Calling Hours: 2 to 4 and 7 to 9 pm, Friday, July 18, 2014
Mass: 10:00 am, Saturday, July 19, St. Joseph’s Church, Bronxville
Dominic Lavin, age 88, of Bronxville New York, died July 15, 2014. Dom was born September 15, 1925 in Dublin, Ireland to John and Delia Lavin of Ballymote, County Sligo.
Dom is survived by Marianne (nee Tinney), his loving wife of 59 years. He was the loving father of Teresa (Eamonn), Dom (Kathleen) and James (Nanette), grandfather of Neil, Michael, Eamonn, Aileen, Thomas and Emma, and great-grandfather of Caroline. Dom is also survived by his sister Mae Kelly of Ballintogher, County Sligo Ireland and numerous cousins, nieces and nephews.
Dom graduated from Blackrock College in Dublin, and after immigrating to the United States in 1948 he served in the US Army during the Korean conflict. He worked in the company headquarters of Otis Elevator Company in Manhattan and then Farmington, CT until his retirement in 1987. After his retirement Dom served for eight years as a volunteer assisting wounded veterans at the Bay Pines VA Medical Center in Madeira Beach, Florida.
Dom loved Irish music and passed down his love of the Irish tradition to his children. He was known to all his family, friends and neighbors as a true gentleman.
Visitation hours will be held on Friday, July 18, 2014 from 2-4 pm and 7–9 pm at:
Fred H. McGrath & Son, Inc.
20 Cedar Street
Bronxville, NY 10708
A mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated on Saturday, July 19, 2014 at 10 am at:
St. Joseph’s Church
15 Cedar Street
Bronxville, NY 10708
A private internment will take place at Mountain View Cemetery in New Fairfield, CT.
The Fiddler of Dooney by W.B. Yeats
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With “Here is the fiddler of Dooney!”
And dance like a wave of the sea.
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