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B: 1926-04-22
D: 2019-03-06
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Tantullo, Mary
Mary Stapel
B: 1931-10-12
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Catherine Seminerio
B: 1935-03-01
D: 2019-03-05
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Edward Moran
B: 1933-04-26
D: 2019-02-27
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Moran, Edward
George Linke
B: 1954-04-25
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Margaret Appell
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B: 1941-10-13
D: 2019-02-04
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Angelina Russo
B: 1915-02-08
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Louise Yankowski
B: 1941-04-26
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Joseph Westley
B: 1932-04-09
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John Orlic
B: 1941-09-18
D: 2019-01-27
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Lorraine Weil
B: 1927-03-24
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Mildred Martinez D'Angelo
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Bartholomio Mobilio
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B: 1932-07-23
D: 2018-12-27
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Robert Minervini
B: 1923-02-24
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425 Broad Street
Carlstadt, NJ 07072
Phone: (201) 438-6708
Fax:
Edward  Moran

Edward J Moran

Wednesday, April 26th, 1933 - Wednesday, February 27th, 2019
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Obituary

Edward J. Moran, 85, of Carlstadt for 61 years, passed away at home surrounded by his loving family on February 27, 2019. Mr. Moran served in the U.S. Army during the Korean War. Prior to retiring at the age of 78, he was a taxidermist and the proprietor of Moran Taxidermy for over 50 years. Edward was a parishioner of St. Joseph’s Church. He was a member of the Carlstadt V.F.W. Post 3149, the Carlstadt American Legion Post 69 and the NJ Water Fowlers. Ed enjoyed duck hunting, wood carving, oil painting and writing. Beloved husband of Ena M. (nee Caffrey) Moran. Loving father of Philly Moran, Eddie Moran, Brian Moran, Kevin Moran, Sean Moran, Kathy Keezer, Kerry Moran, Matt Moran and Tommy Moran. Cherished grandfather of 17 grandchildren, four great grandchildren and predeceased by one grandson. Dear brother of Patricia LeVrier, John “Jack” Moran, Thomas Moran, Kevin Moran and the late William Moran. Funeral departing from the Kimak Funeral Home, 425 Broad Street, Carlstadt on Friday, March 8, 2019 at 9:00 AM for a Funeral Mass in St. Joseph’s R.C. Church, East Rutherford at 9:30 AM. Interment Holy Cross Cemetery, North Arlington. Visitation Thursday 2-4, 7-9 PM. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.
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Service Details

  • First Visitation

    Thursday, March 7th, 2019 | 2:00pm - 4:00pm
    When
    Thursday, March 7th, 2019 2:00pm - 4:00pm
    Location
    Kimak Funeral Home, Inc.
    Address
    425 Broad Street
    CARLSTADT, NJ
    Get Directions: View Map | Text | Email
  • Second Visitation

    Thursday, March 7th, 2019 | 7:00pm - 9:00pm
    When
    Thursday, March 7th, 2019 7:00pm - 9:00pm
    Location
    Kimak Funeral Home, Inc.
    Address
    425 Broad Street
    CARLSTADT, NJ
    Get Directions: View Map | Text | Email
  • Service

    Friday, March 8th, 2019 | 9:30am
    When
    Friday, March 8th, 2019 9:30am
    Location
    St. Joseph's R.C. Church
    Address
    120 Hoboken Road
    EAST RUTHERFORD, NJ
    Get Directions: View Map | Text | Email
    Officiant
    Fr. Arokiadoss Raji
  • Interment

    Location
    Holy Cross Cemetery
    Address
    340 Ridge Road
    NORTH ARLINGTON, NJ
    Get Directions: View Map | Text | Email

Donations

Donations are being accepted for: ST JUDE CHILDRENS RESEARCH HOSPITAL INC.

