Some called him coach, some called him Dad, they called him sir on ironclad. He was a man of loyalty; his greatest love was family. He was not soft, found hard to see others viewpoint, saw grudgingly. Mincing of words would drive him wild, sincerity always his style.
February of twenty-six, a babe was born who screamed and kicked. Manhattan born, and city raised, Nestor/Tierney to end of days. From childhood sports served him well, a true sportsman his genes did tell. For freedom’s sake age did belie, as smooth faced youth he served with pride. Just seventeen he went to sea, fought to preserve, fought tyranny. Come forty-nine did not bow out, Sea of Japan Kim il-sung route.
“Two if by land, one if by sea.” Educator, turned Frank Tierney. A warrior, a scholar too, this was the man that New York grew. Academy, LaSalle by name, Saint John Baptiste philosophy. Mount Saint Mary’s, Manhattan too, Columbia, Western Conn U.
Rome’s Catholic Faith was his bedrock, confessional sometimes would rock. Columbus Knight, Saint Lawrence Church, school PTA- Coach all the way. A lovely lake in Saranac, a sacrament; legacy lasts. The bride he took, an Eire lass, he cleaved unto, love never passed.
Lenore and Frank gave birth to six, they moved upstate to Brewster sticks. Though sired six, survived by four. Two daughters’ deaths most vicious blow. Three quarters of a century, how long he lived, Francis Tierney. His progeny, are marching on, at present count two dozen strong.
I never said… We didn’t talk… But now I know- Frank walked the walk He closed his eyes, faded away. I pray he’s back halcyon days.