Tuesday, June 24, 2014
DAVID LALLY R.I.P.
He was a relatively quiet guy, an introvert in many ways, and as a kid was often teased by mean boys to get him to react, and when he finally did they'd be sorry of course. But he was a sweet guy who just wanted to be left alone, as I remember him. He became a cop, like our grandfather, and one of my brothers, and others in the clan.
When my father passed, David bought the house where I grew up, and when I came to visit him there years later he had left the attic room where I slept as a boy with my sisters, and later alone as a teen, pretty much the way I'd left it, with my old 45 record collection and pictures on the slanted walls, which I took away with me to wherever I was living at the time.
I saw him over the years more and more rarely. He moved to the South when he retired. One of his son's, who also became a cop, remained in my old house. I wrote about him a few times over the years, including these lines from The South Orange Sonnets:
My cousin was an artist but no one knew.
They thought he was only a work of art
like a pinball machine made out of marble.
When someone deliberately broke the first
two letters of the ESSEX HOUSE sign, my
cousin did the same to a new kid's head.
He grew bigger than any cousin and more