From: Laurence Lavin

My deepest sympathy to you all

From: Paul Brinkmann

Hey everybody,
well ol' mucky- lerchman- pops and the various other nick names we have dubbed him w/ has gone to the big submarine race in the sky.  All I have been doing all morning is having a montage of the different images w/ his fathead scenes.  Everything from him telling how he was always going to the submarine races (which I think I didn't figure out until I was about 15), or motioning his hands to demonstrate the bumber to bumber traffic, having exact change for the tolls, or waiving out the window while sitting at either the Dyre St or Wesley rd breakfast tables to nonexistent persons to see who would look, or making himself the cold cut sandwiches on weekends, or always rubbing my beanhead when I was little for good luck,or his most recent OC Bay Rd explanation about his neighbor who would bring his cigarette boat out on the weekend and once the driver got to right in front of the condo throwing down the throttle.  Altho it was more Billy induced, I also keep repeating the Little Rascals "I wish I had a water melon" while rubbing my stomach to imitate pops when he was using the "clear" steroid cream on his stomach.
I am sure the memories will keep on coming and fortunately they are all  good.
But anyway, I took a stab at preparing a 1st draft of the obit for everyones review and comment.  As you will notice, I need some info to complete the blanks, correct spellings etc.  Based on Mom's indication, I covered basically his military experience, the business and family.  I also closed w/ the assumption that, in lieu of flowers etc., donations to a hospice (or what about Anne's scholarship) might be a good alternative.
After you look it over just edit as you see fit (since I have no pride of authorship and just want to help out) and get it back to me and I will coordinate finalizing it and getting where it needs to go.
love,
paul

Following attachment:

William Francis Brinkmann, III, beloved husband, father, grandfather and friend passed away peacefully on March 28, 2006 in Punta Gorda, Florida. Bill was born on August 17, 1922 in Philadelphia, PA, to William Francis Brinkmann and Margaret Pattison Brinkmann. He married Helen Lavin in 1950 and had seven children, two of whom (Michael and Anne) predeceased him. He attended local schools and in 1942 while in his junior year at Villanova University, Bill enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps where he became a B-26 bomber pilot flying numerous missions in Europe. Toward the end of World War II, he was shot down over Germany and rescued by General Patton’s troops. Bill achieved the rank of Captain before leaving the service and returning to Philadelphia to take over the family business, Brinkmann Bros Roofing, which was established in 1865. Brinkmann Bros. Roofing is the oldest continuously run roofing company in Philadelphia. Bill later met Helen, his wife, living in Philadelphia and vacationing in Ocean City, N.J. until 1976 when they moved to Ocean City full time. Upon retirement they divided their time between Punta Gorda and Ocean City. Having survived the war, Bill lived each day thereafter with appreciation for life, love and family. Bill loved family, golf and stingers but not necessarily in that order. Bill was most proud of his children and grandchildren and supported their academic and various athletic endeavors, never missing an opportunity to attend their games. Bill’s sense of humor, positive outlook, kindness and love will be dearly missed. Bill is survived by his wife, Helen and family, William F. Brinkmann, IV (Arlinda) of Narberth, PA and Punta Gorda, FL, John D. Brinkmann (Gail) of Narberth, PA, Mary H. Shonnard (Neal) of Tacoma, WA, Paul L. Brinkmann (Tess) of Flagstaff, AZ, Margaret P. Brinkmann of Tiburon, CA and nine grandchildren, Marie, John, Brian and Michael Brinkmann; Matthew, Annelise and Helena Shonnard; and Demetri and William Brinkmann. Donations may be made to TideWell Hospice, 5955 Rand Blvd., Sarasota, FL 34238. A memorial service will be held in Ocean City, New Jersey at a later date.

From: Frank Mazzone

From: Jimmy Kurk

Sorry Paul: Lurch was a good guy, he was on our side. Let me know about the service in OC. I'd want to see Helen and pay her my deepest condolences and so forth. Jimmy

“Cheap Linoleum Floor”

Three nights before my father died, we were all sitting in the living room, a Friday, November 21, 1993, at about 7 o'clock. A freezing night, me and my brother decided to build a fire in the fireplace. While I was out scrounging for deadwood for kindling, my father, who had been asleep, had risen on his own and come out to sit with the rest of the family. I was happy in a strange way to see he'd come out of the room in which he had chosen to spend the last days of his life. He weighed less than the load of wood I was carrying. And earlier that day, after I had bathed him, I counted 18 tumors on his back.

