Re: Harold C. Walsh would have been 123 years old today

[Bonnie Liston <http://www.att.net/~bkt625>]

Jim…what lovely memories. Funny how kindness is always repaid. 
Love you!

Bonnie

> On Feb 8, 2026, at 6:20 AM, Jim Walsh <http://www.gmail.com/~jimbonahant> wrote:
> 
> 
> I wrote the attached piece yesterday and submitted it to the Lynn Item with the hope they might print it on Monday. It's was little late for that, of course but, looking out the window, feeling the memory, I felt I had to try.
> 
> I will wait to see if the Item prints it before I put it on FB, but, on his birthday,  I thought I'd share it with family and friends who knew or encountered  him.
> 
> Jim Walsh, Nahant
> 
> ...in the final analysis, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal.
> 
> John F. Kennedy
> American University, June 10, 1963
> 
> <Thank You for Asking.docx>

Thank You for Asking
Jim Walsh
February 7, 2026

As I write this from my snug warm home in Nahant,
it’s Saturday and snow is
falling once again, recreating that gentle, soft, smooth white blanket of
fresh snow from a few days ago which had been scarred, dirtied, and
smeared in the days that followed.

It made me think of my father.

Yesterday, February 8th, would have been the 123rd birthday of Harold
Cornelious Walsh. In the years he was my father, before he retired, he
worked a second shift factory job, three to eleven. We never shared an
evening meal during the week. In those days, by the way, the evening meal
was called
“supper”
and the midday meal was
“Dinner”
…at least in our household.

When I was in 6th, 7th and 8th Grade, I would walk four blocks home from
school for the midday meal. Dad was there, freshly washed if never
pressed. My sister and I, Mom and Dad, sat in the kitchen and shared a
good hot meal. It was his main meal of the day and therefore, ours.

And then there was Sunday, a special day. My father and I walked to 8
o’clock Mass on Sundays.
Thinking back, I remember watching people walking past our home, off to
Church. There were the Skelly sisters who lived two houses away and the
well-dressed Deignan
family—Dad, Mom, two
kids—walking together to 10
o’clock Mass.

I was reminded recently of something else that my Dad and I did together
as I moved into my teenage years and he approached the age of sixty. We
shoveled snow.

“C’mon,
Jim…grab a shovel.
Let’s
go.”

This was not my favorite pastime. There was the walkway from the house to
the street. And then the sidewalk along the street, past the driveway and
side lawn. The driveway itself had to be shoveled and the walkway from it
to the side porch.  Ahh…if
it was only that. But we lived next door to Herb Wallscott, an elderly
gentleman who would ceremoniously gift my parents a little bottle of
scotch or brandy each Christmas. It goes without saying that we would
shovel his sidewalk too. Did I mention the Skelly sisters, two retired
teachers who lived in the next house? According to my father, we
couldn’t leave their walk
unshoveled. Are we done? No. Two doors down on the other side lived the
O’Connors. She was quite
old and he had trouble walking. We did their walk too. In between the
O’Connors and the Walshes
were the Kaplans. Thank god! I had an arrangement with Mr. Kaplan. I would
shovel his walk and he’d
give me a couple of bucks. When the Kaplans moved away the Foleys moved
in. Mr. Foley was a New Haven Railroad conductor. Their kids took over
shoveling their walks and driveway and, thankfully, the
O’Connors’
too.

Fast forward twenty-five years or so. Judy and I are settling into 7
Valley Road. My neighbors are snowily
self-sufficient…except one.
Around the corner and down the street lived Mrs. Buttars. She was elderly
and lived alone. Sensing my father looking down from above, I glanced
skyward, rolled my eyes and offered to take care of her walk for her. It
was only a couple of winters before she moved, leaving me both glad and
sad. I had enjoyed doing it. Still, it was fine with me that a younger
family bought the house.

This all came to mind after our recent heavy snow. Our driveways on High
Street are split. In anticipation of the coming storm, we moved both cars
to the side next to the Klees so that the other one could be plowed more
easily. When the big storm arrived, Bruce
Tarney’s guys came twice in
the middle of the night. Even so, there were a couple of inches that fell
after their last visit.

The next morning, we were in no hurry to go anywhere. At a certain point,
when the weather had cleared, looking our the front window, we noticed
that our cars had been cleaned off and shoveled. A path from the cars and
also from the street had been shoveled.
Bruce’s guys had come back
one last time…or had they?

But it was not Bruce’s guys
who had cleaned off our cars, dug around them, created two new paths and
swept the front porch.
No…it was Greg Klee, my
hearty next-door neighbor who took pity on his old neighbor and, unasked,
took up his shovel and did the job.

When I found out I was completely surprised! But should I have been?

I remembered some five years ago, after having been hospitalized for 11
days with Covid, I was recovering at home, able to get out and about a bit
if I was careful and didn’t
overdo it. Late one afternoon I had a prescription to pick up but I was
just exhausted. Judy wasn’t
available. I called Greg, embarrassed, explained my situation, and asked
if he could possibly pick up the prescription for me. Fifteen minutes
later he was at the door, prescription in hand.

“I
can’t thank you
enough,” I started to say
but he just shook his head and said these unforgettable
words…

“No,
Jim,” he said,
“Thank you for
asking.”

***

Jim Walsh is a writer living in Nahant