Transcript
Corinne Abbas (0:00)
This is an iHeart podcast.
Narrator/Announcer (0:04)
Support for today's show comes from Sonos. Watching games with a Sonos home theater setup makes everything feel more immersive. The Arc Ultra soundbar delivers incredible surround sound that puts you right in the middle of the action, bringing that stadium experience right into my home. And now I've been trying out the Sonos Ace headphones and like all Sonos products, they perform as good as they look. Sleek design, crystal clear sound and a super comfortable fit. Check out the full lineup@sonos.com this episode.
Navy Federal Credit Union Sponsor (0:32)
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Barbara Horne (1:11)
Iheart3d audio for full exposure.
Sylvie Harris (1:15)
Listen with headphones.
Narrator/Announcer (1:19)
Havoc Town is a production of iHeart podcasts and Grim and Mild from Aaron Manke. Headphones recommended. Listener discretion advised.
Josiah Abbas (voice or reading) (1:35)
There's a vile sickness in Abbas Town. You must excise it, dig into the deep earth and cut it out by any means necessary. And if you see the devil walking around inside of another man, be an enemy of your very own brother. If you see the blood pour forth from his flesh, you must cut out the very heart of him, burn his body and scatter the ashes in the furthest corner of this town as a warning.
Corinne Abbas (2:53)
Jonathan, my father. I've been to a lot of these for my grandfather Bill Abbas, my grandmother Dottie. A couple years later, my mom. Too young. I've been to funerals for a lot of your families too. It's a small town that's got its good and it's bad. And all of us, all the grieving ones, the ones left behind, we all say the same thing, right? He was a complicated man because how else do you sum up a person's life? He lived here his entire life, was born a county general, went to school at Havoc elementary and later Robert Frost High. Go you blue devils. He didn't go to college. A lot of us didn't. A lot of us stayed on at home after high school, got jobs at the mill or with the police department. Raised families. That was dad, too. Met mom right out of high school, fell in love, made a few mistakes Together. And boom. Took over grandpa's bar, made it his own. He was a good dad. Not too harsh. Maybe not harsh enough. He always said he was proud of me, pushed me to be my best, but never made me feel less than if I failed. The only time I think I ever saw him disappointed in me was when I left college after a couple of semesters to help out at home. You know, mom was sick. He wasn't disappointed that I came home so much. But I think he knew that I wasn't going back. And I think. I think that broke his heart. Because he knew that I'd probably stay here in this place where we sometimes aren't just people who live here now. Because they'd be thinking about the past, about who our family was, not who we are, who we can be. Of course, a lot of this is conjecture. He wasn't much of a talker. I'm sure you know, but he still knew where you stood somehow. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Okay. Jim Abbas was a good man. He was my dad. He loved the people he loved fiercely. He got all of you drunk. There's no such thing as a curse. Come out to Dottie's after. We'll drink to that. First round's on the. Obviously, I'm not a public speaker, and I hate it. But more than that, I hate the bit after the service. The line. You know the line. Always the damn receiving line. People you barely know offering their condolences. Bar patrons strangely sober in daylight, blinking their eyes to adjust only occasional surprise.
