Σας ευχαριστούμε πάρα πολύ, Παπά
For my beloved father, Gus Demas
by his loving son, Nicholas
(A Eulogy given January 31, 2011)
To be able to say some words on this day that pay special remembrance to my father--to commemorate his life--is a great honor. Doing so for him, and for my loving mother, is truly a privilege.
Some of us know him as Gus, to some others Costa Deno, and yet others know him as Papa; but sometimes I just call him Dad. Whatever we call him, when I think of my father, I think of a quiet confidence. A silent pride and strength and fortitude that need no words mentioned; revealed only by his stature and his actions. I think of him as a guardian and a protector--of anyone that needs protecting. A caring and compassionate nature for others, always willing to lend a hand. A man with a generous and giving heart, who provided for his family with the highest standard in his work ethic. And I think of him as a good husband to my mother (He so loves her, I saw it in his eyes). I think of a man who lived a full and vibrant life. A complete life, even though that cruel disease robbed him of his twilight. So today I will be proud and share some stories and anecdotes about his life and loves and some of my own experiences with him.
And from this point forward, I’ll cherish the memories I have, and forever contemplate how he affected my life so deeply. Gus was the second oldest of 8 children. Born to Greek immigrant parents, he spent his formative years in Nevada City and Grass Valley where his father worked in the gold mines. This was during the depression era of the 1930’s. Times were somewhat rough in those days, but young Gus and his brothers found industrious and enterprising ways to help make ends meet; and had a little fun too. Gus and his brothers somehow figured they could pick flowers and sell them to the ... ("professional" women of the town (brothel?)). Picture these kids, aged between 5 and 10, picking and arranging bouquets of flowers, and sending their littlest brother Sam up to the house where the working women there would find him so cute and irresistible they couldn’t refrain from spending a dime or a quarter. Or they would bring their shoeshine boxes to the saloon and shine the shoes for the miners and patrons there. They’d take some of the money home of course, but the rest would afford all sorts of goodies and fun stuff like movies and comic books. Depression? They had no idea there was any depression. Just the innocence of youth and making due with what they had.
Papa Nick
Gus’s father, Nickolas, was highly influential to his children. By all accounts he was somewhat of a stern man, with a sometimes quick temper, yet at other times sensitive and kind. Neverthe-less he was highly respected and admired by his children. Though he could not read and write in English, in Greek he was a learned man, and would teach the children by story telling.
The impressionable children would sit around a cast-iron stove or fireplace and listen intently as their father would tell stories of ancient Greece and its philosophers such as Socrates and Plato and Aristotle; or tales of his own childhood and hardships of life that was in Crete; or even stories of ghosts and legends and such. Gus and all his brothers always spoke of their father in utmost respect and regard, and credit his influence as vital to their characters.
The Gift
Gus was a gifted athlete. Definitely a natural talent in the realm of sports. Football, baseball, anything that required dexterity and speed and skill. But where he particularly shined was in the boxing ring. I have heard many tell of his exceptional abilities when they speak of him. I often hear words like: “excellence” or “awesome” when I hear others describe his extraordinary talents in the ring. I have even heard some say he missed his calling and could‘ve perhaps made a living fighting if he‘d continued. Although spectators who knew him and saw him fight praised his abilities, I never once heard a bragging word from his own mouth, as he was very modest and humble when talking about himself.
My dad’s younger brother, Angelo, told me a story about a neighbor they had when they were kids. Apparently this neighbor complained often about the kids being noisy while they were playing and horsing around in the neighborhood. One day this neighbor called Gus over and gave him a gift. To their surprise, the man had given them a gift, a set of boxing gloves so the kids could face off against each other. They only guessed as to the neighbor’s true intentions, but speculated he had secretly hoped they’d beat each other senseless in the process. Neverthe-less, over the following months and years they strapped these gloves on and fought with each other, day in and day out, learning to become good fighters, all of them. But Gus stood out, a notch above, displaying his natural abilities immediately, and it was obvious that he had a special gift. Gus became supremely confident defending himself. He developed a reputation of being someone to fear in the fighting ring; as well as on the streets, where there were some tough kids in those days. But it was compassion and class that stood out this time, as he would always step up and stick up for someone who may have been treated unfairly or hurt by a bully.
