A dear friend of mine, a soldier, ninety-one years-old, died Monday morning on Memorial Day. His name was John J (Joe) MacIsaac. We called him “Joe.”
Joe was a gentleman, a good man, and I loved him. He dropped out of Harvard two weeks before graduation in protest of the corruptive air of the university. And he became a mailman, fifty years trodding the streets of Roslindale, Massachusetts, with his smile. What motivated him? He met Father Leonard Feeney. That changed his life. He and his brother, Hugh, who became a brother of the Slaves of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, were Father Feeney’s bodyguards during the seven years when father risked his life speaking every Sunday on the Boston Common.
Joe was a soldier in the Army during World War II as was his valiant brother. He was part of the liberating forces, 103rd Infantry, that marched from Marseilles, fighting their way to Germany, towards the end of the war. Because he spoke German so well he was assigned as a guard over the prisoners in a camp adjacent to Dachau. German prisoners spit at him because he spoke the language so well — they thought he was a traitor. I can still see him laughing about that.
Joe and his young friend, Joe Doyle, came from Boston to Still River, Massachusetts, every Tuesday to attend Brother Francis’ weekly lectures. Every Tuesday, without fail. That was almost a two hour drive one way. Joe was loyalty personified.
Joe had a perpetual smile, but he was a tiger. Brother Hugh, who played QB for Boston University and was a boxer, told me that he could beat his older brother in the ring, but not on the street. Joe was in his seventies when he decked two hoodlums swearing vulgarities in front of his house in Roslindale. His fists were huge. He was about six-two himself, his family Scotch Catholic from Nova Scotia, scion of the Highlanders.
Last time I saw him three weeks before he succumed to cancer, I had him laughing so hard. And my anecdote wasn’t all that funny. My wife’s name is Gwendolyn, you see, so, on our honeymoon, a DJ on our tour boat around a Florida harbor announced the couples in the audience of about thirty people. He said “Let’s welcome Brian Kelly and Gwen Dolan.” That’s it! Joe thought that was so funny.
He was a sweet man, full of magnanimity and love. He was like Nathanael, “an Israelite without guile.” He exuded goodness.
Joe was a surrogate father to me when I was going through difficult times. He was a father to me all the time, although a couple of years went by of late when he was ill and I ought to have visited him. Would that should have I for did.
Joe was a Catholic. May he rest in peace.
