About Honor and Family

The dictionary yields several definitions for honor. It is both a noun and a verb, and it is used in many different settings; military, academic, athletic, and in discussions about virtues.

This may seem saccharine, but I would like to address this in a personal way and write about two of the most honorable people I have ever known, my Uncle and Godfather, John William Nairn, and my great aunt, Anne Byrne.

My Uncle John and my Dad were very close and for a long time I had assumed that their close bond was a result of circumstance, they were the two youngest of the six Nairn brothers raised in the "Bricks" of Aliquippa by my great-aunt, Anne Byrne. Aunt Anne came to Aliquippa from Maryland, where my branch of the Nairns originated, to care for her sister, my grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Byrne Nairn, when she gave birth to my father, Thomas, in 1932. Shortly after my father's birth, my grandmother passed away, leaving my grandfather with six boys to raise. Aunt Anne gave up her life in Maryland, about which I know very little, to stay and raise "her" boys. She is the only mother my father ever knew. Aunt Anne loved her nephews with a ferocity that was legendary in the Bricks back in the 30s. No one messed with the Nairn boys without incurring her wrath, also legendary. I find her to be an inspiration in her decision to "do the right thing" in caring for six often unruly boys that were not her own, but were unquestionably "hers". Honor was not in short supply when speaking of Aunt Anne. She lived with us briefly when I was quite young, both at King Street where I was a toddler, and later in Hopewell where my father bought his first, and only home. In the early 60s, my Uncle John built a new home in Center Township with a space for Aunt Anne to live. 

Honor was, again, not in short supply. John and my Dad made sure that Aunt Anne was always taken care of, and they did so unquestioningly. Her example has always served as a model of self-sacrifice for her loved ones, and her memory is honored to this day, even after the passing of all six Nairn brothers.

It took me a long time to appreciate and understand the bond between my Dad and my Uncle John. I was an adult before the reason became apparent, and it all had to do with honor. Of the six Nairn boys, only my Dad and Uncle John had not served in World War II. Alphonsus (Phonse, named for my grandfather) and William served in the Army, Phonse in the Aleutians, and Bill, who died off the coast of Italy in 1942,  Jacob (Jay) and  James served in the Marines in the Pacific, Jay on Guadalcanal, and Jim on Iwo Jima. Aunt Anne could never reconcile herself to Bill's death and always believed he would someday come home. Bill seems to have been my father's protector and role model. His loss was deeply felt by all, and to this day the name William has special significance for my family. John, born in 1930, and my Dad, born in 1932, were too young to have served, but worked to care for my Aunt and grandfather as they dealt with the grief only those who have lost a loved one in a war, and never came to closure can know. (Bill's body was never recovered). Post-war, Phonse stayed on the west coast settling down in California. Jay and Jim came home, Jay to WVU then Maryland and Jim to Aliquippa.  They both started families and set about creating the new lives that "greatest generation" needed so badly.

Somewhere, post-war, Uncle John joined the Army leaving my (still in high school) Dad with their father and Aunt Anne. In 1948, my grandfather died, leaving my Dad and Aunt Anne alone. 

Growing up I knew that my Dad was somewhat ambivalent about Phonse, but at that young age, I had no context for that undercurrent of tension. It seemed as though each time he visited from California I had a new "aunt", and Dad had little time for him. My memory of Phonse is him with a glass of Scotch and milk. He'd say, " the milk is for my ulcer, the scotch is for me". He'd visit a while and head back to California. My Dad never traveled to see him.

When Phonse passed away, my remaining uncles went west for the funeral, my Dad did not. He was unusually taciturn about his reason why, but I could sense there was some reason he would not share. As an adult, I came to understand why. It has to do with being honorable.

After the funeral, Phonse returned to California. My father was 16, and Aunt Anne was not a young woman, I'm not sure exactly how old she was. My Uncle John, then in the Army, applied for, and received, a hardship discharge so he could return to take care of Aunt Anne, and my Dad. He went to work in the steel mill, as my Uncle Jim did and later my Dad would follow, but he sacrificed his own needs, his own direction to care for others. Once my Dad could work in the mill, John returned to the service, this time the Marines, and served in Korea where he was wounded. After my grandfathers death my Dad had no expectation that Jay or Jim would leave their families and come back, we Nairns don't do that, but Phonse had no obligations in California and still went back, leaving Dad and Aunt Anne to fend for themselves. 

My uncle John did the most honorable thing I can imagine, putting his own life on hold to care for his family. I then understood the closeness between my Dad and Uncle John. Honor. Integrity. Respect. Responsibility.

When my Uncle John passed away a few years ago, the last of his generation of Nairns, my cousins and I gathered at his home, the place where he had provided for Aunt Anne in her last years, and as befits our Irish Catholic (despite the Scots name) tradition, we raised a glass of Jameson to his memory. Asked to make a toast, I offered that "we now walk in the footsteps of giants, big men who lived big lives, and made big sacrifices, may we honor their memory by always doing the right thing".

Thank you for reading.