We had him on morphine. For some odd reason, somebody brought up the poet, Alan Ginsberg. "You mean I hafta come out heah and tawk about 'Alan fucking Ginnnnnsboig?'" he said in his best Brooklyn accent and everyone laughed. Even he laughed and I knew how it hurt him to laugh. I tore up some newspaper in long thin strips and unloaded the kindling onto them between the andirons and tore up some more strips of newspaper and lit a match to it. I'm not very good at many things. But when it comes to making a decent fire, I have no superior and this fire was no exception. It blazed immediately.

It only took a few seconds before the smoke began filling the room, billowing out from the hearth because I had forgotten to open the flue. I usually know better but I had been drinking. Maybe that was it. I don't know. I got the flue open immediately and there was a rush of bodies running to windows to throw them open. I turned on the air conditioner. On the coldest night of the year I turned on the air conditioner.

But the smoke had done it's damage and when it had cleared a bit I saw my father stretched stiff in the chair having a seizure. I don't know why I touched him but when I did he screamed out as if in great pain and I recoiled and stood beside, watching.

Suddenly, he began to repeat very clearly and excitedly, eyes in the throes of Rem, head turned chin to shoulder and slightly gesticulating, "Pop, Pop, O Niner 4 Niner, coming in, coming in over target, Pop, Pop, do you read? come in O niner 4 niner, Porto Civitanova, Flak at 8 o'clock, Flak, Flak, O Niner 4 niner, flaps down, flaps down." It was like hearing someone speaking in tongues, someone who wasn't really there, someone who was somewhere else in time and place, in another universe, talking to god.

7 years later, I went to have dinner with my sister in Millville, a pitiful city. When I got there I found a note on the door that there had been an emergency and to come in and wait. I don't like being alone in other people's house, not even a sister's. I always feel like a burglar and that I will be blamed for anything that has turned up missing. So, with an hour or so on my hands, I drove out to the Air Base where they have a little WWII museum outside of town I’d heard about. Everything was disheveled inside, out of its case from behind its clean museum glass, helmets in boxes, uniforms on hangers. And there was a huge propeller in the middle of the room that had been removed from the wall. For all rites, it looked just like the arms of a giant clock pointed at 6 and 12. The curator told me they had just gotten a grant and were completely remodeling.

"What did your father do in the war?" the guy asked me. "B-17, togglier, 15th, North Africa and Italy." "Have I got a treat for you!" he said. I followed him into a small room where a large instrument was sitting up on a little make shift scaffold. "What the hell's that?" I asked. "Boy, that's a Norden, a bomb sight out of a 17, just got her in the mail." Go ahead and have a look. I squinted one eye and looked down into the eyepiece. But this is what I saw.

I reeled back and broke into tears. "it's all right," the man said, "it happens."

My eyeball saw the floor, cheap mauve and white marbled linoleum, circa 1950. But my mind's eyeball saw this picture: an aerial bombardment shot taken from the Berkeley Sal, my old man's B-17, on a raid over Porto Civitanova, Italy on January 21st, 1944. 6 of the 10 crew members didn’t come back. They were after Airfields, a Marshaling Yard and that bridge to the north. If you look closely, you will see my father's bombs dropping like fat cigars over the city. They gave him the DFC for navigating the Sal back to Foggia, the entire crew dead or wounded. On an old 3 by 5 note card is written the following in my father’s hand: “And it makes me wonder what they would think of the way some of us use the one thing they don’t have: LIFE.”

Love,

Jim

Attached picture of Bombs dropping

From: Barry Levitan

Seven siblings?! Some must have been like you? He must have been a Jewish saint. I couldn't take one of you. Life continues, he'd be proud of you. Condolences.
B.

From: Michael Brinkmann

William F. Brinkmann, Sr. died peacefully on March 28th in Punta Gorda, Florida. Born on August 17, 1922 in Philadelphia, he graduated from Northeast Catholic High School in 1940. During his junior year at Villanova University, he enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps. As a B-26 bomber pilot he flew numerous missions in Europe during World War II before a crash in Germany ended his combat flying. Mr. Brinkmann was fortunate to be rescued by General Patton's troops and he recovered in a military hospital in England.

