somewhere behind that gaze of iron lived a man who 'd slept on the floor of joe 's hospital room for three days when joe had the fever back in 1911 , who 'd read each of the city 's eight newspapers to him , cover to cover , who told him he loved him , who told him if god wanted his son , he 'd have to go through him , thomas xavier coughlin , and god would know , sure , what a rough proposition that could turn out to be .