Tribute Wall
Loading...
M
Mary Frances Torpey posted a condolence
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Mary Frances remembered her grandfather and shared with us some of these thoughts:
I remember him saying last summer, "this is the best ear of corn i've had in all my born days!" and of course how he would announce, "I'm the cleanest!" upon exiting the shower. And how he loved to count--counting heads at family gatherings in particular. When Grampa swore me in as a member of the New Jersey bar in his living room, he delivered a short speech about the number of bar exams everyone in the family had taken (I, of course, cannot remember the exact figure), including the time he sat for the last counselor's exam ever offered in New Jersey. I remember the last time I ate dinner with Gramma and Grampa out on the deck at 69 W. 17th Street, and Grandpa listening to Marie sing "Claire de Lune" with such delight on his face, and how he loved to fly kites on the beach, how he always gave me a little "mad money" when I would visit, or would try to give me money for gas . . . how he adored the 4th of July parade, and sat on the curb greeting people he knew as they passed . . . and how he let us play with that crazy contraption he used to sweep up the leaves at 210 Lakeside. So many random memories--he very patiently helped me with my capital cursive letter "G"s one morning when mom was in the hospital and I had forgotten to do my homework for 2nd grade. (At the time, it soothed me to know that I was working with an expert, because I thought Grampa's name began with a "G"--I also thought his GRP 1 license plate was an abbreviation for "Grandpa," but now I'm talking about myself.) And how at my law school graduation, I was trying to recount the story of how Gramma and Grampa met for a friend of mine. I said that Grampa's date is known in family lore as "the swimmer," and I explained that her name was lost to history. Grampa piped up, "her name was Marge Smith!" (or whatever the heck her name was), and went on to say, "she swam the Australian Crawl!" (or whatever the heck her stroke was). Even in the past few years, the depth and clarity of his memory would just astound me.
E
Elizabeth Torpey Sirven posted a condolence
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Liz shared the following memories with her aunt, uncle and mother (the children of Rowland Porch)
"Of course, all I can think of now are little stories that are inappropriate for a funeral service. 1)How through some strange twist of fate, Grandpa ended up coming with me shopping to buy undergarments for my wedding dress and how utterly unphased he seemed being in a frilly lingerie shop and how surprising I found that. 2) When he and Grandma came to Paris, he took Pierre's [Liz's husband] family out to dinner and his steak was so tough he could not chew it properly and he hid it on his plate. As we were leaving the restaurant, he whispered "I cannot believe I just spent X amount at a Parisian restaurant and I couldn't even eat my meal." 3) And how his eyes lit up like a little boy when Pierre's dad drove us through Paris at night so he could see it because he was ill most of the time and how later he told me that was the highlight of the trip. 4) How he loved Anita's [Pierre's mother's] cheese souffle and strongly disliked her endive salad and of the latter he said "there are things you take and you leave and well I'll leave this." And we all laughed out loud. 5) I am also remembering the speech my dad made at our wedding about major and minor decisions. I think he said that came from Grandpa. 6) And of course, how rightly proud he was of his family and his faith. And how he loved to be part of something, although he was of course more distant the past several years because of eyesight and hearing loss. At one family gathering in Pitman when I had a friend visiting, the friend eventually left and Grandpa cried, "Great! Lock the doors! It's just our family!" 7) And how he insisted we sing "God Bless America" the first fourth of July after September 11th.
