It is over.
The prayers have been offered, the hymns sung, the soul blessed
and the eulogy delivered. The church is quiet now in the heat
of the summer day as mourners sit with their thoughts while waiting
for the final procession.
Then the music begins, and a clear voice starts to sing from
the choir.
From a back pew, a silver-haired old man stands. Soon, another
stands and then another; old gentlemen all bonded by this tribute
to their deceased friend.
Don stands with them, his face streaming with tears as he sings
along, his hands trembling as he thinks of his dear lifelong friend.
Notre Dame, our Mother, Tender, strong and true,
They met in the cavernous South Dining Hall on the south quad
of the Midwestern campus and laughed when they learned they were
both strangers to the cornfields of Indiana and shared New York
City as their home. The two men, boys really, bonded instantly
when they learned that each had also had his first year of college
interrupted by a year of service in the Navy; Don in the Pacific,
Tom as a cook in Chicago and New York. It was 1946, and the young
men had dreams of promising futures.
Don Begley '49, an All American football player from Saint Michael's
in the Bronx, tall and squarely built, hoped that his year away
from the game wouldn't hurt his chances to play. Second-generation
Irish, he was the first of three brothers to head to Notre Dame.
Tom Giordano '50, a tall, skinny Italian, hailed from Brooklyn
and proudly claimed bowling as his sport of choice. Don kidded
his new friend: "Is bowling actually a sport?"
Proudly in the heavens, Gleams the Gold and Blue,
Soon they were re-acclimating themselves to the regimen of college
life; early morning classes, football practices for Don, dinner
in suit and tie in the dining hall supervised by numerous priests,
studying till lights out and then the whole thing all over again.
There were walks along the lakes at night smoking cigars, card
games, dances and visits from Gerry and Pat, who came on the New
York Central to visit their future husbands. Weekends were ignited
with the excitement that Frank Leahy's boys unleashed on the football
field. It was heaven, though. Only those returning from the war
really understood that.
Glory's mantle cloaks thee, Golden is thy fame,
Their friends included the likes of Johnny Lujack, Leon Hart
and Zeke O'Connor. And who could forget Jim Carberry, the brilliant
chemist who shared his love of opera with the jocks and whose
high grades scored fabulous room picks for the friends. Don chuckled
thinking of the incongruous scene of sweaty athletes returning
to their dorm room to be greeted by Jim and his opera. Those were
magical times, and the friendships developed lasted a lifetime.
Don just couldn't believe that for so many, and most importantly
for Tom, that lifetime had ended.
And our hearts forever, Praise thee Notre Dame,
Graduation came, and Tom and Don left Notre Dame to
marry, raise children, build careers. But they continued their
friendship, meeting with spouses in New York City for dinner or
at Notre Dame events, bringing the kids (10 between them) to Notre
Dame games in Philly or at West Point, naming one another as godparents.
They supported one another through life's events. When Don lost
Gerry to breast cancer after 30 years of marriage, Tom was there
to help him put one foot in front of the other. And together the
faith that was formed and shaped at Notre Dame sustained them.
Tom rejoiced when Don found Mary, that good woman who is now
holding Don's trembling hand. They laughed upon learning that
Mary had never been to a football game and were thrilled at her
delight when Don brought her to Notre Dame, Ireland and even Hawaii
to see the Irish play. And when Colleen, Don's youngest and Tom's
godchild, married, it was Mary who cried along with them over
the fact that Gerry wasn't there to see her baby married.
And our hearts, forever, Love thee Notre Dame.
Then Tom was diagnosed with cancer. Again, Don knew
he would lose someone dear to this terrible disease. So he went
through it with Tom; visiting with him every week, regaling him
with stories of the old days when they were young and seemingly
invincible. Tom laughed through the pain; Don smiled and fought
back tears.
But now those tears come freely, and with them the memories
continue. Like snapshots appearing one after the other before
his eyes, Don can see Tom's face as he shook hands with Don for
the first time, as he smoked cigars on those airless Indiana nights,
as he danced at Don's wedding, as he held his godchild over the
baptismal font, as he played touch football on the Fourth of July
with their brood of kids, as he received Communion at Gerry's
funeral, as he laughed at Don's 75th, and as he smiled shortly
before he died.
And our hearts forever, Love thee, Notre Dame.
Don holds tight to Mary's hand and bids his friend
farewell.
* * *
Tara Wegener, the daughter of Don Begley, is an attorney. She
and her husband, Robert Wegener '80, live in Brockton, Massachusetts,
and have three children.
(January 2004)
