John LeMasney
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04:02:48 pm on September 10, 2008 | # |
LeMASNEY
WILLIAM J. “BILL”, of Bensalem, suddenly on Sept. 5, 2008. Beloved husband of Marie J. LeMasney (nee Cannon). Devoted father of Linda L. Berg (the late Rick), Lisa A. Milburn (Ted), Renee M., John W. (Dawn) and the late William J. LeMasney; brother of Richard and Michael LeMasney; also survived by 6 grandchildren. Relatives and friends are invited to attend his Viewing Thursday eve 7 – 9 P.M. and his Funeral Friday morning 9:30 – 10:30 A.M. at THE FLUEHR FUNERAL HOME, 864 Bristol Pike (Rte. 13), Bensalem. Funeral Service 10:30 A.M. Rite of Committal Resurrection Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, contributions in his memory may be made to a charity of the donor’s choice.Published in the Philadelphia Inquirer & Philadelphia Daily News on 9/10/2008 This is the first that some of you will have heard about this, but I wanted to thank all of you who have heard and expressed your condolences. Here’s something I wrote to remember my Dad by that I wanted to share with you all.John.
William J. LeMasney (1931 – 2008)
He was balanced, hard working, funny, sly, quick witted, generous, happy, determined, realistic, and he loved traveling, music, and family. He was a great man, who has had a great impact on my life. I miss him deeply.
He would say from time to time that he was going to create one way or another to pass me or my family a few bucks because it was what he had done for someone else. He purchased my first two cars for me, and let me buy one or two from him at a steep discount. There’s a certain purple station wagon that I bought from him at full price, but it was worth it. He helped me to buy my house, my education, and food for me and my family on many many occasions. I am indebted to him forever.
He was a brilliant salesman. Many of my earliest memories of him are of him talking on the phone to customers. He was doing telecommuting before it was a catchphrase. While he was on those calls he taught me a lot. He taught me when to throw in a joke, when to get back to business, and when to regroup in a conversation. He was a master salesman, and he did great things with his skills.
He would often recount to me that Elvis had died in the bathroom, on the toilet. He would happy to know that he had gone out like the King.
His mind was always going — he would analyze the monetary possibilities of someone else’s assets, just to stay sharp in case he ever found himself in the same situation. My father, if nothing else, was prepared.
He always had a joke on his mind, if not on his lips, most of which were in the form of a reply to the last thing that came out of your mouth. I doubt I will ever again meet a man so ready to have someone else laugh with him.
He would, without a doubt, have given me anything in the world that I asked for, including the shirt on his back. He might ask me if I was serious, but if I was, so was he. He was one of the most generous people I will ever meet in my life.
He was happy in his work. He was reluctant to retire, and I feel like it was one of the hardest decisions of his life when he finally did. He loved the chase, and he found it in sales. The chase escaped him in retired life, except for a few side deals concerning cars and properties.
He once asked me to make him a plaque to hold all of the various keychains he had collected in his travels all over the world later in life. It was one of the only things I felt that I had made, artistically speaking, that had given him real pleasure, and I cherish that he asked and that I was able to deliver. He quickly ran out of space on it, and now I marvel at all of the places he’s seen.
When I was a teenager, he and I had very little in common. In fact I’d say that until I got out of school and got a “real job”, it was hard for he and I to share any common experience. When I started getting paychecks, and he knew I’d be okay, we were able to converse. He got it, and I got it, and we found each other spiritually, and were able to build upon that relationship almost every day since. But he and I were always able to meet with music, and whether we were talking about how much we liked Pink Floyd or Frank Sinatra, or the Beatles, we kept that thread open throughout our most separate times.
He cared deeply for us, and most of what I am today is due to what he and my mother have provided for me, and my family. He was a great man, and his legacy lives on in me and in each of us. I will always love you, Dad, and I’m glad I had the opportunity to tell you so many times.
John LeMasney
Michael Langley 6:04 pm on September 10, 2008 | #
John,
I just wanted to express my heartfelt condolences to you and your family. This is truly an amazing dedication to who I am certain is an amazing man. Take comfort in the fact that his investment into the man you became was well worth it. May God bless you and your family and keep you comforted always.
Mike
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John LeMasney reply on September 10th, 2008:
Mike, having friends like you is a great comfort at times like this. Thanks so much for your kind thoughts.
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JanieH 8:07 pm on September 10, 2008 | #
Dear John,
My heartfelt condolences to you and your family on your sudden loss. I will keep you all in my thoughts and prayers. Your tribute to Dad brought tears to me eyes — and I feel like I know him at least a little by your description. He sounds like he was a stellar individual and I am sure he will be missed by many. Take care and let me know if you need anything. Janie
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John LeMasney reply on September 10th, 2008:
Janie — I appreciate your kind and thoughtful words. He was indeed a stellar individual, and if one person’s worth can be judged by the ways in which his or her life positively affects those of others, he was priceless. Thanks for your thoughts.
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Alan 4:50 pm on September 11, 2008 | #
Hey John
My thoughts are with you during this time. I wish I had something good to say, something wise or profound like many of the things you’ve said to me when I was going through tough times. Your father raised a good son. If it’s our actions, our deeds that show the kind of person we are, then I think your father has shown himself a good man by the good man you have been.