E
Elizabeth Torpey Sirven posted a condolence
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Liz shared the following memories with her aunt, uncle and mother (the children of Rowland Porch)
"Of course, all I can think of now are little stories that are inappropriate for a funeral service. 1)How through some strange twist of fate, Grandpa ended up coming with me shopping to buy undergarments for my wedding dress and how utterly unphased he seemed being in a frilly lingerie shop and how surprising I found that. 2) When he and Grandma came to Paris, he took Pierre's [Liz's husband] family out to dinner and his steak was so tough he could not chew it properly and he hid it on his plate. As we were leaving the restaurant, he whispered "I cannot believe I just spent X amount at a Parisian restaurant and I couldn't even eat my meal." 3) And how his eyes lit up like a little boy when Pierre's dad drove us through Paris at night so he could see it because he was ill most of the time and how later he told me that was the highlight of the trip. 4) How he loved Anita's [Pierre's mother's] cheese souffle and strongly disliked her endive salad and of the latter he said "there are things you take and you leave and well I'll leave this." And we all laughed out loud. 5) I am also remembering the speech my dad made at our wedding about major and minor decisions. I think he said that came from Grandpa. 6) And of course, how rightly proud he was of his family and his faith. And how he loved to be part of something, although he was of course more distant the past several years because of eyesight and hearing loss. At one family gathering in Pitman when I had a friend visiting, the friend eventually left and Grandpa cried, "Great! Lock the doors! It's just our family!" 7) And how he insisted we sing "God Bless America" the first fourth of July after September 11th.
R
R Brooke Porc Jr posted a condolence
Monday, March 17, 2008
MY DAD
My father was born on September 23, 1914. He was born on his brother’s 2nd birthday. In fact, he was born on the dining room table in his parents’ home in Pitman, New Jersey while his 2-year old brother was napping in the next room. Why he was born on the dinning room table was never explained to me, but why he shared his brother’s birthday was made very clear to me as I was growing up because my father and his brother Will were very close. Although different in many ways, either brother would have done anything to support the other.
My father died peacefully at 12:12 pm on Wed, March 5, 2008. He was 93 years old. And yet, he was still a kid. My dad never lost his youthful inquisitive nature. My father was an accomplished professional. He was an attorney and a Sunday school teacher. He was a homeowner and a water skiing enthusiast. He was an excellent bridge player who could be fiercely competitive, yet he was the kindest, gentlest, and most generous man that I have ever known.
My dad graduated Valedictorian from Pitman High School in 1932, Magna Cum Laude from Dickenson College in1936. He graduated from Temple Law School in 1940, served in the US Army from 1943-1946 in the Pacific Theatre. He practiced law in Pitman for over 50 years.
My father was an attorney who was regarded for his honesty and his integrity. People trusted him with details concerning their finances, their personal and professional relationships with others, and, in some cases, their most intimate secrets. Imagine that. Let me repeat myself. My father was an attorney who was regarded for his honesty and his integrity.
My father was not a tall man. He was not an imposing figure. Yet he was a giant of a man.
He was generous, oh so generous. He was generous with his time. Chris Brier, my father’s oldest grandson, tells a story of when he drove with his grandfather to witness the signing of a will – 20 minutes in the car over country roads in south Jersey, 20 minutes at the home, 20 minutes in the car back to Pitman. The cost $50. Chris asked his grandfather why he charged so little. My father replied, “She’s a nice woman. She doesn’t have a lot of money.” He was generous with his talents. He volunteered to serve in many unpaid positions. When Kathy, Priscilla, and I were children, he served as a member and then as president of the Pitman Board of Education. I remember running into my parents’ bedroom when the phone rang very early one snowy school day to encourage my father to advise Superintendent Montgomery to close schools because it had already snowed 4”. My father volunteered his professional services to pave the way for the construction of the public library on Pitman Avenue, across the street from my his law office. My father was a founding member of the Board which created Gloucester County Vocational School. He was a lifelong member of the Pitman Rotary. And, lest we not forget, he was a member of the Church Council of the Pitman United Methodist Church. He was generous with his possessions. If I were to borrow a hat while visiting my parents in Ocean City, I would always be careful to thank him when I returned the hat, but knew not to say, “Hey dad. This is a nice hat.” If I did, I would have to fight off his attempts to give me the hat. My father was a man who would literally give you the shirt off his back.
Intelligent. My father was bright. He understood history, politics, and human nature. He was a great bridge player. At the outset of every hand, he of course knew what cards he held. After about 6 tricks, there was a very good chance that he knew exactly what cards you were still holding.
