. . . was born 101 years ago, today, on July 17th, 1917, in New York City. He only got to walk this earth for 81 of those years, due to his love of golf. Well, not exactly. But he did die in a hospital recovery room after successful knee replacement surgery but unsuccessful patient care afterward. Although I’m sure this affected most areas of his life, especially any that required mobility, his stated reason for the operation was so he could play golf with less pain. Unfortunately, he never got to play another terrestrial round of golf to test that out. This November will complete our 20th year without him.
Everyone who knew him would say they could see parts of Phil Toale in his children, whether a physical resemblance or a corny sense of humor and gregarious nature. I know I can easily see my father in the facial expressions and mannerisms of both my siblings. And much to the chagrin of others, when any two of us are together (beware if it’s all three!) there results in an inevitable attempt to out-wit each other with the most clever puns, in Dad’s honor, of course….