The statue of me at NYU.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Here I am

I am the fifth Al Smith. The first was of course that most famous of Al Smiths, The Tammany Hall reformer, man of the people, anti-prohibitionist, NY Governor, Presidential Candidate, champion of the downtrodden… “The Happy Warrior,” himself, Alfred E. Smith.

Yes, that one. The one who every year, the elite politicians of this country gather to pay homage to at the Waldorf Astoria every October to raise money for The Archdiocese of New York, and the Alfred E Smith Memorial Foundation and it’s good works.

I used to be from New York, and I try to catch it every year. Al Gore and George Bush spoke at the dinner the same year, and the event is known for it’s humor and charity.

“I invented the Al Smith dinner” quipped Gore when he spoke.

“My fellow one percenters” quipped Bush, later.

Al Smith IV presides over the dinner and the foundation, and I can see my face in his.

Powell, Clinton, Nixon everybody and anybody who was somebody spoke at the dinner at some point.

And, it’s always been an article of faith that my side of the Al Smith family would rise up and reclaim our rightful place of prominence in NY politics and take over the dinner and whatnot. This sentiment is rougly equivalent to the old maxim “The South is gonna do it again.”

You see, we are the Alfred A. Smiths. The dinner is the Alfred E. Smith dinner, and is presided over by Alfred E. Smith IV, not my father who is Alfred A. Smith IV.

The A. is for “Aloysius” in case you’re curious.

Now I’m not exactly sure how the Alfred A. Smiths have the right to the legacy of Alfred E. Smith and his dinner (as I’ve been assured we have,) but I guess it’'s just one of those things in life that is counterintuitive. Nor exactly am I sure how the initial got changed. I only know that it did and that it’s important.

But all along I have known that I have the claim to being the rightful direct descendant of the Happy Warrior himself, no matter what those Alfred E. Smith pretenders claim. I am the direct line.

Like Richard the Lionheart, I am he who is in exile yet shall return to take his rightful place.

Now that may sound all pretty weird to you but that is how it’s been laid out to me in bits and pieces over the years, and always in that vague “the South’s going to do it again,” sort of way or “Any generation now we’ll go and reclaim our due.”

We’re kind of vague on the details because my father’s father died when my father was 11, and what’s been imparted has been passed on imperfectly by my Grandmother.

Anyway there’s a statue of me at NYU. Did I mention that?
Now if you’ve had the courtesy and good intentions to read along through all this, I thank you for your patience. You must surely be wondering what the point is.

Well, today some interesting things happened.

First off we went to the OB/Gyn today to check on my wife’s pregnancy. She is with second child and all appears well. However, during the sonogram the Doctor was 80% sure that we were having a girl.

I knew there was a 50/50 chance this might happen, but it kind of threw me anyway.

Now I love my first daughter, and I will love my second. In fact, as a father I think I prefer daughters to having a son. I’m not sure I want to raise something that will rise up to challenge me and take my place and overthrow me the way son’s do. It’s a women’s world, and I think women are superior.

As a man my job is to dance around, preen, deliver sperm at the appropriate moment, cause trouble, support the women and die appropriately. All the important and meaningful stuff gets done by the broads.

So, as a father, I am very happy with another daughter.

However, this second child will almost surely be my last. I intend to get fixed after the birth to ensure it.

So, it appears that I am the last of my kind. The last of my breed. I am the man who has failed to carry on the name, the legacy, the whole spiel.

Now who’s going to rise up, take back what is ours, and carry on the name?

It is a proud terrible and lonely thing to be the last of your kind.

The end of the line.

The buck stops here.

Didn’t get the job done.

So I guess I’m in the shitter with my ancestors. I’ll probably end up being ostracized by all the other Al Smiths in Valhalla or wherever.

But I mentioned two things happened today, didn’t I?

Back in October, my Grandmother on my father’s side passed away at her apartment in Parkcchester at the age of 104.

That same day we found out my wife was pregnant. Alas, that pregnancy aborted the Monday after Thanksgiving, something which I have not written about on this board until now. Funny how the really important stuff, the stuff that hurts and throws me never makes it to this board, or rarely does.

But it was bad, and I didn’t write about it or share it. It just happened.

In March we once again achieved pregnancy and here I am.

But anyway, my father is in New York. He is still handling my Grandmother’s affairs.

She has all kinds of papers and chests and pictures and clippings.

My father’s been going through it.

A startling fact is uncovered. I now know why my name is Alfred A. Smith and not Alfred E. Smith. This answer is in a couple of articles that I have yet to see, but which my father read to me today.

A young penniless Irish immigrant by the name of Aloysius Smith received help aid and personal attention from the great man, Alfred E. Smith himself. He was treated as a member of the family and did well both in the Diocese and at Tammany Hall.

As a measure of gratitude and respect he named his firstborn son “Alfred Smith.” Yet somehow he had to credit himself for his own role in the undertaking as well. Alfred Aloysius Smith it was. The next generation of Alfred Aloysius Smiths did well as did the siblings and became prominent in a minor way in New York government and politics. Apparently at this point there was some interbreeding with the line of Alfred E. Smith in an arranged or at least encouraged sort of marriage.

