From the Southampton Press this past week. http://olive.pressnewsgroup.com/olive/odn/southamptonwest/shared/ShowArticle.aspx?doc=SPW%2F2015%2F12%2F24&entity=Ar00903&sk=EF42511E
I've always thought Dad had a striking resemblance to William Shatner in his younger days. I think of Stu as the Bones to Jim's Kirk Or maybe the Spock. Love you, Stu.
Sad Goodbye
I lost a friend this week [“James Doyle, Former Police Chief, Was 83,” December 17]. I met James “Jim” Doyle after I purchased Sheeley’s Pharmacy in 1962. He was a patrolman with the Westhampton Beach Police Department and came to my store to introduce himself—always a goodwill ambassador.
There are many memories I can talk about, but one of the brightest came after I was elected mayor and was able to appoint James P. Doyle as Chief of Police of the Westhampton Beach Police Department. I also had the pleasure to celebrate his retirement.
He and his wife, Marie, and myself and my wife, Mary Lou, enjoyed traveling and sharing many dinners together, including New Year’s Eve at Casa Basso, and also enjoyed visits with their daughter, Maya, her husband, Jason, and their son, Torben.
The many miles that separated us in later years did not diminish our friendship. Tears came to my eyes when his daughter, Maya, called early in the morning on December 14 to tell us of her father’s passing.
So now I say, goodbye Jim, it was an honor calling you the best friend anyone could have.
Stuart Tobin
Sahuarita, Arizona
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, December 25, 2015
Eulogy
I woke from the strangest dream just
a few days ago. I was standing on Beaver
Lane West, the road where my parents built the home that they loved, the road
where they raised me. Down the road,
close to Dick Farrell’s old house, comes a beat-up Ford LTD police car, driven
by a young police officer that I didn’t know.
It was really beat-up. Rusted. As will happen in dreams, I found myself
behind the wheel. Every part of the car
was shaky and loose, the floorboard were paper-thin, the gear shift wobbled, the
steering wheel shook in my hands. There
was no way I could drive this thing.
Then, as will happen in dreams, I was
back outside, talking to police officers who were sitting in lawn chairs on the
edge of the street. I couldn’t place
their faces, but I knew I knew them.
They grinned and told me, no way you can drive that thing, Maya, but
your dad could get it fixed up. Your dad’s gotta drive this thing.
I began to wake up. Confused. Why was I dreaming of Westhampton and police
officers? I have final papers to grade,
a class to prepare for, Christmas shopping to do. As I came to consciousness, at 6:30 on Monday
morning, I heard my husband say, Maya, Sunrise is calling. I reached out for my cell phone, next to my
bed, in a place I never usually keep it.
Sunrise, the assisted living facility where my father has resided for
the last 4 years. Sunrise. Three missed calls. I knew without dialing that Dad was
gone. I had gotten that same early
morning call, at what I will say was exactly the same time, when my beautiful
mom left us. Through my tears, I
thought, at last. At last, his body and mind are his own again. At last he is with his love.
Alzheimer’s is the cruelest
thief. She is not just a thief of
memory. She is invidious.
Remorseless. Stealing away the very
things that make a great man like my father who he was. Slowing stealing away
his creativity, his charisma, his character.
All the things that made the people in this room love him. Dad did all of the things you are supposed to
do to avoid Alzheimer’s. He was incredibly physical fit, working out every
morning with hand weights and karate stances.
After his retirement, he kept busy, caring for my mother, for their
house, and for their friends. Always
tinkering and fixing things, sketching a new stained glass pattern, researching
the antique weapon a friend brought by the house. Keeping his mind active with games and
puzzles. Refinishing my rusted red wagon
for his grandson’s 3rd birthday.
None of those things were spared, in the end. He did, however, charm the staff and
residents at Sunrise. He never quite gave up his role as protector and defender
of others. During Hurricane Sandy, even
when they had no power, Dad walked around the facility, putting his hand on the
shoulders of the staff, and telling them, as best he could, that everything
would be okay. Even as the disease
claimed his ability to communicate, dad walked laps and rearranged the
furniture there, every day (I suspect he could hear my mother’s voice telling
him how that table should be placed, just so).
