Paul Donahue, of East Moriches, man of few words who loved family and selling heavy equipment, dies at 90

A telling moment in his father's life, Bill Donahue said, came as he, his brothers and father, Paul, watched the U.S. hockey team celebrate their miracle win over the Soviet Union at the 1980 Winter Olympic Games in Lake Placid.

Amid the celebrations, the TV caught coach Herb Brooks stepping off the bench and walking toward the locker room, leaving his players to the festivities and avoiding the limelight.

"My dad thought that was just right," Bill Donahue, of Westhampton, said this week. "When we asked why, he said: 'This is about them,' meaning the players. 'It's not about the coach, it's not about him.' "

That Paul Donahue never wanted to be the center of attention, that he was a man of few words, somehow provided just the right guidance, the right touch, friends and family recalled this week.

"He didn't turn many heads when he walked into a room," Bill Donahue said. "But by the time he'd left a lot of people said, 'Hey, I like that guy.' "

Family patriarch Paul Donahue died Monday at his home in East Moriches six years after suffering a debilitating stroke. He was 90.

He leaves a legacy of steadfast friendships — and life lessons — for those who knew him.

"He was just the real deal," son-in-law Dave Smukler, of Port Jefferson, said. "He was a really great guy, was a terrific father-in-law. He was generous with his time, was always there for you. He was just the same guy whether it was with friends or family or in a room full of strangers ... Wherever he was, you got Paul."

Born July 18, 1934, in Somerset, Massachusetts, Donahue was a diesel mechanic in the Air Force stationed in Germany in the mid-1950s, then embarked on a 56-year career as a mechanic and salesman servicing and selling Caterpillar construction equipment for H.O. Penn on Long Island.

But, relatives said, Donahue wasn't your typical sales rep. In fact, he was known to talk customers out of higher-priced equipment in favor of machinery that better suited their needs.

That honesty often forged lifelong relationships with clients.

"Even after he retired," Bill Donahue said, "customers would say, 'Don't send out a new rep, send out Paul.' That's how well he understood people. That's how much the relationships meant."

Donahue first came to love heavy equipment as a child, and Smukler recalled a family story from when his father-in-law was a young boy. Donahue read a story about a bulldozer in a farming magazine and wrote to the local dealership to inquire about the big dozer.

"It turns out," Smukler said, "the dealer thinks he's got this hot prospect and a few days later Paul hears this huge tractor trailer coming down his block — and immediately he knows what's happened. He runs across the street to hide in the cemetery, this as the salesman, who's brought the bulldozer to the house on the back of a truck, rings the doorbell and asks for Mr. Donahue."

Answering the door, James and Jenny Donahue told the salesman: "That's not Mr. Donahue. It's our son — and he's just 9."

But, that was how much Paul Donahue loved heavy machinery — so much so, son Bill said, his father began pretty much every work morning at a local sandpit or construction site talking shop.

That steadfast nature was a key to family life for Donahue, who, while a man of few words, proved a great listener.

As Bill Donahue said: "My dad always said if you were talking you weren't listening ... He was the opposite of the selfie generation."

In a 60th wedding anniversary story in Newsday in 2017, Barbara Donahue remembered how she'd met her husband at a clam boil in Somerset.

Barbara Wasmuth was 12, growing up in St. Albans, Queens. And her sister Ann was engaged to Paul's brother, Jim. Over the ensuing years, Barbara and Paul Donahue, who was just 15 when the two met, would see each other at family gatherings — and then, with Paul living at his brother's while working summer construction on Long Island, the two began to date.

They were engaged over dinner at the Milleridge Inn in Jericho in 1956. Barbara, who was a reservations clerk for Eastern Airlines, flew to Neubiberg Air Base near Munich, Germany, to marry Donahue on June 1, 1957.

"Paul and I made the most of our adventure while living in the beautiful countryside of southern Germany," Barbara Donahue recalled in the story. "We explored the Bavarian Alps, attended an Oktoberfest and loved every minute of our time there."

Returning to the States, the couple lived outside Eglin Air Force Base in Florida, then moved to Long Island, following Jim and Ann to Center Moriches before buying a home in East Moriches. There, the two raised six children.

For several summers, they hosted disadvantaged children from Northern Ireland, and for 30 years the couple also worked together to deliver Meals on Wheels on a local route.

Besides his wife and his son Bill, Paul Donahue is survived by sons Mark, of Center Moriches, Kenneth, of Center Moriches, Paul,  of Oakdale, Peter, of Long Beach, daughter Ann Smukler, of Port Jefferson, 10 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

A funeral Mass was held Friday at St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Church in Center Moriches, followed by burial at Calverton National Cemetery.

By John Valenti

john.valenti@newsday.com

John Valenti, a reporter at Newsday since 1981, has been honored nationally by the Associated Press and Society of the Silurians for investigative, enterprise and breaking news reporting, as well as column writing, and is the author of “Swee'pea,” a book about former New York playground basketball star Lloyd Daniels. Valenti is featured in the Emmy Award-winning ESPN 30-for-30 film “Big Shot.”