Remembrances of My Dad

 Remembrances of My Dad

Stephen Kenneth Grodin was born in New York City on November 28, 1941 to a young mother named Rose and a father who I am named for (Harold Solomon). Harry passed away when Steve was only 8. Rose remarried Joseph Grodin, and through adoption became Steve’s father.

He was raised in Brooklyn during a “golden-age” of postwar NYC. They were a working class Jews, living and working amongst working class Jews. My Dad was sent to Yeshiva instead of public school, presumably because he lacked some discipline. He ultimately graduated from James Madison High School in Brooklyn.

Steve has a sister (my Aunt Marsha), who is 15 years younger than him. In Marsha’s telling, he was a good big brother, and they stayed close through young adulthood.

After graduation in the late 1950’s, he tried college, but was ultimately persuaded to “learn a trade” as was a pretty common option during those years. He successfully completed a multi-year plumbers apprenticeship and became a dues-paying member of Local Union #1 of Plumbers and Pipefitters. Through the union, he worked on several high-profile jobs, including the 1964 World Fair, Verezzano Narrows Bridge, World Trade Center, Walt Disney World and many, many more. He became a member of the Union board. I remember him taking me to the union hall when I was little. I think it was in Howard Beach.

Steve married my Mother, Susan, in 1964. They honeymooned on Miami Beach, where I now live! I was born in 1967 and my sister Lisa in 1969. We lived in the Brightwater Tower apartments (still standing), which overlooks the NYC Aquarium and within sound range of the Coney Island Cyclone roller coaster. I remember summer days where, when windows were open, you could hear the Cyclone riders screaming on their descent.

When I was in third grade, we moved out to a tudor-style home in Lynbrook, Long Island. This was the recession era 1970’s but I guess work was coming in. It was nice neighborhood with good schools. The house had a big basement with a workshop. My dad took up carpentry and built lots of furnishings for the house down there. He took a cold Miller High Life bottle out of the fridge in the workshop and handed it to me one day. My first beer at 10 years old. I vaguely remember my mother finding out about it and castigating my Dad. Haha.

In 1978, we moved to Florida. Both my mother’s Mom and my father’s parents had retired to Century Village in West Palm Beach. My parents wanted to be closer to them, and Florida presented job opportunities that were not readily available during that time period in New York.

In getting to Florida, my Dad quickly determined that he needed to start his own business if he wanted to provide adequately for the family. He bought a truck, loaded it with tools, bought some ads and listings in the yellow pages and he was now a small business owner. Looking back on this, I realize what a great achievement this was. I always admired my Dad’s work ethic, but it was not until later in life that I fully understood the skill and determination he put into creating a business from scratch, he would later do the same in California.

I use to work with him on the weekends, mostly as a runner or doing menial tasks on the job site. Or sometimes watching him work and learning some skills. He showed me how to use a torch and solder pipe. Of course, proper use of tools, etc. One day he had to rent some jackhammers to break up a concrete floor where we need to lay pipe. Having been unsuccessful at finding a day laborer, my Dad handed me the jackhammer and put me to work. I was barely taller than the jackhammer and it was heavy. After a half-day shift of using that jackhammer, I was exhausted, with the vibrations persisting for the day. Afterward, I clearly remember my Dad telling me that he gave me these tasks, both to show me the value of hard work, as well as to motivate me to go to College and not have to be a day-laborer. Obviously a life lesson that stayed with me.

Shortly after I left for college and my parents divorced, Steve moved to Los Angeles to start anew. Again, he built up a plumbing business from scratch and was able to make a decent living. I broke away from college in 1989 to live with him. I was struggling financially and school was suffering. I saw the chance to live with him as an opportunity to regain some footing financially and find a direction academically. To be honest, I did not view the move as a way to get closer to my Dad or repair a relationship as much as chance for a personal refresh with some assistance from him. That said, it did become more of a bonding experience. We spent a lot of time together. He became more relatable to me during this period. He gave me some advice on how to re-establish myself and it helped. I have a lot of fond memories of him and that year we spent.

By the time I met my wife and started a family, Steve had retired to Costa Rica. With that, he was present for key milestones including my wedding, Lisa’s wedding, Bat Mitzvah’s and visits to his mother. This was definitely a period where he was distant and separated from his U.S. family, focusing on his life priorities. He loved his mother (my Grandma Rose) and visited when he could.

His years in Costa Rica were his chance to live out his wants in the way he had envisioned he could. Taking a page out of Frank Sinatra, he did it his way. Not ironically, it is a song he would sing on Karaoke nights, one of his favorite hobbies.

In his later years in Costa Rica, he was struck with Throat Cancer and successfully battled with it, ultimately recovering almost fully, albeit with some physical diminishment. His bravery and strength was another life lesson for me and an indication of the kind of person Steve was. He made it to 84 years old, which is less than his Mother, who made it to 100, but nonetheless a full life. And honestly, he lived and played hard in those 84 years.

Steve was loyal to friends, many times to a fault. He got by, especially in later years, with the invaluable help of a loyal and extraordinary friend (Alejandro). He was a positive natured person. He was personable and sometimes dynamic. He had balls (or Chutzpah as we say in Yiddish). It took balls to start small businesses multiple times. It also took balls to move to Costa Rica with no knowledge of Spanish. Steve was hardworking and determined. It took determination to fight Cancer. He cared about his family, even though he may not have expressed it often enough. These are the qualities I admire about him. 

There you have it. A long-form goodbye to my Dad (if you made it that far). I love him and will miss him.

Howard