James Morad

My dad, James “Jim” Lee Morad, was my hero and my friend and, as I write this, I am overwhelmed by feelings and memories. Dad was born in Los Angeles, California, to Florence and Isaac Morad. Isaac and Florence were second generation Americans, whose parents and other relatives immigrated from Syria. They had three children, including my father, whom they lovingly referred to as “Jimmy.” Jim’s siblings, Raymond and Vivian both died young. This left Jim to grow up as an only child for most of his life. However, he had many stories, about aunts, uncles, and cousins who lived in the same neighborhood in East Los Angeles. Jim talked about spending his evenings in his cousins’ homes, joining them for dinner. Jim told stories of cousins throwing lima beans under the table, walking pregnant mothers around the block to encourage labor, and helping his mother make filo dough from scratch by stretching it over bed linens spread over the living room furniture.

Our relatives often talked about how smart “Jimmy” was. He would read every sign on storefronts when in the car with family members. He was an avid reader and, at a young age, began reading the paper every day. Jim would come home with straight As on report cards from Garfield High School. His academic success was a result of internal motivation. Somehow, Jim knew very early that he wanted to attend college. After high school he joined the Navy to take advantage of the GI Bill to pay for tuition at The University of Southern California. At USC, Jim was a sports writer for The Daily Trojan, USC’s newspaper. He loved all sports but was enamored of football. Jim even tried to play football as a young man but found that writing about it was safer and closer to his skill set. With his graduation, he become the first in his immediate family to earn a college degree.

Jim decided to pursue a Master’s degree in journalism at Columbia University in New York. Jim described his time in New York as exhilarating. He told stories of being a poor college student, working at a museum gift shop and alternating between eating spaghetti and meatballs one night and “Chow Mein” the next from cheap restaurants near his dorm.

Although Jim’s initial plan was to become a journalist—and more specifically, a sports writer—a friend shared his experience joining USIA. Something about the idea caught his attention. After all, he had always been excited by the prospect of seeing the world. In fact, that had been one motivation for him joining the Navy, although that ended up as a tour served in an office in Sand Diego. So, as he was finishing at Columbia, he put in an application to USIA, more or less “on a whim.” Having not heard anything by graduation, he returned to California and began working for United Press International. However, he then received an invitation to travel to Washington for testing and interviewing and, in May of 1960, he joined the US Foreign Service.

Jim’s career in the Foreign Service covered over thirty years. His international assignments began in Madrid in 1960 and ended in Paris in 1986. Jim met my Mom, Louise, in Madrid after being “set up” by a mutual friend. They married in Mexico in 1963 and, later, Jim’s daughters Lisa and Sandra enjoyed the benefits of living overseas and growing up in a Foreign Service family.

When he retired in 1993, Jim told colleagues, family, and friends that one of his greatest joys was proving his mother, Florence, wrong. He told us Florence had once told “Jimmy,” that he would never be able to hold a job for long. With 33 years in the Foreign Service under his belt, he delighted in getting the last laugh.

Jim/Jimmy/Dad/Grandpa died at home, at age 90, surrounded by his family. He is survived by Louise; me, Lisa Marie Morad-McCoy, my husband Michael, our two sons Aaron and Joshua; and my sister, Sandra Morad, and her children Luka, Nikola, and Ella. Before he died on January 6th, Jim told us:

“Not many people are as lucky as I am, to have lived a long, life, full of adventure, and a family who loves me.”