Very Fine Work
Short Fiction
Photo by Eli Solitas on Unsplash
This piece was originally posted in March of 2023 so most of you have not seen it. It is a sort of tribute to the WWII generation of men and women who were such a great influence on my life. I have been working on some new stories that I hope to post here soon. I have also been writing/re-working some stories for submission, hence my longish absence.
June 6, 1995
“Why is there a flag?”
“Because he was in the war,” Pauly whispers.
“When was it?”
“A long time ago, before dad was even born, even before uncle Jack”
“He looks like he’s just asleep. What if I touch him?”
“You don’t touch dead people.”
“His lips look different.”
“Say the Our Father.”
“Our Father who art in…”
“To yourself,” Pauly says, “and then we have to talk to Gamma.”
In the front, there’s a room where men go in and out and they talk louder in there than they do in the room where Papa is and we can smell cigarette smoke. When we try to look in, mom comes over and tells us to go outside for a while and she gives us each a little push on our backs while a man in a black suit holds the door open.
On the circular driveway, a hearse, black and shining, nine children reflected, cupped eyes peer inside.
The prints on the glass, from hands large and small, will serve for tomorrow, as waves goodbye.
“I don’t think he’ll even fit in this thing.”
“Of course he’ll fit,” says Pauly. “You don’t think they’ve got this figured-out?”
“Please don’t touch the hearse,” calls another man in black.
“I think I heard dad laughing in there.”
“Yeah, I heard it too,” Pauly says. “It’s what they do. They tell stories and they laugh and they have a drink so they don’t get upset.” Pauly looks at me to make sure I understand that this is what men do.
The moms are calling us from the door. They say, “It’s time for the second viewing, come in and get cleaned-up.”
Mothers holding small jackets, stuff arms into sleeves, twist them 'round by the shoulders, slap at dirt on their knees.
I thought maybe he would have moved—not like stood up, but maybe just a hand or a finger out of place, like, let go of the rosary or something. But this is the new version of Papa, the one who won’t sing Danny Boy every time I walk over from our house, on account of my name. The version of Papa that won’t be the biggest man in the room, who everyone calls Hap because he always has a big smile and a big laugh. (Had.) This version of Papa won’t be taking me all around the east side, showing everyone his youngest grandson or taking me to the Colony for thin crust pizza and to let me look at the black and white pictures on the wall of the old-time boxers, all signed “To Frank and Gino,” with names like “Jabbin’” Joe Baker and Mike “Buster” O’Neil.”
Pauly’s tie is undone and he wants to know if I’m Okay. “You’re crying,” he says.
“Am not.”
Men wearing hats like the ice cream guy at Carvel tell Gamma that they’re sorry for her loss. The hats say VFW on the side and the men act like they know Papa. (Knew.)
Very Few Words
Victor Foxtrot Whiskey
Very Fine Work
They bend down to tell me that my Papa was a man among men.
When I look over at him I see a man among flowers.
Papa tells the guy in line behind us at the movies that it’s tough getting old but it sure beats the alternative.
Papa says that any day he wakes up is a good day.
Papa asks me if I know how many people are dead in that cemetery. All of them, I say.
Papa tells Mr. Mazza that at least they’re both still on the right side of the grass and that the meatballs were great.
After tomorrow, Papa will wake up on the wrong side of the grass every day.
Jabbin’ Joe Baker and Buster O’Neil, Look just like before, but the devil, the deal: Forever young on the wall in black and white But no pizza, no beer and no more to fight
“Stop fidgeting Daniel. Stand here with us Daniel. People are here to pay their respects.”
So many people, Papa will probably have at least a million respects by the end of the night.
The really old people came early, the ones that probably had to take the bus because they can’t drive anymore and I think Mr. Ceretta would be smart to measure them now for their very-own box because, why wait till the last minute?
Then some people that Papa used to work with before he retired came in, on their way home to a regular night.
