster". Now that is terrorism.
#2 is BUBBA with his God given, second amendment six gun on his hip and his itchy trigger finger. There is no way that you can convince me that unrestricted open carry is a good thing. Again, home grown terrorism.
So all of the hype about making America great again and Stronger Together or whatever her slogan of the day is, is just so much crap. I remember "All The Way With LBJ", "Nixon's The One", "I Like Ike", "Building a bridge to the twenty-first century", "He’s making us proud again" – Gerald Ford, "A Leader, For a Change" – Jimmy Carter and many more. They meant shit then and they mean shit now.
So bring it on all of you Social Justice Warriors. Tell me how you think I'm a liberal shit-tard or whatever. If you think for one minute that Trump and Clinton have your best interests at heart then you might as well believe in Santa Claus because you have a better chance of him getting you what you want. (To see what a Trump America will be like just take a look at Austin Texas and what our Gang of Three is doing to this state.)

My dog died today

Chapter 1

My dog died today. He was the sweetest creature I ever met. He was always there for me and never complained about anything. He never hurt anyone and if I hurt him accidentally by not watching where I was walking, he always was forgiving. Unconditional love.

Spike was a miniature schnauzer, all black but he was turning gray in his old age. I loved him dearly but more so when his health was failing and I knew the end was near.

 Spike went everywhere we went if possible. He didn’t really like riding in the car but could always tell when we were near home.

If I needed to go outside for anything he was right there waiting to help me do whatever I was going to do; get the mail, fetch the paper or just going outside.  All I had to do was merely pick up the key chain for the gates and he was right at the door eager to go exploring. If I was grilling meat out back Spike was right there. He was family so he always got something from the grill.

Spike was the neighborhood dog too. He would wander up and down the street saying hello to everyone; they all loved him. The girls next door always stopped what they were doing to pet him.

Spike was a fun and funny pal. If he was leading the way he always pulled his ears back like he was saying, “OK I’ll go first, you follow me”. I’ll miss that.

He loved playing as all dogs do. If I was working in my office too long he would run to me and just sit on the floor next to me until I would pay attention to him. He loved to wrestle and let me spin him on the floor like a top. His favorite was a game I called “chase the baby’. The baby was any of his stuffed toys. I would toss it down the hall and he would fetch it and play keep away until he got tired.

Spike was a great goalie too. In the back yard we played soccer. It was hard to get his little soccer ball past him.

I put in a pet door for him after we had him for a year or so he had freedom to go in and out. He would go out back and prowl around and poop everywhere and bark at the dogs next door. When he was finished he would come flying back in and sit right at my feet with the biggest grin like he wanted to tell me everything he did. He was part human I'm sure.

Today was one of the worst days of my life though. It was finally time to end his suffering. He was very ill for about 2 months. Pancreatitis and diabetes was taking its toll. He would perk up for a while but it was no use. Our vet was the best; kind and understanding. Watching him pass was too much for me, I lost it. My best friend was gone and never coming back. I’ll get over it but I must grieve.

Chapter 2

It has been 2 days since Spike died.  Yesterday, Saturday, was horrible. The house was empty. Everywhere I looked there was Spike. It was too soon to let go. I still heard his barking and still saw him around the house. A black shoe on the floor became Spike. A shadow passing over the room was him heading for his water dish.  I still haven’t gotten used to not having him around, but I will.

I had to go out to the pharmacy Saturday morning. I was driving on autopilot and found myself on the way to the vet instead of turning right to the pharmacy. I had just passed the vets building and found myself behind the truck from the pet loss center. I knew Spike was in there because I knew when they were picking him up. I did not plan to be where I was, I just ended up there. I was able to say good bye one more time.

Today, Sunday was equally tough because we haven’t left the house since Friday evening. I was doing well for the first 10 minutes after I got up.

Staying busy for part of the day helped but after dinner it was time for his evening walk. I didn’t know what to do so I went for the walk alone. I had to. It was nice.

We always went around the block to the closed street where I would cut him loose to explore.  Spike was with me. I watched him water the grass at all of his favorite places and try to chase the rabbits that are everywhere. I’m glad I took the walk. I’m still grieving. That won’t change but I have let him go. He is free and so am I.

Spike, I’ll always love you. You’ll always be my dog. You’ll always be my “Fat Boy, “Sonny Jim” and “My Lad”.

