By Gerald Stone
R. Buckminster Fuller, the inventor of the geodesic dome used as the U.S. Pavilion at Expo 67, entitled one of his books, I Seem To Be A Verb. That could apply to Dad as well. He was a man of action, a doer. In speaking with many of you of his passing, the initial reaction was one of shock and surprise, precisely because Dad was so active. In September when I visited him, he scoffed when I suggested that I could drive him to the hospital to see Mom or to buy groceries. He would drive, buy groceries, feed Mom and give her her medicine, and live independently. He kept in touch with all of us through Skype and the telephone.
Dad was, among other things, a realist and pragmatist. He sensed when it was time to move on, and move on he did many times in his lifetime. He knew that post-Holocaust Europe was for my mother and him a graveyard and with my mother’s brother, Paul, immigrated to Canada, via the United States, coming with nothing but a small cardboard suitcase. He knew that after the birth of Mark, Paul and me that it was time to move his growing family from Montreal apartments to a home in Chomedey. He loved the scenery, fishing and outdoor life in the Laurentians, rented, then bought a small country house but, again, knew it was time to buy a lakefront property and build a new country home when new owners started to limit our lake access rights. And when Dad retired, he knew it was time to sell their country and city houses and downsize to two condos, one in Montreal and one in West Palm Beach, Florida where they enjoyed sunny winters for many years.
Dad had a wonderful and infectious sense of humor. Part of it was, certainly, his unique command of English. But underlying his humor was a love of life and a positive outlook. In recounting his wartime experiences to David a couple of years ago, he described one of his first “jobs” as a slave laborer. He had to carry, along with a other men, long pontoons like those used in amphibious aircraft. He said that was a job he really liked because since he was so much shorter than all the other men, the pontoons never reached his shoulders, so he just walked between the men. He could find, and looked for, the positive even in the most dire and difficult circumstances.
To say that Dad loved Mom and his family is an understatement. He was thoroughly devoted to her and us. He also had a gift for solving problems and not just technical or mechanical ones. An example: Mom was very worried when I was going through a rebellious period in my teenage years. Dad saw this. He saw that I was interested in photography when he set up a darkroom in the basement of our home. He bought me a good but very basic camera which demanded that I learn how to properly expose film. Soon I was spending my allowance on film, pursuing this interest at college and university, and eventually finding work in Ottawa in the National Photography Collection at the National Archives, where I spent a good part of my professional career. Dad helped all of us in this way, helping us in our professional and personal lives, whether through direct intervention or by serving as a wonderful role model.
I mentioned how Dad knew when it was time to move on and his sense of humor. A few months after he sold his condo in Florida I was speaking to him on the phone when he told me that he had just bought a new property. A new property? I asked puzzled? What new property? With a laugh he said he bought burial plots for Mom and himself.
When I visited Dad in November he had been in and out of the Royal Victoria Hospital a couple of times, he was weak, had difficulty breathing, his legs and abdomen were swollen. Once settled yet another time in a hospital room, he told me “ I’ve lived a good life. I have no regrets. I’m not afraid of dying; I’m afraid of living.” He knew it was time for his next, and final, move.
So I like to think that we are now here with you Dad, not so much as to mourn your loss as to help you move to your new property and your final resting place. I will miss you, we will miss you, and we all love you.
[ Eulogy, by Gerald Stone, delivered at the funeral of John Stone (née Miklos Mandel) on Wednesday, January 2, 2012, Montreal. ]