The Sonny Man

Sonny, Toni and Mary Ann in Bahamas; below, with Bella and Jim Quinn

“Life’s journey is not to arrive safely at the grave in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways totally worn out, shouting, “Holy Shit . . . What a Ride!”

Joe Okomski, whom I’ve always known as Sonny, was a totally unique, unforgettable character, larger than life.  The phrase “threw away the mold” fit him to a T.  He was a “diamond in the rough,” as Toni put it.  Sonny loved getting a rise out of folks and had more street smarts, the result of growing up in a North Philadelphia working-class Polish neighborhood, than anybody I’ve ever met. Though he quit school when told erroneously that a run-in with the law while a minor would prevent him from becoming a lawyer, he subsequently got a degree and took college courses at Temple.  Sonny never tired of poking fun at a liberal History prof who wore sandals without socks to class.  He passed on a certain fearlessness, cockiness, and good humor to his six children - Charlene, Andrea, Joey, Michelle, Lisa, and Mary Ann - characters all, and his pride and joy.  He’d take them (and wife Mary Ann’s parents Blanche and Tony and sister Donna) in a camper on vacations to Cherrystone, Virginia and many other locales, including to see us in Indiana.  Once, he climbed Mount Baldy, started down, lost his balance, and rolled most of the way at high speed. Another time, he climbed up the side of a cliff in Pennypack Park in Philly and claimed to be stuck.  For years, he teased Toni for acting more worried about getting kids out of the way.  Of course, how was she going to stop a 250-pound man if he fell?  Besides, there was always a chance that Sonny had planned the stunt.

The Okomskis

Though a childhood bout with polio left Sonny with a withered arm, it didn’t slow him down and he even joked about it, as when we made a home movie and he used it as a prop demonstrating before and after he ate his Cheerios.  We played many a pinochle game, and he invented a move that Phil, Dave, and I to this day call the “Sonny Gambit.” When he was a long-haul trucker, it only took a single trip for him to recall routes. Picking up a load of steel, he’d frequently spend a night or two at our place in Gary during layovers.  At our kitchen table, over coffee, he’d get down on hands and knees to bark at our dog Ubu and then roar in that unforgettable laugh of his.  Sonny loved sitting around the table telling stories, discussing politics, and bemoaning the latest setbacks of his beloved Phillies, Flyers, and Eagles. The last time we talked, I mentioned a guy who wanted 8 Eagles to be his pallbearers so they could let him down one more time.  He roared.   When he turned 40, then 50, then 60, then 70, he’d say he never expected to still be alive.  People suspected that, like a cat, he had nine lives.  He’d joke about it and quip, “Well, I’ve used up another one,” after a brush with death, like when his heart stopped for many scary minutes.  His was an eventful life, and he imparted wit and wisdom to countless others.  I shed tears upon hearing he passed away.  He was a lion with a soft heart and sentimental side well appreciated by those who knew him. R.I.P. Sonny Man.