John Bolger
John Bolger
(1959-1987)
Image when you're less than ten years out of high school, death is the farthest thing from your thoughts. For John Bolger even near death at the age of 28, it was still the farthest thing from his thoughts. He was always full of life.
We all knew John as a kid and he kept a lot of that humor, playfulness, charm and impishness with him throughout his young adult life. He was the first to knock your books out of your hands, but he was also the first one to help you pick them up. He would pinpoint your weaknesses by showing you his own.
He would enjoy your company just because you grew up with him which meant a lot to him. He still recalled stories of being an altar boy, a safety and writing stories for our one-of-a-kind school paper. He too remembered the smell of mimeograph paper and believed it became one of the driving motivations for him to write.
By now we have all learned that the value of life is not measured in time, riches, or achievements. It is truly measured by the number of people we have touched in the time that is given us. In this respect John lived a valuable life. He was our friend and classmate. He shared the experiences we had at St. John's and at Bishop McDevitt with us. He was in the shows at McDevitt where he proudly represented the Parish of St. John of the Cross in such a visible way. He was with us through the thick and thin of it all, but he also heard his own drummer. Rarely falling into stereotypes or giving into pressure as a kid or as a teenager, John knew what he wanted. He knew who he was, and he pursued it with an energy and vitality that we were taught to have about our lives.
What many of us don't know about John is that he was an Eagle Scout, an actor and a dancer. The arts meant more than just entertainment. They eventually became his life even moving to New York to pursue a career in dance. You would not know it to look at him, but he was strong as an ox and his mind and intelligence were equally strong. He gave everything his all. He did not do things halfway. He was on many levels, a perfectionist. He was intolerant of thoughtlessness. He was unforgiving of carelessness, but always forgiving of mistakes. He appreciated people who at least tried and made the effort because he would. He understood the soul probably because he had so much of it himself.
John left behind his parents who still live on Arline Avenue, two sisters and a brother and...us. His funeral was at St. John's where he so often got in trouble for talking during a practice for a Mass, an altar boy rehearsal or the choir. He even once went up against the terror of Father Henry by once whispering to us around him during one of Father Henry rants, "...boy that priest can yell." When Henry caught the small commotion from the pulpit and asked, "who is talking down there?" John stood right up and said, "I did" We thought we would never see him again, but we did, and it increased the respect we had for him. He knew that you took responsibility for your actions even as a ten year old boy who was already on his way to being a man.
His dedication to us is reflective in the many ways he became a part of us, touched us even if it was just for a little while.
(1959-1987)
Image when you're less than ten years out of high school, death is the farthest thing from your thoughts. For John Bolger even near death at the age of 28, it was still the farthest thing from his thoughts. He was always full of life.
We all knew John as a kid and he kept a lot of that humor, playfulness, charm and impishness with him throughout his young adult life. He was the first to knock your books out of your hands, but he was also the first one to help you pick them up. He would pinpoint your weaknesses by showing you his own.
He would enjoy your company just because you grew up with him which meant a lot to him. He still recalled stories of being an altar boy, a safety and writing stories for our one-of-a-kind school paper. He too remembered the smell of mimeograph paper and believed it became one of the driving motivations for him to write.
By now we have all learned that the value of life is not measured in time, riches, or achievements. It is truly measured by the number of people we have touched in the time that is given us. In this respect John lived a valuable life. He was our friend and classmate. He shared the experiences we had at St. John's and at Bishop McDevitt with us. He was in the shows at McDevitt where he proudly represented the Parish of St. John of the Cross in such a visible way. He was with us through the thick and thin of it all, but he also heard his own drummer. Rarely falling into stereotypes or giving into pressure as a kid or as a teenager, John knew what he wanted. He knew who he was, and he pursued it with an energy and vitality that we were taught to have about our lives.
What many of us don't know about John is that he was an Eagle Scout, an actor and a dancer. The arts meant more than just entertainment. They eventually became his life even moving to New York to pursue a career in dance. You would not know it to look at him, but he was strong as an ox and his mind and intelligence were equally strong. He gave everything his all. He did not do things halfway. He was on many levels, a perfectionist. He was intolerant of thoughtlessness. He was unforgiving of carelessness, but always forgiving of mistakes. He appreciated people who at least tried and made the effort because he would. He understood the soul probably because he had so much of it himself.
John left behind his parents who still live on Arline Avenue, two sisters and a brother and...us. His funeral was at St. John's where he so often got in trouble for talking during a practice for a Mass, an altar boy rehearsal or the choir. He even once went up against the terror of Father Henry by once whispering to us around him during one of Father Henry rants, "...boy that priest can yell." When Henry caught the small commotion from the pulpit and asked, "who is talking down there?" John stood right up and said, "I did" We thought we would never see him again, but we did, and it increased the respect we had for him. He knew that you took responsibility for your actions even as a ten year old boy who was already on his way to being a man.
His dedication to us is reflective in the many ways he became a part of us, touched us even if it was just for a little while.