In my entire life I’ve never met a man as honorable and
honest as my dad. He was a good-natured and soft spoken guy with a clear vision
of humanity that included compassion for everyone, in every circumstance. For
example, one time my cousin and my brother took Dad to a strip club, hoping to
shock my dad for a few laughs and prove how grown up they were now that they
were old enough to get into places like that. When my cousin asked Dad what he
thought about a woman who’d take her clothes off and dance like that, my dad
answered, “She probably has babies at home that need to be fed.”
When my cousin told me this story years after it happened he said what started
out to be a joke on my dad ended up being a life lesson on learning to walk in
other people’s shoes. That was my dad---always caring, always seeing the best
in others, always teaching without preaching.
My dad’s formal education ended in the lower grades as did
his association with the Catholic Church. His parents were Italian immigrants
and he was the youngest of three kids. He lost his mother in the Great Flu Epidemic
of 1918/19 and at age eleven he became a
latch-key kid in a coal mining town in southern Illinois where one of his jobs
each day was to go to the tavern to fetch a pail of beer for his dad when he
came home from working underground picking coal in the mines. At the tavern my
dad also played the piano by ear to earn a few coins before he was even old
enough to wear long pants but even with that background, he wasn’t much of a
drinker. At a party here and there but that was it. He was a good, hard working
man who always put his family’s needs first, but he gave Mom credit for them being
able to build the financial security my folks enjoyed later in life.
My grandfather died when I was a toddler but I heard lots of
stories about how he’d sit on the porch singing opera and playing the accordion
in the evenings. Like my dad, he was also a good-natured and fair-minded man and he allowed my dad to drop out of going to church on Sundays with the rest
of the family when a priest picked him up by the seat of his pants and his shirt collar
and pretended he was going to throw him into an open door on a pot belly stove
to teach him about the fires of hell. My grandfather, though, told my dad he
still had to go to church just not to same church so every Sunday dad walked
alone to the only other church in town. There, Dad learned that “Jesus loves
all the little children of the world, red and yellow, black and white.” And he
got to build things with a hammer and nails and he spent the rest of his life teaching
himself how to build and remodel things.
My grandfather didn’t want his sons to work in the mines so
he devised a plan. He raised potatoes and sold them to the local grocery store
owner he had befriended. When he’d saved up enough money to buy a bus ticket he
sent my uncle up north to Michigan---still a teenager---to work in the
factories and between the two of them they saved up a ‘nest egg’ to move the
whole family up north. And that’s how my dad ended up working for a quarter an
hour crawling inside of hot machines to pull wood veneer sheets out. Somewhere
along his work life, Dad learned how to be a tool and die maker and he was so
good at it that the draft board during WWII wouldn’t let him sign up. He was
deemed an essential worker in an essential industry. So he spent the entire war
working 14-16 hour shifts making patterns and prototypes for airplane parts and
munitions. But what I remember most about dad’s working years is when he’d come
home from the factory he carried one of those black lunch boxes with the
rounded top and he always had a few squares of a Hersey Candy Bar inside for my
brother and me. And it just occurred to me why each night I have two squares of
dark chocolate and I’m never attempted to eat any more.
I don’t know how my dad picked up his respect for knowledge
and education. Except for the newspaper, he wasn’t a reader yet when I was in college and taking classes
in philosophy, world religion and logic we could discuss those topics and he held his own talking about Socrates, Plato, mythical utopian cities and
the origins of our values and laws. Life was his teacher, I guess. He’d
witnessed Ku Klux Klan hangings while hiding in the woods when he was a kid. He
saw the unfairness of the blacks, Italian and Irish getting paid less than
whites in the coal mines while they all worked side by side. And I’ll never
forget the look of horror and disgust on his face on Bloody Sunday 1963 when
the nightly news showed the fire hoses and attack dogs that were turned on the black marchers in Selma, Alabama. I’ll also never forget the look of shear happiness
that lit up his face when Tiger Woods won his first PGA in 1999. He was proud of Tiger for breaking the color barrier in a game that dad loved his entire life. Dad was the
most fair-minded and ethical person I’ve ever known and I know I got the luck
of the draw to have him as my father, my teacher and the person who I’ve most
admired and loved my entire life. I hope I made him half as proud as he made
me. ©
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| Mom and Dad on their Honeymoon |
