The Gillespie Gents

Jack Gillespie was a great guy, and the way he died reminds me of this poem.

Born in Donegal, my favorite town in all Irleand, Jack Gillespie came to America as a young boy, served in the military during WWII and moved to Browns Mills where he opened JC's - Jack & Connie's general store and later JC's Pub (now Belly Busters).

At some point in time Jack returned home to Ireland accompanied by his sons, and they played golf there.

I remember when Jack was dying and his family came back to Browns Mills to see him, which reminds me of this poem.

The Old Golfer Dies
By Edgar A. Guest

Old Andy was a dying man. The
Doctor shook his head.
“You’d better call the family in,”
unto the nurse he said.

“He tries to speak,” the nurse replied,
and bending low she heard:
“I want the boys, I want the boys –
for them I have a word.”

His loved ones gathered round his
Bed and watched him weaker grow.
“I must,” he gasped,’ say something
to the boys before I go.”

“They’re coming, Pa; they’ll soon be
here,” a daughter softly said.
“Give me the message you would
leave,” but Andy shook his head.

They wondered what he had to tell
And what was on his mind,
But none could guess the counsel
Which he wished to leave behind.
“The boys, the boys,” he spoke again,
“’tis them I wish to see,
I hope they will get here in time to
Hearken until me.”

Into the room they came at last,
The old man called them near.
“My boys,” said he in faltering tones,
“not long will I be here,
But this I want to say to you once
More before I die:
Never play your brassie when you
Have a down-hill lie!”