Eulogy presented on Saturday March 7, 2026

Saturday, March 6, 2026
Eulogy for David Ignatius Driscoll
St. Joseph's Church, Medway, MA

Good morning.

I'm Michael, David's youngest son, and I wanted to share a few words about my dad on behalf of his family. Thank you to those who came here to today's Mass to honor his life.

Before I talk about who my dad was, I thought it appropriate to share what he was not.

Dave Driscoll was not an athlete — there’s a reason the field is the Joseph P. Hanlon Football Field, and the library is named after my dad.

My dad was not a handyman — despite being the son of the chief of the Boston Fire Department's mechanics division, the last place you’d want to be was stuck between Dad, a wrench, and a broken appliance.

My dad was not pretentious. He lived simply and seemed happiest when eating off a paper plate, in his quick-dry shorts, while driving an Aries K station wagon with a hole in the floor.

My dad was not easy to persuade. When Hurricane Milton came roaring through Florida a couple of years ago, we pressed him to leave. Instead, he stayed put with his neighbor Roger, drinking beer and playing poker. When the evacuation became mandatory, he said simply, “Well, it’s too late. I can’t go anywhere now.”

In other words, my dad was stubborn. Or, to put it more positively, he was persistent.

Born into a working-class Irish family in Brighton, he had to persist to find a spot among the many talented students at Boston Latin — some of whom are here today — and later be accepted by the Jesuits at Boston College.

His persistence led him to become, at age 27, the youngest principal in New England, in a small town in Vermont. That choice was revealing of the first of three things that defined my dad.

He dedicated his life to public education.

Many of us are gathered here today because of his choice to come to Medway in 1971 and spend the next 30 years serving as principal. Being principal at Medway High was more than a job for him. It's where he found meaning. Where he built lifelong friendships with fellow teachers.

His own five children, myself included, flourished at Medway High — despite some notable run-ins with the local fire department.

Like the Jesuits who educated him, he believed that education allowed children to unlock their own potential. He was especially proud when once-imperfect students, whom he affectionately called "dingbats," would go on to become successes in life.

He had a wicked sense of humor.

Despite his often buttoned-up appearance, Dad had a wry wit, always delivered with a smile. A friend with a foolish idea was "ten cents short of a dime."

His humor is how he connected with students, teachers, his friends, and even his grandkids well into his 80s.

He loved nature — not stuff.

For a kid born on the streets of Brighton, he found his way time and again to nature. His happiest moments were biking along the Charles River, camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, or floating in his poke boat on a Vermont lake.

He favored experiences over possessions. And he was fond of saying, "You can't take it with you."

But his commitment to community, his ability to laugh at himself and others, and his appreciation of life's simple pleasures are values we will all take forward.