Yogi Berra, Hall of Fame catcher with the New York Yankees, used to say, “Always go to other people’s funerals. Otherwise, they won’t come to yours.” Dad grew up a Brooklyn Dodgers fan and hated the Yankees, but he loved Yogisms.
Our father, Phil, was one of a kind. One word comes to mind: influence. He had an incredible influence on all three of his children growing up. He introduced us to skiing, sailing, geography, history, even power tools. According to my brother, Sean, he showed us how to use the radial arm saw at a very early age. Today, some might call that reckless/borderline insane, but it led to future opportunities building decks and screened-in porches when we were teenagers.
Our dad taught us to think out of the box. When we were young, our parents took us camping a lot. The highlight was a two-week trip to Nova Scotia in which we took the Bluenose ferry from Bar Harbour, Maine to Yarmouth. The ferry included an onboard casino and the three kids quickly blew through their gambling allotment. But my sister, Erin—8 years old at the time—was determined. She was with Dad when the two of them decided to walk to the other side of the boat. Erin suggested taking a shortcut, right past the slot machines. Dad, oblivious to her manipulation, sensed an opportunity. So they waited patiently at the “one-armed bandits” until someone would inevitably give up in frustration, then swooped in and started playing. JACKPOT! Much to our delight, their winnings financed an endless supply of treats for the rest of the vacation.
Phil led by example. After Tropical Storm Doria ravaged Bound Brook, New Jersey in 1971, he was later cited in the local newspaper for his efforts:
A man nobody knew came and worked all day to clean up part of the mess in Jim and Irene Beatty’s home yard. His name was Phil Duffy, but he wouldn’t even come inside for a glass of water, just worked all day.
When we were teenagers, the family moved from New Jersey to a suburb west of St. Louis. We will never forget packing the entire family along with our 60-pound dog Fortune into a tiny Dodge Colt (the bigger car didn’t have Missouri state license plates yet). We were driving down the highway when someone lost a tire that had crossed into the median. Our good Samaritan father pulled over, ran across the highway to retrieve the tire and offered the driver a ride, the coveted front seat no less. The four of us had to cram into the back seat with Fortune on our laps. Forget about seat belts.
Our dad was a visionary. He anticipated the personal computer revolution, buying an IBM PC in 1981. He was a fan of Alvin Toffler, author of Future Shock and The Third Wave. We often heard him tell us, “Find the parade and get out in front,” a phrase he borrowed from Toffler. The Third Wave persuaded Sean to change careers early on and become a programmer. Phil was an avid reader of magazines like InfoWorld, which led to discovering a then-private company called Dell Computer. In 1990, at my first firm, we made Dell our largest holding. It went on to become the biggest gaining stock of the ‘90s (unfortunately, we didn’t hold it the entire time).
Dad encouraged us to take risks and seize the moment. He approved of Sean taking flying lessons before he got his driver’s license. (Mom signed off by mistake, thinking he would be flying a simulator). Dad had faith. He believed in us.
Justice mattered. In college, Erin was unfairly accused of plagiarism and flunked a computer science course. Dad drove her to State College, met with the professor, and proceeded to interrogate his daughter like a trial lawyer, allowing her to defend herself. Totally unprepared for her father’s onslaught, she earned herself a “B.”
Phil was a teacher and writer, and he kept doing it right up until the end. He was a big believer in lifelong learning, and had an extensive book collection to prove it. (He typically left a book in the bathroom so he could take advantage of every minute).
He was never much for idle chit chat, but mention the damage from protectionist tariffs, the seeds of conflict in the Middle East, how the Catholic church built Western civilization, or how the church hierarchy was “economically-challenged” and he perked right up. Truth is what mattered and he could smell propaganda and falsified history a mile away. (He once blew up a book club with his scathing critique of the best-selling pro-Lincoln book, A Team of Rivals).
“Life is about running your own personal obstacle course while helping others with theirs,” he often told us. Our dad, who lived to be 91, lost his father at the age of 11 in a tragic truck accident. I always felt a little guilty about that, but it also taught me to appreciate my time with him. This affected him probably more than we’ll ever know. He was never the life of the party or center of attention. His comfort level was in ideas, abstraction, and purpose.
Several years ago, we went for a walk. I told him how much I appreciated how he and Mom dedicated their lives to their children. He corrected me and said, “We dedicated our lives to each other.”
In his final health-related battle, Dad showed us courage. Despite his suffering, he managed to experience moments of joy right up until the end. A few nights before he passed, my sister and I tucked him into bed for the night. Erin said, “I love you, Dad,” and kissed him on the side of the head. I said, “I love you, too... but don’t expect me to kiss you.” That brought a smile to his face.
After he passed away—the day before Father’s Day—I had a feeling Dad would make a special request with God to get a Phillies win against our nemesis, the Mets. Mission accomplished and then some: In the Phillies’ 15-3 win over the Mets that night, Kyle Schwarber hit 3 home runs while Bryce Harper batted for the cycle. What were the odds? This was only the second time in MLB history! It reminds me of a line from the movie Bruce Almighty in which Bruce says to God, “Now you’re just showing off.” After the Phillies won the following night, my parents’ neighbor of 46 years, Dave Ferrell, said, “Your dad must have some pull.”
Actor Matthew McConaughey once said, “Your purpose in life is to create something that outlasts you.” After his passing, Phil’s longtime friend Pat Barron said, “We’ve lost a good man, but his legacy lives.” Dad, we promise to take care of Mom and carry on your legacy.
The future is not set in stone. The future really depends on what we do now. And I think all of us want to wake up in ten, twenty, thirty years and be able to tell the next generation that we stood up and did everything in our power—regardless of the outcome—to make sure that we were handing on a world to them that was humane, that was livable, that was just, and that was free. — Phil Duffy