Articulate. My father was precise in his use of language. He had a marvelous vocabulary. Yet he never used a 4-syllable word if a 2-syllable word could convey the shade of meaning that he wanted. He was able to describe a complicated legal precedent in a manner that anyone could understand. And, if someone else was using language to make a matter seem more complicated than necessary, he would not hesitate to interrupt in order to set the record straight by putting the matter in simple terms.
Natural. My father was natural in the colloquial sense. He had no guile, no pretense. He was comfortable with himself. When my children were growing up, one of the worst things that could be said about someone was, “He thinks he’s big.” or “She thinks she’s big.” My father did not project an image of himself. Although he was quietly proud of his own accomplishments, it was the accomplishments of others that he talked about.
“My daughter was an English major at Dickenson College.”
“My son can water-ski on one ski. In fact he can ski barefoot.” (The fact that I never did actually ski barefoot, never stopped my father from bragging about my ability, much to my chagrin.)
“My youngest daughter is an attorney in New Hampshire.”
“Look at the flounder my granddaughter Becky caught.”
Tender. My father was a tender, caring, compassionate man. He had a light touch – literally and figuratively. He was, like his brother, a gentle man. If you were struggling with a problem and my father was in the room, he would quietly walk to your side and put his hand on your arm, often not saying a word. His touch alone would convey a thousand words of encouragement and support. And his touch was warm. His hands were always warm, oh so warm – even when he died. My father always prayed before he ate, and we always held hands to pray before a family meal. If you were lucky enough to be seated next to my father at a meal, you could not fail to notice how warm his hand was, how smooth his skin was, how light his touch.
PAUSE… Now, I have a few stories to tell. If you think that that I am going to continue to praise my father, you are wrong. I am now going to celebrate his wit and his charm.
When I was a small boy, each spring the Pitman Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions Club played a series of softball games to determine which service club had the best softball team. The games were played at the Little League field on _________ Avenue, which was a brand new field at that time. I remember one particular game against the Kiwanis Club. I was a small boy. I thought Kiwanis was the enemy. I felt then toward Kiwanis like I feel now toward the Dallas Cowboys and the NY Giants. Kiwanis was batting. Pitman Rotary was on the field. The score was tied. The bases were loaded. My father was playing 3rd base. It was full count to the batter – 3 balls and 2 strikes. My father raised his hands over his head and walked from 3rd base to the pitchers mound. He conferred with the pitcher. He then walked to the plate and conferred with the umpire. My father then walked to the dugout and emerged a minute later holding up a new softball. He walked to the pitcher’s mound, adjusted his shirt, and handed the pitcher a new softball. The pitcher tossed the used softball to the umpire as my father returned to 3rd base. The umpire raised his hands signaling that the game would resume. The pitcher then threw the fattest, sweetest pitch that anyone could imagine. The batter swung, and splat, the softball exploded. My father had replaced the softball with a grapefruit. Kiwanis went on to win that ballgame, but I did not care. Six months later, no one else could remember who had won, but no one forgot that one pitch.
When Linda and I were married 35 years ago, my father rose to give a toast. He said, “Rae-Louise, I want you to stand next to me as I offer this toast.” My mother stood. My father continued, “A good marriage requires patience, communication and compromise. Toward that end, when your mother and I were married, 30 years ago, we reached an agreement. The agreement was that she would make all the minor decisions, and I would make all the major decisions. Now, I can tell you that after 30 years of marriage, we have never had a major decision.
Some years later, my father’s oldest granddaughter Liz Torpey, now Liz Sirven, was getting ready to be married. Incidentally, Liz, who lives in France, is sorry that she cannot be here today. She sends her love to all of you who have gathered here today to celebrate the life of her grandfather. Liz is the mother of 3 children, making my father, her grandfather, a 3-time great-grandfather. Anyway, Liz recently shared this story. Through some strange twist of fate, Liz’s grandpa ended up accompanying Liz as she was shopping to buy undergarments for her wedding dress. Liz recalls that he was utterly unfazed at finding himself in a frilly lingerie shop as she selected undergarments.
