On April 20, 2008, my dad, James Joseph Shay Jr., passed peacefully from natural causes in a nursing home in Dallas, Tx. He was 84 - an age he was amazed to live to be. His dad passed away around the age of 40, and my dad often said he felt lucky to live to be in his 80s.
He was a great, loving father of four who also left behind seven grandchildren. He was an FBI agent, a truck driver, a stock market investor, an IRS information specialist, who always put his family first. He often said the most important part of his life was spending time with his kids and our kids.
There are so many things my dad gave me that I’m thankful for. There are big things like helping to support me through college. There are smaller but just as important things like teaching me how to throw and catch a baseball, or how to play put up a tent and bait a hook.
His gifts to me shaped me into whatever I am today. I'm a better person because of him.
He loved the town where he grew up - Rye, NY, near New York City. He took us there at least once to visit his favorite amusement park when he was a boy, Playland.
After graduating from high school, he immediately went into the FBI as a fingerprint technician, making $1,440 a year, which back then was pretty good for an 18-year-old. It wasn’t long before he answered the call of WWII and served in the South Pacific, making the rank of Sgt. and receiving a Good Conduct Medal.
A letter from my dad's commander in 1944 referred to his “excellent character,” “pleasing personality,” and “splendid record.” I searched for a letter of recommendation I received at the age of 21 and couldn’t find one. If I had one, it would have probably said something about how I slept late and drank too much beer.
He worked for the FBI for about 25 years and was promoted from fingerprint technician to research analyst and finally special agent. He got his picture in a newspaper once while working on a diamond robbery case. He also got his picture in some books on the FBI while at work.
He led tours of the FBI building and once told me that was one of his favorite parts of the job. He attended Georgetown and Southeastern universities in Washington and earned a Bachelor of Commercial Science degree.
His life was long and happy but was touched by tragedy when his oldest daughter, Sharon, passed away due to an illness when she was only 9. I can’t imagine what he and my mom must have gone through.
I know it wore on him, and he sought a job in which he would not have to be on the road as much away from his family. In a letter to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover a few years after Sharon’s death, he wrote that he was resigning because he wanted to spend more time with us kids.
Being an FBI agent was a dream to my dad, but he gave that up so he could be with us more.
After the FBI, he pursued jobs such as stock market investor and truck driver. I thought that truck was really cool and so did a lot of other boys. I remember we’d attract a crowd in the neighborhood whenever he parked it on the street.
There were times when he was gone on the road, but he sometimes took us with him or had Mom drive behind him, going 45 to 50 mph across the country. We really got to see the country that way.
He finished up his career with the IRS, where he didn’t have to travel much. I remember how he loved to travel with us kids.
Almost every summer, we’d take long family road trips from Texas to D.C. and Pennsylvania, even as far north as Boston. We also drove west to the Grand Canyon and other sites. We’d stop at Big Boys and Stuckeys and odd roadside attractions. I don’t think there was a world’s biggest jackrabbit or world’s tallest thermometer that we didn’t stop at to see.
To ease the boredom of the miles on the road, we’d sometimes play games such as find the letters in the alphabet on signs along the highway. He also sometimes played a game where he’d try to see how long he could drive without having to stop to get gas. Usually we made it to the gas stations; sometimes we didn’t and had to wait on the side of the road as he walked or hitch-hiked to get some gas. Traveling with my dad was truly an adventure.
In these travels, he instilled in me a sense of adventure, a sense of never knowing what might happen a few miles down that road. That’s the way he lived his life. He kept his curiosity, his sense of wonder. He kept moving.
I remember taking my dad on a trip with Michelle, Preston, and Michelle’s mom to New Mexico when he was almost 80. Some thought I was crazy for doing so, but it turned out fine. Each time we’d stop at a scenic view or a display of hot-air balloons, I couldn’t tell who was more enchanted by the scene: Preston, who was almost 2, or my dad.
Baseball was his favorite sport, and he loved the Yankees, especially Mickey Mantle. Along with many other things, my dad gave me an appreciation of sports that some say went a bit too far. He took me to many college and pro sporting events – the Cowboys, the Mustangs, the Chaparrals, the DFW Spurs baseball team, the Black Hawks hockey team. The huge crowds and fast action fascinated me.
I remember one time going to a Cowboys game at the Cotton Bowl and finding that it was sold out. As we watched the teams go on the field from behind a fence near their dressing rooms, a Cowboys official singled me out and handed me a free ticket. My dad urged me to take it and go see the game alone, which was quite a thrill for an 11-year-old. Some say that was risky letting me go by myself at so young an age, but true sports fans like us understood. Getting to see the Cowboys game was like a modern-day rite of sacred pilgrimage in Dallas at that time. The game might not seem that important to me now, but back then, it sure was to me and Dad.
