First Father's Day without him- a musical memory.

This is my first Father's Day without my father. Over fifty years of presents for him come to mind. Sets of English Leather after shave and cologne, golf and bowling supplies, special dinner parties...and lots and lots of shirts (but only with pockets on the left side for his cigarettes). I loved to watch his face as he took the time to read each and every word on the greeting cards over the years. He would tear up just a little -then he would make his move. He would then turn the card over to the back side to see how much I paid for it. That always made me laugh.
The first memory I have of my father is being nestled close to him and his flannel shirt-his voice singing an old Doris Day tune, just for me. "I love you a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck..." Ah, music. The source of a lifetime of memories. And there are-a lifetime of memories with this wonderful, sweet man whom we now have to somehow make our way through life without.

The rhythmic sound of his slow but steady footsteps leaving for work in the morning as AM radio station WEBR's Mens' Choir singing "The Sounds of the City." ( I found the download of this wonderfully sentimental gem, but somehow could not link it here).

...the smell of aftershave and tobacco when he was leaving for a night of bowling with Perry Como or Frank Sinatra crooning in the background on a nearby radio are also among my earliest memories of him...

Of course the next 52 or so years went so very quickly by-and there are so many things to remember and think upon in the past 6 months since he's been gone. What I would give to hear his age-mellowed velvety voice again. I think of how it greatly mellowed over the years. In contrast, I think upon his thunderous voice when we were kids-letting you know who was the boss. Of how he would yell to Eddie and Eddie, Jr. down the street that it was time they go out for a round of golf- or how he had a way of letting a careless driver coving know without uncertainty that there are kids playing outside- after witnessing a car or two fly dangerously down our street yelling at them to "SLOW DOWN!!!". I think of how protective he was of us, but very "hands-on" when it came to letting us know when we screwed up. As the oldest of 5, he confided in me that he felt bad about disciplining us with as many paddles as there were growing years-and after the actual event of course. I remember the way he washed my hair-just once- in the kitchen sink-and in the most gentle of ways. I found myself thinking this wasn't the man that whacked my behind just a few hours ago for putting pepper in my brother's lime Kool-Aid.

My father was a very hard worker all of his life. Like his father he was a trade craftsman, a union Cement Finisher. Like clockwork, he would come home at 5:00 pm from working on construction sites all across Western New York. Practically glued onto his feet were his work boots. They were well-worn and almost always were covered in cement dust. Nightly, he stepped out of the family car parked across the street, into our Edison Street driveway and up the steps into the house, immediately seating himself into what once was his own father's easy chair. I remember the joy I took in taking off his work boots, as if it were to ease his particular burden of sorts. He would prop up both of his legs on the footstool as he knew what would come next. I lovingly loosened the laces and eased the work boots off. He'd be out cold in about 2 minutes. 'Nuff said. While we're on the subject of hard work, I remember when he was working on a local job (Harmac Industries on Bailey Ave. comes to mind), I didn't hesitate to hop on  my bike to surprise him by bringing him a cold soda around lunchtime. Must've been when I was around 14 or so...
A particular secret joy of mine was when his car broke down and he was unable to fix it before the next morning. The sun was not even up when, I (as a newly licensed 16 year old at the time) got tapped to drive him to his worksite. When I hear this song, that memory comes to mind- driving my father to work as I hear it playing on WYSL.












My father loved to discuss politics and the issues of the day- the rights and wrongs of the world. I think this is what I miss the most about him since he's been gone-our discussions over long meals and glasses of wine. He sparked a curiosity of these things in my life early on too. Discussions I long for, for he was ever so sharp and current with his facts. After all he read the Courier-Express and the Buffalo Evening News you know- and was REALLY good at reading between the lines.
My father loved books, Popular Science and Popular Mechanics magazines. He loved to read and to learn. He loved to circle or fold nespaper articles from the paper if he thought they would interest me, especially if it had something to do with an art show in the area. "Your drawings should be in there."-he would say to me every time-nearly to the day he died.
The East Delavan Ave. library was among my favorite trips with him. Dad could always be found poring over the Chilton's auto repair book section, but took the time to share the comical genius of Bennett Cerf of whom I've become a lifelong fan because of him. "What goes 99-thump. 99-thump? A centipede with a wooden leg!" was a party favorite. Broke 'em up every time...

  During our car trips we talked about everything important to a little girl growing up in the early 60's-the Beatles came up every time. Once he piled all the neighborhood kids in the station wagon, and we headed down Delavan Ave. to Delaware Park to go sledding one fine winter's day. I don't think the Scajaquada Expressway was quite finished yet, but I sure recall hearing a lot of complaints about the project as a kid. I clearly remember the car suddenly becoming silent when the radio dial-turning suddenly stopped and we were all "shushed" so dad could listen to "Michelle" by the Beatles.

Dad loved all "hobbies" of the day- I could be wrong but I don't think they were called "crafts" back then- kite flying, remote control cars, boats, airplanes, models, jigsaw puzzles and who could forget the dangerous "Kabongers" craze. Yep, he made 'em for all the neighborhood kids. We always had glue in our hair and on our fingertips. The real hard-core, bad ass glue-along with the fumes. Of course there was always the glow of his smoldering, lit cigarette lurking-threatening to blow us all to smithereens lying in his nearby ashtray-along with those fumes!