His brothers looked up to him, and felt secure in knowing Gus had their backs covered. I think everyone who knew him would agree those same sentiments were easy to come by for anyone around him, always knowing we had nothing to fear when my Dad was around; it was just the way about him, a natural protector.
My Father, the Working Man. The Family Man.
My Dad worked extremely hard to provide for us. As a kid growing up, I probably didn’t get to see him as often as most kids get to see their dads. He was intensely committed to working hard and laboring to bring home enough to build a decent life for his family. Often with extra board hours of 8 on and 8 off, barely finding time to sleep between shifts, it was hard to spend quality time with him. Of course we wanted more, but that was the man. That was the ethic...
Gardens and Grandma’s
A passion of my father's was his diligent caring for his garden and fruit trees. Anyone who knows him probably got a sack of vegetables or fruit on a visit or two. Nothing better than slicing open a peach or a nectarine right off the tree in the backyard, and shooting the breeze with Dad on a hot summer day. He would also, as sure as clockwork, take vegetables and fruit and other goodies to his mother’s where all his brothers and sisters would meet weekly for family gatherings.
I remember fondly growing up, going to my Grandma Demas’s every Sunday for those gatherings of the family. Gus and all his brothers would congregate there. They would have intense and elaborate discussions and debates in the family room about everything--all things politics or financial markets or current events or any topic of interest would be discussed and debated vigorously. I used to enjoy just sitting, and watching and listening from a perch on the staircase just above, fascinated with the energy emanating from the room as these men bandied words and opinions back and forth as arguments were established and points were made. As a child looking on, it seemed as though it was a fierce battle of combatants. Then suddenly, some or all of them would seem cross, and in the next moment they were all smiling and laughing together; but just until the next debate commenced.
So many wonderful memories of my Dad. How he used to take us on vacations. driving halfway across the states to Oklahoma and Texas to see my mother‘s relatives. Stopping at all the national parks and tourist stops along the way. He also enjoyed taking us to Tahoe. All you can eat seafood, and a dip in the lake. I loved to watch him sprint for the water and dive in the shallow and swim out and dive off the tall buoy. Other times he would dawn a monster mask and scare all the kids from outside the house when he came home from work at night. You knew he was in a playful mood when you’d get a gentle kick or tap on the rear end, or a pat on the head. He would show his affections and you knew they were genuine. He used to take me to the stock brokerage when I was kid, and I’d watch the tickers and lights. He bought me my first shares of stock when I was in grade school and showed me how to check the newspaper for quotes--to check my net worth.
Years later, after I was grown and on my own, we had regular discussions and talks. Many about markets and economics. My father was intelligent and read--self taught. And I admired that about him. He gave me my first technical books on markets and trading when I was a young man. He taught me to be frugal and save my money. Taught me about systems and odds. He inspired me in so many ways. But when my dad's eyes would light up when I had something intelligent to say, that was extra special. He had learned from me too...
And I am proud of that.
The Music in the Man
One thing not many people know about my Dad is his brilliant singing voice. I had experienced when I was a youngster, occasion when he would sing when no one was around. He wasn’t shy in front of me, but if someone would come around, he would clam up. But it wasn’t until later in life, in his older age, that I really heard him let loose with his voice and recognized his talent. Not just his pitch but how he would sing vibrato and use his diaphragm. It really was beautiful. I would sometimes sing along with him to songs like “Red River Valley” and “Lone Prairie“. My mother and I continued to sing to him after his singing voice faltered into the last days. These are some of the things that showed the sweetness of his character that will live on with me forever.
My father was almost 40 when I was born, he had done so much before I was even a part of his life. In some way I feel almost cheated I didn't get more time with him. Somehow I wish I was his oldest, and could’ve seen him closer to his prime in life. But my memories with him are cherished, and I know I'll see him again some day. And I'll throw a baseball or a football with him again, and we'll talk together... and laugh together... and sing together.
Sas ef charistó pára polý, Papá... Sas ef charistó.
1 comment:
Ann, I'm sorry to hear of your and your families loss.
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