Steve Trevelese: Remembering my dad

My father, Albert Trevelise, passed away Monday at the age of 92. If you knew him, you loved him, If you didn’t you would have. He lived alone because he wanted to, drove his own car and did what he wanted to when he wanted to. 

My father spent three years during World War II in the U.S. Navy on the USS Ronquil, submarine fighting off the coast of Japan then 30 years fighting fires in Union City.

I’m named Stephen after Father Stephen Paul who pulled my father out of a burning building while my mother was pregnant with me. I spoke to a firemen told me how highly he was spoken of years after he retired and when my oldest friend Robbo Pisani made captain he invited my father, who had talked him into joining the department to come to his installation. When we got there, I was greeted with chiefs who hugged my dad and told me how he mentored them and how thankful they were to him. Things my father would never talk about or take credit for.

What my father did talk about was fishing. He loved to fish and cook and he was great at both.

He also loved to make you laugh. His wit was quick, always with a funny line. I remember once he and my mother were changing the sheets on their bed when we lived in Union City and my father asked, where the pillow was. My mother replied “It’s in my back pocket” to which my father replied;.”Gee I thought all that was you.” I laughed until she smacked me.

Every Saturday my Dad would pull up around noon with a dozen donuts and I’d make a pot of coffee. My sons would hug him and he’d play with them while we’d talk about what was going on in the news - or the Giants - and tie it into a story about the old days in Union City. I always took a moment during the conversation to just look at him and realize how lucky I was to be sitting in the room with him. After a while, he would say, “Alright, time to go,” then I’d walk him to the car and watch him drive away, never knowing if I’d see him alive again, always making sure that if it were to be the last time, that it’d be Ok. Guess what, it’s never OK.

Sunday, while my father was home taking his last breaths, I cleared the room and talked to him one last time, There was no unburdening because we were great. I’m convinced that if the Giants would have won that game, he would have woken up, but that’s another story. But THIS story is about my father Al, to whom I say: Thanks for everything Dad! Salute!