Good Bye.

Chapter 3

Spike came home today.

I got the call from the vet that his remains were there and I could pick them up any time. Emotionally, I guess I was ready for it. I had a doctor’s appointment to go to first and I picked him up after. I was in and out in a minute. He is in a very nice wooden box. They even had a card with a very nice message that broke me again.

The ride home with him was somber and nice at the same time. I still talk to him and I can see him as clear as day. The way he would look at me while I drove was beautiful. He always trusted me no matter what. I could still see him. Of course it was in my mind. I still haven’t let him go yet.

Whenever I would work outside on the yard or garden he was always there. Sometimes he would wander off for a little while but always came home and sat on the grass watching; watching the street for passers-by. He would bark a greeting or just go up to them for a head rub.

L to R Spike, his brother Goliath and his mother Shelby

This week I needed to occupy myself more just to clear my head and come to grips with my loss. I spent a couple days working on the front yard and garden. I could visualize Spike there as he usually was. It felt right.

I must say that when I was finished it looked pretty good. The best its looked in several years. It looked so good that the homeowners association gave us the Yard of the Month award.

So Spike is home now, the house has curb appeal and we are slowly overcoming our grief.

The grief will pass but Spike will never be out of my life. Spike is the only true friend I ever had aside from my wife. He never argued with me but he could be stubborn. Spike was a great listener. I told him everything and he never revealed any secrets.

Thank you Spike for always being there and I’m sorry if I wasn’t there when I should have. Enjoy your new life and perhaps we will meet again. I hope so.

          

Another Close Call



Phantom Area Ubon RTAFB

It was another day just like the others on the flight line. This time I was with my buddy John Smith and we were eating our usual fried egg and cheese sandwich at the flight line snack bar. 

Looking straight down the taxiway between the 2 sets of revetments we saw a very strange sight. A 25th Phantom was taxiing in with the front half of the centerline tank missing as well as the outboard halves of the stabilators.  There were also a few missing leading edges. Reckon she pulled some pretty heavy “Gs”.

This wasn’t the airplane that took the barrier and bent the tail hook although I saw that one too. I don’t remember a lot about what happened because it was a B flight plane and I was in A flight and we had to go recover our airplanes which were on their way in also.

Maybe someone reading this will have a better recollection. It is possible that this was the same day that LtCol. French, the 25th CO, got shot in the helmet.

A Close Call

It was a day like any other on the flight line. Jammers jamming loads under the wings, fuel trucks fueling and crew chiefs crew chiefing, all under the hot Thai sun.

We got the missions off as usual and while they were gone we tended to other stuff like helping out on the grounded birds, policing up the revetments or just screwing off. When the word came down that the birds were coming home we got ready to recover them.

I had my routine down pretty good. Since 786 wasn’t parked in a revetment sometimes I could marshal it in by taxiing across the adjacent spot and do a sharp 120° turn. I usually got her pretty close to straight. If the other spot was occupied then we would nose it in and spin it around with the Coleman.

As I said this particular day was like any other but it really wasn’t. I was under the fuselage putting the locks on the gear when I noticed a hole in the engine bay panel, the big one just below the afterburner.

The hole was about two or three inches around and looked like small arms damage. It just missed the missile that was hanging there by less than a foot. I showed the crew and within a few minutes we had the panel open.

The engine bay door is really a double layer affair. What looked like small arms damage was a 57mm explosive shell that penetrated the outer panel and detonated before penetrating the inner layer. All of the afterburner pigtails on the bottom of the engine were shredded as well as other damage. The pilot didn’t flinch. He just said, “it’s a good thing I didn’t need the AB, huh?”

Once I got to Ubon things happened pretty fast. I was put to work right away on the flight line. Hot, noisy and dangerous. Completely alien environment for me. It didn’t take too long to get into the swing of things.

The short timers were a little depressing though. “2 digit midget, one digit midget, FIGMO, back to the world”, etc. Once into the routine I really didn’t give a crap about being “short”. I was having too much fun.

The work we did wasn’t routine. Stateside was routine. I never forgot what we were doing. Live bombs hanging on the wings made it perfectly clear. Napalm canisters, 500 pounders, CBU’s, gravel pods, laser guided 2000 and 3000 pound bombs was some pretty heavy shit (no pun intended).

