When I sat down to write this column, I tried to think of something patriotic. But I couldn’t think of anything. I don’t have a lot of veterans in my family, and my memories of the holiday consisted of the small business my dad and I had selling glow-sticks at firework events. He would walk around with me sitting on his shoulders while he called out “bracelets for a dollar” and I’d follow it up with “necklaces for two!”
Not exactly the most patriotic activity, but it was a good way to make some extra money.
The only conclusion I came to was my grandpa, who was the most patriotic person I knew. Corky, or Papa as his grandkids called him, loved this country. He wanted to serve in the military, but was unable to from a young age.
If a shirt or hat had an eagle or an American flag on it, he wore it. In fact, for my entire life, he wore a baseball cap with an eagle on it to cover up the fact that he was bald. When I took my 8th grade trip to Washington DC, I bought him a new one, and he wore that daily until he died.
He was also a member of the Fraternal Order of the Eagles. I had no idea what they did other than pancake breakfasts and poker runs until I googled it years later, but apparently they are a non-profit organization to support the spirit of liberty, truth, justice and equality and promote peace, prosperity, gladness and hope.
I never heard a statement more encompassing of Corky Stomski. He loved everyone, and could make friends anywhere. After his funeral, the line of motorcycles and cars wrapped around the half-mile cemetery and were still coming in from the road.
He loved his country, and the people in it, and he wanted better for them. I can’t think of anything more patriotic than that, and I’m proud to have had him as my Papa for the 15 years that I did.
I always said that he was a column for another day, and but I don’t think all of the stories I have of him would fit in one column. Next time I’ll tell you about his obsession with Aldi, or how he befriended a picky-eating squirrel. Either way, you’ll hear about him again, and I’m sure you’ll think of your own grandparents and the sometimes-odd things that they did.
And this Fourth of July I’ll dig out his wedding band to wear and I’ll think of him. He didn’t serve his country in the traditional way, but he served in the way he knew how: by being a friend.