On September 2nd, 2024 the Yankees won, BC football upset Florida State, and Harvey Allen Press finally found peace. Harvey died at home in Schnecksville, PA, 116 miles from Throgs Neck in the Bronx. Although 45 years removed, it was still, truly his home. He was 74.

Harvey was predeceased by his mother Helen and father Murray. He was a dedicated brother to Beverly, protective uncle to Andrea and Alyssa, and recent grand uncle to Jordan H. The greatest pride of his life was to be father to Jason, father-in-law to Katie, and especially, "Pops" to Matthew, Elizabeth, and Amelia. He watched them grow and delighted them with stories, music, boisterous cheers, corn, and pizza. He would have given anything to be there for more of their games, meets, concerts, and performances. He'll watch over them for years to come.

His extended family of friends were always his lifeline. They include those he made in Allentown especially Mike, Paul, Greg, Brian, Jerry, Michelle, Tommy, and Thomas; and the faithful "72 yarders" that he remained friends with for 60+ years especially Paul, Frank, Mike, Vinny, Val, John, Joe, and Eileen. Even though his son was there for him as much as he was able, it was the extended family of men and women that he spoke to so frequently that kept him full of life. "No man is a failure who has friends."

Growing up in the Bronx, the baseball field was a far more engaging place to be than the confines of the classrooms of Christopher Columbus High School. He eventually found the drive to get his GED, complete his undergraduate degree at The College of New Rochelle, and fall a few credits shy of his Masters in Social Work at UPenn and Kutztown University. Regardless of where he stood on his educational path, he was never one to live by convention. While the degrees were well-earned accolades, they simply gave professional validation to his life of providing guidance, compassion, and support to family, friends, and even strangers.

His ascension from the projects of the Bronx carried him out of the city, then upstate, and eventually to Pennsylvania. Marriage to Susan brought the city boy to a suburban life he would come to accept even if his Bronx roots never left him. He grew as a professional, a father, son-in-law, and husband. Marriage ended, jobs changed, addresses updated but never detracted from his loyalty, compassion, and commitment to those he cared for. He lived a life to care about people. Among generations of family, friends, and coworkers he was a natural leader who truly wore his heart on his sleeve.

His jobs through the years would be numerous. While his proudest professional accomplishment was becoming Regional Director of a foster care agency and building a helpline for kids in crisis, the breadth of his roles spanned bartending, umpiring, social work, foster care, off track betting, transportation, and even a stint at Lowe's. But, it was his titles away from work that he cherished far more. The King, The Mayor of the Schoolyard, The Maker of the Bash, The Right-Handed Fireballer, Coach, Harv, Dad, and Pops.

For a man whose motto was 'Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda' he relished telling stories of the things he wished he had done. Most notable were his dreams for a career in baseball. He liked to say that he's forgotten more about baseball than many people could ever know. A star from a young age, he pitched Christopher Columbus High School to victory in the Bronx Championship in 1967 but it was perhaps his fear of success that scared him away from completing school and achieving his baseball destiny. A talented baseball player, he 'should' have gone pro. A skillful umpire, he 'could' have been a professional. But those things never came to pass. While there were so many things he should or could have done in baseball, there's hope that deep down he could also appreciate how good he was at the things he did accomplish, both big and small, that meant so much to so many people.

As he aged and ailed, he'd quote his idol, 'the Mick,' "If I knew I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself." He lived years of meager means, hoping for a jackpot. But what he didn't earn in dollars, he earned in a toughness, grit, and a rawness that the Bronx builds and you simply cannot buy. Underneath all those hard layers was a man of conviction. Harvey spoke his mind and was never intimidated by those who wielded power or pretense. A loving father and grandfather, caring friend, thoughtful professional, passionate fan, spirited joke teller, and all around incredibly good guy. Harvey was one of a kind but the demons he faced of not finding the success he longed for in the sport he loved, weighed heavy on his incredibly big heart. At long last those demons can be quieted by the cheers of the crowd as he's brought in for relief in a tight game full of heavenly angels. Let it fly, Pops.

Harvey never wanted a funeral service. He always said, write something nice about me and let me go. As his son, I hope this did the trick although letting go will never be an option. In lieu of flowers, Harvey would tell you to save your hard earned money; prices are too high these days anyway. Toast him with a Blue Moon, a 'Summer Brew', a Dewar's or if you can find some Yago, make a bash. Eat a good meal, grab a slice of mushroom pizza, or take a bialy and cover it with cream cheese and lox. Watch a Seinfeld or Curb Your Enthusiasm and celebrate his unparalleled sense of humor. Catch the Yankees game; cheer, boo, but, always hope they can find their way to celebrate in October like they did when his heroes played. Bet the number. Pick a winner. Tell a story about the good old days. Sing a jingle from an old time commercial. Find a great song, play it loud, dance along and show your kids how it's done. Most importantly, watch your kids and grandkids do something they love, pass along your wisdom, cheer loud, and relish their opportunity for the future.

When days were hard, his arthritis raged, or he felt like he couldn't go on, Harvey would reference something I once told him; "Pops, just do the best you can for as long as you can." You did great, Dad. Rest well now. You are loved so much. Look out for me someday; you'll hear me: "Hey dad, wanna have a catch?"