A Picture of a Gentleman: Thomas Joseph Fitzpatrick by Nellie E. Fitzpatrick A Picture of a Gentleman He was born in New York City on February thirteenth, 1865, about two months before General Lee surrendered at Appomattox Court House (April ninth, 1865). He was often told of his having been placed upon the floor so that his family might join in the rejoicing that the cruel war was about to end. Those were bad times and the poor suffered many hardships and deprivations, so the child, the eldest of a large family, set out to make his way in the world at the age of eleven years. Straightaway he went to the head member of a large department store firm: "Well, my lad, what can I do for you, and what is your name?" "Thomas Joseph, sir, and I want a job." He was placed as "stock boy" in the silk department. A few days later: "Thomas, I understand you've been fighting! You're discharged!" "All right, sir." Next day: "I've learned, Thomas, that you were not at fault in that quarrel, so I'm reemploying you." "Thank you, sir. I'll stay if you'll raise my salary." So the little fellow's salary was increased and he advanced in position and salary until he became manager and European buyer for the handsomest silk department in New York. During those years he attended evening school and became proficient in mathematics and other studies. How he loved his mother! Often he spoke of her happy heart and hearty laugh in the face of all her trials and work and poverty. Well, poverty is no crime, and riches do not make the gentleman. He would recall how she taught the children to pray: and following her good example, he attended Mass daily and received the Blessed Sacrament every "First Friday". When, in his youth, he started going out to parties and dances, she would watch at the window to give him the key lest his father would punish him for "being out late". He wore a Sacred Heart button and carried with him, and repeated, his Rosary, throughout his lifetime. The mother of fourteen children knew how to work and pray and be happy! She died when he was twenty-one. "O memories that bless and burn! "O barren gain and bitter loss! "I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn "To kiss the cross, to kiss the cross." This young Thomas Joseph had another name, "Emmanuel" -- must have selected it as his confirmation name. He was mighty proud of that name, "because", he would say, "it was given to our Lord." After some years he became partner in a silk finishing plant -- sort of a factory I should say-- and the men there were in the habit of using unbecoming language. Immediately he stopped that, and it was never resumed in the years of his presence there. And so, when he was in company with friends or acquaintances, he left them at the threshold of any pleasure that he considered unfit. Once, when quite young, a business associate remarked him that he'd never get very far in the world because his Irish Catholic name. "No?" said he, "I'll be your boss some day", and so he was! What a husband and father he was! He gave all he had to his home and family! He helped his children with their studies; he taught them how to skate, swim, play ball and tennis, etc., etc., and when his children grew older their friends remarked: "Why, where did you folks learn all this?" They proudly answered, "My father taught me all." He took his own little son in to New York from Flushing to St. Francis Xavier's school every day that he could spare the time, and through his suggestions and example neighbors sent their boys in to that school, two of whom are now Jesuit priests: Rev. Paul Swift, S.J. Rev. Alfred Barrett, S.J. He was never known to tell a lie or to break his word. He had faith in his friends and faith in himself. His fine blue eyes, clear as the summer skies, were frank and kindly. He had no regrets. He would often say, "A good soldier never looks back." He never forgot himself in anger and no one ever shared his worries. "Hearts that are great are always lone, "They never will manifest their best. "Their greatest greatness is unknown, "Earth knows a little -- God the rest." -- Father Ryan "But," you say, "you have drawn a perfect picture. What about his man's sins, faults, and imperfections?" "Faults and imperfections?" Of course, yes! He couldn't drive a nail, hang a picture, or paint a brick, but he was a splendid and shrewd business man -- but "sins"? I live with Joe Fitzpatrick more than thirty-four years and I know of none. I have drawn a picture of a gentleman! He was much concerned that there was no Catholic church nearer than three-quarters of a mile away -- although the diocese owned property at the corner of the street where we lived -- and the children were compelled to walk to church and Sunday school. Automobiles were rare twenty-five years ago! One Sunday morning, a neighbor, a Mr. Quinn, called at our house and they talked no not having a church nearby. Mr. Quinn: "What can be done? I don't know how to go about it. I don't know the people." Mr. Fitzpatrick: "Well, I do. Come along. We'll get the men together and see if they will come with us to the Bishop." So, about a dozen or more men called upon the Bishop, and as a result the church of St. Andrew of Avellino on Broadway, Flushing stands and is today one of the largest and most flourishing parishes on the north shore of Long Island! After a lingering illness, on a bright sunny evening in January he left us for a far better Home. A few days before we parted he whispered: "I saw, I saw the most beautiful lady." Was it a dream, or was it an apparition? I presume to say that Our Divine Lord was waiting for him when He closed his eyes; that I fell profoundly sure He pressed the soul of Joe Fitzpatrick to His Sacred Heart. Died January 26, 1936 N.E.F. God gave me you When April's warmth was chiding Winter's bleak hue And springtime faith abiding For half a happy lifetime God gave me you. God bid you come! When the Angelus bells were ringing God called you Home. When the Heavenly choirs were singing Ere evening sun was hidden God called you Home! Your eyes were as the sky's deep blue, Your friendly handclasp firm and true Your heart was right; You taught each child to learn and pray, You guarded them upon their way, Your soul was white! God bid you Come! Now the days are bleak and dreary Since you are gone And the hours are long and weary But we're thinking more sincerely Since you are gone! Written: Jan. 26, 1937 N.E.F.