John Pappas was born in Bellevue Hospital in New York City on 23 September 1929. His parents were immigrants from the Patras area of Greece. His mother, Virginia had been married before - also to a man with the surname Pappas. John had a half brother, George from that earlier union. Like many Greek immigrants of that time, my grandfather, Thomas worked in the food industry. Eventually, he bought his own grocery store in South Brooklyn. My dad, John was raised in Brooklyn working in the "Pappas Italian Grocery" from a young age. Yes, they were Greek - but it WAS an Italian neighborhood. Their store was on the corner of Union Street and Third Avenue, just up the block from the Gowanus Canal.
John attended Brooklyn public schools and was drafted into the Army in time for Korea. John met our mother, Sarah "Sally" Whelan - a girl from the neighborhood - and they were married on 05 June 1955. A few years later, his doctors advised him that he should not continue working on his feet. The Korean cold had done more damage than imagined. He found work as a chauffeur driving a commissioner for the City of New York, Department of Rent Control, and the store was sold.
The young family moved to Astoria, Queens, which was still the second largest Greek community in the world in the early 1960s. The City job was a good fit. He earned a lot of vacation and paid time off from all his overtime. John loved to drive. As a family we took many vacations packed in the station wagons. First the Ford Fairlane, then the Chevy Malibu! When John had time off he often worked second and third jobs. He jockeyed cars for rental companies out of LaGuardia airport to other airports on the east coast. He was handy with a hammer, and studied plumbing. If he was mad at us, he usually had good reason - he might threaten to take off his belt, but he let Mom be "the enforcer".
Dad enjoyed fishing, and he swam like a fish. We kids learned to fish - mostly saltwater - all over. Piers, bridges, boats, surf casting on beaches. The few times we actually went to a lake or trout fishing were puzzling. John took a few fishing vacations with his brothers-in-law to the Florida Keys and to Petoskey, Michigan. Mom was not thrilled with the giant lake trout taking up the freezer after the Petoskey trips.
John was diagnosed with leukemia shortly before my high school graduation which he was unable to attend. He was in the VAMC in Manhattan. He fought a good fight for three years. It would go in remission for a bit, he'd go back to work and then it was right back - big time. I first would visit him after school, and then later every day after work while I worked downtown. Then he'd be okay for a while and we would drive to work together. I recall going into his hospital room one night. He was completely "hooked up" - IVs, blood transfusion, oxygen. He looked so small, jaundiced and lost in the bed. I was so sure that he'd be gone the following day. The next day, I went in and he was sitting untethered on the side of the bed smoking a Marlboro. He went back to work shortly after. But eventually the leukemia won. John died on 25 July 1978, two months short of his 49th birthday. He was the best Dad I could have hoped for. One thing that many people didn't know was that John had a fantastic sense of humor. Yes, he was surrounded by my mother's wacky Irish/English family with that keen Irish wit - which borders on passive aggressive sarcasm. My Dad was a truly funny guy. I wish that he could have stuck around a lot longer. He is with me every day.
Although there is a middle initial of T written in stone on his marker; my father never used a middle initial or middle name. Apparently there is a T on at least one piece of his military documentation.
John attended Brooklyn public schools and was drafted into the Army in time for Korea. John met our mother, Sarah "Sally" Whelan - a girl from the neighborhood - and they were married on 05 June 1955. A few years later, his doctors advised him that he should not continue working on his feet. The Korean cold had done more damage than imagined. He found work as a chauffeur driving a commissioner for the City of New York, Department of Rent Control, and the store was sold.
The young family moved to Astoria, Queens, which was still the second largest Greek community in the world in the early 1960s. The City job was a good fit. He earned a lot of vacation and paid time off from all his overtime. John loved to drive. As a family we took many vacations packed in the station wagons. First the Ford Fairlane, then the Chevy Malibu! When John had time off he often worked second and third jobs. He jockeyed cars for rental companies out of LaGuardia airport to other airports on the east coast. He was handy with a hammer, and studied plumbing. If he was mad at us, he usually had good reason - he might threaten to take off his belt, but he let Mom be "the enforcer".
Dad enjoyed fishing, and he swam like a fish. We kids learned to fish - mostly saltwater - all over. Piers, bridges, boats, surf casting on beaches. The few times we actually went to a lake or trout fishing were puzzling. John took a few fishing vacations with his brothers-in-law to the Florida Keys and to Petoskey, Michigan. Mom was not thrilled with the giant lake trout taking up the freezer after the Petoskey trips.
John was diagnosed with leukemia shortly before my high school graduation which he was unable to attend. He was in the VAMC in Manhattan. He fought a good fight for three years. It would go in remission for a bit, he'd go back to work and then it was right back - big time. I first would visit him after school, and then later every day after work while I worked downtown. Then he'd be okay for a while and we would drive to work together. I recall going into his hospital room one night. He was completely "hooked up" - IVs, blood transfusion, oxygen. He looked so small, jaundiced and lost in the bed. I was so sure that he'd be gone the following day. The next day, I went in and he was sitting untethered on the side of the bed smoking a Marlboro. He went back to work shortly after. But eventually the leukemia won. John died on 25 July 1978, two months short of his 49th birthday. He was the best Dad I could have hoped for. One thing that many people didn't know was that John had a fantastic sense of humor. Yes, he was surrounded by my mother's wacky Irish/English family with that keen Irish wit - which borders on passive aggressive sarcasm. My Dad was a truly funny guy. I wish that he could have stuck around a lot longer. He is with me every day.
Although there is a middle initial of T written in stone on his marker; my father never used a middle initial or middle name. Apparently there is a T on at least one piece of his military documentation.
