He was a humble man, who had his fair share of hubris.
A great man, who had his foibles.
A proud man, who was unashamed to emote.
A hardworking man, who knew how to have a good time.A generous man, who was pretty tight with his money.
A simple man, who was extremely complicated.
A strong man, who shuddered at the sight of blood.
An independent man, who treasured family.
An uneducated man, who was full of knowledge and wisdom.
A fearless man, who was weary of the unknown.
An areligious man, who believed in God.How does one begin to reconcile such seeming contradictions?
Cautiously.
Carefully.
But you'd never get a full picture of the guy, or at least appreciate who he was, unless you knew a little about the man who was my Dad.
From his youth, he toiled the earth, hawking produce to the residents of the towns and villages that made up Naples, Italy, and its surrounding areas.
Faced with the loss of his father at an early age, Dad was burdened with the responsibility of supporting the women of the household -- his mother and three sisters. He did what the sole male of the family was then expected to do: Work.
Whenever he spoke of his childhood, Dad seemed to have relished that responsibility, and never once spoke with an iota of remorse or regret. (His recollections were filled with pride; a true sense of purpose and accomplishment.)But the post-World War II years were not kind to the European Continent ... Italy, in particular. And, as adulthood approached, he yearned for change ... a better life ... for himself and those he loved.
For too long, he had been forced to experience the ravages of poverty and war, and it was clear he needed to find a better place.
With little fanfare, he left the fields of his native homeland to toil the earth of a new and very different land. Land we all know as "Jamaica, Queens" -- where he was employed as a manual laborer for the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR).
As a new immigrant, with virtually no ability to read and write English, Dad started at the lowest rung of the LIRR's ladder -- a trackman, who worked outdoors (in the dead of winter, and in the midst of rainstorms and heatwaves) helping repair (and install) the hundreds of miles of tracks that helped transport hundreds of thousands of commuters.
He toiled that earth for decades -- achieving a series of promotions and considerable respect and notoriety for his accomplishment in his particular niche of work. But again, not without considerable personal sacrifice.
Dad would be away for days at a time, working double, triple shifts. (To my brother and I, it seemed like he was gone for an eternity.) But we knew those absences were intended to ensure a better life for others -- so that his family in Italy could eat, that his oldest sister could become a pharmacist, so that he could buy that house, get that car, pay for those annual holiday getaways and vacations, fund a successful construction business, send his kids to private schools, colleges and graduate schools; all so that his family -- his entire family -- would never want ... for anything.
While he himself had been denied a formal education -- a luxury that wasn't afforded to many children of his generation -- that didn't stop him from achieving his goals.
Self taught and street-smart, he developed a keen entrepreneurial sense and real-estate investment savvy which bore him considerable fruit over the course of his lifetime.He was comfortable enough to retire early from the LIRR and created a successful construction business which served the needs of the railroad's commercial clients. (If your business used freight cars, chances were pretty good you knew my Dad.)
He shied away from gambling, lotteries, or the stock market. (They, in his opinion, were too unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Too illusive and suspect. And, in hindsight, how "spot on" he ultimately was.)
Dad only engaged in calculated, measured risks. That was his belief system.
He was not a man of religion. But believed in God.
He was a man of integrity. While he couldn't read or write well, he was a person of his word. His handshake was his bond, and there was no need for formal, written contracts -- at least as far as his end of the bargain was concerned.
His moral code was unmalleable -- he had a strong sense of what was right and wrong. And he ran his household with an iron fist. (After all, if you lived under his roof, he expected you to share (or respect) his values.) But he was well-meaning dictator who ruled his little kingdom with benevolence.
He counseled against working for others -- as he believed it fostered an unhealthy dependence -- a "laziness" -- that left one's destiny too vulnerable and in the hands of strangers who might be undeserving of such trust.And, although he never partook of its direct benefits, he was a great believer in the importance of education. To him, it was the key to fully enjoying what the "the American Dream" had to offer.
While that Dream may have (in some respects) eluded him, we knew that he found pride in the fact that his sons became accomplished professionals who created successful law practices.
As a man of family, he also found happiness in the company of his grandchildren.
But, undeniably, his greatest joy, was the one and only love of his life: His wife (our Mom).
The story goes that they met on a Circle Line cruise -- which was originally scheduled to last for some 3 hours, as that clunky boat toured around the Isle of Manhattan. But that "journey" spanned well over 50 years.
He never strayed. And, to the very end, both remained steadfast and resolute in their love for one another.
As his body lay weakened, ravaged by a disease he valiantly battled to his very last breath, it was that wife, that special woman, (who herself was stricken with health issues), who never wavered. She remained by his side, each and every gut-wrenching moment.As she had vowed, over five decades prior, "in sickness and in health, for richer and poorer," Mom brought him indescribable comfort and solace.
Shortly before he passed, Dad and I were in the midst of conversation, when he suddenly pointed to the walls of the structure surrounding us and blurted out, in his thick Italian accent, "See this house? I built this house. I built it with my own hands ... And I did good, no?"
At that moment, I didn't have the strength or courage to tell him what was then in my heart:"All things considered, you did many more great things than build a house.
And, yes, you did them all good."
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