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John LeMasney reply on September 16th, 2008:
It was great to see you at the wake — looking forward to getting together again.
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Ken Ronkowitz 3:44 am on September 17, 2008 | #
It’s good to write about him. My Dad died when I was 16, so there was no Internet, but I wrote plenty of poems and journal pages in trying to work that relationship out clearly. I still write.
I love the plaque story. It made me think of Billy Collins’ poem to his mom which (in that funny Collins way) addresses the inadequacy of our actions (and words) to capture all of it.
The Lanyard
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
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John LeMasney reply on September 18th, 2008:
Ken, thanks for sharing. It’s amazing how such an easily forthcoming piece of writing makes for the toughest delivery. Thanks so much for sharing this work, too.
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Edward Corrado 10:44 pm on September 18, 2008 | #
I’ma little late to the game, but I just checked your website for the first time in a few weeks. I’m sorry to hear about your loss and my condolences to you and your family.
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John LeMasney reply on September 19th, 2008:
Thanks so much, Ed. We had a good time saying goodbye to him.
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Mike Smith 12:25 am on December 2, 2009 | #
John,
I am not sure you would remember me,but I do remember you.I am Ricks younger brother.He and I had been estranged since my daughter was born.That would be since 1990.I very recently learned of his death.Obviously it has come as a shock,but prompts a question.I think you know what the question is.I feel that answer lies with Linda.I have seen Linda several times in the past few years at the Keswick Theater in Glenside and within 20 ft of her at any point.Linda and I are like oil and water.I feel and have always felt that she was largely responsible for the wedge between Rick and I.One thing I can certainly say for his ex-wife Bette,she never came between us and I know she was there for him in the end.Despite the cicumstances,I would have been there too were I not denied that opportunity.I could locate Linda if I wanted to,but I don’t.I harbor a lot of anger towards her.By virtue of having seen her and having the open opprtunity to confront her,I have already proven to be the better person by not doing so.
I read your tribute to your father.Touching to say the least.I am a father.I have a son.I nearly lost my son in 2006 as a result of a car accident.I hope I have been the kind of father that would inspire my son to think and feel as you do.I knew your dad too.I had an experience with your father during a very severe circumstance.I was driving Lindas car without a drivers license.I was driving because Rick had the car and asked me to drive.I hit a man on Knights Road and killed him.I was an accident and the affects of it have never left me.That was 31 yrs ago Feb 18,the day before my birthday.Your father waited for me at the Bensalem Police Dept until they brought me back from Lower Bucks Hospital.I was taken there for a blood and urine test.Your dad drove me home from Bensalem to Ardsley.I would describe him as angelic.The words and the tone were just right in easing the pain of what I had done.He actually made me feel like someone cared in my life.I was 18 at the time and not prepared for this.I’m sure you have heard the stories of our upbringing.As despicable as it was, Rick had his own way of putting his humorous spin on alot of it.A lot of the times I shared with him,was a bunch of Tom Foolery,acting half our age doing things we never did together as kids.Then it went away and now it is gone forever.I am deeply hurt by the way we parted life.I cannot offer an apology because there is nothing my heart tells me to apologize for.
I read your tribute twice and gained several things.You have grown into quite a man.You are successful,articulate and compassionate.I want to appeal to your compassion,so I ask you this:Did he have a proper internment of some kind? If he was buried,where can I find his grave?
I want to talk to him.If he was creamated,I can accept that.
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John LeMasney reply on December 2nd, 2009:
Hi, Mike. I must say, I don’t really remember you, but I’m glad you left a note here.
I did not know your question before you asked it, nor really about your relationship with Linda. I’m sorry when conflict, especially without any solvent benefit, comes between people. She would have to speak for herself on the matter, but I don’t think she’s a regular visitor to my blog.
Thanks many times for your kind words about my father, this tribute, and about me. I’m so sorry about your accident, and for the pain it caused to any involved, including you. My father certainly knew how to say the right thing in a dire situation, and encountered more than a few. You may or may not know that my brother was struck and killed by a car at age 20 the year I was born. I obviously never knew him. Perhaps my father spoke of him on that night.
I heard that Rick’s young family life was very difficult, but I was too young at the time for details. From his strength of character, and keen sense of humor, I had no doubt that he had been tested in life, and as you have been.
My father’s body is in Resurrection Cemetery in Bensalem, PA on Hulmeville Road. I hope you have a great conversation.
I’m sorry for the loss of your relationship with your brother. I wish I could have known mine as well.
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Mike Smith 11:09 am on December 2, 2009 | #
John,
Thanks for your reply.I guess in my haste to put the note together,I may have distracted you.I would certainly pay my respects to your father,but it is the location of Ricks grave,if there is one,that I am seeking.I apologize.
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John LeMasney reply on December 2nd, 2009:
I apologize for the misinterpretation. I actually have no idea where Rick is buried. I went to his service, in North Philadelphia, but I have no clue where his grave is. More apologies. I imagine that the state or dept of health may have that information, but I’m not really sure. Best of luck.
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