Frederick J. Nachman

November 8, 2024, marks a very significant day in our family’s history. More on that later.

On March 29, 1973, my father suffered a massive heart attack in his office, passing away at age 55. As the only family member who could be reached, I drove 45 minutes in freezing rain, not knowing his fate (the plant manager didn’t want to inform me over the phone), to a hospital on the West Side (St. Anne’s) which I hadn’t even known existed.

Upon entering the emergency room, I was ushered into a windowless office and told by the late John Weil (another great one who left us too soon) that Dad had died. He handed me a large Manila envelope containing my father’s personal possessions. Without thinking, I emptied them onto the table; the look on John’s face told me I should have waited.

Various familiar objects cascaded out: glasses, wallet, keys, change . . . and then his ring. Dad did not wear a wedding ring, only the initial ring with a small diamond (from a stickpin his father was awarded from being an officer of South Shore Temple) he received for his religious school confirmation in 1932. It rolled across the table until I literally slapped it down to stop the motion. Because he wore it continuously, this was my sudden realization that indeed he was gone.

Like my father, I didn’t wear a wedding ring, having been married a little more than two months before. I had it sized and, for better AND for worse, I’ve worn the ring longer than he did. It’s obviously the most valuable thing I own.

Last November, my twin brother Frank became the first-time grandfather of Charlie, a 9-pound, 15-ounce boy. Our family tree will grow, and the name will be preserved for another generation! He was not named for Dad, as my daughter Marisa took that honor in 1978. I’ve assured Frank and my nephew Grant that the ring will be theirs, a fitting symbol of our family’s continuity.