On September 12, 1910, an Irishman by the name of James Manning was born in the city of Mullingar, County Westmeath, Ireland. He came to this country in his twenties, and carried more than anything else, his self-respect and honesty. He was a man of peace who fought hard to make things right, and had the devil in him to make his children peacemakers. He embraced the ideals of this country when his children choose to marry other than Irish, accepting the fact that we were a multi-national race of people, Americans! He could drink like an Irishman, but did it with class and humor, usually making everyone laugh with him. He knew not to clench his fist, unless it was to knock on the door of every opportunity life offered him.
He was ornery, didn’t like violence, but loved to see the workings of the Watergate trial. He could be contrary, just for the conversation, and I never remember him being agreeable with anyone but God! His love of his life, Helen his wife, would often suggest he go poop in his hat. (A tradition her daughter embraced and uses on her husband.) He should have been given a greater chance for a higher education, because he would have grabbed the brass ring and run with it to the top of the world. He would spend his Sundays editing the NY Times, and then would send them what he found. He was a very sensitive man, who did not like to have any confrontation mar the view he had of life, he choose a peaceful way to debate.
He placed great value in educating his children, who in turn, turned to education as a vocation, he would be proud of all of them today, but instead it is his children who are proud of him.
His grandchildren: those who did meet him, can only remember and respect born out of love, a man who loved them, and carry his memory in their hearts.
So we say “Happy Birthday” to Dad, Grandpa Manning, Jim.
There is only one place he resides now, and I have to wonder if God has gotten the Golden Book edited by his resident: James Manning.
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