Peter Francis Begley and I were as extreme opposites as a father and son can be. He was an only child whose both parents died when he was relatively young. I am the eighth of nine children and am fortunate enough to have both of my parents lead full lives. He was born in Ireland. I was born in America. He liked the New York Giants. I like the New York Mets. (I can't believe I am standing here and admitting in public that I like the New York Mets.) My father chose the unstable profession of Film Editing. I chose the potentially lucrative career in Computer Engineering. He served in the Marine Corps while I was ready to flee to Canada if I got drafted. Even his eyes were blue while mine are brown. I won't even begin to speak about our differences in politics or religion because if I enumerated each point it would bring us into the next millennium.

In spite of all these differences there is one common bond which we share; which slices through ideology and penetrates directly to the soul. It is a love for that universal language -- music. Besides his wife and children, my father's biggest obsession in life was the music of Duke Ellington. For over sixty years Duke composed pop tunes, romantic ballads, Broadway shows, ballets, operas, TV and film scores. We heard them all. Duke once said, "Music is my mistress and she plays second fiddle to no one." We both couldn't agree more. But my dad was hip. He showed an interest in my great musical passions -- Led Zeppelin and Rush. Whenever I would play the song Kashmir, a nine-minute, pounding, mesmerizing masterpiece, he would say, "play that side again!" Of course I would oblige. By some mysterious means, the volume would be just slightly louder the next time around.

They say that music calms the savage beast. This was surely true in my father's case. His temper needed restraint many times. One Christmas afternoon as we froze the oilman arrived. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Begley." "Merry Christmas? What do you have one truck on the road? What good is a home run when the game is over!" "Are you married to this man?" "20 years buddy." Another time when the heater was on the blink, he proclaimed, I'm going outside, to get warm! Sometimes his remarks were political such as, "Ever since Kennedy, I voted against."Upon hearing Mayor Beame speak. "He's a lousy fop." Does anyone know what a fop is? I didn't either. But after looking it up I found out that it is a conceited person. Each time my father had an outburst it would be followed by hours of listening to Duke at maximum volume.

I remember his first stroke back in October of 1984. The first thing he asked me when I saw him in the hospital was if I liked the recent film, Amadeus. I told him I did. In fact a few years later we watched it together at my apartment.

His second stroke occurred in November 1987 while I was in Rio de Janeiro. This stroke effectively made him wheelchair bound. His whole left side was paralyzed and even walking with a quad-cane was difficult. Whenever he stayed at my apartment I would make sure to bring him to Duke Ellington's home on 105th street and Riverside Drive. My father would tell me that this is where Duke would pick up his mail (implying that the world was Duke's home.) Then I would bring him "way out west on West End Avenue." Way out west on West End Avenue. That line comes from a true master at working with words, Larry Hart. (I am now in the words section of my Words and Music speech.) To grow up in our home meant to be exposed to the wisdom, wit, humor and charming lyrics of Larry Hart. His life story was brilliantly portrayed by Mickey Rooney in the film, Words and Music. "We'll have Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island too. It's lovely going through the zoo." Countless times have I heard my father sing that line. Fifteen years later I find it ironic that those are the only three places I've ever lived in my life.

His third stroke happened in June 1991. This one was the toughest. Seeing him that night in Intensive Care, with all those tubes connected to him, eyes bloodshot, I really didn't think he would make it. Once again my family was devastated. That fighting Irish spirit helped to pull him through.

A few weeks ago I received a call from my mother saying that my father needed a blood transfusion or else he might die. I went the next day to donate blood for him. Unfortunately it was too little too late as he passed away the day before Father's Day. I am torn with a wistful stab of pride in knowing that my father died with my blood inside of him.

At this point I would like to offer my gratitude to both of my parents for giving me that irreplaceable value which we call life. They brought me into this world. They helped me when I was young. They helped to shape my character. What I would suggest to each of you is to repay at least a portion of that love and caring that you received from your parents. They need to hear what we feel about them. And they need it before it is too late. My father heard it before it was too late.

In closing I'd like to quote Duke Ellington again, "there's two kinds of music, good music and the other kind." That goes for parents as well, there's two kinds of parents, good parents and the other kind. My father was definitely good.

Robert Begley