Actually, no cigarette in this vintage photo. A rarity-and of which my brother Nick seems to be delighted about-either that or Nicky, Jr. was buzzed on the glue fumes). But hey! Check out the cool melamine coffee cup and Revell model boxin the pic!
Music or TV was always on in the background. "Longhair" music he called it. He loved Claude Debussy- when I was a kid he made me take piano lessons at Bessing's Music Store just to learn it. Alas, he must have been oh, so terribly disappointed to hear my version that fell miles short of his dream version, but he never let his disappointment perceptibly peek through...

Dad used to drag my brother Nick and I to any auction or toy sale he could find listed in the paper. Endless afternoons of kiddy spitballs, hide and seek and hot dogs while dad bid on model car, airplane kits and bicycles for our growing family.
Bowling and tennis were in our lives early on. I can only imagine mom (and Grandma Carmela) saying to him "Get. These. Kids. OUTTA. Here!" as the family grew to five kids. We all had bowling balls and tennis rackets. Many years of fine sugar-laden, Squirt soda pop swilling memories- of early morning kids' leagues and late night mens' leagues accompanying him (when there was no school the next day of course) at Suburban, Allied, Bailey Bowling Academy, Bowl-O-Drome, Sheridan Lanes.... (Hmmm...did I leave any alleys out?) Late nights under the lights at Delaware Park Tennis courts was a great family activity we seemed to look forward to-until they decided the City couldn't afford the night lights anymore. Learning tennis helped me to learn a pretty good backhand as well as the stamina which fueled my soon to grow lifelong love for distance running.
(I tried to insert the song "The Rain, The Park and Other Things" by The Cowsills here but wasn't allowed by this site for some reason). Go ahead-hum it if you 'd like. I know you are doing that right now, Nick).


My father loved to drive. He loved to say to us "Let's take a ride." Well, that could mean anything. It could be to the local OTB or it could be piling everyone in the station wagon to go to McDonald's or to the Upson Pharmaceutical Co.'s parking lot across the street from the Buffalo airport, where for hours we would watch all kinds of planes take off or land. Dad would split hamburgers. fries and milkshakes among 5 little ones and our mom (who requested all of our pickles should we choose to give them up!). This was considered a big splurge for our family. Outside of my brothers' annual Boy Scouts "Blue and Gold" banquets at the Perseverance Club each year, it was one of the only time I recall eating food from a fast food restaurant as a child. When I landed my first job as a door to door Watkins Products salesgirl (at 15), the first thing I did upon receiving my first paycheck was buying bags filled with McDonald's burgers and fries and shakes for our family.
He liked to pile us into the Vista Cruiser or a myriad of station wagons over the years to visit my Uncle Tony and family in Alden. Not so certain we were always welcome now that I think about it-my dad was never good at phoning ahead to warn of impending visits. However, Aunt Betty was always a good sport and always made a chocolate cake on the spot. We'd have some nice dinners there and we always had fun "out in the country."

Dad revered his older brother Tony (or as he called him "Ant-knee"). When their family moved into this great big ol' spooky looking former hotel in the country, there was always this sense of ghostly history for me and I remember every awesome room. There was this great old barn behind it where an old Peugeot motor bike from the '40's was hidden in the hay. My dad loved cars and anything that had a motor in it. Everyone wanted to give it up for dead-but no, not my father. We packed it up into the station wagon. He and I worked on it every single night after he got home from work that summer, and our determination to get it started grew with each passing day. The smell of ether starting fluid still brings back a dizzying (in more ways than one) sense of determination to "never, ever give up on things." It took us all summer long to get that copper-colored-motorized-pedal-bike going and I often wondered whatever became of it....

A particularly memorable car trip came after a beloved neighbor and friend passed away far too suddenly for us all. He loved and respected Mr. "Guy" Mucci. "Life is too short"-dad said to me. It was another wake up call adding to his grief of recently losing his own father at the age of 67. It was 1965 and there sure was a lot was going on in our country at the time. As if on a mission, we first drove to Pittsburgh to visit his brother, our Uncle Mim and his doggie "Nipper" at his bachelor pad. (They didn't call them "man caves" back then-not sure if he knew we were visiting or not). We soon found ourselves back on the road and on our way to Washington, D.C. We stopped at Gettysburg and then we went to visit President John F. Kennedy's burial site- "The Eternal Flame" at Arlington National Cemetery. We visited all of the rest of the historical sites there. It would be the first and last overnight trip we took as a family. After coming home, it was nice to sit on the front porch hoping to reconnect with our friends in hopes of a game of Checkers while listening to some CCR...

 Anyway, a lifetime of memories, and a lifetime of valuable lessons. How our father gave each and every one of his children things that money could not buy. God knows how very little of it he had to give. He gave us things that money could not buy-his heart, his time, his love. He kept it simple always and seemed to know the value of that. I love and miss you every day Poppo. You will forever live on in my heart always. Here is the tribute I worked on and tried to spell everything right. I want the world to know about you, my beloved father. <3. P.S. The fig tree is in the ground and growing fine so far even though it was a harsh winter.