Leonard Aaron Wilensky. Born February 17, 1929, went to God February 17, 2007.

Husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, brother, brother-in-law, uncle, friend.

My father was a child of the great depression. Born into hard times, his family struggled with the rest of America. From the age of five, my father worked various jobs to earn money for himself and his family.

The depression forged his spirit and cast his determination. It instilled in my father the will to achieve, to succeed, to prevail, to win. He worked, he worked hard, he became singled minded in his vision to create a path to success and achievement.

As he traveled in his journey in early life, he met a woman who would be his partner for 56 years, my mother, Charlotte. My mom said that when she first met him, she was impressed, not only by his good looks, but by the fact that he was tan all the time. In those days this was not common in Jewish boys from Brooklyn. When she asked how he managed this, he said that he slept on the beach, that he just went home to shower and dress. My mom later joked that the only reason he was interested in her was because her family had a TV and Lenny would watch the Friday night fights with her father, my Grandpa Louie. Lenny and Charlotte were married on February 24, 1951. My mom was 18, my dad 22. They created their partnership as children. Their marriage certificate said they were husband and wife, but through grit and endurance, they truly became husband and wife, and then yet even more, partners and friends.

My father was a veteran of the Korean War. After the war, the spirit of the great depression, as my father’s silent, but ever present partner, pushed him on.

He worked, built a career, and earned a college degree, at night, at the Bernard Baruch University of the City of New York, or as my father was so fond of calling it, UCLA, better known as the University at the Corner of Lexington Avenue.

My father and mother had three children, myself, my sister Diane, and my brother David.

In his early years as a father, he was focused on building a career, and creating the security, that his ever present partner, the Great Depression, so repeatedly reminded him.

Lenny achieved success in the corporate world. He became Vice President of a few companies. In this capacity, he did much traveling, which he enjoyed. Some of my fondest memories of him were from the 1970’s. My father loved to dress and he embraced the fashions that were the hottest at that moment. Since he had worked, at various times, for Hart, Shafner, & Marx, Damon, and Landlubber Jeans, he was able to do so easily. I remember his good suits, his colorful (and wide ties) and his ever present leisure suits. Thank God, I don’t think he ever owned a Nehru jacket.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that there are no second acts in American life, but I disagree. Through the early and middle years of my father’s life, his other partner, the Depression, would not allow him to strive for success easily or w/a freedom of the spirit, or the heart and mind. He was driven to work hard and often times, such hard work kept him from his family.

His children gifted him with grandchildren. Howie, Danny, Joshua, Jackie, Allie, Jonathon, Julian and Travis. They warmed his heart, livened his spirit, and softened his soul.

As my father got older, he got wiser. He did not lose his hunger to succeed, nor the memories of his deprivation. He did learn how to strive for his goals with a twinkle in his eye and a song in his heart. His wife and children became his renewed focus, his beacon, his sense of purpose.

In his later years, he became a doting husband, father, brother, and pop-pop. He loved and was proud of his daughter-n law, Lynda, and son-in-law, Michael. His relationship with his sister, Sandra, became more loving and devoted. Due to a stroke he suffered, he and my mom retired in their early sixties and bought a retirement home in Leisure Village in Lakewood, NJ. There, he continued to perfect the second act of his life and added to the memories and legacy that he would leave to his family.

His grandchildren often said that they would never see their Pop-Pop angry. He always had a smile on his face. The love that he had for his family glowed on his face and shined from his eyes. My sons loved talking sports w/him, as he was a die-hard Yankee fan, as were they. The boys laughed at his exploits. Lenny was infamous for running people down in Target and Cosco’s in his motorized cart. At one point, the manager threatened to ban him for using the carts.

He (as my Mother still is) was exceedingly generous. He only wanted to give his family whatever they needed, whenever they needed it, even when he and my Mom could ill afford to give it.

Last year, Lenny got very sick. He was in and out of hospitals for several months. The doctors were not optimistic and we were all fearful we would lose him. Yet he fought on and survived and gave us another year with him. It was very important to him that he see his oldest grandson Howie, marry his bride Genna. In his corner, though, was my mom, who worked very hard, day and night, to give my father a good last year of life, one of enjoyment and contentment so that he could experience the things that gave him pleasure. Being with my mother, his children, grandchildren, friends. Enjoying his sports, the Yankees and the Giants. She made sure he had the foods that he always loved, his Chinese food, pizza, and the meals that she cooked for him that he truly loved. He used a walker and mobility was difficult. But she was constantly by his side, helping him dress, shower, and undress. She took him out, and drove him places. She sat by his side in the house and they watched TV together. Old movies, sports, DVD’s , whatever gave them pleasure. Here, I need to thank my sister Diane, for the sacrifices she made to be there for mom and dad, and the anchor she was to them.

We will all miss Lenny, for all that he meant to each and every one of us. He was a loving partner to my mother, a devoted father to his children, and a doting pop-pop to his grandchildren. Even his silent partner, the Great Depression, would be proud.