Jack always wore a smile, along with his felt hat and stogie, (until a few years ago) he was our private personification of George Burns.
Never without a story from bygone years, Jack could make you feel as though you were there when he spoke of boxing during the 1920’s and 1930’s in Philadelphia.
“Hiya, Buddy”, was his regular greeting, and his eyes always twinkled with the energy of youth and mischief. Well into his eighties, when my daughter asked him if he’d like to play basketball with her, I saw his eyes become wet, as the spirit of the man wanted to play ball with a 6 year old, yet he knew his aged frame precluded such frolic.
Three weeks shy of his 93rd birthday, Jack passed away.
Goodbye, Buddy