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HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! Shelly Gallanter, 1927-1984
- ‘Contradictory’ is the word that sums up Dad’s life, thoughts, actions and relationships.
2. Dad’s given birth name was ‘Shelly.’ It was not a nickname or diminutive for ‘Sheldon.’
3. Dad was a ‘Daddy’s boy’ who told me that his father, Edward Gallanter, was “the finest man who ever lived.” Dad was estranged from his mother for much of his adult life.
4. Dad was allergic to cats. When Lovey adopted my brother Peter Dad began taking medication.
5. Dad’s favorite expletive was “crap,” an all-purpose synonym for ineptitude, feces, people he didn’t like and excuses; whether justifiable or not. Dad was very capable of using this versatile condemnation 5 times in 3 sentences. I know, I counted.
6. Dad’s favorite song was the very schmaltzy “Bluebirds of Happiness” as sung by Jan Peerce. I once chanced upon Dad listening to an LP version of this on the Gallanter family’s Harmon Kardon Slimline Turntable, AM-FM Stereo receiver and Cassette Recorder stereo.
Dad had tears in his eyes.
“Dad, are you crying?”
“No!
Now get out of here!”
7. “Don’t tell Peter.”
8. Dad’s hair was Asian black.
9. Dad was not athletic. Except…
In 1980 I visited Dad after not seeing him in the flesh after his move to Michigan from Forest Hills, New York City in 1976. I was struck by the expansion of his chest.
“Well I usually swim 5 or 6 times weekly. The complex has a great pool. We’ll go swimming.”
The very next day we went to the spacious, well kept pool.
“Steve, have you swam lately?”
“I swam 2 or 3 times last year at the Northeastern pool. I haven’t swam much since leaving Port.”
I climbed into the pool and began thrashing noisily in an imitation of a dog paddle; producing more splash than progress.
Dad was nice, he didn’t laugh.
Perched on the end of the pool, centered exactly in the middle of the lane Dad dove…
…precisely when Dad’s dive momentum ended he flipped on to his right side and began long noiseless sidestrokes. Every 8 strokes his head would turn counter clockwise for a gulp of air that did not impede his smooth sailing.
Stopping briefly, “Australian crawl.”
Except for the mechanics the swimming was the same but Dad seemed to pick up speed during the last 25 yards.
I became aware of some 20-something guys watching this low key spectacle with puzzled admiration.
“Backstroke.”
Dad would never cop to the double backstroke but alternated arms with the ease of Roland Matthes, look it up; and completed 100 yards while maintaining the very same pace throughout.
Dad finally climbed out of the water and the onlookers stopped gazing.
Dad was smiling.
So was I.
10. 1984 never had a Happy Father’s Day greeting from me to Dad.
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