My Dad was strong. He was a Sargent in the United States Army. He operated a giant bulldozer for goodness sake, carving new roadways into Long Island earth on blistering summer afternoons and frigid winter mornings. But, the man knew how to pack a cooler or thermos to keep things running smoothly.
His strength was challenged by a knee operation around 1960, but he met that with a regiment of grueling knee extensions with me perched on his ankle and sweat pouring off his face.
Long before the running boom exploded, Dad went to the field across Clay Pitts Road and ran laps along the perimeter wearing street clothes and sneakers. We asked why, and he said it made him healthy. He is the first runner I knew and the inspiration for my 40-years of running. Some of my fondest memories were our runs and races together on Long Island.
Dad took some of his strength from the sea. He loved being on or near the water. There was that wooden cabin cruiser he and Uncle Eddie shared churning up the Great South Bay. He later bought a boat he trailered to the Northport shore, often with brother Al. Yeah, they caught a lot of big blues, but the trips were really about salt air and kinship, okay…beer too.
Sunken Meadow is a glorious park along the North Shore; there, Dad would swim a mile on summer evenings into the setting sun. It was a strengthening and peaceful diversion from the big machines he rode all day. He also cherished his runs there along the boardwalk, to the golf course, and into the woods where he took on two of Long Island’s most defiant hills: Snake and Cardiac. Yes, he was strong. Of course, Sunken Meadow would later become his special place, where he and the Beach Bums—guys like Joe Reese and Frank Bell—would meet each morning for a group run, and later walk, followed by a couple hours of coffee drinking and story-telling.
Strong men are generous, and Dad sure was that. He visited his mother, Nama, every weekend and always squeezed something into her hand. The man never sold a car in his life, always preferring to give them to family members. When his brothers needed something done, he was there to help and vice versa. When I was raising Keaton, he retired early from his job so he and Mom could road-trip it to Utah or Nebraska for a few weeks at a time to help out. And, I know his grandchildren and great grandchildren would say that Pop wrapped them with smiles and love. He had a way about him that made you feel special.
Strong men stay the course; they go the distance. Ninety-one years. Twenty with prostate cancer, with never a knock down. How about 60 years on Clay Pitts Road? I’m so glad I could share that home for so long with Chris, Keaton, Anna, and Sam on our summer pilgrimages from Nebraska. Now they are forever fans of Fire Island, Northport, Sunken Meadow, and real pizza. And, how about 68 years of marriage to my mother, Winnie? That’s a lifetime. And, Dad’s strength certainly rubbed off on her. In the declining times, she was his rock.
Finally, I must admit that I NEVER took my Dad down in arm wrestling, even when he allowed me to try two-handed. And, for that and all his other strengths, I’m truly grateful and proud to be his son.
Kenneth Kiewra
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