I have a few closing comments. My father loved to speak in superlatives. “This is the best ear of corn that I have ever eaten in all by born days, and that, my children, is a lot of days.” OR, upon emerging from the bedroom after a bath, “I am the cleanest.” Said in the same manner that Muhammad Ali announced “I am the greatest” OR, “This is the best peach pie ever made.”
My father also loved numbers. He loved to count. “That is the 14th flag and we haven’t even seen one Miss Pitman contestant yet.” He also loved roads. He loved to figure which route from Pitman to Ocean City was the shortest, which route had the fewest traffic lights, and which routes went by the Methodist Church in Porchtown.
He also loved the beach. He loved to fly kites on the beach with his grandchildren. He loved to make drip castles on the beach with his children and grandchildren. He loved to set up a game of roll-me-up after the tide went out and sit at the top of the game, keeping score as each of his children or grandchildren would take their turns rolling a game.
My son, Rowland Brooke Porch, III is busy teaching English in Japan and cannot be here today. When my son was a small boy, my father would offer to take him fishing in his flat bottom boat. My son hated fishing because it was hot and sedentary. The fish would seldom bite, yet the flies would always bite. And yet, my son would always go fishing when his grandfather asked because it was quality one-on-one time with grandpa.
Most of all, my father loved his family, each and every member of his large extended family. When my father fell on that fateful night of Friday, Feb 29, he was rushed to The Shores Memorial Hospital in Sommers Point. After he arrived, he asked the nurse to bring a phone. He insisted that she call 609-399-5110 so that he could make sure that Rae-Louise, his wife of 64 years, was alright. He loved his 3 children unconditionally. He loved each of his 6 grandchildren enormously, and each of his 3 great-grandchildren with unwavering devotion. He also extended his love to my wife Linda and to my sister’s husband Michael as if they were blood relatives. A few years ago, a family gathering was interrupted by the arrival of a non-family friend-of-the-family, a nice person indeed. However, as soon as she left the premises, my father declared, “Great. Lock the doors. It’s just our family.”
He was a wonderful father, a wonderful grandfather, a friend and a counselor to many. He was a great man, a giant of a man.
ADDITIONAL STORIES THAT WERE NOT INCLUDED IN MY EULOGY
The following stories could have been included, but were deleted in the interest of time. It was very difficult to decide what to include and what not to include, as these stories are also classics.
When I was about 13, my father thought that it would be good for me to have a bit of a summer job. Since I was too young to have a real summer job, my father had me accompany him to his office each morning. Of course we began each day by going to the post office to pick up his mail, then to Merritt’s Florist Shop to pick up the white carnation that he wore every day as a boutonnière, then to the Pitman Bakery to pick up a donut or some other sweet treat. After all, my father would explain, the owners of the bakery were his clients. Make no mistake about it – Every dollar that the Pitman Bakery paid my father for legal services was returned to them threefold for baked goods. But I digress. The point of this story is that my father’s business was audited that summer by the internal revenue service. While I was busy using my father’s adding machine to add up columns of figures related to the settlement of an estate or a real estate transaction, my father was busy doing lawyerly things in the next room. On one occasion I heard him arguing politely with the auditor from the IRS, “So what you want me to do is to provide a detailed breakdown of all of the costs associated with each of the checks written for every real estate transaction... yadda yadda yadda. Now, do you want this detailed list on legal size paper or these little 8.5 by 11 sheets of paper?” The auditor replied, “You may use whatever size paper you wish.” I am pretty sure that my father left the door open between his office and the back room where I was madly punching numbers into the adding machine because... Three or four weeks later my father sent his secretary home early and made certain that I was seated, not in the back room, but at his secretary’s desk, when he met with the IRS auditor again late one afternoon. First, my father asked the auditor to repeat the request that he had made 3-4 weeks earlier. My father asked the auditor to again explain the detailed breakdown that he wanted for each of the 186 checks. The auditor did so. My father looked up with a sheepish grin and said, “I have provided the detail that you have requested. In fact, I have provided all of the information that you have requested on a single piece of paper.” As the auditor sat in stunned silence, my father reached under his desk to retrieve a roll of shelf paper neatly rolled on two short thick round dowels of wood like a scroll from Bible times. Although I could not see the auditor’s face, I had no trouble imagining how he must have felt. Several weeks later, the report arrived from the auditor. My father owed $124 for a “miscalculation” concerning work-related travel expenses.
