MY OLD MAN, GOD BLESS HIM.

Jack Brennan: born Oct 27 1909 - died Dec 19, 1966.

My father died on Dec. 19th. 1966 of a heart attack at age 57. A heart attack at such an early age was attributed by the family doctor to a lifelong weakened heart as a result of the world-wide Spanish influenza epidemic of post WW1. When he died I was on a skiing vacation in Aspen Colorado and didn’t find out until I returned home to LA a couple of weeks later: the mail box was stuffed with telegrams and letters announcing the death and burial and querying why I hadn’t responded.

Over the interveningyears I’ve thought of him many times and wished that he were still here so he could visit and we could share what I enjoy in the US. The last anniversary, the 44th. caused me to reflect on him, his values, his interests, his abilities and to realise again what a unique individual he was. The word genius is tossed about very lightly these days, it no longer has the significance it once had. Webster’s defines it as: “One possessing exceptional intellectual and creative power.” Intellectual is defined as: “One having the capacity for understanding and knowledge with the ability to think abstractly and profoundly.”

My father was a bricklayer, a very hard, lowly paid and unappreciated job in post WW2 Britain. He was a lifelong member of the Building Trades Workers Union and was always the union representative on every job site he worked. On work days he looked like a scarecrow, wrapped against the weather in layers of clothing that were splattered with cement and usually ragged and torn. Even on weekends and holidays he never looked totally comfortable in his clothes, it seemed as though nothing ever fit him properly. Which was surprising since as a young man he was very handsome and very clothes conscious.

Genius I don’t claim, but 'intellectual' most definitely applies; by the standards of that day or this. This raggedy-assed bricklayer was the most well read and most thoughtful man I’ve ever known in my lifetime of university and academic environments! Most of his workmates were satisfied to read the sports page, keep up on the social gossip and to watch the telly. His interests included architecture, astronomy, literature, music and world affairs, all of which he could discuss eloquently and with considerable understanding. I remember, on many occasions as a child, being taken to visit the classic Gothic cathedrals in Britain; Canterbury, Lincoln, Norwich, Ely, Westminster, York Minster et al. He would explain their significant features and how and why they were built; he understood the principles and theory and frequently referred to plans and drawings in Bannister Fletcher’s book “The History of Architecture by the Comparative Method.” My architectural exposure was not limited to Britain: he also exposed me to the wonders of Hagia Sofia in Istanbul, the Taj Mahal, the Pantheon and the Parthenon, the heating and hydraulic systems of the Baths at Caracella and much of ancient Greek and Roman history.
During the night-time air-raids in WW2 we would leave the house and walk to the edge of the city and he would explain the various constellations, theories of cosmology and abstract concepts such as “time”, all the while asö we watched falling bombs and anti-aircraft gunfire and searchlights. Fred Hoyle, the author of “The Origins of the Universe” was a source that he frequently quoted.
Also during these walks he would explain what was happening re. the war: the causes of Germany’s actions; why “Uncle Joe” had signed a pact with Hitler and how the USSR was building a new society. Our house was the place that the local communist party met on what seemed like a weekly basis. There were regular gatherings, more like parties, of a dozen or more comrades, often with refugees from the Spanish civil war and they would sit around all evening talking, mostly political stuff and I would sit quietly on the sidelines taking it all in. His grasp of communism and world affairs was based on a thorough reading and understanding of Marx and Engles, both of whom he frequently quoted, and on continuous argument and discussion with the local party members and friends.
As I write this there is a photograph on the wall in front of me of the dozen or so core members of that group with me as a little lad of about 6 or 7 standing at the front. It was taken on one of our many Sunday afternoon rambles out into the Derbyshire moorland where the destination would always be a country pub. Since kids were not allowed inside I was always left outside with a bag of crisps and a lemonade and someone would pop out periodically to see that I was OK. He was also an ‘active’ member of the group, it wasn’t all beer and talk. I remember being out at midnight with a group, I carrying a bucket of whitewash, while they painted slogans on walls and on the roads at intersections, like “Open the second front now!” complete of course with the hammer and sickle. Other times we marched in demonstrations carrying party banners. And then then was MI6 knocking on the door asking ”Does Jack Brennan live here?
As a communist he had a funny attitude to America: he was very critical of some aspects of the country but he was also very interested, admiring and knowledgable: he had a sort of schizophrenic push/pull attitude and was probably responsible for my later decision to live here. Long before I came I was very familiar with the structural designs of the Golden Gate bridge, the Empire State building, Ford’s facility at Dearborn and Wilshire Blvd. I was also introduced to the works of John Steinbeck, Upton Sinclair, Paul Robeson and Joe Hill. I was also aware of the Scottsboro boys, the KKK and HUAC.
He loved Puccini and Verdi so much that he phonetically learned the lyrics of La Boheme and Madam Butterfly and would often burst into song with his favorite arias or would put our scratchy records on the gramaphone and sing along. I remember also that we had some classic American show tune records, Gershwin mostly. Humphrey Bogart was a favorite actor and I remember he liked “High Sierra” and “Call Northside 777” though going to films was never a high priority in our house.

He was a very basic working class bloke, all of his knowledge and ability was self taught since education in the slums of Sheffield in the early ‘20’s was minimal and ended at age 14; when one was then expected to get a job in a cutlery factory, which he did!