My father was James J. Coates, Sr., known as Jimmy to family and friends. He was born on April 2, 1920, and raised in Paterson, New Jersey. He graduated as president of his class in 1939 from Eastside High School and was outstanding in the sport of football. He also starred as an amateur boxer and won several championship tournaments. It was his brother Tom, though, who won the Diamond Gloves in Paterson. I believe he inherited Tom’s ring after his death.
He could not take advantage of a college football scholarship because he had to work after high school to support his mother and sisters. He was the youngest boy of nine children. The lineup was: Eleanor, Muriel, Mary, Tom, Jimmy, Charlotte, Margie, Florence, and Pat. As I recall, Margie drowned in the Passaic River, and Tom died at a young age from a heart attack in his early 30’s leaving behind his wife, Anne, and four young children, Tom, Colleen, Terry, and Mary. Each of these cousins lived with us at some point.
But my father’s education did not stop at high school, as he was a self-educated man. He would sit at the kitchen table on weekends with his pen, pad, and dictionary. Throughout the week, he would jot down words from conversations, the radio or TV, or at meetings etc. that he wasn’t familiar with; he would look a word up in the dictionary, write down the definition, and make himself use this word frequently in his conversations. At times he would share this new knowledge with me if I were sitting at the table. Other times, he stopped me as I passed through the kitchen to have a conversation using one or more of the words appropriately in our chat, often creating humorous scenarios to help him remember the words. He was also a reader, and I am pretty certain that is how he learned about the unions, labor contracts, etc. His personal books would have his notations in them, either questioning something or emphasizing a point. Being an Irishman, he also had a way with words and enjoyed writing, whether it was letters to my mother and/or his mother while in the Navy, or writing poems, which he did for Bill and me when we got married. He would just scribble on whatever was in his possession and create some very memorable prose. My father was the main correspondent when I moved, keeping me informed of the home front news.
After graduating high school, he was employed at Wright Aeronautical Corporation in the inspection department and soon became active in the labor circles. He was elected representative of the inspection department, serving in that capacity until February 1943, when he was elected Executive Board Member at Large. In May of that year, he entered the U.S. Navy and served his country for two years. Upon re-entering Wright, he was elected representative of the Inspection Department and Chief Steward. Eventually, he became the Financial Secretary-Treasurer for the Local 669 UAW-CIO.
He was an amateur boxer/fighter and a personal trainer long before it became a trend, like in today’s world. Boxing and physical fitness played a major role in my father’s life. He probably started boxing in high school or maybe even in middle school, as this sport was very popular and encouraged back then to keep kids off the street, much like basketball and soccer now. He remained active in that sport as a referee in amateur circles and was a member of the AAU as well as a boxing instructor at the YMCA. My brother Jimmy and I have reminisced about going with my father to Asbury Park when he was refereeing a fight. I remember going to the beach and to the hotel pool during the day; that night the gentleman, who I believe operated the hotel elevator, stayed with Jimmy and me while Dad went to referee the fight. I think I fell asleep watching the fight on TV.
I imagine my father, as a young married man, spent many weekends working around the house. He finished the upstairs into two rooms, one a bedroom and the other his office for a short time until it became another bedroom as the family grew. He then finished off the basement, converting one area into his office and another area into a bar room where my parents entertained frequently. He built cinder block walls around our property as well.
Like his dad, my father was an alcoholic, although not abusive. My aunts said that my father idolized his dad when he was younger, and they felt he never got over the pain of having to physically throw his father out of the house to protect his mother and sisters. Unfortunately, his alcoholism defined much of our family life, especially for my younger siblings who weren’t fortunate enough to have as many of the memories I had before his drinking seemed to take over our lives. My father was a “true alcoholic” whose personality completely changed when he was drinking, and once he started drinking he couldn’t stop until he passed out. Though my mother explained, and I understood that alcoholism was a disease, I struggled with the fact of my father taking that first drink after he had been sober for an extended time. The well-groomed, articulate, principled, and disciplined man disappeared; we were left dealing with a person who would scheme, lie, and sneak around to get his hands on any liquor. He would hide bottles all over the place, and then come up with reasons why he would need to go to the garage, car, office, or who knows where else to sneak gulps from his hidden bottles. There are so many stories here. Though my dad turned to God for help and his faith was strong, I think sadness, regret, and pride interfered.
My father passed away on February 28, 1983. One of my most disturbing memories was after my father’s funeral, my siblings and I sitting around the kitchen table sharing our encounters with our dad when he was on a binge. Each of us had very upsetting, as well as embarrassing, instances. Unfortunately, none of us knew what the others had experienced; though we were all living under the same roof, we were dealing with this problem individually.
May you enjoy the four greatest blessings:
Honest work to occupy you.
A hearty appetite to sustain you.
A good woman to love you.
And a wink from the God above.
