Obituary of Julius M. Kuno

Julius (Julie) Kuno, 89, of Baldwinsville passed away Thursday, April 15, 2010 at St. Joseph’s Hospital. He was born in 1920 in Deferiet, NY and raised in Oswego. Julie resided in Baldwinsville for 54 years. He attended Syracuse University on a boxing scholarship, graduating with a BS in Business Administration. Julie served as Captain in the US Marine Corps during WWII in the Pacific Theater, and also as a Tank Commander during the Korean War. As a true patriot, he was most proud of the fact that three of his brothers were also serving in the Army and Navy during his time of service. Julie was a communicant of St. Mary’s Church, Baldwinsville and a 4th Degree member of the Knights of Columbus, where he chaired many council events. He was a past Grand Knight and a past Knight of the year. Julie retired from Shell Oil Company in 1980, after 33 years of service. Throughout his life, he was well known by all for his giving nature, kind heart, strong values, love of country and for his love of and deep devotion to his family. Julie was predeceased by his parents, Michael and Josephine (Sroka) Kuno of Oswego, four brothers, Edward, Carl, Joseph and Walter, and one sister, Sophie Turner Survivors his wife of 66 years, Margaret L. (Scanlon) Kuno of Baldwinsville; 2 daughters, Julianne (Michael) Scullard of Vestal, NY and Mary Beth (Peter) Sorber of Syracuse; 4 sons, John Kuno of Nashville, TN, Peter (Patricia) Kuno of Syracuse, Mark Kuno of Spokane Washington and Stephen (Jacquelyn) Kuno of Potsdam; 12 grandchildren, 5 Great Grandchildren, several nieces and nephews. Services: 11:30am Monday, April 19, 2010 at Falardeau Funeral Home, Baldwinsville and 12:00pm at St. Mary’s Church, Baldwinsville. Burial, St. Peter’s Cemetery, Oswego. Calling hours are 10:00-11:30am Monday at the funeral home, 93 Downer St. Contributions: In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to Palliative Care Unit of St. Joseph’s Hospital, 973 James St., Suite 250, Syracuse, NY 13202. EULOGY FOR OUR FATHER APRIL 19, 2010 ST MARY’S CHURCH I want to thank everyone for being here to honor our father and celebrate his passage to a new and better life. In particular, many of you have been there in support of our mom and dad at a time when the challenges and rigors of everyday living often overcame their ability to cope with them. Even the simplest gestures such as providing a ride to a doctor’s appointment, shoveling a walk or a visitation to provide encouragement meant a lot to them. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to acknowledge each and every act of kindness, so at this time, on the behalf of our family, I would like to just say thank you to all those that have supported them in their time of need. Who was our father? On the most basic level he lived simply and honestly. He loved and was devoted to his wife, both his childhood and adult families, his church and this country. His most enjoyable pleasures were usually derived from the consumption of an alcoholic beverage, in the company of friends or family. Over time these interactions were referred to by various terms including Galatians, libations or parts (more on that later). However on other levels his persona was not quite that simple. Our father exuded a multi faceted persona. To those unfortunate to challenge him on the street or in the ring he was a punishing fighter and boxer, although he was quick to point out that he considered himself a brawler and not a fighter. To his country, he was a patriot who left comfortable circumstances at school and a young bride to fight for his country. The toughness and grittiness he acquired on depression era streets served him well later in the boxing ring and was finished off by duty in the United States Marine Corps. The mantra of the Corps is the Latin phrase SEMPER FIDELIS or Semper Fi for short. This means ALWAYS FAITHFUL or LOYAL, loyalty not only to the Corps and Country, but faithfulness to its core values including courage and integrity, inner strength and tenacity. Dad personified these as he lived them. On the night he passed away as Marybeth and I sat on his bed she reminisced that in her whole life she had never seen dad fearful of anything. She said that no matter the situation, she always felt safe in his presence and I could not agree more. Last night we looked at some of the many pictures of him in his Marine Corp uniform. Trim and fit, chest puffed out and usually brimming from ear to ear, it was obvious that our dad loved being a Marine. But just as he left a new bride and comfortable circumstances at Syracuse University nine years earlier to fight a war, he walked away from a promising career in the military to pursue and tend to his first real love: his wife and family. We were still living on Ellen St in Oswego when I observed a blend of these two worlds. While it is not uncommon for parents to lullaby their children to sleep, our dad, fresh home from the war, would serenade us almost nightly with the Marine Corp hymn. Fifty some odd years later the beginning lyrics, “From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, we will fight our country’s battles from the air and land and sea” are still fresh in my mind. Looking back on it, this could have been the beginning or the transition to the softer side of our father. Against a backdrop of toughness was a man that exuded an inner sense of tenderness, caring and compassion. He volunteered to mentor and tutor adolescents who wanted to learn how to read. For years he hosted a picnic for the handicapped and disadvantaged. His service in leadership roles in the Belgium Cold Springs Fire Department and the Knights of Columbus was an outgrowth of his desire to serve others. Perhaps the most vivid and enduring example of the care and concern he extended toward others was an incident that happened outside a Wegmans super market a little over twenty years ago. It was a windy and stormy day. He was with our mom, but she had already gone into the store. As he approached the entrance, a woman was coming out with a loaded cart. The