We celebrated dad’s 83rd
birthday this fall, October 30th, the birthday he shared with my
mother (and their wedding anniversary, just the week before). His good friend and neighbor, Angie Lombardo,
is also residing at Sunrise now. She
came upstairs to visit dad with me, and with my dear friend, Elena. Dad sat in
a spot in the sun, happily surrounding by gossiping women. Occasionally his
eyes would focus, and he would smile. When Angie rose to go, she shook his
hands (hard), calling his name. Jim, she
said, I have to go. I love you. Happy
birthday. And she kissed him on both
cheeks, as only an Italian grandmother can kiss. He focused his eyes, again for just a moment,
and said thank you. Somewhere, deep inside, he recognized, perhaps not our
faces or our identities, but that he was surrounded by people who loved him.
Today, I appreciate the love and
regard that this community has shown him. He fell in love with this place when
he came here in the military, and never left. Years later, I visited our
family’s ancestral home in co. Wicklow, Ireland. The village of Greystones, perched on the
edge of the Irish Sea. It’s a charming resort community, listed in travel
magazines as having some of the best quality of life in the world. I think Westhampton must have seemed deeply
familiar.
Even as a newly-minted police
officer, Jim believed that the best way to keep a community safe as a police
officer was to build relationships, to not be “hard-nosed”, but to truly get to
know and create friendships – with residents full-time and summer, with
shopkeepers and bar-owners, with journalists, with local politicians, with his
fellow officers, and I think most importantly to him, young people. He worked particularly hard to show kids in
this community that police officers were allies and role models. When a crisis
happened, he was calm, and totally present for the people affected.
As I was writing this, I realized if
I started to tell stories, we would be here for days … I’ve remembered, and
been told, and discovered so much, even in the past week. But you know these stories, you’ve lived them
with him, or heard them around the dinner table at Basso’s or on my parent’s
back porch. That’s the image I want to leave you with. We’ve proudly celebrated
dad’s career here. But what I am prouder
of, what both of my cousins, and what Rabbi Moss have also said so well, is how
much Jim and Marie Doyle adored each other.
Their love for each other enfolded me, made my very life and who I am
possible. It gives Jason and I vital
lessons in how to be a family, and how to raise this beautiful boy, their
grandson Torben. And they left a little
of that love in each of you who are here today.
Please carry them with you, together, holding hands, talking, solving
problems, holding hands, working in their yard, walking, laughing, holding
hand, raising a toast. They have each other back now. I will miss them forever. They found such joy
in each other and in their lives with all of you. So I hope, in this holiday
season that they loved and enjoyed so much, you will leave here, not just with
sadness, but with joy
Maya Doyle
Monday, December 21, 2015
Saturday, December 19, 2015
a liitle levity
So, as we were making funeral arrangements for dad, we stopped by the house to pick up his dress uniform and cap. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, so I just grabbed a shopping bag and put everything in it to take to the funeral home. I can't say I made sure the bag was empty first.
Now all of you who know my mom know that she had an impish (or elfish) sense of humor. And that she loved loved loved teddy bears. When she passed away in 2011, we donated a few boxes of stuffies to BideaWee to keep the puppies and kitties company - and we still have a rocker full of them. Mom also had some costumes for her bears - a Santa suit, sweaters, a Halloween outfit, etc.
So the day of the funeral, we arrive early, as families are supposed to. We walk around to see that all the photos and things we'd brought were in place. I walk solemnly up to the casket with the funeral director...and burst out laughing. There, next to dad, next to his properly-positioned police cap, was a bright orange teddy bear sweater that said
"BOO!"
Thanks, Mom, I get it. You're here. You're very funny. We know you're here.
You two have fun now.
Now all of you who know my mom know that she had an impish (or elfish) sense of humor. And that she loved loved loved teddy bears. When she passed away in 2011, we donated a few boxes of stuffies to BideaWee to keep the puppies and kitties company - and we still have a rocker full of them. Mom also had some costumes for her bears - a Santa suit, sweaters, a Halloween outfit, etc.
So the day of the funeral, we arrive early, as families are supposed to. We walk around to see that all the photos and things we'd brought were in place. I walk solemnly up to the casket with the funeral director...and burst out laughing. There, next to dad, next to his properly-positioned police cap, was a bright orange teddy bear sweater that said
"BOO!"