After the war, Mr. Brinkmann returned to Philadelphia where he met and married Helen Lavin. The couple had seven children, two of whom predeceased him. Michael died in 1955 and Anne in 1986.

For over 40 years Mr. Brinkmann successfully operated the family business, Brinkmann Brothers' Roofing which was established in 1865. The business is still in operation under the direction of his oldest son, William, Jr.

Mr. Brinkmann loved Ocean City, NJ and spent many happy days golfing at Atlantic City Country Club where he belonged until the club was sold. Upon retirement, he and his wife split their time between Ocean City and Punta Gorda.

Having survived the war, Mr. Brinkmann had a special appreciation of life and a tremendous love of family. He was a constant source of encouragement for his children and grandchildren, and attending their sporting events gave him great pleasure. His sense of humor, amusing storytelling, and kindness made him an integral part of all family gatherings.

A memorial Mass will be celebrated on June 13th, at St. Francis Cabrini Roman Catholic Church in Ocean City, New Jersey.

From: Gail Brinkmann

I first met Dad in 1967; I was 15 and he was 45 - 8 years younger than I am right now. One thing that was immediately apparent was how much he loved his family. As his children got older and went away to college and moved to other states, he would look forward to the times when we could all be together again. He was especially happy when those reunions took place in Ocean City. Sitting on the front deck on Wesley Road, looking out over the water, talking and laughing with his family is the way I will remember him.

The following is a poem that was written by Bill, Jack, Gail, Paul, Anne and Marge in the "twins' bedroom" on August 17, 1981 on the occasion of Dad's 59th birthday.

Your 59th birthday is a very special day,
and we, your family have some things we would like to say
We 'll be describing a day in The Life of Lurch
so sit back, relax and get comfy on your perch
At 7 in the morning when you have stopped your snoring,
you decide to do the shopping so through the twins door
your head comes popping
You ask Marge what she wants from the store and she thinks that is sweet
But she doesn't ask for much so why won't you buy her Cream of Wheat?
You arrive home from the store with your patience intact
And you're starting to feel the sweat on your back
But there's no time to rest, you can't go far
It's now time to wash half of your car
Next there is grass to be watered and wash to be hung
But first you ask Mom, "Are my 3 eggs done?"
Now you are down on your knees with your nails full of dirt
No doubt about it - that sweat is through your shirt
You work hard on your tomatoes, and Mom eats her share
Then she asks, "Are they really worth it?" It just isn't fair.
You take a lot of abuse, your children are so bold
While Anne smacks the back of your head, Jack complains
that the beer isn't cold
You've built a good business week after week,
Now suddenly you find yourself working for Zeke
Another summer you've weathered with Paul
This was the toughest considering his "stink foot" and all
It's a shame that Mary and Neal weren't able to stop
But Neal sends this message - Happy Birthday, POPS!
You've always said that at least Gail will miss you
But if the baby has a fat head, she'll be the first to hit you
We've really gotten on your case - we're sure your head is reeling
So now it is time to change our tune and tell you our true feelings
As fathers go, you're Number One, we think you are the best
You're always there with lots of love, understanding and the rest
You're thoughtful, generous, funny, and very handsome too
and they're just a few of the many reasons we love you

The expected baby this poem refers to was Maria. Since that time Pops lived to know and love John, Matthew, Annelise, Dimitri, Brian, Vasili, Nell and Michael. Since 1967, his family grew to include Arlinda, Tess, Neal, myself and 9 grandchildren. Until the end it was still overwhelmingly obvious that Pops was a man who loved his family. I will miss him very much. I send my love to Mom and all of the family.

Love,

Gail

From: Bill Brinkmann

Many days I would go into the office at Brinkmann Bros. Rfg. after a long days work and ask pops about all the calls that came in. Pops would say, "Ya Know, I used to think that everybody out there was crazy, but now I realize it must be me." I would reply, "Ya know pops as your father always said, 'Theres more horses asses than there are horses.'" Then we would snap open a rolling rock and crank out roof estimates. Pops would say, "Whats the price for this estimate?" I would say "2,000" Then pops would say "2,050 - 50 for me to type it up" Then we would snap open another beer, lock the safe, and head home.

