Richard Deutsch, my dad, was the sixth of eight children born to Morris and Gertrude Deutsch. He was an incredibly loving brother to his sisters, his one remaining brother, and his brother and sister-in-law, Irwin & Gert Liss.  He was married to my mom, Anne Liss, for twenty-seven years. They had two children – my brother, Harold, and me. My mom died in 1969. She was 49-years old. Fourteen years later my dad married Janet Marie Eddy Boyd and became a loving stepfather to Diana, Barbara, Beth, and Alan. Through the years, our family expanded.  When he drew his last breath he was father to six, grandfather to sixteen, great-grandfather to seventeen, Uncle Richard or Uncle Dick to nieces and nephews, and friend to many. My dad and Janet just celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary.

In his youth, and even in his adult years, he wore many hats. His first jobs were in Cleveland, Ohio. He worked at Saperstein's Cards (later to become American Greetings) for fifteen-cents an hour, and he was a crane operator at Chase Brass. He served in t

he U.S. Army during WWII, worked as a business broker, buying and selling business, and was a junk man, dismantling buildings and cars for the metals and other materials he was able to resell. I thought he was incredibly strong and led an exotic and exciting life. On a personal note, after we came in from playing in the cold of winter, he would let us warm our hands by rubbing them through his thick hair, and at the beach he could remove fish bones from a foot without too much pain. My brother was in the Boy Scouts, and for years my dad was a scout leader in that troop.

When we moved to Florida in 1956. I was just a kid and really I didn’t realize at the time how brave my parents were. They left parents, brothers, sisters, and an entire life. All we took along on that move was what fit into and on top of our car. There was no job waiting, but my dad took any work he could find – he sold advertising clocks, sold items door to door, and traveled near and far in order to make a living for his family.

In 1962, what had been my bedroom in my parent's home in North Miami Beach became the first office of Dick Deutsch, Company - and my parents worked 24/7 to grow that business. Eventually he founded two others, Great American Color and Dynamic Impressions. With that, my father, an artist as a child, became a photographer as an adult. He took photographs, created postcards and posters of those marvelous photos, and sold them to zoos throughout the country. He had the postcard and poster contract with Walt Disney, and created brochures for many hotels, motels, and tourist related business in Florida - most well known, perhaps, The Jungle Queen. 

Not long after our marriage, my dad took my husband, Joel, under his wings and taught him what would become his life-long career – postcards, photography, and tourism. My dad and Joel were avid bowlers and shared that passion for many years. They were friends, father and son, and business contemporaries. Interestingly, Joel is the one who introduced my dad to the woman who would someday be his wife. Long before my mom’s death, Janet was looking for someone to make brochures for her jewelry business – part of which was making gold jewelry for Disney for many years. She saw Joel’s postcard truck and thought he might know just the right person for the job. That serendipitous meeting charted the last quarter of my father’s life – years he would not have had if not for the love of a woman who has no trouble speaking to strangers.

A self-starter, my dad taught himself to play the guitar, Jew's harp, and harmonica. His rendition of "Happy Birthday" greeted many of us on our special day, and on Chanukah, after we sang Maoz Tsur, he played it on the harmonica.  He never left home without at least one harmonica in his “man purse”; always ready to play something for anybody who would listen. He was a member of the South Florida Harmonica Club. They rehearsed once a week and performed at senior centers and retirement homes throughout Broward County. He volunteered at the VA Hospital in Ft. Lauderdale, and his last big trip was just one year ago when we traveled to Vermont for the wedding of one of his grandsons. If there was a happening, my dad wanted to be a part of it. 

In 1987 my dad was diagnosed with colorectal cancer. I worked with the pathologist who read his tissue slides. The cancer was invasive. He should not have survived. He did. To keep his mind busy, he and Janet began an antique business, Present and Past, attending antique shows throughout South Florida. They did many shows at the side of their Greyhound Bus sized motor home. And, with that motor home they traveled up and down the country, visiting friends and family in Ohio, Vermont, New Hampshire and many places in between. Together they seized the day - every day of their lives.

While in Orlando in 1997 for the marriage of one of his grandchildren, Janet saved his life (as she did over and over again) when she took him to the ER after he complained of not feeling well. Instead of returning home following the wonderful festivities, he had quadruple by-pass surgery and was given a new heart valve. Macular degeneration took his sight (although he always seemed to see everything) but not his spirit. "I can't drive, but at least I can still walk." Then peripheral artery disease took that from him. The one thing that was never taken from him was his sense of humor and his spirit.

Following is something I heard on Grey’s Anatomy. It sounds like what might have been my father’s credo. I know these are beliefs he and I shared ….

When we say things like, “People don’t change”, it drives scientists crazy….. because change is literally the only constant in all of science. It’s the way people try not to change that’s unnatural………. The way we cling to what things were instead of letting them be what they are. …The way we cling to old memories instead of forming new ones… The way we insist on believing… despite every scientific indication… that anything in this lifetime is permanent. Change is constant. How we experience change… that’s up to us. It can feel like death… or it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it…. it can feel like pure adrenalin… Like at any moment we can have another chance at life…. Like at any moment ...we can be born all over again.

"Go cheerfully and go carefully" - that was how my dad generally ended a conversation, and I am sure that is what he would say to all of you today.