Just have to stop-off and pay my respects to Hap Sullivan…Oh, I thought I told you…I won’t be long, what’s for dinner?
“Ah, you must be the youngest.”
Must I? I must.
“And you must be Tom’s oldest.”
“Yes sir,” says Cousin Ricky.
“Heck of a golfer, your grandpa.”
“Yes sir, we played Sterling hills just last week. Papa got us on because knows the starter. He shot a seventy-eight.”
(Knew.)
Ricky may be a lot older, but he’s surely not a man because he definitely has tears in his eyes. I seriously doubt that the men would let him into the front room.
There’s a fan in the side window but I can hear them from the one in the front, on the sidewalk, with the sign above, in fancy script that says “Ceretta Funeral Home” and then in smaller fancy writing underneath, it tells you they’ve been “Caring for families in their time of need since 1962.”
“‘Member the time he got home really late on a Friday night and the next morning mom saw the busted headlight and gave him hell? And she kept after him all morning about it until he went to the garage, got a hammer and smashed the other one?”
Laughs all around.
“He says to Ma, ‘Guess I’ll have to be home before dark from now on.’”
You can hear them downtown.
I hope Mr. Ceretta doesn’t get angry when people drink and laugh and smoke in his front room because he could be plenty mad at the men of this particular family in its’ time of need.
Father Murphy comes in with a pocket bible that has a ribbon in it to mark the page about Papa Hap. Dad tells us to sit in the chairs. Father Murphy pulls the ribbon to the page and starts reading and it sounds just like this, I kid you not. (That’s what Papa always says.) (Said)
Reck we em ater nam don’t I domeen
“It’s Latin,” whispers Pauly.
Father Murphy kneels in front of Papa, I think maybe to smell the flowers for a minute and then he gets up to tell us that he hopes that God will give Papa eternal rest and he also hopes that perpetual light will shine upon him.
I hope that there’s perpetual light on the wrong side of the grass but I doubt it.
“Are they going to close it now?”
“No,” says Pauly, “Not till tomorrow.”
Gamma says she’s tired. She looks very old.
Welcome back soldier, home from the war, that rescued the world, from that son of a whore.
Do you, John Patrick Sullivan, take this woman, Mary Elizabeth Keaton…
I do.
“Here’s a little something for you two, congratulations, Mary’s a beauty. We were praying for all of you boys over there.”
“Thanks…I’m so sorry about Bobby. He’s a hero.”
“Here’s a little something for you and Mary.”
“Thank you, glad to hear Tony will be home soon.”
“Here’s a little something for the newlyweds, and if you’re looking for work, I’m looking for a salesman.”
“Thank you, I’ll call you next week.”
Over there, remains unspoken. If ever voiced, thought to be broken.
Stamford Advocate April 4, 1952 - Birth Announcements
April 1, a son, Robert Daniel, to Mr. and Mrs. John P. Sullivan, their fourth.
A son
A son
A son
Another one
“Listen Hap, You’re setting all kinds of sales records, but this is the second company car you’ve wrecked. I know the clients want to play golf and hit the nineteenth hole but I think this is getting a little out of hand.”
Problem detected, is problem corrected. Must simply abstain and deal with the pain.
Stamford Advocate May 12, 1989 Mayor Attends Bash For Local Man
John P. “Hap” Sullivan steps down as VP of Sales for International Business Paper and Envelope, capping a forty-three year career. Story and pictures p.12.
What do Arnold Palmer and Hap Sullivan have in common?
They both made a living on the golf course!
Stamford Advocate June 5, 1995 - Obituaries John Patrick Sullivan 4/12/23 - 6/3/95
It is with profound sorrow that the family of John Patrick “Hap” Sullivan must announce his sudden departure from this life, age 72, of a heart attack.
