A Eulogy for Corneliu Mateescu, by Bryan Caplan

My father-in-law, the little boy in the late-1930s picture below, died last week.  Here is the eulogy I just delivered for this courageous and determined family man.

Today we come together to honor the memory of Corneliu
Dumitru Mateescu.  He was the husband of
the loving and devoted Maria Mateescu, and the father of my wife, Corina
Caplan.  Cornel and Maria have four
grandchildren, all of them here with us today: grandsons Aidan, Tristan, and
Simon, and granddaughter Valeria - named for Cornel's dear mother.  Last January, Cornel and Maria celebrated
their Golden Anniversary.  Many of you
were there to celebrate that happy day with us, and we're honored that you join
us on this sad day just three months later. 

Cornel was born in the mid-1930s.  He enjoyed an idyllic childhood with his
loving parents... until the war came.  Before
long, young Cornel became a refugee for the first - but not the last - time in
his life, as his family fled Bucharest to escape the bombing.  When the war ended, Cornel endured the tyranny
and privation of Communist rule for decades. 
But he made the best life an honest man could make for himself in such a
system, working as an electrician, marrying in 1968, and becoming a father in
1971. 

The defining period in Cornel's life began just three years
later.  Maria received permission from
the Communist government to travel outside the Eastern Bloc, leaving her
husband and daughter behind as hostages. 
When Maria reached the United States, Cornel requested permission for
the whole family to join her.  As usual
in such cases, he was not merely refused, but insulted and threatened for his
counter-revolutionary request.   Unlike
most people in his position, however, Cornel stood firm.  He asked again.  Again he was insulted and threatened, but he
wouldn't take no for an answer.  Year
after year, he demanded freedom for himself, his daughter, and his parents. In
the end, his amazing courage and determination paid off.  In 1978, Cornel left Communist Romania with
his daughter - and never returned until their dictatorship was no more. 

At this point, Cornel became a refugee for the second time
in his life.  After reaching the way
station of Italy, the American government didn't feel ready to grant him
permission to rejoin his wife, so they kept him waiting in bureaucratic
limbo.  Cornel and Corina had to make a
temporary home in an special building for Italy's refugees.  Cornel, speaking no Italian, found a job in a
bottling factory to support himself and his daughter.  I still remember Cornel telling me that they
ate so much macaroni during those months that he never wanted to eat pasta
again as long as he lived. 

About six months later, the U.S. bureaucracy finally gave
Cornel and Corina a green light to rejoin Maria in Los Angeles.  It was a joyous reunion, but another hard
chapter in Cornel's life.  Almost as old
as I am today, he had to learn a new language and start over.  In Romania, he was a managing
electrician.  In America, he became a
janitor.  But over the years, with his
famous determination, Cornel's English improved - and he was able to return to
his chosen occupation, working for JPL for many years.  In time, Cornel brought his beloved parents
to join the family.  With faith and hard
work, the Mateescus carved out their slice of the American dream, buying a
house right here in sunny California and sending their daughter to the top
public university in the country, UC Berkeley. 
Cornel and Maria found the time and money to travel to Europe, and even
revisit Romania.

The highlight of Cornel's golden years, though, were his
grandchildren.  Cornel was an only child,
and Romanians have grown used to small families.  Imagine his delight, then, when he learned
that he would soon be the grandfather of two twin boys!  Cornel and Maria spent many months with us
during Aidan and Tristan's early years - and our sons spent many months in
California in their grandparents' loving care. 
I'm not sure if Cornel ever changed a diaper, but he fed them, watched
them, joked with them, told them stories, played with them, and put endless
batteries into their toys.  When Simon
came along, Opapa (as he liked to be called) was eager to do it all over again.  By the time that Cornel met his first
granddaughter, he was already slowing down, but whenever they were together,
little Valeria was the center of his world.

All of us who knew Cornel know that he could be
stubborn.  But when you reflect on his
long life, it's clear that his stubbornness is the root of all he
accomplished.  Almost anyone else would
have accepted the hopelessness of reuniting his family, of trying to give his
daughter a better and freer life.  Almost
anyone else would have cowered at the insults, and caved in to the
threats.  But Cornel endured his staring
match with the Communists year after year until they blinked.  How many of us would have made it as
refugees?  Cornel did it twice.  Imagine trying to learn a new language and
find a job - any job - in your forties. 
Cornel did it.  Twice.  We can all use some of his stubbornness to
help us through the adversities of life. 

But the greater lesson of Cornel's life is the value of
family.  Cornel was a truly devoted son,
husband, father, and grandfather.  He
loved them all - and was not afraid to show his feelings with hugs, kisses, and
tears.  When they needed him, he gave
them his all.  Without his love and
determination, my wife probably wouldn't even be in this country, much less in
my life.  Our children never would have
been born.  We owe Cornel all that we
have, and we will never forget him.

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