Larger Than Life: Hon. Mark G Farrell

Dad loved life. He was a connoisseur, passionate 110%– dad believed in going big or going home.

He appreciated everything, lived in superlatives. He was the most charming, the wittiest, the smartest, the most fun- to keep up with his banter and earn a laugh was the ultimate prize. I can hear it now- that booming, generous, genuine laugh- head thrown back, crinkles at the corners of those clear blue eyes. Dad really was larger than life.

First there’s the wine. I remember when this appreciation started, particularly the awkward “label requesting phase.” He so wanted to know everything about his wine. He’d often—to our chagrin, and with total confidence—ask the waitperson or server to carefully steam off the label so as to not rip it and so he could add it to his wine journal with tasting notes. As the years progressed, he became more and more sophisticated a connoisseur and with each subsequent daughter’s wedding friends likely enjoyed a better vintage. At his 60th birthday party, he impressed us all by correctly identifying in a blind taste test nearly every grape, region, and year… on his way to becoming that level 1 sommelier.

Incidentally, when he woke from his second surgery, we asked Dad if he needed anything. He looked at us with all seriousness but also a twinkle in his eye and said, “I know it’s not possible, but maybe a nice bourbon or a glass of pinot?”

Dad’s love of all things extended to food. Whether it was a high end steak, homemade meatloaf, or a pastry- and wow did that man love his bear claws– whatever it was he’d roll his eyes with pleasure and proclaim it the best. He loved dinners out and never passed up the opportunity to stop at Loughran’s Bar for a “quick bite” aka an update on the political scene.

His connoisseurship for all things nice extended to clothes and jewelry. We often joke (especially in our family with an Italian son-in-law) that while Dad may have been so proudly Irish, he sure wore his jewelry like an Italian. He was never without his UB class ring, wedding ring, claddagh, and MGF ring; and at least two bracelets and probably a few necklaces including his gold cross and the St Thomas doubloon. He believed in the meaning of these things and wore them all for a reason- to honor, protect, and celebrate.

Dad loved people. He never met a stranger- always found a way to connect through shared interests, humor, and wit. He was so compassionate and empathetic. But the thing that was most “dad” was that he knew someone everywhere. Literally, everywhere. His reputation and his relationships preceded him. No matter where we went there was a connection that resulted in a free round of golf or a bottle of wine at dinner or a behind-the-scenes tour. People went out of their way for dad because he went out of his way for them. 

Golf was a backdrop for Dad’s whole life. From caddying as a teen to achieving an excellent handicap and patiently coaching his sons in law out of a sand pit, he loved the game that challenged him and brought him together w friends, family and even occasionally famous golfers like Lee Travino, Tiger Woods and Arnold Palmer. He spoke with such joy about the times with his golfing buddies in their eponymous Derelict Open- for the past 30 years.

And Dad loved to party. Any excuse to be social, joke around, surround himself and share moments with friends. He walked into a room of people like a kid on Christmas. At my parents’ annual Kentucky Derby party, Dad made sure you always had a drink in hand. The ultimate parties for dad were the weddings. He officiated many a friends’ nuptials, and no one could cut a rug like him. As your dance partner he’d hold your hand up high in his dear way and press his scratchy cheek to yours and sweep your legs around the dance floor. Onlookers would say he tossed us about. He made you feel joyful and beautiful. We might bump into others but that didn’t matter- he owned that dance floor. I’ll never know a better dance partner. 

Dad was a voracious reader, a lover of bookstores, a history buff. There are not enough hands or fingers to count the number of trivial pursuit games in which dad had dozed off but woke up at just the right moment to shout out “the battle of the bulge” or some similar, arcane (yet correct) answer. And for all that knowledge, all that data, all those degrees and honors… He also held firmly to so many endearing beliefs that had little actual basis in fact. I remember dad urging us to unplug the hairdryer so we didn’t “burn the house down”… or reminding us to grab a sweater when it was 80° out because it was “pneumonia weather.” And my personal favorite- as I’d be heading down the stairs and out the door to a party- “don’t forget to eat some bread – it’ll soak up all the alcohol.” Words of wisdom, which were really always- and obviously- words of love.