A Eulogy for Don Toney

My dear friend Don Toney died on the Fourth of July, another sad reduction of the remnants of the fabled Class of ’49 at Bridgeville High School. His daughter Diana invited me to join the family and Don’s large network of friends at a Celebration of his Life, at Cefalo’s Restaurant in Carnegie, following the funeral. She also suggested I say “a few words”, as his “Best Friend”.

My memories of Don date back to third or fourth grade, when I remember him, Ray Fagan, and John (Yunner) Rosa as being a local version of the Dead End Kids. To the rest of us, the kids from Baldwin Street were all tough guys who considered us Bank Property types as panty-waist sissies. In later years they regaled us with stories of their mischief in those days – stealing sickle pears from “Old Man” Donaldson’s orchard in Greenwood Place, shooting each other with BB guns, playing “Buckety-Buck” and “Stick-in-the-Mud”, and harassing Herman Colussy at the Ice Plant. That trio was inseparable all the way through our school years. Somewhere we have a priceless photograph of the three of them dressed as girls for a HI-Y initiation. They are easily the most unlikely Drag Queens imaginable, looking more like the Three Stooges than the Andrews Sisters.   

Following graduation we ‘49ers went our separate ways, with most of us retaining contact with only a few very close friends. I lost track of Don, with the exception of seeing him at our Class Reunions every five years. They were always enjoyable and much too short to really rekindle relationships. In 1994, at our forty-fifth reunion, Sam Capozzoli suggested that the guys still living in the Bridgeville area reverse this trend by getting together once a month. Thus was born the “First Wednesday Brunch Club”.

Initially we met at 10:00 am at a restaurant in Heidelberg the first Wednesday of each month. We began with a roster of nine, most of whom were able to attend regularly. Don enjoyed this opportunity immensely and quickly became the self-appointed coordinator of the group. Eventually we moved to Bob Evans in Kirwan Heights and added a second brunch, the third Wednesday of each month. We grew old together; at one point Ray Fagan announced, “Fellows, we are now the seventies club!”

As the years passed and we became “the eighties club”, our numbers began to shrink. First Jake Schullek died, followed by Ray Fagan, Jack McGrogan, and Dick Rothermund. Declining health began to limit participation by Sam Capozzoli and Lou Kwasniewski. At some point we relaxed our standards and began to permit BHS Alumni from other classes to join us. Soon the ‘49er contingent was down to Don, Yunner Rosa, and me. Yunner was a part-timer. He lives in luxury in Arizona most of the year; comes back to Bridgeville for an extended stay each summer.

One summer Don and I took advantage of Yunner’s summer visits to have lunch with him on Wednesdays in between the Brunch Club weeks. We enjoyed that so much that it became a regular routine all year round for Don and me to get together every Wednesday, frequently at different restaurants. Even though we disagreed on many topics, we had a great time solving the world’s problems together. In another classic photo I am obviously sad-faced handing him a twenty dollar bill in recognition of a failed bet on the 2016 Presidential Election.

One week Don introduced the subject of medical alert devices for recluses living alone like the two of us. “Suppose I fall and can’t get up to get to a phone. I might lie there for days before anyone came to help me.” Since neither of us was interested in investing in such a device, we made a pact. Before Noon each day we would exchange text messages, confirming we were both still alive and functioning. This was so convenient that it opened up a powerful communication capability. I soon became the recipient of messages on a variety of subjects, frequently from the past. He often advised me of an old movie about to start on some obscure TV channel – perhaps “Casablanca” or “Godfather II”. Many times he sent me photos from our earlier brunches or our youth. The common denominator of all these was his consistent intention to share things that he enjoyed with someone else – I was fortunate to be the recipient of them.  

Appropriately the funeral service was performed at St. George’s Antiochian Orthodox Church, down Washington Pike from Bridgeville. Ninety years ago Murray Toney, Don’s father, was upset because a Syrian lady of his acquaintance had been denied burial in the Roman Catholic Cemetery in Carnegie. A lifelong activist, his reaction was to purchase a block of land in South Fayette, on behalf of St. George’s Church. It soon became a cemetery, and a picnic venue as well. For years, every summer holiday there was a very well attended festival at “the Syrian Grove”. I remember Don reminiscing about earning quarters parking cars at those festivals. I also remember hearing clearly exotic Middle Eastern music from the grove at our home on Lafayette Street, at least a mile away

Don’s musical tastes were dominated by the popular music of our youth, especially performers like Frank Sinatra. My tastes are more diversified and include Country and Western music. One favorite is Roger Miller’s “Old Friends”:

Don Toney was the answer to my version of the prayer in that song.

Have we been “best friends” the past ten or twelve years? That certainly works for my side of the relationship; I hope it was as rewarding for him as it has been for me. I can’t imagine a greater honor than being known as Don Toney’s Best Friend.