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Charles E. Hickey

Our friend Eileen Hickey’s dad just passed. He was 86. Even at his age, he was still a handsome man. He told stories. He loved everything Irish. He was an Army First Sergeant. He had a large family. He met Rose when they were both 18. She liked to dance. He asked her out to dance. Smart man. They married three years later. They were only married for 65 years. They bickered. They loved one another. We saw them together and that was obvious.

I just knew that he would be buried in his uniform with an arm full of hashmarks. But Charlie told his family that he was a citizen first and a soldier second. His uniform was displayed before the casket and it made you proud to be an American.

He raised pigeons. He made many friends because of it. They were of all different ages. As we were leaving the church on South Franklin Street, a flock of pigeons flew off the church roof. Coincidence? I think not.

Three Massachusetts State Police officers led us from Holbrook to Arlington Massachusetts. I felt like a race car driver. In a few more years I won’t be able to do it. We drove the South East Expressway straight through the city of Boston to Johnny D’s. through Somerville. Well, until we entered Arlington off the Mystic Valley Parkway, that’s where it felt we were heading.

I called the Norwell State Police barracks and filed a formal compliment. It made you proud how the young black-booted troopers handled the funeral detail. It has been a while since I felt like that about anyone.

At the Arlington, Massachusetts cemetery, the United States Army gave Charlie a beautiful sendoff. A real United States of America flag draped his cherrywood casket. Anyone who has served knows, even today, how to fold it properly.

“Taps.” Was there a dry eye anywhere when the heavily medaled sergeant kneeled in front of Rose, looked her square in the eye, and thanked her for her husband’s forty years of service to our country? The veteran funeral director told me that “Taps” gets to him every single time.

It was sunny. It was 60 degrees. Not your usual December in Boston weather. Charlie still has connections, obviously.

It was beautiful. It was sad. Thanks to the family and friends, it was a totally awesome perfectly orchestrated day.

Charles E. Hickey, thank you for your life and thank you for your service.

Bacon Robert Francis   

United States Navy Seabee    

093-10- 63

In Memoriam: Leonard Cohen

Dear Barb,

I have been meaning to rewrite my obituary and finally did last night. How weird is the timing on that. I even wrote my visitor list for my open house here at 110 that I won’t be at. I will pass on the funeral home show. By the way you and Allan made the standby list. Ja ja.

Kezia came into my room last night with this look on her face with the sad news.

Leonard Cohen’s famous girl friend Marianne from the island Hydra, in Greece, recently passed. Also. He said farewell, I am not far behind you.

His latest album is playing on the stereo right now. He just said,
“I’m ready my Lord.”
"I am angry and I am tired all the time."
It is called  "You Want it Darker.”  It is really good. Haunting fiddle. Wow!

Don’t you LOVE his voice? Especially the music and background singers. Sandy just said, “It is a beautiful CD. I wonder if it is the Webb sisters from the Europe tour?" Very moving.

Thank you again for getting Sandy and I his Boston show tickets on Kneeland Street years ago. The first time we saw him was at Berklee on Mass Ave. with daughter Kezia. Her idea. I had NEVER even heard of him before.

Judy Collins had faith in him. Especially with his first hit, "Suzanne."
"Suzanne takes you down to her place by the river,
you can spend the night beside her …"
The river was the Saint Lawrence Seaway in Can-ada. His voice was MUCH higher then.

His biography "I'm Your Man" was terrific. I finished it one year on Isla Mujeres on Playa Norte. The video with him and backup singers -- beautiful Julie Christianson and Portuguese Perla Batalla -- revisiting Hydra was incredible. I love the  sound of the Greek mandolin, don’t you? The story goes . . . he was in England; it was cold and rainy. He was in a bank. He had a head cold. The bank had a photo of Hydra on the wall. Cohen asked, “Where is that? What is the weather like there?" He booked it and stayed a long time. He met Marianne there. "Bird on a Wire," he wrote it from his whitewashed apartment. You could see the blue ocean only if you stood on a chair and looked out the window.

Thinking about him all day today. It is almost as if a good friend has passed. What a gift he was to all of us. Even to the world. He was more famous in Europe and Canada than in the United States.

He just sang, "I am leaving the table, I’m out of the game."A single sweet violin is playing. Powerful. Now is a good time to close. Besides something is wrong with my eyes.

Robert Francois Bachand     
my real French name

p.s. from Kezia, thanks to the Lewises, who brought it to our attention . . . this excellent recent article and inteview from The New Yorker
 http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/leonard-cohen-a-final-interview