John Pappas was born in Bellevue Hospital in New York City on 23 September 1929. His parents were immigrants from the Patras area of Greece. His mother, Virginia had been married before - also to a man with the surname Pappas. John had a half brother, George from that earlier union. Like many Greek immigrants of that time, my grandfather, Thomas worked in the food industry. Eventually, he bought his own grocery store in South Brooklyn. My dad, John was raised in Brooklyn working in the "Pappas Italian Grocery" from a young age. Yes, they were Greek - but it WAS an Italian neighborhood. Their store was on the corner of Union Street and Third Avenue, just up the block from the Gowanus Canal.
John attended Brooklyn public schools and was drafted into the Army in time for Korea. John met our mother, Sarah "Sally" Whelan - a girl from the neighborhood - and they were married on 05 June 1955. A few years later, his doctors advised him that he should not continue working on his feet. The Korean cold had done more damage than imagined. He found work as a chauffeur driving a commissioner for the City of New York, Department of Rent Control, and the store was sold.
The young family moved to Astoria, Queens, which was still the second largest Greek community in the world in the early 1960s. The City job was a good fit. He earned a lot of vacation and paid time off from all his overtime. John loved to drive. As a family we took many vacations packed in the station wagons. First the Ford Fairlane, then the Chevy Malibu! When John had time off he often worked second and third jobs. He jockeyed cars for rental companies out of LaGuardia airport to other airports on the east coast. He was handy with a hammer, and studied plumbing. If he was mad at us, he usually had good reason - he might threaten to take off his belt, but he let Mom be "the enforcer".
Dad enjoyed fishing, and he swam like a fish. We kids learned to fish - mostly saltwater - all over. Piers, bridges, boats, surf casting on beaches. The few times we actually went to a lake or trout fishing were puzzling. John took a few fishing vacations with his brothers-in-law to the Florida Keys and to Petoskey, Michigan. Mom was not thrilled with the giant lake trout taking up the freezer after the Petoskey trips.
John was diagnosed with leukemia shortly before my high school graduation which he was unable to attend. He was in the VAMC in Manhattan. He fought a good fight for three years. It would go in remission for a bit, he'd go back to work and then it was right back - big time. I first would visit him after school, and then later every day after work while I worked downtown. Then he'd be okay for a while and we would drive to work together. I recall going into his hospital room one night. He was completely "hooked up" - IVs, blood transfusion, oxygen. He looked so small, jaundiced and lost in the bed. I was so sure that he'd be gone the following day. The next day, I went in and he was sitting untethered on the side of the bed smoking a Marlboro. He went back to work shortly after. But eventually the leukemia won. John died on 25 July 1978, two months short of his 49th birthday. He was the best Dad I could have hoped for. One thing that many people didn't know was that John had a fantastic sense of humor. Yes, he was surrounded by my mother's wacky Irish/English family with that keen Irish wit - which borders on passive aggressive sarcasm. My Dad was a truly funny guy. I wish that he could have stuck around a lot longer. He is with me every day.
Although there is a middle initial of T written in stone on his marker; my father never used a middle initial or middle name. Apparently there is a T on at least one piece of his military documentation.
John attended Brooklyn public schools and was drafted into the Army in time for Korea. John met our mother, Sarah "Sally" Whelan - a girl from the neighborhood - and they were married on 05 June 1955. A few years later, his doctors advised him that he should not continue working on his feet. The Korean cold had done more damage than imagined. He found work as a chauffeur driving a commissioner for the City of New York, Department of Rent Control, and the store was sold.
The young family moved to Astoria, Queens, which was still the second largest Greek community in the world in the early 1960s. The City job was a good fit. He earned a lot of vacation and paid time off from all his overtime. John loved to drive. As a family we took many vacations packed in the station wagons. First the Ford Fairlane, then the Chevy Malibu! When John had time off he often worked second and third jobs. He jockeyed cars for rental companies out of LaGuardia airport to other airports on the east coast. He was handy with a hammer, and studied plumbing. If he was mad at us, he usually had good reason - he might threaten to take off his belt, but he let Mom be "the enforcer".
Dad enjoyed fishing, and he swam like a fish. We kids learned to fish - mostly saltwater - all over. Piers, bridges, boats, surf casting on beaches. The few times we actually went to a lake or trout fishing were puzzling. John took a few fishing vacations with his brothers-in-law to the Florida Keys and to Petoskey, Michigan. Mom was not thrilled with the giant lake trout taking up the freezer after the Petoskey trips.
John was diagnosed with leukemia shortly before my high school graduation which he was unable to attend. He was in the VAMC in Manhattan. He fought a good fight for three years. It would go in remission for a bit, he'd go back to work and then it was right back - big time. I first would visit him after school, and then later every day after work while I worked downtown. Then he'd be okay for a while and we would drive to work together. I recall going into his hospital room one night. He was completely "hooked up" - IVs, blood transfusion, oxygen. He looked so small, jaundiced and lost in the bed. I was so sure that he'd be gone the following day. The next day, I went in and he was sitting untethered on the side of the bed smoking a Marlboro. He went back to work shortly after. But eventually the leukemia won. John died on 25 July 1978, two months short of his 49th birthday. He was the best Dad I could have hoped for. One thing that many people didn't know was that John had a fantastic sense of humor. Yes, he was surrounded by my mother's wacky Irish/English family with that keen Irish wit - which borders on passive aggressive sarcasm. My Dad was a truly funny guy. I wish that he could have stuck around a lot longer. He is with me every day.
Although there is a middle initial of T written in stone on his marker; my father never used a middle initial or middle name. Apparently there is a T on at least one piece of his military documentation.
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