My Dad, Paul Sloan, grew up in the Bronx, and regardless of where he lived, he was a New Yorker through and through. When my brothers and I were younger, Dad would take us to New York City, where we quickly learned the layout from the east side to the west side. Mom loved shopping on Madison or Fifth, but Dad spent his time walking up and down Broadway where all the action was, stopping for a hotdog or random conversation with a stranger. Dad was street smart, book smart, handsome, and incredibly talented. Everyone loved him!

Dad could see the big picture and put things in proper perspective; he knew what was important in life. He made friends easily -  a real charmer who genuinely loved people. I watched him stand up for others when he witnessed injustice or someone being mistreated. I don’t think my Dad had a prejudiced bone in his body - well, maybe there was one.

I went to Dad for advice and regretted it when I didn’t listen. When I was 14, my girlfriend and I took summer jobs as telephone solicitors for Capital City Food Products, working every day from nine to five. Dad warned us repeatedly not to take the job, fearing it was a scam. But we knew better, plus we were so proud to find the jobs ourselves. Two long weeks went by trying to sell meat products, and after 160 combined hours of work, it was finally time to pick up our first paycheck. When we arrived at work, a note on the door read, “Business closed. No forwarding address,” and we were devastated. My Dad never said, “I told you so,” but instead,  tracked the man down in Cleveland and called him, only to find out he went bankrupt.

What a salesman Dad was. He and my uncle owned World Supply Company, a discount furniture store at Fifth and Main in downtown Columbus. When customers walked in, he greeted them with his Paul Sloan smile, and before you knew it, they were buying not just one but three rooms of furniture for $399, as advertised. My brothers and I worked at the store during summer vacations. While they were moving furniture, loading and unloading trucks, getting dirty, and making deliveries, I sorted files in the office, checked out the furniture on the sales floor, and observed all the action. Little did my brother, Steve, and I know we would someday be in the furniture business.

Dad was different than most fathers I knew and much less traditional. He worked hard but played even harder. He was an excellent poker player who taught me the game and how to keep a straight face when I had a bad hand. But shooting pool was his favorite. I learned how to play straight pool, eight-ball, use English on the cue ball, and bank off a side rail. Many evenings Dad would walk into our pool room, make a scotch on the rocks, turn on his music, grab his favorite cue, and rack up the balls. My brothers and I watched in awe and can’t remember him ever losing a game of pool. Here he is about to sink one.

Another one of Dad’s favorite pastimes was going to the race track, especially Scioto Downs. Sometimes on a Saturday night, my parents invited us to join them for a night out on the town. The outdoor clubhouse wasn’t known for good food or service, but it was first class for my brothers and me. We had fancy white table linens and a perfect view overlooking the track. Dad gave us ten dollars each to bet. It didn’t matter that I rarely won; here we were, all dressed up, sitting under the stars studying racing forms and being risky. The biggest thrill of the night was walking up to the teller window, all by myself, and placing a bet.

Dad played the piano, organ, ukulele, banjo, and harmonica by ear. His timing was impeccable, and his party skills were excellent. With all his talent and bad boy ways, it’s no wonder his friends adored him. I have wonderful memories of our family sitting around the piano bar at the Top Steakhouse listening to pianist Sonia Modes play something just to see if Dad knew the lyrics, but he always did. When she played a Frank Sinatra song, he became Sinatra, blue eyes and all.

When Rocky and I were living in Washington, D.C., my parents came to visit, and we took them to a fun restaurant for dinner. Dad was known for always grabbing the check regardless of the number of people at the table, but this time Rocky insisted on paying; there was to be no argument. Rocky wanting to make an impression, selected the most expensive French restaurant in D.C., La Nicoise, and generously invited another couple, both lovers of fine wine. When we arrived, the restaurant was dark and fancy, with chandeliers hanging everywhere. Elegantly dressed waiters on roller-skates made their way around the room, taking orders and delivering entrees. Rocky insisted no one hold back, so the six of us ordered the finest foods on the menu. Our skating waiters kept the fine wines and bread coming. After appetizers, salads, and a very long dinner, came the French desserts and expensive cigars for the men, followed by brandy and liqueurs.

The moment came when our waiter gracefully placed the bill in the center of the table. Rocky grabbed it, as promised, pulled out his wallet, and proceeded to go through every card, including his driver’s license, gasoline card, Marine ID card, and insurance card, but there was no credit card. He repeated the search several times while everyone watched and finally declared how embarrassed and sorry he was. Dad grabbed the bill out of Rocky’s hand but only after calling him “Meathead,” the name Archie Bunker called his son-in-law in “All in the Family.” It was one of those moments, and my Dad never let Rocky forget it.

Dad’s love affair with Mom lasted for thirty years, but he was never quite the same after she passed away. We would meet at the Clarmont for lunch, but it was hard for him to talk about her, so we rarely did. He stayed busy at work, loved being with little Sarah and Jake, took a trip with Bobby to Israel, and never had a problem finding a date. But, within three years, Dad passed away unexpectedly. That was forty years ago, and as I write about him now, my eyes are filled with tears.

Paul Sloan was a  wonderful, loving, wise father who loved life, and I loved him dearly. Like the old Sinatra song, “My Way,” Dad lived a full life and did it his way - with love, passion, charm, and a whole lot of class.

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