Thanks, Mom, I get it. You're here. You're very funny. We know you're here.
You two have fun now.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
risks and benefits of blogging
The day that dad's obituary was published, we stumbled across this online post. It made for an interesting interaction, to say the least, but I think it resolved well. (I'm sharing a pdf version rather than the link)
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Services for Jim
Visitation was held Saturday 12/20 2-4pm and 7-9pm at Follett-Werner Funeral Home, Mill Road, Westhampton Beach. Full Police honors were given by the Westhampton Beach Police Department. A beautiful funeral service was lead on Sunday, 12/21 by Police Chaplain, Rabbi Steven Moss, followed by a procession through Main Street, Sunset Ave, and Mill Road. An Emerald Society piper played at the Westhampton Cemetery, followed by an US Air Force Honor Guard and bugler.
Donations in Jim's memory may be made to the
Westhampton Beach Police Benevolent Association,
P.O. Box 11, Westhampton Beach, NY 11978.
Monday, December 14, 2015
This morning
I woke up from a dream about a police car in need of repair. My husband's phone was ringing, from assisted living. The early morning call is always hard, but this time also comes with some peace. After ten years of living with Alzheimer's, and four years without his beloved Marie, my dad passed away this morning. His mind and body are his own again, and free.
I've made some calls to friends today, and I apologize to those I haven't been able to reach yet, but we will share information and thoughts here as we get through the next few days.
I've made some calls to friends today, and I apologize to those I haven't been able to reach yet, but we will share information and thoughts here as we get through the next few days.
Obituary
See the full obituary from the Southampton Press/27East here.
Retired Westhampton Beach Police Chief James P. Doyle died on December 14, 2015, at the age of 83, after a decade living with Alzheimer’s disease. Born in 1932 to Joseph and Beatrice Weber Doyle, Jim grew up in Maplewood, NJ. He joined the U.S. Air Force in 1952, which brought him to the Westhampton area while serving as a mechanic for the planes of the Flying Tigers. Always meticulous about his vehicles, Jim then ran his own gas station and repair shop in Flanders. Jim joined the Westhampton Beach Police Department in the 1960’s and was appointed Chief in 1980, serving until his retirement in 1989. Jim was a proud member of the Suffolk County Police Conference, the NY State Association of Chiefs of Police, and the International Association of Chiefs of Police. His love for the Department and the Village was only surpassed by his adoration for his beloved wife Marie and his daughter Maya. He was known to his friends and family for his never ending willingness to serve others and help those in need, his ingenuity and ability to repair just about anything, and the warm and welcoming home he and Marie built together. He is predeceased by his parents and in-laws, his brothers Joe, Richard, Gene, and Robert, his sister Patricia, his brother-in-law James Monsell, and his wife Marie. He is survived by his daughter Maya, son-in-law, Jason, and his grandson, Torben, many nieces and nephews, and many good friends and neighbors.
Retired Westhampton Beach Police Chief James P. Doyle died on December 14, 2015, at the age of 83, after a decade living with Alzheimer’s disease. Born in 1932 to Joseph and Beatrice Weber Doyle, Jim grew up in Maplewood, NJ. He joined the U.S. Air Force in 1952, which brought him to the Westhampton area while serving as a mechanic for the planes of the Flying Tigers. Always meticulous about his vehicles, Jim then ran his own gas station and repair shop in Flanders. Jim joined the Westhampton Beach Police Department in the 1960’s and was appointed Chief in 1980, serving until his retirement in 1989. Jim was a proud member of the Suffolk County Police Conference, the NY State Association of Chiefs of Police, and the International Association of Chiefs of Police. His love for the Department and the Village was only surpassed by his adoration for his beloved wife Marie and his daughter Maya. He was known to his friends and family for his never ending willingness to serve others and help those in need, his ingenuity and ability to repair just about anything, and the warm and welcoming home he and Marie built together. He is predeceased by his parents and in-laws, his brothers Joe, Richard, Gene, and Robert, his sister Patricia, his brother-in-law James Monsell, and his wife Marie. He is survived by his daughter Maya, son-in-law, Jason, and his grandson, Torben, many nieces and nephews, and many good friends and neighbors.
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