Obituary of Frank Cassidy

Frank J. Cassidy, a retired lithographer and 52 year resident of Burlington, passed away at the Lahey Clinic Medical Center in Burlington, with his family at his bedside, on Wednesday night, December 2, 2009. He was 79 years old. Frank was born in Chelsea, the son of Irish immigrants Michael and Anne Marie Cassidy. He was extremely proud of his family's Irish heritage and frequently shared stories of his ancestry with his children and grandchildren. Frank grew up and was educated in Revere. He first met his future wife, Mary MacMillan, as a teenager. After high school, he enlisted in the Navy during the Korean War. He served as a Printer Seaman spending 2 years on the U.S.S. Everglades, a destroyer tender. He was also stationed at the Naval Station Argentia in Newfoundland. While in the service, he learned the art of printing and lithography and was recognized by his superiors for his talent. While on leave, he returned to Revere to ask Mary for her hand in marriage. After 4 years in the Navy, he came home and they were married. Frank used the skills he learned in the Navy and worked as a lithographer in the printing industry for his entire career. He worked at Forbes Lithograph in Chelsea for 18 years, moved to Andrew T. Johnson Company for 15 years, and spent his last ten years working at Moore Business Forms. Frank was a Fourth Degree member of the Burlington Knights of Columbus. He was a strong supporter of Burlington Babe Ruth baseball, where he coached and volunteered his printing services. He loved sports and strongly advocated the importance of sports to his children and grandchildren. He was always on the field or in the stands supporting his sons, daughter, and grandchildren. He was a huge fan of the Red Sox, Patriots, and the Boston College sports teams. He loved to read history, especially about the Civil War. He enjoyed traveling all over the country and world, with Ireland being his favorite destination. His life was all about his family and friends. He loved being the patriarch of his family and was often teased about &quote;holding court.&quote; He will be forever remembered for his humor, compassion and love of his family. Frank was the husband of 55 years of Mary P. (MacMillan) Cassidy of Burlington. He was the loving father of Cheryl A. Dugre & her husband Michael of Holyoke, Brian M. & his wife Anita of Medway, Kevin F. & his wife Karen of Amesbury and Frank J. Jr., & his wife Maureen of Methuen. He was the brother of Robert M. &quote;Toby&quote; Cassidy and Marie MacDonald, both of Revere, and the proud grandfather of Sean, Danielle, Ryan & Maryclaire Dugre and Timothy, Christopher, Dennis, Irene and Catherine Cassidy and the late Kevin Cassidy, Jr. He was also survived by many nieces, nephews, and friends. Funeral from the Edward V. Sullivan Funeral Home, 43 Winn St., BURLINGTON (Exit 34 off Rt. 128, Woburn side) on Monday, Dec. 7 at 10 a.m. Followed by a Mass of Christian Burial in St. Margaret's Church, 111 Winn St., Burlington at 11 a.m. Visiting hours Sunday 2-6 p.m. Interment in Pine Haven Cemetery, Burlington. Memorials in Frank's name may be made to the Knights of Columbus Exceptional Children's Fund, P. O. Box 25, Burlington, MA 01803. Family Remembrance by Maryclaire Dugre Every Thanksgiving, my grandmother makes her savory sweet rolls. Her grandchildren--all above age 17 mind you-- refer to them as “Gram’s buns” and still snicker at the other possible implication of the words. The rolls are rather simple and hardly the focal point of the meal. Still, they’re usually half-gone before dinner—snatched on the sly by special agents sent on reconnaissance by my grandfather. It takes a certain type of man who can elude my grandmother’s all-knowing eye, cajole his grandkids into servitude, and thereby secure the biggest share of Gram’s buns—all from the comfort of his Lazy Boy. I tell this story because it sums up much of what Gramps was to his grandchildren-- a man with a childlike sneakiness and an insatiable sweet tooth. A man who’s pride and joy was his family and it’s traditions. Despite what he may have been in his younger years, the Gramps we knew never liked to be the center of attention. He was more of an organic extension of his recliner. But we would come to him, crowd around his throne, and hang on every word. We hoped he’d tell another story that always had a beginning, sometimes a middle, but seldom a coherent ending. (No matter, Gram always provided the details.) From his trademark leaning position, which I think we’ve all mastered, he’d talk sports with the boys and wink at his girls. He would doze off in the middle of a group conversation, come to when he thought we were talking about him, and inquire, “Was that a shot?” Gramps officially invented the “toddle off.” In the midst of any family gathering it would be now you see him, now you don’t. He’d had enough, and that was that. We’d catch one last glimpse of his spindle shanks shuffling off to quieter quarters. Typical whispering Smith. As a grandfather, he had a way of making all of us feel we were special. He made it to our big games and braved the pull-out couch for our plays and graduations. We reveled in the nicknames he gave us. With my unruly bangs, I was Veronica Lake. Kevin was Yogi, Chris was Mickey, Dennis was Bronco, and my sister--his most recent designee--was “Sweet Danielle,” said, of course, with rolling eyes and sarcastic intonation. Without even trying, Gramps made every one fall in love with him, especially the ladies. I have friends who’ve met him once and still talk about him, wishing he were their grandfather. Once, at a party at my house, we were sitting on my porch as it was getting dark. Gramps reached over and rubbed my girlfriend’s arm, thinking it was mine. Momentarily mortified, he laughed and kept on holding her hand. She never forgot it. And neither could we forget his humor, his way with words, or his mannerisms. Gramps has become a tradition himself. For, much of what bonds his grandchildren together is the joy of slipping in a “Won‘t be long now,” or a “there’s only a few of left us, and sometimes I wonder about you,“ when the moment is right…or even when it’s not right. His sayings have permeated our vocabularies--we sprinkle our cousinly banter with Grandpa-isms whenever we can. Gramps is the glue that connects us and we appreciate our heritage most when we’re talking about him. So even though there were more than enough of Gram’s buns to go around this year, and even though I haven’t gotten used to speaking about him in the past tense, I take comfort in knowing his spirit is present in every conversation and every glass of red wine (drunk from a juice glass of course) that gives us those tell-tale grandpa lips. Gramps, we already miss you, but in some ways, it’s like you never left. So, yes Gramps, there are only a few of us left --and we’ll always be wondering about you.