Home of Dave Cohen

Today, my Grandfather was laid to rest. Because of our new family, I was unable to go home for the services, but was there because Phil was kind enough to read something I wrote. I’m posting it here incase anyone would like to read it.

It is with great sorrow that I cannot be with you all today, of all days.

Gramp was a gentle man, who had a firm grip, and a smile that is unrivaled. He was devoted to his wife for 68 years, and served his country during World War II. He was soft spoken, but strong willed.

I’d like to invite everyone to join me in helping celebrate Gramp’s life by taking part in the act that I will forever remember him by.

Please look at the person next to you. Offer your hand and take theirs. Look them in the eye and squeeze their hand, and just smile, for he is with you.

Taking a moment to remember Steven. You would have been proud of your nephew this year!

March 3rd, 1992

I remember coming home from school, my father was already home from work. I walked into the house and heard the horrible news that my cousin, Steve Shatz was killed in an car accident. Steve lived in Rhode Island, in an apartment somewhere near Warwick as far as I remember. He was driving himself and a co-worker from Xerox, and they were on their way to either a conference or a sales meeting. While driving the car hit some black ice, lost control and hit a van that was coming in the other direction. Steve was only 27.

I remember sitting in my room on the edge of my bed, bawling, and looking out the window. I didn’t understand it. By all accounts Steve was one of the nicest guys ever. He had spent time over in Japan and had even cooked dinner for Stevie Wonder. How he got that gig I have never known. He had organized a drive to find a woman a marrow transplant. He never knew this woman. He was a devout Jew and a man.

The time I remember best with Steve was when he took me into Boston. What I recall was that we got up early on a Sunday and made it into Boston by 8:30 AM. He took me to a store to buy a Shofar. I still have the Shofar at my parents house. At one point we grabbed some lunch at a delicatessen, which was the first time I can remember being at that type of establishment. Seeing a store that has mostly Jewish cuisine was something very new for me, growing up in central Massachusetts these stores were easy to find. That is the most I can recall from that day now.

I think I see a lot of what he resembled physically in myself. He was a barrel chested and that was covered in hair. I think he was about 6 feet tall, and had a killer cowlick. My best guess is that Steve weighed somewhere in the 200 lbs range, and the same holds true for me (when in shape).

When I was 27 I thought often of Steve and how he didn’t know that when he was 27 that would be the last time he was able to spend with us here. I’m a very morbid and superstitious person so the thought that Steve was only 27 was on my mind whenever we traveled. I wish he were still here today because I think we would have had a lot in common. Looking back I was just about to turn 13 when he was killed. When you are 13 as a boy you are supposed to have your Bar Mitzvah to become a man in the eyes of the Jewish faith. I never had my Bar Mitzvah.

I was saddened today when I went to do a search on his name and no results were returned that pointed to him. I’m hoping that this post changes that. If you knew Steve please leave a comment and share what you remember about him.