The Eulogy:

The words of Starulf Haraldson of Ravenspur:

Gerald Francis Xavier O'Leary.
A loving and faithful husband – a doting father – a good friend.
And a very silly man. In the best sense.
He wore his achievements very lightly, and whatever his
disappointments, he kept them to himself. He cried at Disney movies –
when they Found Nemo, or every time a bell rang and some angel got
his wings, or whenever Tiny Tim blessed us "ev'ry wun."
Ah, let's face it – he was a big ball of mush. And that's how he
stepped straight into your heart.
Back in 1982, he called me in New York City, and we were talking, and
he asked if I'd seen the film Diner – I said "No" – I figured it was
just an American Graffiti rip-off – and he said, "No, no - it's just
what you'd like – it's very dark." So I see it, and next time we
talk, I ask him, "Where were the dark parts – Every character's
dreams came true by the end of the movie!" And he said, "Yeah, but
in the middle, it didn't look like that was gonna happen."
He just wanted everything to work out for everyone.
He liked to make people happy.
He loved to make the people he liked happy.
And he lived to make the people he loved happy.
He loved words – Once, he wrote up the minutes of a meeting in verse;
when his co-workers asked him why, he replied with a Shavian glint in
his eye that, "He didn't have time to write it in prose." He loved
poetry, drama – artificial worlds where the good were rewarded, and
the evil received their just desserts.
He was a dreamer.
There are worse things to be.
He loved Christmas – every year the house was stuffed with more
Christmas tscotches - six foot high neon snowmen in the windows,
twirling Santa's sleighs hanging from the ceiling, Mickey Mouse
orchestras clanging out carols – But what he liked best about
Christmas was giving gifts – he never much cared about getting them.
But he was always grateful (and a little surprised, I think) to see
that someone thought enough of him to get him anything. He gave with
an open hand, in all things. If he had it, and you needed it – it
was yours. He helped out many of us here today – myself included.
I know he was often overwhelmed by the generosity of his Household –
not the least of which, by their final present to him – that
magnificent wheelchair ramp. I know he was deeply moved by you
building it – although he never stopped being puzzled by what he
might have done to deserve such devotion.
But as I said, he was a very silly man.

I have tried to think of what Gerry would want to have said at this
service – and I know he would have wanted to hear a little
Shakespeare – so:
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts."
And we know what Gerald's favorite "part" was – being Duke Gyrth
Oldcastle of Ravenspur – Knight, Laurel, Pelican, alphabet soup – and
the head of Clan Oldcastle, one of the oldest, largest and most far-
flung houses in the Knowne World. The SCA gave Gerald focus – quite
simply, it made him the man he was. He was very proud of his
achievements in it (though he would never have been so gauche as to
say so out loud) – But he was prouder still of the achievements of
his Squires, Grand-Squires, and his Great-Grandsquires. He loved you
all very, very much.

Now there is one thing I must say – If Gerry could sit up right now
and speak to us, I know he would say, "Don't feel so bad for me – I
got to see the Red Sox win the World Series." It's silly, I know –
but he lived and died with the Sox every year. Every spring he was
so hopeful – and until they were mathematically eliminated in the
fall, he still believed they could "go all the way."
When he was in the hospital in September, I brought him some copies
of the Boston Globe, and we talked, and when the Sox beat the Angels
and were going to play the "pin-striped Beelzebubs" for the Pennant,
Gerry looked down at his stump and said, "I wonder who came up with
the ARM?" He really felt that, as a fan he had done and given all he
could this season – and for the first time in his life, his Boys
didn't let him down, and they won the whole thing. This made him so,
so very happy. But I said he was a silly man.

Now I have left out his most defining quality – his humor. Maybe
more than anything, he loved to make people laugh. And when I was
trying to write this, I remembered that Gerry TOLD me what he wanted
said at his funeral:
Back in 1975, in our apartment in the Bronx, we were watching The
Mary Tyler Moore Show episode, "Chuckles Bites the Dust" – and at
Chuckles' funeral, the priest recited Chuckles' favorite saying,
which, if you scratch into it a little bit, isn't a bad philosophy of
life:
"A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down my pants."
I'll miss that silliness.

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