Eulogy for Dad
Greetings Everyone
I would like to convey my regrets for not being with you all in Oyster Bay for my father, Tullio's wake and funeral. Thank you all for coming. I was incredibly fortunate to spend this last week of my father's life visiting with him, my mother and my Aunt Vania. I was able to say "Goodbye Dad, I love you, see you later" hoping that he would get out of the nursing home soon, and knowing that he would not be coming home to 201 Ivy Street again. It took us all by surprise that Tullio found his escape so quickly after that, and we are thankful that he did.
My father arrived here in Oyster Bay in 1921 when flivers ran on Oyster Shells. He was the primo genito, or 'first born', a five year old about to learn English as a second language. He arrived with his mother, Concetta, sister Vania, and younger brother, Carmen. My grandfather, Alberico Donisi, was already here waiting and working to build a life on the other side of the world from Italy.
Next time you drive past the house at 201 Ivy think of my father as a young boy who earned a few pennys weeding the front path and driveway for the old widow who lived there. In 1954 he had come up in the world enough to secure a $13,000 20 year morgage to buy the place. Starting this week some might think my mother the 'old widow' who lives there now, but we remember Hilde and Tullio best, when they were young, ambitious, and in the prime of life.
If I were there today I would read these names of their friends and familiy with whom, perhaps, Tullio is finding reunion today. It is easy to imagine the good time they would have, the food and the music.
My Uncle John Abbate, Uncle Joe and Adelle Renna, and his brother Uncle Sam and his wife Simone. Aunt Bessy and Uncle Charlie Izzo. My father's good friend, archietect, and traveling companion Guri Cici. Minny and Carl Lizza. Harry and Dorothy Pinkerton. Aunt Kitty, Uncle Freddy Mericle and Uncle Ralph Cirelli.
I remember the Italian old-timers, their loud laughter and strong voices...Getting together for family feasts while we kids ran around trying to stay out of trouble, or at least getting caught.
My grandmother's sister, Aunt Pasqualina and her crowd from Brooklyn. Uncle Louie Fucio who owned the barber shop on Audrey Avenue. My father apprencticed as barber briefly during the depression.
On the Donisi side, Uncle Emilio and his wife Tess, Aunt Angelina and Benny Lizza, Aunt Cristina who I never met and her husband, Tony Cirelli, a home and mansion builder, the profession my father eventually pursued. The eldest brother, Angelo or Charlie as he was called, the first to set out from Italy, died long before I came along.
I remember a few of his masonry construction crew by name, Jack Conklin, Babe Sample, Manny (?) and Freddy Williams.
My father if he were here, might name hundreds more. As generations pass, those who we have personally known are not forgotten. But those that we did not meet, their flair and interests, can only be imagined.
We, born in America, do not know the steps to the folkdance of San Giovanni Cepoloni or Rotundi, those little farming towns of the hills in the kingdom of Naples. Our branch of the Donisi's are here because my grandfather lost his career in the Carbineri when he was caught dancing on duty. I think he said it was a polka, and a very pretty girl years before he met my grandmother. That dance is how we got here ! So he went off to try his luck, joining his older brother Angelo, in Oyster Bay...of all places.
In Guatemala I learned that those of us still alive should dance with the dead. For the dead. In the memory of Tullio John Donisi, may I suggest a fox trot.
Anyone who would like to may reach me by e-mail at rolodon@yahoo.com or by dialing the local number 874-0598
Roland MT Donisi