One sport he didn’t embrace was hunting. He could shoot a gun with the best of them, but he knew that had its limits. He took me fishing but never hunting. He just didn’t see the point of shooting an animal unless he was broke and needed to feed his family.
I remember when we went on a camping trip one time, I woke up and saw my dad - who had already risen before me - outside gazing at some deer walking close by. His face had that same enchanted look of wonder I’d seen many times before.
I think that’s how I’ll best remember my dad.
In his later years as he played with his grandkids, he often said he felt lucky to live so long. He often said he felt lucky to spend time with us and his grandkids because that’s what mattered most to him.
I felt lucky, too.
Along with my daughter, McKenna, I went to Texas for about a week shortly before my dad passed to see him, as he had gone into the hospital. He got out of the hospital and was back in the nursing home, and we spent those days looking over old photographs, talking about the past, doing jigsaw puzzles, and trying to eat the purated paste the nursing home gave us.
My dad wouldn't eat much, and I don't know how much he really comprehended what we discussed since he had dementia. But he loved seeing those photos, and his eyes still lit up and twinkled when he looked at them. During that week together, I sometimes took him downstairs in his wheelchair to his larger room where more photos were, and we worked on a jigsaw puzzle of a map of Washington, D.C. He still knew where a lot of those places were and knew he had lived there for much of his life, though he considered Texas home.
On April 14, 2008, I knew that could be our last day together. I had to get back to the D.C. area and work, as I did not know how long he would hang on. Since it could be our last day, I tried to do something Dad would really enjoy. McKenna and I took him outside on a long wheelchair ride. He was like a kid in the sunshine, remarking on what a nice day it was and how he liked the breeze. "Hallelujah!" Dad exclaimed in his trademark phrase.
We wheeled over to a senior center near the nursing home and went inside to watch seniors play pool and do jazzercise. McKenna entertained him on a piano with some impromptu playing that was great for her never taking lessons. But he soon tired and asked to go back and lie down.
Back in the nursing home, we stayed with him as he napped. McKenna and I tried to finish the D.C. puzzle but couldn't get it all done. After he woke up, we went to the dining hall and attempted to eat. McKenna and I both tried to feed him without much luck. Then we took Dad down to a sun room that was empty, where he loved the view of the trees outdoors.
As tears welled up in my eyes, I shook Dad's hand and tried to come up with something that wouldn't sound too trite. I wasn't very successful. I told him I loved him and he would be going to a better place and thanked him for everything. He seemed to understand, and said he loved me. McKenna began to cry, as she realized that this would likely be the last time she would see her grandpa. I tried to comfort her, telling her that things would turn out fine eventually.
"No it won't. My grandpa will die soon, and I won't ever hear him say 'Hallelujah' to me anymore. That always made me feel happy when he said that," McKenna sobbed in a tone that was mature beyond her age of five. She did not sound mad, but she just knew that things wouldn't be fine right now. She was right. I could do little but hold her and cry with her.
Soon, we both looked over at Dad and saw he had slumped over and fallen asleep in his wheelchair. I composed myself and wheeled Dad back to his room. I lifted him into his bed, embracing for what turned out to be the final time. He stayed sleeping as I grabbed his hand and said good-bye again. I let McKenna say good-bye, then hugged him again, and left.
I walked down the hall a ways, then told McKenna I had to go back. He was awake when I returned. "Bye for now," Dad said to me, as we shook hands.
I held his hand for awhile. Then we both knew it was time to depart. "Bye, Dad. Bye. Get some rest."
"Bye for now," he said.
Less than a week later, my sister, Kathy, called to say Dad had gone home.
In a small tribute to my dad, I have used my full name - Kevin James Shay - in articles I have written for the Washington Post-owned newspapers in Maryland where I work. His dad gave my dad his own name, as did his granddad to his dad, but my dad wanted me - his first-born son - to completely have my own identity. He did give me his first name for my middle name, a practice I carried on with my son.
Dad will be remembered for a lot of characteristics: for his kindness, his willingness to serve his country and lend a hand, his friendly, easy-going nature, his sense of humor, and in later years, his “Hallelujah” greeting.
It’s been said that you don’t know how much you miss someone until he or she is gone…..We miss you, Dad. Well done, hallelujah.
Dad with Sharon in 1950s
Dad with his brother, Uncle Jack, when young in Rye, N.Y.
Dad with his grandkids in Dallas
Dad in New Mexico waving good-bye