On a Sunday in early January of 2013 Carl Guarino shared with us that Greg had begun to take his last steps on life’s journey - my daughter Grace was celebrating her fifth birthday in our backyard. The moment was bittersweet. As much as I was saddened by the somber news I could recall that Greg and I were not much older than Grace and her friends when we first met at St. Rose of Lima. We both grew up on streets where childhoods were made in neighborhoods where our friends came from. We rode bikes without helmets, drank water from a hose and when we fell down we simply got up – no one worried much about sympathy. TV was free. Time with your Dad was priceless. Summer was forever. I remembered that we laughed at all the same jokes enchanting those kids in our backyard that afternoon.
At school he was the pesky side kick that Michael Pitou would ultimately rename “Rat” in sixth grade. Like many of the tales with which we’d associate him the line between fact and fiction then as now was never clear. His reincarnation as Rat we’re told was based loosely on our classmate's characterization of the 1960’s "Shane" television series.
The Parish of St. Rose of Lima conceded to release us by eighth grade - me to the care of the Millburn Public School system and Greg for a brief stint at Oratory College Prep. Ultimately, he would reunite with the forces of Wyoming Elementary at MHS were the comic larva from grade school moulted into our personal court jester. Barley a thousand days in high school bound the group of us together for a lifetime.
Rat was one of us. And we laughed together. His peculiar habits, insatiable curiosity, odd personal hygiene and untethered imagination fueled an endless supply of comic fodder. He was our source of constant amusement – an ever perplexing human conundrum.
The hindsight of five decades makes it easier now to distill the experience of our time together. That he was a comic genius or that we were simply more easily entertained than others is a topic of constant debate. Yet the ethos of Greg O’Neil was veiled behind that intense blue-eyed gaze and that infectious laugh we all came to know - a sort of quack or cackle that erupted like a broken air horn when he smiled. At his core what enamored us most and bound us all was his kind heart. He was a genuinely kind soul with a compassionate humility – an endearing quality that would manifest itself throughout his life. A loving son, a considerate brother, a committed husband, a dedicated father and to us all a close friend.
He was one of a kind unburdened by inhibition. The man that we'll never forget made us laugh more times than we can remember. Yet it was his heart not his humor that ultimately hooked us all. I am lucky to have met Greg O’Neil as a child and to have him as my friend for a lifetime. That we’ll miss him is not the point. For us lucky enough to have known him it was that he was here at all.
Dick Crowley
On a Sunday in early January of 2013 Carl Guarino shared with us that Greg had begun to take his last steps on life’s journey - my daughter Grace was celebrating her fifth birthday in our backyard. The moment was bittersweet. As much as I was saddened by the somber news I could recall that Greg and I were not much older than Grace and her friends when we first met at St. Rose of Lima. We both grew up on streets where childhoods were made in neighborhoods where our friends came from. We rode bikes without helmets, drank water from a hose and when we fell down we simply got up – no one worried much about sympathy. TV was free. Time with your Dad was priceless. Summer was forever. I remembered that we laughed at all the same jokes enchanting those kids in our backyard that afternoon.
At school he was the pesky side kick that Michael Pitou would ultimately rename “Rat” in sixth grade. Like many of the tales with which we’d associate him the line between fact and fiction then as now was never clear. His reincarnation as Rat we’re told was based loosely on our classmate's characterization of the 1960’s "Shane" television series.
The Parish of St. Rose of Lima conceded to release us by eighth grade - me to the care of the Millburn Public School system and Greg for a brief stint at Oratory College Prep. Ultimately, he would reunite with the forces of Wyoming Elementary at MHS were the comic larva from grade school moulted into our personal court jester. Barley a thousand days in high school bound the group of us together for a lifetime.
Rat was one of us. And we laughed together. His peculiar habits, insatiable curiosity, odd personal hygiene and untethered imagination fueled an endless supply of comic fodder. He was our source of constant amusement – an ever perplexing human conundrum.
The hindsight of five decades makes it easier now to distill the experience of our time together. That he was a comic genius or that we were simply more easily entertained than others is a topic of constant debate. Yet the ethos of Greg O’Neil was veiled behind that intense blue-eyed gaze and that infectious laugh we all came to know - a sort of quack or cackle that erupted like a broken air horn when he smiled. At his core what enamored us most and bound us all was his kind heart. He was a genuinely kind soul with a compassionate humility – an endearing quality that would manifest itself throughout his life. A loving son, a considerate brother, a committed husband, a dedicated father and to us all a close friend.
He was one of a kind unburdened by inhibition. The man that we'll never forget made us laugh more times than we can remember. Yet it was his heart not his humor that ultimately hooked us all. I am lucky to have met Greg O’Neil as a child and to have him as my friend for a lifetime. That we’ll miss him is not the point. For us lucky enough to have known him it was that he was here at all.