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Richard John Forrestal
Richard John Forrestal passed peacefully in his sleep from this world to the next on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025, in his own home.
Born in rural Ireland in 1924 on the family farm in Tullamore, County Offaly. He became a master mechanic through the old-school apprentice system of seven years. Wanting more from life than his situation could afford him, he worked and saved until he finally had enough money for passage aboard the Mauretania, which he dubbed “a lucky ship” in a letter home to his parents, written on the ship’s letterhead before sailing.
He landed in New York City with $27 in his pocket, and half of it was gone after taking a taxi from the port to the Bronx, or he was left with 27 dollars. It changed in the telling depending on the audience in proper Seanchaí tradition. He had arranged housing with “Old Lady Riley,” who owned an apartment building in The Bronx with 12 units. One of those apartments was rented to the McCulloughs: Mac, Lilly, and their daughter.
Having traveled 3,000 miles, he would say that he found the love of his life... next door—Jeannine McCullough. They would be married nearly 70 years. Despite all his accomplishments, Dad would say that the best and toughest thing he ever did was summon the courage to ask Mac McCullough, a veteran of two world wars, for his only daughter’s hand in marriage.
“Fresh off the boat”, he began working for the famed car maker Austin-Healey, traveling the country in their flagship car and teaching others how to repair them. The travel, however, proved unacceptable for him as a family man, so he joined the New York Air National Guard at Floyd Bennett Field in NYC. He later migrated with the unit to Westhampton Beach, where it became the 106th Air Rescue Wing. With his talent and work ethic, he rose to the top enlisted ranks as a Chief Master Sergeant. He served his country for 28 years.
He was married to his wife, our mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Jean Forrestal, for nearly 70 years. They had three children, eight grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren. He read broadly, loved all things nautical, and traveled the world with Mom until he was 93. (Last trip: Ireland.) He quietly helped many people who needed—but couldn’t afford—repairs on anything with an engine.
He was a consummate storyteller and host. You could get lost for an hour or an evening in his tales of ramshackle home built motorcycles, or the sly shenanigans of “Igor Chumley,” his military alter ego, who never failed to appear when young Sergeant Forrestal was about to get into trouble. Sergeant Chumley also never failed to confound officers and supervisors alike. The twinkle in his eye—no matter how often he told the tales—never faded. His love of America was unending. His love of Ireland and all things Irish was evergreen.
And his Sunday breakfasts were internationally loved.
He often said, “Life has been good to us, and we should always try to give a little more back”—and that he did.
He lived an extraordinary life. It is not an exaggeration to say he stepped off the Mauretania as a man alone, believing only that he could be more than what his circumstances initially offered. He leaves us now as a community of family, families, and friends.
He will be terribly missed by many, but I don’t think he’d want us to look on his passing as a tragedy in the least. He lived a long life and loved well. He did everything he wanted to in this life, met every challenge—and now he’s home. Home with the Lord, with his wife, and with the family who went on before him.
When our time comes, we know he’ll greet us with that Sunday breakfast, a cup of coffee, a broad smile, and some wonderful stories.
Love you, Dad. Thanks for all of it.
We are your family—and ever grateful to be so.
Staff Writer on Apr 23, 2025