 

I was there about a week or so when I was summoned to the flight office to meet Chief Miers. Luckily my haircut was OK but I looked like crap from working. Doc Blanchard said don’t worry, the chief was an OK guy. Having never met a CMSGT in person before I was scared shitless anyway.

I went into the office and reported. He told me to have a seat as he was expecting someone. I didn’t mind because the place had air conditioning. A few minutes later 2Lt. Sherbinski, the new maintenance officer, arrived for his inbrief. Although he didn’t report it seemed obvious that this was the first Chief he met as well.

Chief Miers talked to him, not with him, for a few minutes. When he was finished with the briefing Lt Sherbinski stood there as if expecting more information. The Chief looked up at the Lt, waved his hand at him and said, “That’ll be all Lieutenant”. Sherbinski saluted, did an about face and left. I almost crapped myself. Here is a sergeant dismissing an officer like he was God. Of course I found out later that he was.

It was my turn next but to my surprise the Chief couldn’t have been nicer to me. I don’t remember seeing him around too often but I was very impressed with him and I always measured other chiefs I worked for by CMSGT Miers.

 

About 2 or 3 years later I was stationed at RAF Mildenhall, UK working in Transit Alert. One day a WB-57 landed and my crew took care of it. After it blocked in, the canopy opened and in the back seat was, now, Capt Sherbinski. Small world. We reminisced about Ubon for a while and had a few laughs.

That incident stayed with me because it reinforced the brotherhood I belonged to. Where else can someone you know from way back drop out of the sky and say hello. There are many similar incidents in my career but that’s for another time.

 

 

How I Became a Member of The Wolfpack.

December 16, 1969 was the day I was “born”.

My life started on December 31, 1950 but I was born at Lackland in 1969.

Basic is a dim distant memory, much like how we remember our early childhood.  I have a few stories of my time there but that’s for another time.

Tech school at Sheppard AFB, TX was 12 weeks of learning to be an airman and retaining enough knowledge from the instructors to not hurt myself. Again there are stories from those days but that’s for another time as well.

My tech school classmates all got assignments to neat places like Myrtle Beach or California or Europe etc. Me, I got Cannon AFB, NM; a mere 300 miles west of Wichita Falls.

522 TFS                               F111s.

As it turned out Cannon was probably the best thing to happen to me. The F111s were still coming from the factory and we didn’t have many at the time so I was farmed out to Base Flight (T33A and C54), tire shop, wash rack, TA and the 524^th TFS (F100C & D). Occasionally I would get some experience on the F111 but not too much. Believe it or not I learned more in the tire shop than anywhere else. (I watched a guy who "knew it all" set an F111 on its tail when he screwed up the refuel.) 

One day I was feeling frisky and decided to ask the First Shirt how to go about volunteering for Viet Nam. I got all spiffed up, haircut and clean uniform, and went to the  orderly room. When I got there the shirt handed me my orders for Phu Cat AB, RVN. The AF beat me to the punch. Lucky for me because most of the wing and all of my squadron was moving to Mountain Home AFB, ID. Everyone that is except me.

Next: TDY enroute to George AFB, CA for FTD, 30 days at home then off to Nam.

I wasn’t scared or worried about dying because, hell, I’m in the Air Force. What's the worst that could happen?  My family was very concerned, I found out later, and a high school friend even suggested I should go to Canada with him.

Instead, I got on a plane in Philly and headed off to my war. It was 1971 and there was still a lot of protesting going on but that didn’t bother me.

I flew on a Pan Am 707 into Cam Ranh Bay. It was a great trip; fuel stop in Anchorage (they opened the bar for us and didn’t card anyone).

Change of Plans

When we got to Cam Ranh it was raining and the marshallers were wearing flak vests and helmets. Pretty exciting stuff. A couple of NCO’s from all the services came aboard to collect their personnel. The AF guy called a bunch of names, including mine, and told us that we were being diverted to someplace called Ubon, Thailand. Phu Cat was closing and we were needed elsewhere. I was pissed because I volunteered for Viet Nam, not Thailand. Not all of us were lucky enough to come to Ubon. Several F4 guys went to Bien Hoa to work on AT-37s. We had a rousing reunion when they came to Ubon for R&R.

That's how I ended up in A flight 25^th TFS, crew chief assigned to F4D 65-0786. There I met some of the greatest people I would ever meet. Time has dimmed the memories but they are still alive and Facebook has rekindled those memories.