There will be plenty of time to discuss the Browns, so excuse this personal and brief meandering.
Spent Saturday saying goodbye to a friend and relative. Well, a relative in the Irish sense. Because Patrick Patton’s father and my grandfather were first cousins on Achill Island, Pat and I always considered ourselves cousins. “Patty” passed away suddenly Christmas morning as he prepared to welcome his many grandkids to enjoy the feast he had cooked the previous few days at his home.
Most West Side Irish know Pat, and his wonderful family. They packed St. Christopher’s in Rocky River to the last row to pay him tribute. He was a Marine, a Cleveland firefighter. He was a father, a grandfather, and a beautiful one. He was a friend. He had the Irish gift of gab, as well as the gift of welcome. “Take your coat off and stay awhile” were words his family used to sum up his feeling of cead mile failta (A hundred thousand welcomes for the non-Irish).
Me, I used to enjoy seeing him laugh when I’d see him in the ticket booth at the Irish Festival at the Fairgrounds. Without fail, I’d tell his co-worker that with Patty there he or she had better double-check to make sure the tickets sold matched the take. And he would put his head back and laugh.
That was Pat. A welcoming, kidding, loving man — a caring father and grandfather.
RIP Patty. As your family made clear, you’re always a thought away.