wind caught a piece of paper, possibly a receipt, that was either in her hand or in her cart and began blowing it down the street. Dad’s instincts took over and began to chase after it but only managed to cover a short distance before he slipped, fell and in the process broke his hip. He was afflicted with this injury for the remainder of his days. I asked him one time, perhaps seven or eight years ago, if he knew then what he knows now, regarding the outcome of the incident, including the pain and discomfort, the loss of mobility and the effects that this affliction has had on others if he would do the same thing all over again. Without hesitation, he said he would. I am sure he would take it as an affront if I would have suggested otherwise. There were other expressions of his tenderness. He used to say “you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar” and never say “good bye” but say “so long” instead. In his view, with “so long” there is an implication that we would meet again. Our dad was not perfect. No life would be complete without a personal blooper highlight reel and our father was no exception. In his later years he became quite the grazer or someone who eats small portions or nibbles while on the move. Dad would hobble through the kitchen picking freely from whatever was out on the counter between meals or while a meal was in preparation. That might work for most of us except the vision impaired, which dad was. In what could be known as the Friskie Caper, Marybeth had left her cats at the house for the weekend and Friskie treats were left on the kitchen counter where they would be out of cat reach. You can see where this is going. Over a short period of time mom observed that the pile of treats was steadily shrinking. Under questioning dad volunteered that he had been eating them and that they were actually not bad. It was unclear how many of the treats he had consumed but for about a week he was observed trying to rub up against our legs. No purring was noted, however. Every once in a while Dad struggled to find the right words. On one occasion, I had been working on a vehicle outside and brought a part from it into the house, where there was a gathering sitting around the table. Stephen, I believe, asked what the part was and I told him. He then asked how it worked. Apparently eager to be part of the discussion, Dad quickly jumped in and began to offer up an explanation. At this point the group was obviously riveted on him for enlightenment and you could tell that Dad was beginning to feel his glory. However, after three or four fits and starts, including copious amount of verbal stumbling, hesitation, hemming and hawing it became evident to him that he was in over his head, at which point he threw up his arms declared, “Oh hell, I don’t know”. A sustained uproar of laughter engulfed the room. If you had to choose one beacon that guided him, the constant throughout his life, it was the love and devotion he had for his family. Growing up, I recall many a weekend traveling to Oswego with him to spend time with his mom and dad. Upon arrival, my dad would direct his dad (my grandfather) to check under the front seat for mechanical difficulty he was having with the seat. Upon inspection, low and behold, my grandfather always found a bottle of whiskey, which he quickly spirited away through the back door of the house into the basement where it was stored for later consumption. I am not sure my grandmother really knew what was going on, but if she ever suggested to my dad that he should seek the services of a bona fide professional mechanic, I am not aware of it. The day would proceed with my father in his broken polish and his father, in his broken English trading stories for hours on end over shots of whiskey and chasers of cold beer. I was always in wonderment as to how there could be any possible understanding taking place, but believed if there was, the medium of the liquid refreshment must certainly have had something to do with it. That tradition was somewhat toned down, but nonetheless kept alive between my Dad and his sons, most frequently J.M. In fact they had perfected a movement and operation to the extent that they felt compelled to name it and it became known as going for “parts”. Although their stated mission was to go out for “PARTS”, their destination did not take them to or near any run of the mill NAPA or True Value Hardware store or equivalent. No, their destinations were places like The Retreat in Liverpool and Walleys in Lakeland or any suitable watering hole or one that sold cold beer, in between. There was only a couple of beers involved which was innocuous enough, but with the code name “parts” an air of clandestine intrigue presented itself and for a brief time they were able to stay beneath my mom’s radar. Even after she became aware of the scheme, J.M. would say “Hey dad, do you feel like going out for parts?” He would beam up like he just won the lottery and with a wink and a nod they would be off. Even as we were by his side in the final moments of a long physical decline that included triple bypass, prostate cancer, a broken hip, legal blindness and deafness, incontinence, bouts with pneumonia and host of other maladies, he never quit being a fighter. Now our dad was dying in quiet peace and dignity. He always was a cup full kind of guy. Whenever I used to call him on the phone and ask him how he was I could count on him saying “I can’t complain. I have had a good life and I have the best family in the whole world.” I used to tease him by asking him where and when the competition was held that qualified us for this distinction. Of course he simply ignored me as I am sure he felt that he had neither the time or energy to entertain such foolishness. Boxer, fighter, patriot, humanitarian, leader, friend. Dad, you were different things to different people, but first and foremost to us ,you were a husband and father. Apparently there was no formal competition after all, but in our eyes you were the best in the whole world. Thank you for that. So long and Semper Fi.