As many of you know, my parents moved to The Shores at Wesley Manor 2 years ago. Recently, we had a “Family Meeting” at The Shores to discuss the need for a nurse to visit my parents’ apartment each day to administer the various medications required by my father and my mother. Although my father’s mental acuity had not diminished a bit during his 93 years, his abilities to communicate were compromised by a significant loss of vision and hearing. Loss of visual acuity compromised my father’s ability to read the sports page or to see the small pills that he needed to take 2 times per day. His hearing impairment interfered with communication and caused some employees at The Shores to erroneously conclude that my father evidenced dementia. Nothing could be further from the truth. Back to the family meeting – After listening to several employees talk to my parents and my sister at volume only slightly elevated above a whisper, I decided to intervene.
I said loudly, “Excuse me for interrupting, but I want to make sure that my father has an opportunity to hear what has been said. Dad, can you hear me?” (Yes) “Good. Here is what these people are saying. In order to be certain that you receive all of your pills, a nurse is going to stop at your apartment every morning and every evening to give you your pills.” My father responded, “How much is that going to cost?” I said, “It will cost $9 per day for you to receive your pills. AND, the nurse will also track mother down each morning and evening to give her pills to her. It is going to cost an additional $9 per day for mother to be given her pills each day. My father immediately responded. I mean to say that not a nanosecond had passed before my father responded by saying, “Why that’s $126 a week.” Those 9 words silenced the professionals at The Shores. They were suddenly confronted with uncontrovertibly evidence that my father was as sharp as a tack, and was far and away much quicker at mental arithmetic than any of them would ever hope to be. The point, my dear friends, is to never underestimate a person who evidences a deficit in one particular area, and most certainly to never underestimate Rowland Porch.
RBP – 3/15/08
S
Stacy DeClement posted a condolence
Thursday, March 13, 2008
We will always be eternally grateful for the kindness and generosity Roland showed to us when Dave was embarking on his law career. Roland was a true gentleman who consistently exhibited impeccable character and integrity. Our deepest sympathy to his entire family; please find solace in your many fond memories of your Dad/Grandfather.
J
Jane Howey Pape posted a condolence
Thursday, March 13, 2008
To the Family;
Mr. and Mrs. Porch were part of PUMC growing up, they were so much a part of Pitman.
When Mr. Porch retired and moved it seemed so funny not to see him walking the streets of Pitman nor in church on Sunday mornings. I look at his age and think how can that be till I realize my own---where did the yrs go?
You have your memories and they can never be taken away.
Always remember the good times, the family times and the love of parents who knew the Lord. Grace and Peace to each of you as Mr. Porch has gone home to a better place and to be with the Lord. Let us smile as we celebrate his life.
Blessings,
Jane
D
DR. LLOYD DOEBLER posted a condolence
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
AS A MEMBER OF THE PITMAN ROTARY CLUB FOR MANY, MANY YEARS, I WOULD JOIN THE MANY
ROTARIANS WHO HAD THE PLEASURE OF SHARING EVERY TUSDAY AT ROTARY, WITH ROLAND. IT WAS A PLEASURE TO KNOW HIM. HE HELPED ME WITH CRAZY LEGAL PROBLEMS, BOTH ENJOYING THE TRIP. HIS FAMILY AND FRIENDS WILL MISS HIM VERY MUCH.
C
Christine Leeds Armstrong, RN posted a condolence
Monday, March 10, 2008
Priscilla, and the rest of the Porch family,
I was very saddened to hear of your father's passing. I remember how much he did for the town of Pitman and for the school system as well. You must be proud of him..and I know you will miss him in the years to come.
Sincerely,
Chris
125 Pitman Avenue
Pitman, NJ 08071
Phone: (856) 589-6308