A cop reporter's life of tears and laughter
Joe ODowd represented the People Paper in the Roundhouse until he retired in 1999.
IT'S A PICTURE of a group of guys who at one time reported on just about every robbery, rape, murder, major fire and accident fatality in the city. They were the police reporters for the city's three major newspapers. It was taken 54 years ago when they moved from Room 619 in City Hall to the new Police Administration Building (a/k/a "the Roundhouse").
And although the press room was on the Roundhouse's second floor, it was still known as 619. The engraved plaque on the door says so.
Ten men are in the picture. All but two of them are gone. The most recent to pass stands in the back row, second from the right. He's dressed up in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, the ever-present pencil in the coat's upper pocket. And although he never made it past West Catholic (Class of '54) and used to fix washing machines for a living, he was one of the best reporters to come out of 619.
His name: Joseph Donald (after Donald Duck, really) O'Dowd. To some, he was simply "Odie."
Odie passed away Wednesday at Bryn Mawr Hospital, a couple weeks before his 78th birthday. His wife, Alice, was at his side, right where she'd been for 51 years.
O'Dowd retired from the Daily News in 1999, after nearly 40 years on the police beat.
Odie loved the horses, crabs, Sea Isle City, Marlboros and Coors Light. He also loved to make people laugh. The sidewalk was one of his stages. Like the sidewalk in Sea Isle, where he'd walk an invisible dog on a leash he picked up God knows where.
He was many things to many people. To his daughter Missy, he was the "softhearted dad whose little girl could do no wrong."
To his son-in-law Pat Donahue, he was "Bart" after the rascally Bart Simpson.
To his four granddaughters, he was jokester "Poppy" who wanted to know if "smoked hams could really smoke."
To children, he was "the man" who made them milkshakes, or wet a dollar bill and stuck it on his forehead. To young people starting out in life, he was "Mr. O'Dowd," who offered advice and guidance and helped set them on the path to successful careers.
To his peers, he was just a guy you were glad to be around, who always had an ear to bend, a shoulder to lean on. A guy with whom your secret was safe.
But Odie's life wasn't all horses and milkshakes.
There was sorrow on that hot May morning in 2006 when he stood behind the casket of his eldest son, Joseph, 41. Two years earlier, he stood behind the casket of another son, Sean, 38.
Shortly before he died, Alice sat at her husband's bedside and recalled that many years ago a Daily News editor, knowing that Odie was going to Garden State Park that day, handed him a $2 bill and asked him to place a bet on a long-shot trifecta. It paid $136. But Odie got to the track late and never placed the bet. A friend heard the story and jokingly gave Odie a $2 bill as an everlasting reminder of the missed bet.
A few days ago, Alice was going through her husband's wallet, and there, tucked away in a corner, was the $2 bill.
Post time, Odie. Post time.
Joe Clark delivered skilled storytelling and graceful writing to Daily News readers for more than 30 years.