The next Alfred A. Smith was a blacksheep. A playboy. We have pictures of him from the 20s and from the Great depression living it up quite well with lots of good looking friends (and ladies.)

Never seemed to amount to much but had a good time doing it, and he’s a dead ringer for the “Happy warrior” himself. I mean a perfect match.

Then somehow, later in life he fell in love with an older woman of dubious lineage and past. A woman who was older than him. A women who was…

…Protestant. He was totally ostracized for marrying this woman, and apparently disgraced the name. But he was in love, and he gave up everything for her. He had a son, yet served in World War II, and died in 1950 as a result of a rare disease he’d contracted when wounded (I forget the name, but will get it and post it. Probably tomorrow,) after a protracted illness.

My father was 11, the daughter of a Widow, and the son of an outcast. My granmother worked as an operator for AT&T and supported them both with help from the Catholic Church. My father went to Fordham and served in the Marine Corps in Vietnam.

Then he married the daughter of the Chief of Narcotics of NYC, a real hard-ass, and promptly went back to Vietnam as an alternative to hanging out with his father-in-law.

Then I came along, and then my brother, and my father left the poverty of the Marines, and joined the private sector and by the time I was 9 or so we’d gone from being dirt poor to doing pretty damn well.

And here I am.

So, it turns out I have no claim to the direct lineage of Alfred E Smith. I am just an offshoot branch, and one that will come to end with my passing.

We don’t need to rise up and do it again, or battle the Alfred E Smiths of NY for control of the dinner or the Memorial foundation to reclaim our rightful place.

This is my rightful place. I am here.

The day I found out I have failed is the day I find out that it never really mattered.

Or maybe it does.

Does not my line, the Alfred A. Smiths owe gratitude and fellowship to the Alfred E. Smiths?

I’m kind of lost at sea at the moment. What exactly ends with me? Did I fail is it ok?

We are still exiles who were cast out so isn’t some rising up and usurpation still called for? Am I off the hook, or will all the past Al Smiths still be pissed off at me?

Am I supposed to name my daughter Aloysia?
I suppose if you’ve managed to read through this entire thing, I owe you something.

I suggest you contact the Alfred E. Smith Memorial foundation throught the Archiocese of New York for compensation.

2

Two more things:

The Happy Warrior Al Smith lost his father at age 12. My father lost his at age 11.

Alfred E. Smith is quoted as saying:

“Nobody shoots at Santa Claus.”

I learned that at age 5 or so, and it took me a long time to understand, but if you think about it, those really are words to live by.

3

Shit, what a long post.

FYI, the statue is not at NYU. It is outside the Al Smith Houses on the Lower East Side, near where A.S. grew up.

FWIW, I’ve visited A.S.'s grave at Calvary Cemetery, where my dad and grandparents are buried. The staue is much more impressive.

(Again, shit, that was a longass post.)

4

Thanks for the correction.

I’ll add another. From rereading my post it appears I’ve suggested that I go to the Al Smith dinner every year when I say “I catch it every year.”

What I mean is I watch it on C-span. I’ve never been to the dinner. And, don’t intend to ever shell out $800 for a ticket until the rising up of the Alfred A. Smiths (or Alfred A Smith) as the case may be, but that doesn’t appear likely any time soon. Or ever for that matter.

5

If anyone wants to know more about A.S. (the gov, not the Doper) I suggest you read “The Power Broker” by Robert Caro. (It’s a bio of Robert Moses, but A.S. was R.M.'s mentor so Smith is covered extensively.) Caro really rediscovered Smith after he was long dead and forgotten.

6

Are the Al Smith Houses the Al Smith housing projects near City Hall?

I’ve worked 3 blocks away from the Al Smith housing projects for years and never knew they were even there until a few weeks ago :stuck_out_tongue:

Given the locals (including one homeless man who was passed out on the sidewalk with a 40oz in hand (yep, even passed out, he still clutched it) on a 90 degree summer day), I don’t think I’ll be wandering around that area during lunchbreaks again anytime soon.

7

Why can’t you name your new daughter Alfred?

Or Allison Alfred Smith? A. Allison Smith?

8

y’know, since you’ve already achieved pregnancy you could get yourself fixed now.

9

well, it’s really how you look at it, i suppose.
If you hadn’t had any kids then,ok, the line would be ending but you have a daughter with another on the way.
(a very late congratulations btw)
I’d say you’ve done pretty well in carrying on the line.
nick

10

You probably missed the detail about what happened around Thanksgiving.

Scylla, my dad was part of a naming tradition as well. The father passed down his first name as a middle name to one of his sons, and as far back as I’ve been able to trace - back to when that branch of the family came to the US from the Netherlands - that has been the case. My father’s father had two sons (and two daughters) but didn’t name his elder son in the tradition. He saved it for his youngest child, my father. The elder son had one child, a boy. My father had two daughters. When people asked him if he regretted not having a son (not even knowing about the tradition), he always said no - and best yet, we certainly believed him. Everyone always told us they could tell we were his pride and joy.

