Poppy, as he was known to the grandchildren, grew up in an area of East Baltimore known as Little Bohemia. He was the patriarch of a large family. He was a civil servant, working at Fort Meade. Later, he was president of Fairmount Federal Savings and Loan.
He was a strong — some might say stubborn — Bohunk whose smile and twinkling eyes could lift your soul, and he left an impression, especially with the waitstaffs at many area restaurants.
But, in remembering Poppy, who died Wednesday at age 90, I think about the story of him going off to World War II.
No, it's not a story about his military record or devotion to country. This story shows his Catholic faith and his devotion to the Blessed Mother.
Before shipping out, my grandfather and grandmother, Marie (Baba, to the grandchildren), prayed to the Mother of Perpetual Help. For those unfamiliar, it is a particular depiction of Mary holding an infant Jesus that is popular with the Redempterist Order.
My grandparents prayed and promised that, should my grandfather make it back from the war alive, they would name their daughters after the Blessed Mother.
Through some interesting twists of fate, the brass discovered Poppy could type. He ended up a clerk for a brief time, avoiding the front lines. He later served as a guard on a prisoner transport in North Africa.
Baba and Poppy married June 22, 1946.
My older aunt, Mary Lou, came along a few years later. Then my mother, Ann Marie. Then my younger aunt, Jeanne Marie.
Three girls, all named honoring the Blessed Mother.
In the decades that followed, Poppy and Baba's devotion to the Blessed Mother only got stronger. Visitors to their house on Chesaco Avenue saw the massive framed icon of the Mother of Perpetual Help in the living room. The tombstone on the grave where Poppy will go to join Baba has an engraving of the Blessed Mother on it.
About a year before he died, I was sitting next to his bed visiting. He'd just been moved home after rehabbing a broken hip. He was in pain and confused.
But on his dresser, I spied a keychain with a Mother of Perpetual Help image hanging from it.
I held the icon up to him.
"That's my girlfriend," he said, smiling.
Despite poor health and senility, the stubborn old East Baltimore Bohunk held onto his faith.
That's how I most remember Poppy.
It's a trait I hope to carry on and teach to my daughter, Sophie Marie.
