With Style, a Goodbye to Grampa Al
by Bret Senft

The memorial’s program and its quotes truly said it all. Here were the photographs of Al Lewis, known to millions as Grandpa for his signature role on The Munsters sitcom of the 1960s, presenting the essence of the man: the hats, the ever-present cigar, the hawk-like stare, the expressive laugh. Here was an activist whose most important quotes include, "If you don’t get the asses of the masses out in the street, forget it." And, of course, "I’m for everyone having the opportunity to accept a $150,000 bribe."

Pearls of wisdom, surely. But how to honor a man who appreciated both social justice and a rather large, odd collection of hats, not to mention an ever-handy illegal Cuban stogie? A large crowd of fans and more than two dozen featured speakers and performers did their level best for three hours at the "Grampa Al Lewis Commemoration" on Monday night.

It began with a crowd at dusk in the Grandpa Al Lewis Playground opposite PS/IS 217. Dave Lewis, his eldest son who now lives in Los Angeles, spoke near the play equipment sprinkled with laughing, jumping children. "The Dragula is late; it’s caught in traffic," he said, smoking a thick cigar. The dragster, created specifically for The Munsters, featured a modified coffin set on dragster wheels with an engine to match. "It goes 100 miles per hour," said Dave. "It hauls."

The ceremony began. Soon Mel Tarr was stepping forward, reading an e-mail from his teenage daughter, Lizzy, and holding a large picture of her, as a child, in Al Lewis’s arms. "I knew Telly Savalas, Danny Kaye," he announced. "But no one was as beloved as Al." He read Lizzy’s message, which recalled Lewis’s mischievous smile, loud laughter, crazy shirts and wild accessories. "I wish he was here now so I could hear what he would have to say about the Tram, the new Starbucks, and the goings on around here. Grampa Al was a vital part of life in or neighborhood, and if anybody is ever half as great as he was, we would be very lucky." Sustained applause. Later, Tarr mentioned quietly, "My daughter wanted to be here, but she’s spending a semester away in Maine, studying ecology."

Up on a platform in the playground stood Grampa’s widow, Karen Ingenthron Lewis. And next to her, Zoe Schreiber. "Al adored her," said Ingenthron Lewis. "So she’s here." Together, they attempted to release some butterflies, representing lives transformed by knowing Lewis, and by his passing, but night was falling and the butterflies mostly stayed put.

On to the Chapel of the Good Shepherd, where a crowd filled every row of seats. Longtime friend and deep-voiced, silver-piped orator Maurice Edwards played master of ceremonies, introducing a long list of speakers and performers.

Dave Lewis was first up: "I was there when he became the world’s Grandpa. It has been my greatest privilege to share my dad with all of you. I say to you all: I am his son. But you are his public. And at the end of the day, you made him a better man. Thank you for being his inspiration."

Longtime friend Dr. Heather Canning read a letter from Sister Regina Palamara, who served the Catholic Church here and ran the Thrift Shop for years: "Every once in a while, you see a picture of three angels, one with a tilted halo. That’s how I imagine Al now, in heaven." Speaking of his concern for the often forgotten elderly here, she added: "I’ve never heard of a patron saint of the ubiquitous, but he was certainly a candidate."

Recalled Dr. Jack Resnick, his physician: "I miss him a lot. You know, toward the end, he was in a lot of pain. Really uncomfortable. But he always asked me, ‘How are the boys?!’ He just cared."

Friend Roscoe Lee asked: "Who was Al Lewis? A raconteur. The de facto mayor of Roosevelt Island. The best-dressed man on Roosevelt Island. He held court in front of 546 Main Street, the senior citizens center..." In the Trellis diner, "we would talk about the Negro Baseball League. He was a dear friend. And, Al, I know you’re in a good place. Wherever you are, I hope you put in a good word for me. Talk to you again, partner."

Record and concert producer Claudia Koal sang "Wind Beneath My Wings," dedicating it to Lewis’ widow. "Yes, Karen, the legacy goes on – and the best way to honor someone is to carry on their legacy, to honor their work."

Disabled residents Dolores Green of the Senior Association and Virginia Granato of the Disabled Association, spoke of his humor and energy. "And whenever I miss him," said Granato, "I can always turn on The Munsters, and remember a time when we were all a little younger, and life was simpler."

Vocalist Juanita Fleming sang a deep-voiced, soulful a capella: "Yes, everything must change. / The young become old / it’s a mystery..." Lewis’s caregiver, medical assistant, and companion in his last years, Troy Readinger, recalled long conversations of secret, shared confidences. Then this thin man with the pencil beard and mustache stopped, almost weeping, unable to continue. Lewis’s widow moved towards him, embracing him. "It’s OK," she said. Readinger concluded, in a delicate near whisper: "Towards the last six months, we became extremely close. Much love for the man. I’m glad he’s no longer in pain…"

Jazz composer and pianist Tex Allen played his composition, You’ll Never Be Gone From Me. Notes from the piece echoed across the chapel, hypnotizing celebrants. Afterwards, at the short reception downstairs, he recalled: "He was like my brother, my protector. We parked in each other’s hearts. He always tried to guide me, direct me – because I would be prone to take a lot of wrong turns."

Karen Ingenthron Lewis took to the podium to close the evening. "What a community Al and I have lived in for 17 years." Gazing patiently at the audience, she said: "I loved my husband very much." (pause) "And he loved you very much."

Later, on a nightime sidewalk lit by the Trellis Diner, still more: "It was wonderful, a perfect Roosevelt Island experience – from madness to magic, it had all the elements."