From: John Damian Brinkmann, Jr.

When I think of pops, I think of Summer League Basketball (St. Aloysius), Weekends at the shore, Church on 2nd Street, Chicago Bulls (Jordan) games on TV (with pops in his open button down and boxers), Dinner Stories (WWII), Always finishing his dinner plate, Rolling Rocks at The Bay Condo, Hitting his brand new golf balls into the ocean (He wasn't happy about that), My dad swinging the golf club through the garage window on Wesley, Pops birthday parties, Pops love for bananas (Have you ever seen a sick monkey?), stories about pops from uncle bill and dad (such as pops beeping at the 'tough' guys in Frankford and yelling at them out the window while my dad and Uncle Bill ducked down in the back seat, pops story about Uncle Paul's rushing performance against Somerton, Aunt Anne's memorial basketball game, playing golf with pops at the course at the electric plant, Basketball stories about the girls, Jack Ramsey stories, pops' medicine (stingers), Voltaco's, etc.

I am so lucky to have all of these memories.  I could go on with this list for pages.  Lately, when I find my mind wandering, it is always to one of these times.  I find comfort and peace in knowing that Pops will never be forgotten. As Pops became more and more sentimental in his later years, he always made sure I knew how much he cared about me.  I love you Pops! - John D. Brinkmann

From: Nell Shonnard

-Card written to Pops on March 27th, the day before he died. Reads as follows-

Dear pops, I just want to tell you that no matter what, God will always be with you. I love you and trust in God that he will have his guardian angels bring you up to him when the time is right. I miss you and wish you the best of luck on meeting God. Everything is in God's hands. I love you and miss you, your granddaughter Nell ( Hello Jerry. . . Hello Newman )

From: Anastasia Konomos Brinkmann

In Memory of the greatest father-in-law

Pops was such an extraordinary person. He was always the perfect and loving gentleman… until, you turned away and faster than the speed of light his hysterical gestures would be displayed. We can all close our eyes and visualize him with his eyes wide open and his pointing finger (as if we didn’t know who he was referring to). His humor was such a wonderful complement to his compassionate side. I always felt so loved and comfortable in his presence, I will truly miss that. Being the emotional in-law, I could go on forever about what I truly miss about Pops, but the bottom line is that we all will miss him and everything he brought to our lives. I often think about Pops and all he meant to me and I love that it brings a smile to my face. The only sad thing is that there is no one left in the family who is going to be nice to Paul!!

Love to all, Tess Konomos

From: The Philadelphia Inquirer

William F. Brinkmann | Roofing company owner, 83

William F. Brinkmann, 83, formerly of the Northwood section of Philadelphia, retired owner of Brinkmann Bros. Roofing, died of heart failure March 28 at Tidewell Hospice in Punta Gorda, Fla.

Mr. Brinkmann grew up in Frankford and graduated from Northeast Catholic High School in Philadelphia. During World War II, he dropped out of Villanova University in his junior year to join the Army Air Corps. He piloted B-26 bombers in Europe and participated in the Battle of the Bulge. After numerous missions, his plane crash-landed in Germany and he was rescued by a unit from Gen. George Patton's Third Army. After the war, he participated in the Berlin airlift, flying supplies to starving West Berliners when the Soviet Union temporarily cut off traffic to the city.

After his discharge, Mr. Brinkmann joined his family's roofing company in Kensington. The firm, founded in 1865, specializes in slate roofs and had replaced roofs on many historic churches and homes, and the Barnes Foundation in Merion. The company is now operated by Mr. Brinkmann's son William Jr.

Since 1950, Mr. Brinkmann had been married to Helen Lavin. The couple met on the beach in Ocean City, N.J. For the last 15 years, they divided their time between Florida and Ocean City. He enjoyed golfing at Atlantic City Country Club, attending his grandchildren's sporting events, and storytelling.

In addition to his wife and son, Mr. Brinkmann is survived by sons John and Paul; daughters Mary Shonnard and Margaret; and nine grandchildren. He was predeceased by a son Michael and a daughter Anne.

A memorial Mass will be said at 11 a.m. June 13 at St. Francis Cabrini Catholic Church, 114 Atlantic Ave., Ocean City.