Known for his larger-than-life stature and easy smile, Hap was loved and admired by all who knew him, particularly his friends and neighbors on the east side, where he was born and spent his entire life. When not on the golf course, Hap could often be found “holding court” at Mazza’s Deli, often with one or two of his beloved grandchildren in-tow.
Hap served with the Army 1st Infantry from 1941 to 1945 and was among the first to land at Normandy on D-Day, June 6, 1944 in fierce fighting that would eventually lead to the liberation of Europe and the surrender of the Nazi forces. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal for outstanding conduct in wartime.
He married Mary Elizabeth Keaton, his high school sweetheart in 1946 and soon-after went to work at International Business Paper and Envelope, where he excelled in sales, eventually working his way into management and retiring as Vice President of Sales in 1989.
Hap enjoyed vacations with family for many years on Cape Cod and had recently purchased a home in Florida where he and Mary enjoyed several winter getaways.
In addition to his wife of 49 years, he leaves behind four sons, John Patrick Jr. (Betsy), Arthur Andrew (Caroline), Thomas James (Sabina) and Robert Daniel (Terri Ann) as well as nine grandchildren and four nieces and nephews. He was predeceased by both parents and his two brothers.
Calling hours will be at Ceretta Funeral Home, 67 Myrtle Ave., on Tuesday June 6, from 3:00 to 6:00 PM and 7:00 to 9:00 PM.
A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated at St.Mary Immaculate Church on Shippan Ave., on Wednesday, June 7th at 11:00 AM, followed by internment in Willowbrook Cemetery.
Here today and gone tomorrow, to family and friends, we announce with sorrow, the man we loved, has lived and died, brave man who laughed and never cried.
Pauly has his hand on my shoulder because he thinks I might try and touch Papa one more time and I want to, at first but I can see that he’s still holding the rosary exactly the same way as last night.
“We’ll go up together. Don’t cry.”
“I feel like I might.”
“Say the Hail Mary.”
“Hail Mary, full of grace…”
“To yourself,” Pauly says. “And then we should go hug Gamma.”
Close the lid gently, spread careful the banner, six strong men required, to hoist in a manner, befitting a man who has tried his true best. Come solemnly now as we lay him to rest.
You can’t see the sky inside St.Mary’s. It looks like the sky, it’s high and it’s blue and it’s light but it’s not from the sun. It could be the perpetual light that shines down on the flag over the box that Papa has moved into, almost ready to go to the wrong side of the grass.
Father Murphy stands next to Papas’ box and sprinkles holy water on it and I’m close enough to get some on my hand and I lick it to see if it tastes like salt but it doesn’t.
“Domeen us voe biscum,” says Father Murphy.
“Reck we scat in pace,” he adds quietly.
“Time to go,” Pauly says, “Scat in peace.”
Do follow us now, to the burial site. Afterward, a late brunch, at 101 Bright.
Dad is very quiet. He doesn’t even get mad at me when I fall off the jump seat and it folds-up and Pauly has to help me put it back down. I don’t ask dad why they call it a jump seat because it seems like he just wants to look out the window. He might be tired from helping to carry Papas’ box down the steps of St. Mary’s.
“You’re crying again,” says Pauly.
“Leave Danny alone,” Mom says.
“Let me rest in peace,” I tell Pauly.
I can’t count how many cars there are behind us with orange cards on their dashboards but there are a lot of them. Papa’s car is at the front of the line (Yup, he did fit) and there’s another one behind it that is full of nothing but flowers and we don’t have to stop at any red lights.
“Do you think those people know who it is?”
“Everybody knows Papa,” Pauly says.
(Knew.)
We have to wait in the car while dad and our uncles carry Papa’s box up the little hill and put it down on top of a thing that won’t let it fall down the hole and that’s why I can’t tell how deep it is. Uncle Jack and Uncle Art come back to help Gamma and we all walk up and sit under a tent on wooden chairs which make creaking noises if you move around too much, so I try to be still.
