Jo-Ann Nevas Price

My Dad

You have heard some wonderful things about a great man today.  But, you know, I have had 67 years with this man, and even I do not know all that he is.  He did so many good things in his life, only some of which filtered down to us.  In fact, many times when he was to be honored, we would find out from Jill or Diane, his dear assistants.

 Dianne Diasparra once said: “You have no idea how generous you father really is.  There are so many times when someone needs something and it is your father who is there to help.  I don’t mean just organizations but individuals who are in trouble and come to him.” She told me a story that Rabbi Orkand came to Dad about one of Mom’s relatives who was in very difficult circumstances and had come to the synagogue for help.  Dad did not know anything about the situation nor much about that part of the family.  He immediately offered to help through the Rabbi and get that family back on its feet.  We would never have known except for Dianne. 

Some years ago, Mom and Dad sat my brothers and I down and told us that he and Mom had made some decisions that he wanted to share with us.  He said that we all had a good education and were on our way to successful careers and that he didn’t feel he had to worry about us anymore.  He and Mom had decided that they could begin to spend their money the way they wished and so they were going to start to give away even more then they had before.  I guess this was their version of the bumper sticker that says “I am spending my children’s inheritance.”  They set up a philanthropic foundation and have been giving away money and helping others ever since.

Dad grew up here in Norwalk as the seventh son of very generous and loving parents.  My grandfather started out as a peddler who walked from town to town selling his wares and later had a small grocery store.  As little as they had, my grandparents always gave to others and found time to be active in the community.

Dad tells the story of one night at about 9 pm as he was out for a cruise in his father’s delivery truck, he saw a man standing at the side of the road (actually just a few blocks from here at Rt 1).  It turned out he was a Jewish traveler on his way to NY and Dad picked him up and took him to the Salvation Army for the night.  The next morning “Pa” was furious.  Why?  Because Dad did not bring him home, feed him and give him a place to stay for the night.  Dad recounts that he had never seen his father that angry.  It was a very dramatic lesson on the importance of helping others that has framed his life.

Prime, number one, in Mom and Dad’s life was family.  There was nothing they would not do for their kids and grandkids.  There was a time in my life when my dear daughter and I did not see eye to eye on things…And what did my rebellious daughter do?  Not what you would imagine an adolescent might do.  No, she found someone who could drive, called up her grandparents and went to see them and talk to them, and to get them to help her plead her case.  Of course she won!

To his children and grandchildren you could hear him say or think, “Hold tight to your Judaism.  Cherish it, nourish it, live it and pass it on to those who follow.

Dad gave us one last great gift this week.  He gave us all time to be with him, to tell him how much we love him, to say everything we wanted to say and to say our goodbyes.

Dad it is my fervent prayer that I will be able to live up to the standards you have set for me and that I will be able to carry on your values, your love of Judaism, the importance of family, your sense of justice, your love of community and your work of tzedakah.

Rachel Nevas Peled

Life is Good

Much has been said about our grandfather for his tremendous public service.

To us he is Papu.

The man in the khaki baseball cap with the words “life is good” inscribed above the brim, a pink and teal plaid shirt he purchased on sale in 1978 and a cotton sweater over his shoulders a beacon of warmth and unequivocal love and support.

For the eight of us this is an end of an era. The home of our Mamu and Papu, 17 Quarter Mile, a place that has been there for us every day of our lives. A place of welcome and love, a central pivot that we always come back to and leave from.  

When we entered the house we could count on finding Papu in one of two places, swimming back strokes in the pool, or sitting in his chair in the living room with an assortment of newspapers, a huge pile of memos, briefs, project proposals, minutes from board meetings, newspaper articles, commentaries, six or seven unfinished books and a yellow ceramic dish full of paper clips, spread out on the circular wooden coffee table, the evening news or a college ball game on in the background. 

Each time we could count on him shutting off the television, dropping his reading on the table and greeting us with his standard “How do you do? fella, dear or honey”

Whenever we arrived his world would stop for us, meetings would be canceled, appointments moved. We might have heard him say “sorry Paul tonight’s not a good night my granddaughter just dropped in for dinner.”

On these visits we would sit with Papu on the massive curved couch in the living room or around the dining table, eating salad off unique crescent shaped plates, and talk about whatever adventure we were off to next. Papu was looking for more than information, he was deeply interested in us as people and committed to helping us in anyway he could with wisdom, advice and reassurance.

When we were worried he reassured us, when we were stuck he advised us,

when we succeeded he congratulated us.

He questioned us, challenged us, “now why are you going to do that?” he was always looking to see first and foremost how he could help, and secondly to insure that we were growing up to be thoughtful and compassionate people.

Papu taught us how to be true ladies and gentleman. Not the fine points of asparagus eating  (that was mamu’s specialty) but about how to judge people based on merit.

He didn’t care if you were a billionare, a senator, an actor or a foreign dignitary, he treated good people like good people and did not pay too much attention to those who weren’t.

His stories wove a rich tapestry of experience and taught us life lessons on how to be better people.  Frequently these stories focused on someone who he admired for there courageous service to mankind. Not just famous people such as Norman cousins and Paul Newman but anyone demonstrating exceptional courage and generosity. 

One story we all heard perhaps more than any other was of a Man who ran a small clothing manufacturing operation. Every year, at the beginning of the year, he took out a bank loan to donate to the synagogue, then spent the rest of the year paying down the loan.  No one had any idea the Man was doing this until he died and they went through his estate.) What did we take from this story? That no matter what our situation we can always give. 

Of course the best part of any visit with Papu would be the opportunity to just sit with him on the couch - his arm around our shoulder a surprisingly firm grip for an octogenarian.  Just being there with him we felt enveloped in a cloak of love and protection.

Papu gave us the blessing of showing how much you can do with one lifetime.

When he got to the point at which most people would retire to golf and warm weather, Papu accelerated – using the influence and connections he had built as leverage to do even greater good. We believe that it is because of that desire to keep up the good work that he was blessed with so many healthy years. And we are so blessed to have received his love and support and to have been molded by him for so much of our young lives.

It is indeed the end of an Era and we must stand on our own. Confident with all that he has given us and eager to continue the work.

Papu never stopped giving. Giving to us, his community and the world.  This is what he taught us and this is what we want you to leave with today. So in his honor we want to say to you today from our own lips and our own hearts.

As long as one child feels un-loved, one person goes hungry, as long as people do not have freedom, justice and peace in the world.  The work is not done!  It is our responsibility as human beings to change this. So to honor his memory, we ask you to do more. Not for him,but for yourself and your community.The work  is not complete

Wake that part of yourself up, get dressed, put on your shoes and march out into the world with an open heart.