He died about a decade ago, old enough to see his two daughters get into college at least. Since he had no sons, I took the traditional position - or so I was told - of the eldest son, following right behind his coffin as it was brought out of the church at the funeral service.

I still miss him sometimes, but the pain is mostly gone, until things like this remind me of him so sharply that tears roll down my cheeks, and my throat aches over the wasted time.

I don’t intend to have children. At this point in my life, even though I’m “getting on” in years, I am too selfish to be a decent mother, and I don’t hear any hormonal cries to reproduce. However, my husband and I, just for fun, discussed baby names at one point. Without prompting on the issue, he said that a boy’s middle name would be David, and I beamed.

I think they’ll understand.

11

Banger, yes, the Al Smith Houses = Al Smith Housing Projects.

They surround Al Smith Park (a playground really) on Catherine St. near Cherry St. where the statue is located. (About a 10 - 15 min. walk from City Hall, I’d say).

Banger, granted, it’s not the most savory of neighborhoods, but if you have not seen the statue you should check it out anyway. It’s quite impressive and worth stepping over a a bum or two.

12

Have you considered having your wife beheaded and marrying Jane Seymour?

13

Your grandpa named his son Alfred as an homage to the man who helped out his grandpa right?. Your dad did the same. The original A E Smith is long dead, so I’d say you have no obligation to continue the homage. He’s got a statue and dinners for that anyway.

I’ve got a great-great-etc grandpa named Ludvig Schmidt who came over to the states from Germany during the Revolution. He changed his name to Lewis Smith, and since then all the eldest sons have been named Lewis. My older brother will be the last, since he didn’t have any children. I think old Ludvig feels he’s been honored enough.

14

Is she that Nubian chick?
Darn fine post Scylla. I enjoyed the read.

15

Personally, I think you should name your new baby girl Allison Smith but call her Allie

So that you will have an Al E Smith (Allie Smith) to carry on the name.

And Congratulations!

16

Scylla… I’m sorry about your loss and happy for your little girl on the way.

You haven’t failed, you’ve made two wonderful girls who will pass on not your name but your humor, love and maybe even your way with words. I think the venerable Mr. Smith would find that tribute enough :slight_smile:

17

My family has a naming tradition also – first born son has been Dan with a middle name beginning with A for at least 4 generations. Dan Antoine; Dan Andrew; Dan Alan; Dan Adam.

I’ve carried on my part, I have two boys, the oldest is named Dan Adam. He has indicated that he thinks it’s stupid, and that if he has a son, he’s not going to carry on the tradition. His wife favors ‘Gordon’ as a boy’s name.:eek:

Far better to have a tradition die a natural death, than to see it willfully dashed by callous youth.

18

In the Netherlands, in 1998 a law was passed that gave parents the right to choose either the fathers surname or the mothers surname for children born in wedlock.
In possibility this wreaks havoc on genealogy. In practice hardly any parents choose this option.
Still, it would be an attractive option if for some reason one would want to save a certain surname from extinction.

19

Tradition is a weighty thing, isn’t it? I’m the fourth in my line which dates back to my great-great-grandfather hoping off the boat from Ireland. He had ten kids, one of whom was Richard Laurance M_. He named one of his sons Richard L, and so on unto me. I’ve been married a short while, and the missus and I have been discussing childern. Not the Irish-Catholic sized kind (my great-grandfather married protestant way back, ending that), probably just two…a boy and a girl we’d hope. It’s got me thinking though…should there be a Richard the Fifth?

It’s a big decision for me, because my family hasn’t held on to a great deal of tradition. We kept trickling down towards Texas from up North, and life expectancy for males in my family is about usual for obese males of Irish descent (i.e., I never met my own Grandfather). Sometimes I feel our name is all we have. Now, Mrs. InkBlot is against it…I think because it sounds a bit pretentious to her (but then, looking at how her family traditionally names their kids she hasn’t much room to talk. Who names a boy Jewel?). It does a bit to me as well…but I have considered using my great-great-grandfather’s name, Patrick. A fine Irish name, that.

Scylla, tell me, you’ve recently learned a great deal more of your family’s history than you’d previously known, but how do you feel about your name? Is your name a part of the legacy you wish to leave behind? Or is your legacy an investment into your name? Most of us here have gotten to know you by your words, your stories, before we ever knew your name. I know I have a great deal of respect for you for that alone. I won’t remember this statue next week, but I still remember your hands.

Forgive me, this is a bit more intense that I intended this question to get. It’s simply that…as I look out on my own future, I wonder how much I owe to me name, and how much it owes to me. Or should I stop worrying so much about my name, and get back to being rose? [ <-- Oblique cliche reference ]
Food for thought,
InkBlot

20

Regarding daughters-I wish my father had been more like you and less like him.
Have a wonderful life.

I’m sure your girls will.