For a man who wasn’t crazy about hats, Arthur Arlan, or as I called him, Poppa Arthur, tended to wear a lot of them — as a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, friend, mentor, neighbor, chef, well…you get the idea.

There’s far too many memories of Poppa to recall over the last two and a half decades, and relative to the rest of you, I’ve probably known him less than anyone else in the room. So there’s gotta be a lot of Poppa memories floating around in here. And knowing Poppa, it’s got to be one hell of a strange, delightful, mixed up sea of memories. But if there’s one thing all our memories can agree on — it’s that Poppa was not a traditional guy. He was unique. He marched to his own drum. He was an extremely complex man who took the greatest pleasure in simple things. The best times spent with my Poppa were often those simple moments…especially when his everyday wisdom and know-how came out to play.

I learned a lot of things from Poppa. He taught me how to arm wrestle. He taught me how to make knockout pasta. He taught me how to tell a good joke. He taught me how to tell a bad joke. He taught me how to give a great backrub. He taught me how to fight back. He taught me to be comfortable with myself and follow my goals. He taught me how to be confident. Likewise, he taught me how to talk to women (something he loved to do, especially waitresses, for some reason. When I got older, I understood why he liked to go out to dinner). He taught me how to look sharp, even if you had a couple of holes in your pants. He taught me how to mix up a great bowl of cereal. He taught me how to find the best happy hour in town. He taught me a lot of new words, usually words that were not in the school dictionary. He taught me how to pick a delicious piece of fruit – whether it be a watermelon, honeydew or grapefruit, all items always in over-abundance in their house.

He had a wonderful, wry, sharp and sarcastic sense of humor. He loved to play games, be it bridge with his friends, or more silly, inane games he played with us little ones. I’ll never forget playing the dollar game with my brother and Poppa when we were kids. In the dollar game, Poppa would hold up a dollar bill and all you could see was its backside. We’d guess what numbers were on the serial number of the bill - if we were right, we’d win a dollar. Even if we’d get them wrong, somehow we’d always end up with a couple of bucks in our pockets.

When I was a teenager, my mom was teaching me how to drive and we were in a parking lot practicing how to parallel park. Her coaching skills were less than stellar, and I was knocking over the orange cones we’d set up like dominoes. After the two of us exchanged some words that you wouldn’t find on Sesame Street — we thought to call up Poppa Arthur for some advice, the same guy who had originally taught my mom how to park his old Electra 225 back in the 70s. With great patience and wisdom, over the phone, even though he himself hadn’t driven for years, he walked me through his trademark masterful technique for wedging our old station wagon into that space. To this day, I use the Arthur Arlan parking technique and I can probably park a jumbo jet in a 5-foot space.

In my lifetime, Poppa and my grandmother Carol were always side-by-side. Though they certainly had their ups and downs, they called their relationship a true “love affair.” They were not just two people who lived together for many decades. They were madly in love and rarely apart for more than a couple of minutes. They adored one another.

Thanks to all of you for coming here today to remember my grandpa. Poppa, Arthur, Art, Pops, Boobie…in all the different ways we knew you and loved you, you were a good man, and we’ll all miss you.