Father Murphy flicks more holy water on the box and this time I don’t get hit but I probably wouldn’t have licked it anyway because I already know it doesn’t taste like anything.
Then Father Murphy tells us to bow our heads for a moment of silent prayer so I say one. To myself.
In the Name of the Father the Son and the Holy Spirit, Dear Lord, I hope it’s okay if I talk to Papa Hap.
Dear Papa, I’m really sad that you died and I’m trying hard not to cry but sometimes I do but I AM the youngest and you really can’t do anything about it when you’re only seven and a half. Pauly is trying to teach me what men are supposed to do but he’s only twelve and he’s still learning himself and I know he cries sometimes when he thinks I can’t see him but I don’t blame him because he’s very sad too. Dad and Jack and Art and Tom are all doing well and they laugh sometimes when they talk about you which I guess is what men do but it may take me a while to understand that. Also, at least one of them is smoking again but it could have been Gino from the Colony because he was in the room too and I’m pretty sure he smokes.
Father Murphy is talking again so I’ll have to get back to you later. I have something important to tell you. In Jesus name, Amen.
“Oh God by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, send your Angel to watch over this grave. Through Christ our lord, Amen.”
Then he says, “May perpetual light shine upon him.”
And the last thing he say is, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” And then dad and uncle Jack start passing out the flowers and they both have tears in their eyes and they don’t even try to wipe them off, so when they get one in their mouth, it will definitely taste like salt. Mine taste like salt.
Ashes to ashes, boys to men, men to boys, all over again
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Dear lord, please put me through to Papa again.
Dear Papa, I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you but we had a lunch for you at Tommy and Sabina’s house and it lasted FOREVER and you know (knew) how great aunt Sabina cooks and how much food she always makes and everyone was very hungry which I guess is a good sign because, you know, (sorry, knew) like Gamma said, we still have to eat. A lot of things happened today and I got confused because I DID see dad cry and I DID see Jack and Art and Tommy cry but later they acted okay and they all started laughing again when Uncle Jack told a story about you and the train conductor but I didn’t hear the end because I was getting upset and I went inside to sit on the couch and SURE ENOUGH, mom and Gamma came in to sit with me and Gamma sang the ENTIRE song of Danny Boy which I didn’t know all the words to on account of you only ever sang the Danny Boy part to me and that’s FINE but the part that I didn’t know was the last part that says that the person who died can tell when you’re there and can hear you when you tell them you love them so Gamma and me and probably Pauly will be there this Sunday after 10:45 Mass, probably around 12:00 and we’ll hopefully come almost every Sunday. But I told you that I had something important to tell you but I don’t know that it’s that important anymore because I was worried about the perpetual light and now I’m not as worried because mom explained that it’s just for heaven but I didn’t understand that this morning so I snuck my tiny flashlight in there today before they closed the lid and it’s right there in the crack next to your left hand and it has a new battery in it which I found in dad’s junk drawer so it should last for a long time but OF COURSE it won’t be perpetual but if you have any trouble getting used to being on the wrong side of the grass you can use it for quite a while. OH, and another thing I wanted to tell you is that Mr. Mazza said goodbye Hap to me when he was leaving today and I kind of liked that but I’m sure it’s just because he doesn’t remember my name. Well that’s what I wanted to tell you and I’m getting really tired but the good thing is that Pauly is staying over at Tommy’s house so I can rest in peace. I miss you Papa. See you Sunday. Love you. In Jesus name, Amen.
As others have said, this piece punches. I really enjoyed it; the structure gave it a life within a life within the lives of others. Hope that makes sense; it's approaching 1 a.m. and I'm a little loopy past my bedtime. After reading your story a few hours ago, I got inspired to write. I love it when that happens. Thanks for the story, Jim! Nicely done.
Man oh man, Jim, I felt this on so many levels. What a gut-wrenching, sentimental, and all around beautiful story. And the way you wrote it and structured it was simply awesome. Loved it from start to finish!