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Private Condolence
TM

Thomas Moran

Posted at 06:33am
Eulogy for Edward Moran One afternoon when I was about 11 years old, Dad stopped off for gas after picking me from little league practice. When he pulled up to the pump he hopped out and greeted the gas station attendant. “Namasakāra,” he said. They went back and forth for about a minute and a half before my dad reached the extent of his vocabulary in Punjabi. Then they switched to English, and my Dad asked how to say a few more useful phrases in the attendant’s native tongue. If you knew my dad, you knew this scene with the Indian gas station attendant was not an anomaly. At the slightest hint of an accent, my dad would dive into a linguistic and cultural inquiry that often took the subjects by surprise, but always left them feeling valued and honored. When my Dad got back in the car, I asked him, “Why are you always asking people to teach you things?” He looked at me and smiled--he always smiled so easily--and he said, “It’s quite simple, To-mas: I was born stupid, and I intend to die smart.” “I was born stupid, and I intend to die smart.” From this simple phrase, you could understand so much about my dad: his humility, his tenacity, and his optimism. My dad dedicated much of his life to learning: he was fluent in half-a-dozen languages and could hold a casual conversation in everything from Sikh to Portuguese, from Gaelic to Greek; he could converse authoritatively on topics from literature to environmental science, from history to animal husbandry. My dad dedicated much of his life to learning, but he dedicated much of his life to teaching too. He taught Sunday School children about a loving God who sacrificed his only son for their sake. He helped new parents deepen their understanding of their child’s first sacrament through pre-baptism classes. He taught his children how to hunt and fish and trap, how to skin a deer, how to make a form out of burlap and plaster, how to sew on the pelt so the seam doesn’t show, how to launch a boat from a muddy bank, and, more importantly, how to land a boat without getting stuck in that same mud. My dad always favored an unspoiled muddy bank over a ready-made dock. This was true in his exploration of the meadows, but also in his life. He was a trailblazer by nature, and when he met my mom, he found a partner every bit courageous as he was. Just before meeting the lovely Ena Mary Caffrey, my dad was serving as a Military Police Officer in Germany. He had enlisted and planned on fighting in the Korean war, but on the day he finished his training, July 27th, 1953, the Armistice was signed. Dad used to say that the Koreans heard he was coming and gave up. And so my Dad ended up in Germany, where he charmed free German lessons out of just about everyone he met. At some point, Dad and his buddy O’Brien decided to use their leave to go to their ancestral homeland, Ireland, and seek out any living relations they might have. They arrived in Dublin, stopped off for ice cream, and when Ena Caffrey walked up to take their order, all thoughts of ancestry and relatives were washed right down the Liffey. When my mom left to get their ice cream, my dad turned to O’Brien and said, “I’m going to marry that girl.” And there began a relationship so deep, so enduring, so loving that it strains credulity. My dad spent the rest of his leave courting the girl who would be my mother. Courting in Ireland at the time largely consisted of taking long walks while being closely tailed by the girl's sisters. My mom wasn’t the easiest girl to court. It takes a good bit of courage to pick a wild Irish rose. And Mom was perhaps the thorniest of them all. She had flat out rejected and dejected all of Dublin’s most eligible bachelors. The more of them that tried to pick her up, the quicker she would put them down. But there was something about this Yank… I’m sure it felt all too soon when Dad’s leave came to an end, and he returned to Germany. My mom likely questioned whether she’d ever see that handsome American soldier again. But then his letters came and kept coming. They kept on coming until he came back himself with a prayer in his heart and a ring in his pocket, a ring that he had sold his winter gear to finance. Ever the romantic, he said he had her love to keep him warm, so why would he need a coat? ...In Germany...In December. Fortunately for the 9 of us kids, 17 grandkids, and 4 great grandkids, Mom said yes. Dad took Mom back to New Jersey and they built a life together. At first, they tried the more conventional path. Dad worked as an air traffic controller, while Mom kept the house and looked after the children. But these two were not cut out for the conventional path. Mom encouraged Dad to quit the job that was making him miserable and try to make a living doing what he loved, taxidermy. With an ever-expanding family (those of you who know us know just how quickly that family was expanding) this was indeed a tricky place to launch their future. But a combination of love, faith, selflessness, and tenacity saw their new business thrive. In the early days, it was all hands on deck. Mom, who had been a beauty queen, jumped right in and helped mount birds in the kitchen, the oldest kids learned early and well how to breathe life back into fish, and beasts, and fowl. It didn’t take long before Dad’s talents were recognized. His work made its way into Broadway plays, into film and television, into the 5th Avenue window displays of Bergdorf Goodman, into the palaces of princes, and into thousands of homes of sportsmen, the hunters and fishermen with whom Dad felt such a deep and ancient kinship. Now, any tribute to my Dad would be incomplete without touching on his sense of humor. So I’ll digress for a moment. Stop me if you heard this one. Why did the fisherman stop by the taxidermist's shop? Just for the Halibut. *pause for groans* As my dad would say, “But it’s clean, but it’s clean.” Conversations with my dad were always peppered with one-liners, puns, and plays on words. He must have told me a hundred thousand punchlines over the years, but what I find truly remarkable is that, in all the jokes he told, in all the ways he expressed humor, he was never once sarcastic; he never once got the laugh at the expense of another. There was an inherent goodness in the man, a lack of malice like I’ve seen in no other. A lack of malice, yes; a lack of mischief, well… When my father was a young boy, he slipped down a storm drain on The Boulevard, then explored the subterranean tunnels for a mile or so before emerging from another storm drain and walking back to where he began his adventure. When he arrived, he was quite surprised to find a crowd of adults, including police officers and firemen surrounding the storm drain that he had slipped down. All of them were very concerned that a young boy had been seen going down, but never came back up. With an impish grin, my dad said, “I sure hope they find him” before high-tailing it home. With all the knowledge and wisdom my father gained over the years, he never let the adult world crowd out that impish child inside him who delighted in discovering hidden places and fooling the grown-ups. And now I feel a bit like the grown-ups crowded around that storm drain, fearing that the boy has been lost, frustrated that we can’t go in after him, anxious that we’ll never see him again. But this is Ed Moran we’re talking about, and he’s no more gone than the day he slipped down that storm drain on The Boulevard. He’s simply high-tailing it home to his mother and father’s house, no doubt grinning all the while.
FM

Florence and Bill McEwen and James and Kathy McEwen

Posted at 06:48pm
Such a big heart. Not a surprise the choice would be to help others. God bless Ed and his family.
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A donation was made in memory of Edward Moran
A

Anita & Frank Smith

Posted at 09:15am
Our condolences
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A donation was made in memory of Edward Moran
JM

John P. Moran

Posted at 09:58pm
I will never forget the impact that My uncle Eddie made on me. I was young and wanted a pet skunk because I had been reading up on them. Well one night I came home for dinner and my Dad said he had to go see his brother Eddie and wanted to know if I would like to go. Of course I wanted to go, I liked to visit. When we got to Uncle Eddies house, we went in and Uncle Eddie said, "Hi John, there's a box over there in the corner that I think you should look at. I Walked over to the box and looked in and (holy cow) there was a baby skunk. (Uncle Eddie had caught it and descendent it, so that it would be good as a pet.) My uncle said, she's for you if you want her, and of course I did. I looked at my Dad and they had already planned everything. So I got to take the Baby skunk home and named her Samatha. Thank You Uncle Eddie For that Chapter in my like. Aloha and Peace
JM

John P. Moran

Posted at 04:09pm
With loving memories of "Uncle Eddie", You will be missed.
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