Rosa's words, September 20, 2025
at the Bungalow Café, San Dimas
Thank you all so much for coming today.
My grandfather was a man of few words and even fewer of them were about himself. So I'll take this opportunity to speak about him and I'm sure he would hate it.
To me, Joe was always a grandfather, untouchably wise and (almost) unchallengeable. He was supportive and proud, but never one to gush or use superlatives.
But over the last few weeks I've really come to appreciate who Joe was to other people. He was of course a husband, and a father, but he was also a mentor, a boss, a son, a friend, a soldier, a colleague, a doctor, a classmate, and once upon a time - he was even a young man.
Since he passed, so many people have reached out to share the role he played in their lives. And while those stories come from all different periods of his life, they all have one thing in common - he was there for people, he offered kind words of advice, and he found solutions. He opened his network and his resources wherever and whenever he could to help others.
I don't think anyone here would be surprised to hear that Joe donated to a lot of causes. But even I was surprised to find out that when he died he was actively donating to 72 organizations! But then again, I once told Joe that my favorite animal was a sea turtle and without any prompting he donated to the Sea Turtle Conservancy for the next decade until I told him to stop!
He took great pride and satisfaction in helping others. And I can't recall a single time he asked for anything in return. In his quiet and steady way, he put so many others before himself.
I've decided that the best way to honor Joe's life and his legacy is to pay it forward and I ask you all to join me. In moments of doubt and in moments of opportunity, I encourage all of us to ask ourselves “what would Joe do?”
Rosa's words, September 16, 2025
at the Los Angeles National Cemetery
I’m so grateful to be here today to honor and remember my grandfather. He was a man of few words, but he was thoughtful and he was generous. And in his 90s he really started to soften up.
Only once in my life did I hear Joe talk about the war. It was in 2019 when I was staying with Joe and Mary for a bit. One night after dinner, prompted by an upcoming trip of mine to Europe, Joe started sharing memories from the war. Memories of what it was like for him as a teenager to be in that circumstance. It was the longest monologue I’d ever heard him give. It was almost like it had been waiting to pour out of him. I could see in his eyes that he’d traveled back to another time. But his voice came alive and Mary and I sat there captivated for nearly an hour listening to stories of mischievousness, duty, self reflection, and questions that still lingered with him decades later.
It was like opening a portal into his youth, to a man that neither of us had known. I’ll always remember that night. It was a beautiful reminder of the long and full life he led. And it was a side of him I felt lucky to know before he passed.
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