WESTFIELD, NJ – As human beings we all have a certain amount of hubris, and a need to standout. The existence of Instagram and TikTok and Facebook and Twitter underscore this need to stand out.
Andy Warhol aptly coined the “15 minutes of fame” distinction. The Counting Crows sublimely sing about our need/desire to be famous or beautiful or big stars in their classic Mr. Jones. But Warhol and The Counting Crows never had the pleasure of knowing Patrick McGlynn.
Pat was the opposite of TikTok. He was opposite of a Kardashian. He was genuine. Understated. Friendly. Quick-witted. Calm. Always calm. Even when ALS turned his world upside down, but three lighting quick years ago, Pat remained calm.
We celebrated his life yesterday with the best funeral mass I’ve had the fortune/misfortune of attending. The Bishop, who knew Pat personally, had to pause to keep his composure. The rest of his jamming the church could not. Indeed, I’m losing that composer now, yet the fingers continue to type.
57-years-old is not enough when you’re living your life the right way. Passing before the age of sixty when you’re a healthy and an avid biker – one with pedals and no battery – is simply not right.
It’s not fair that he won’t be able to hike and walk with his dogs, help you with something, get to see his 4-month old grandson Rowan grow up. He won’t get to grow old with his love and wife of 32 years, my cousin Trish, who is beyond any accolade one can muster.
As his three sons Chris (26), James (23) and Will (20)stood on the altar for their gut-wrenching, yet smile-inducing eulogy, one thought racing through my mind was that this man, Pat McGlynn was indeed remarkable. He was indeed bigger than the f’ng Kardashians. He was a f***ing rockstar. He did this thing called “life” right.
You want to talk legacy – talk Pat McGlynn.
I’m sorry he won’t get to see his beloved Giants outshine the Jets or Eagles – teams two of his sons root for… hey, nobody’s perfect.
Patrick McGlynn was close, though. Damn close.
I love you brother.
