John Brennan was a venerated citizen of my hometown, East Hartford. He served his country, his state, and his community in several elected, appointed, and volunteer positions; most recently he presided as a Judge where he served until he…
John Brennan was a venerated citizen of my hometown, East Hartford. He served his country, his state, and his community in several elected, appointed, and volunteer positions; most recently he presided as a Judge where he served until he was 93, and did so with vigor, and a sense of humor. Growing up in East Hartford when you're poor John Brennan, if you were type casting, you'd say he looked like Henry Fonda, and we along with his beautiful wife Mary, raised four children, Susan, Jack, Peter, and Tome, all of who I was fortunate to know, and know how devoted to their father they are. At his funeral service it was his youngest son Tom, who gave the eulogy on behalf of the family, there is so much I could say about John Brennan, he commanded blind respect and rightfully so. Nothing I could say however captures the feeling, the sentiment, the public servant, and the father as Tom Brennan's remarks on his father that follows.
Eulogy Honoring the Life of Judge John D. Brennan
(By Thomas S. Brennan)
First of all I'd like to thank everyone for coming to join
our family today. I know how absolutely thrilled my father
would be to see all of you here, even though I know also that
he was a little disappointed to have only made it to the age
of 94, when he was still in his youthful prime with so much
left to be done. But in many ways he almost was still in his
prime, and I think that said a lot about how he lived his
life--he never lost his youthful enthusiasm and he had a
genuine appreciation for whatever the moment offered. He was
someone who from the beginning was endowed with many gifts
and he made use of those gifts in a variety of arenas
throughout his life.
My father often described his childhood growing up in East
Hartford of the 1920s as an almost idyllic ``Huck Finn'' sort
of existence--kids running free playing baseball down in the
meadows, riding a rope swing into the Connecticut River or
racing carrier pigeons that neighborhood kids would keep in
backyard coops. Like many of the Irish back then, his father
worked on the trains and would release the carrier pigeons
when he was way down the lone toward New York. In that era,
those pigeons making their way home might very well have
sailed past Yankee Stadium when Babe Ruth was slugging a home
run, or over houses where families were gathering around a
radio waiting for FDR to speak, before circling down over the
farms and tobacco fields that once surrounded this town. It
was a simple working class world and he grew up during the
Depression, so there wasn't any choice then but to make the
most out of whatever you were lucky enough to have.
The arrival of World War II took him far away from the
innocent small town life and it became one of the defining
experiences of his life. The world was suddenly opened wide
and he was thrilled to be riding on the tide of history. And
of course, to hear him tell it, it was one giant adventure--
we never knew
war could be so much fun. He especially loved to tell us old
stories of how he and his Army buddies played pranks on one
another all the way across the Pacific but there was one
story in particular I always liked: It was right after the
war had ended and he was on an island off of South Korea
where he had been assigned to accept the transfer of all
Japanese back to Japan. It just so happened that there had
been a tailor who had worked on the island for the
previous 40 years who was originally Japanese and so his
family was extremely upset that he was being forced to
completely uproot everything. My father had ordered him to
bring all his things in a suitcase and be on the dock
ready to leave the next morning. When the appointed hour
arrived, he saw that practically the whole town had come
out to bid goodbye to the old tailor, nearly all of them
in tears. So he looked around for a minute, gathered in
the scene and then called the tailor forward before the
crowd and announced to everyone (in his best gruff
military voice): ``You are free to stay'' at which point
the entire town erupted in chaotic celebration, they
lifted my father up and carried him through the streets on
their shoulders. To me, that moment expressed something
essential about him--that he felt pretty instinctively
that a certain humanity and practicality should determine
a decisions, rather than blind adherence to some order
from headquarters. And also that though he could have a
tough exterior, it wasn't very hard to penetrate beyond it
and ultimately he always was guided by a very innate sense
of fairness.
After the war, he returned home to East Hartford and
remained there for the rest of his life. He practiced law,
built a family, became involved in local politics, was
elected Mayor and later appointed as a judge in the
Connecticut Superior Court. Many of you here today knew him
through the variety of activities that evolved out of his
many years of public life in town. In East Hartford, he was
in his element, he flourished and he never wanted to live
anywhere else.
Long before we had Google to research any topic or answer
any question, there was John Brennan. And when you spoke to
him, you were instantly transported back over a remarkable
span of history by someone who could remember all the details
and bring the back to life--in fact, you were actually
talking to someone who remembered speaking to veterans of the
Civil War. He was renowned for his ability to recall little
known historical facts and had immediate access to a treasure
trove of information that he would eagerly dispense on
subjects as diverse as the dates of the major battles of the
Boer Wars or the work of some obscure German poet. But
despite his ability in this arena, it was always balanced
with a pronounced disregard for anything that smacked of
``unnecessary pretense'' or ``excess'', which perhaps
explained his lifetime loyalty to Maxwell House coffee, Prell
shampoo, and $5 sunglasses. In fact, my sister reminded me
yesterday that he was perfectly happy to drive his Buick into
the ground, much to the dismay of the salesman down at Dworin
Chevrolet, of course. And always, no matter how distinguished
his career in the law may have been or how adept he was with
the life of the mind, he took a certain pleasure in making
fun of himself too, as if he were really just a regular guy.
So if I were to say now that he had an ``indefatigable''
spirit, he would feign an innocent look, lean forward
helpfully and add ``tireless too''. As if he didn't know what
the word meant. It was one of his favorite jokes and in fact
I have since stolen it for myself.
He reached mandatory retirement as a Superior Court judge
in 1986 and then continued to work for another 24 years--
almost a full career for some people. He loved being over at
the courthouse in the middle of the action, surrounded by the
friends and comforts of his profession and he showed little
sign of stopping, right up to the age of 93. So we knew it
was trouble when the day finally came that he said he didn't
want to go to work anymore.
Yet even near the end of his life, when he was going
through radiation treatments, his face could light up at the
sight of a simple cup of chowder that my sister might bring
over to the hospital for him. Or he would shuffle outside to
the hospital parking lot, take a sip out of a flask of
bourbon that my brother had smuggled in, look around and say
``Isn't this the life!'' And he really meant it. That was his
rare gift--to be able to genuinely appreciate and make the
most of whatever the moment held and still find an upside to
it. If you asked him how he was feeling, he'd say ``Raring to
go!'' and it really wasn't much of an exaggeration. And his
amazing work ethic refused to quit. Just a few weeks ago, he
woke up from a nap and asked my sister Suzie where he was and
what day it was. So she told him, it's Wednesday and you're
at home''. He sounded absolutely aghast in his response:
``Home? What am I doing home in the middle of the week--I'm
supposed to be at work!'' In a way, he was kind of like one
of those characters from an old John Wayne movie that you
just couldn't keep down, where even after being hit with 100
rounds from the enemy, he would still somehow stagger back to
throw that one decisive final grenade.
So today we lay to final rest an old soldier who embraced
battle and celebration with equal relish, who demonstrated
that he could not just endure, but do it with ``pizzazz'' and
certainly for far longer than we had any right to ask for. It
was once said, by the Civil War veteran and Supreme Court
Justice Oliver Wendall Holmes, that ``to act with enthusiasm
and faith is the condition for acting greatly''. To our
father and your friend, we can now rightfully say without
hesitation: you met that test--mission accomplished. Of
course we will miss you greatly, but you had one heck of a
run and we're really very grateful and proud of that. And so
we promise to pass along your sense of humor, to keep telling
our favorite stories about you and to still be toasting you
at some cocktail hour far into the future with warm memories
to always keep you very much alive in our hearts.