‘Humble’ is a word that has lost much of its meaning in today’s vernacular, but dad was a humble man. He didn’t even want a eulogy – so I will remain brief – but of all the anecdotes I could think of last night, within that little one lays the mark of the man – a truly humble man. Too make matters worse, a friend at the Herald rang me last week and talked me into writing dad’s obituary – which should appear sometime soon. So over the past week I’ve had the privilege of speaking to a lot of people who knew dad at different stages of his life. I’ve spoken with family, with doctors, nurses, cleaners, shopkeepers, priests, former employees and partners, CEOs, waiters, academics, tradesmen, neighbours, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. They told me many wonderful stories; some told me things I never knew, some told me things I’d heard a thousand times, some told me things that made me laugh, and others told me things that made me cry. But in all those stories, two of dad’s many qualities were fore-grounded by every single person I spoke to – his humility and his gentleness. “Leo Feain,” they all told me, “was a true gentleman.” So poor old dad, he cops an obituary and a eulogy – the man who wanted it least, but possibly deserves it most. He should have written it into the will. You all knew dad, and you’re all here because he touched your lives in some way. I don’t need to list his many beautiful qualities or we’d be here all day. And like dad I’m not a great practitioner of public speaking but we’re here to honour him and if I’ve learnt anything from dad it is to front up, play the hand in front of you, make the best of what you’ve got. Dad had a tough upbringing; his family had to move often. His father John Joseph, a banker, was posted from city to city, and became seriously ill for many years before he died when dad was only 15. So from that young age dad took on the lifelong obligation of caring for his reclusive mother and sister. To help support them he chose a career where he could be of service to people, though that involved incredibly long working hours, sleepless nights on call, and years of postgraduate study. That left him little time for anything else and he might have easily spent his life devoted to just those things. But then he met mum. And if you knew mum, you know she chose well, she chose quickly, and she took no prisoners. He fell completely in love with her gregariousness, vivaciousness and irrational brilliance and together they made a formidable team. The beautiful young nurse probably had her pick of the boys but her uncanny ability to make huge life-altering decisions on seemingly nothing more than an instinctive whim, served her well. She could spot a lie at twenty paces and she used to bust me for things I hadn’t even done yet. Though throughout their early courtship, one thing baffled mum. She complained that dad never took her out on Saturday nights, in fact dad used to disappear and she actually worried he had another girl on the side. It turned out that every Saturday night dad would take his mother Vera, and sister Veronica out to dinner and the movies. My point is dad never sought acknowledgement or recognition for his deeds, often to his own detriment. He quietly went about his responsibilities and whatever life threw at him he stepped up, he followed through, and he never gave up – regardless of what he wanted for himself. Dad’s true passion was philosophy and theology, prayer and contemplation, and often he spoke of returning to such study if the chance had presented itself. We both shared that passion for the classics. We would drive mum mad discussing philosophy long into the night over a few bottles of wine. And for all our political differences, dad and I would, remarkably, nearly always reach consensus – or get too drunk to worry about it. Nonetheless, he had the rare ability to be unwaveringly solid in his core beliefs, yet not be blinded by the blinkers of dogma. I guess we both have the Jesuits to thank for that. We both loved the romance of Greek philosophy and used to wonder at the shear brilliance of these minds 3000 years ago when most of us were still living in caves. We enjoyed the oratory bravado of Socrates who paved the way for Plato, the father of democracy – my area of interest – and Hippocrates, the father of medicine – dad’s area of interest. But through all the great minds of history, dad’s favorite philosopher was far and away the great 13th century theologian St Thomas Aquinas and I mention this because he would always argue of the dangers of ethics without morality, and philosophy without theology – to which I would argue back even though it was always futile. For all his brilliance, the two aspects of Aquinas that dad loved most were very simple ones. When the deepest questions of life would stump St Thomas, he would leave his study and seek the counsel of the gardener; and, at the end of his life, he abandoned philosophy as a means to find God, saying to his colleague, Reginald of Piperno who begged him to return, “Reginald, I cannot, because all that I have written seems like straw to me.” So dad, this quiet, scholarly, gentleman, left to his own devices, would have probably entered the priesthood. He occasionally spoke of it. He loved the church and some of his best mates were priests. Yet he embraced the secular life with gusto. He always said his path in life was not to pursue his indulgences, but to follow the path laid before him. His loyalty as husband, father, friend and business partner was without peer. While deeply sensitive (and responsive) to the injustices of the world, he took on the rough and tumble of commerce and business, often with a great sense of fun and adventure, even though he was regularly taken for a ride or ripped off. But through it he met and befriended great men like the late Joe Stephen and together they took on some crazy ventures – it was inspirational stuff. The key criterion for dad was not the financial bottom line, it was the creative value of the investment to society and humanity. From zeolite to all-terrain wheelchairs, he was always willing to back a long shot. But it was always a calculated risk. Two of his favorite relatives, the charismatic Uncle Monte (Hart) and incorrigible grandpa Mac, tutored the trusting and innocent young Leo in the dark arts of horse racing and subsequently he was brilliant at hedging his bets – so he could always provide for his family or give someone else a leg up. He never became bitter about being burned or misled or lied to. It never stopped him having another go. To dad, you trusted someone because you chose to, not because you could guarantee they wouldn’t let you down. He knew the trust he so generously shared could inspire people to greater things. He had a profound understanding of the power of faith. It underpinned his whole life. He always considered his seemingly unshakable faith a gift to be shared and passed on in very practical and pragmatic ways. To dad, his devotion and spiritual practice was just that – a practice, and it did not stop when he walked out those doors. So if there is anything you could take from here today, I know dad would want you to take that … after all, it was the only thing upon which he threw everything on the nose for a win. Love Dom

I know it was your time to go I know that where you are, Is somewhere really close to us But also really far. I know that you're with Mimi And Zac and everyone, I don't know where you are But you're probably having fun. Know that we all miss you And know that you can bet. That it is impossible For us to forget The gorgeous loving memories That you have left behind, Mean you'll always be with us In heart and soul and mind. Amy Leigh Feain (12)