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The family of Enrico A. Petillo uploaded a photo
Friday, January 26, 2018
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James Dascole0 posted a condolence
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Rest in Peace, Dad. At cousin James' request, here is the eulogy that I delivered at the funeral home. I wish I'd had more time to add more stories, but "it is what it is." I did add a story or 2:
Dad was born as Enrico Alphonse Petillo in 1933 in Brooklyn amidst the worst year of the Great Depression – the unemployment rate was 25%. Prohibition had not officially yet ended when he was born.
“Enri” was the 1st of 3 children for Anthony and Carmela Petillo. Dad told me they lived in a “cold-water flat.” Forget iPads – there was no television. They had no refrigerator in the apartment. They had an icebox, and they would receive a delivery of a block of ice to keep their milk and dairy items cold. The Milkman would deliver glass bottles of milk; the fatty, less dense portions of the milk would float up to the top of the bottle. Dad taught us that that that’s where the expression “the cream always rises to the top” comes from.
He shared not just a bedroom, but the same bed, with his brother, Anthony a/k/a “Junior.” Nanny and Grandpa agreed to be the supers for the building to make the rent more affordable. Since Grandpa was a bricklayer during the day, Dad and Junior would help Nanny with tasks like shoveling coal for heat for the building.
Dad told me that when he came home from school, he would teach Grandpa English from what he had learned in school. Which may explain why Grandpa used phrases like “pass-a da cow” when he needed milk for his coffee.
On his first day of school, he wore a green suit. For the rest of his life, he was known as “Greenie” by his school friends and by the “McDonald Avenue Gang” that he reconnected with later in life.
Dad loved to play sports as a kid. He had broken his arm, and wore a cast, but that did not prevent him from taking hook shots with his good arm. He wasn’t the tallest athlete, but he said he would pick his spots on the playground brick wall to know where he was in the Court to make “no-look” passes and hook shots beyond the reaches of his competitors.
As a bowler, Dad has a trophy for being in the “250” club.
He loved baseball. In fact, baseball brought him to Mom. He and his brother played ball with a young man named Michael Buono, who had an older sister named Angela, and the rest is history.
Sports taught him a sense of fairness, and in preventing even the appearance of impropriety. In fact, when he managed my brother Anthony’s baseball team, Dad did not want anyone to think that Anthony was getting special treatment because he was the son of the manager. Opposing coaches were amazed by his stance. Anthony even demanded a trade.
When he worked for Equitable Life Insurance, he played on their travel team as a shortstop. He took great pride in telling the stories of his travels up and down the East Coast playing with that team.
He was a Brooklyn Dodger fan. After they left New York in 1957, he became the anti-fan – rooting heartily against the Mets, Jets, Rangers and anyone else that the Buono boys rooted for. He loved needling Louis and Joseph at any given holiday about their teams. He liked to instigate, and it played right into his dry sense of humor.
Work Life:
Dad had worked for Goldman Sachs. During those years, he was told that “Enrico Petillo” was too ethnic for their company directory, so he changed his name to “Henry”. He was very proud of the time he worked for Goldman.
He processed the payroll for a large Nursing Home company, where he traveled from NY to Virginia to Florida. He told that me we came very close to moving to Orlando, Florida.
In 1970, he and Mom moved from Brooklyn to the house on Ardsley Boulevard in Garden City South.
Dad became an accountant with a small firm owned by a man named Ed Deutch on the 70s. After the company merged, Dad was terminated, but he was permitted to take a few accounts with him that did not fit their view of their new practice. So with a few Chinese restaurants, a shoe store, a tailor, and a Dry Cleaner, Dad started his own practice out of necessity. That had to be a pretty scary thing for a father of 4 with a mortgage payment.
We always knew which days Dad had been at the restaurants, because as soon as he opened his attaché case when he came home, it was like the Beef and Broccoli had hitched a ride home.
Dad was never on time for dinner, and Mom would give him an earful when he got home. You would think after a while that she would be used to the idea, but the 100th infraction was met with the same disdain as the 1st.
Dad worked as many as 3 jobs at once, earning extra pay as a cab driver at night, and a deli clerk on weekends. Once, he nearly cut off his thumb on the meat slicer. Uncle Joe was kind enough to offer Dad work at the grocery to get him extra dollars. I can still see them playing Pinochle with Al Kleinberg in the basement of the Tomao house on Brixton Road.
When the Tomao tribe lost Uncle Joe all too early, Dad stepped in as a surrogate father as best he could. “Uncle” is not nearly effective enough to describe how dearly the Tomaos treated Dad and how he loved them.
His cab drivers skills always came in handy, as before there was GPS, there was D-A-D. Dad, what’s the best way to get there? If you asked him, he knew, and not just one way to get there. He would intentionally drive you home a different way he brought you, taking pride in travelling the roads less traveled. He always had a short cut. And he knew every clean bathroom from Manhattan to Montauk.
Christmas:
Mom and Dad always made Christmas incredibly special for their kids, and later for their grandkids. As tight as money was, you would never know it at Christmastime. Anthony and Louis can tell you the story of seeing Dad struggling to get a Ping Pong table into the house and Mom nearly wet herself while they peeked out the 2nd floor window. We have some great pictures of Dad wearing the Santa hat on Christmas morning, reveling in the joy of our faces as we opened presents. You can see his expression in those photos – - it’s as if he’s saying - wow – I worked my tail off, and somehow we made it through another year. We struggled, but we managed to pull it off again this year. Phew.”
Vacations:
We found some very cool pictures of the kids in Frontier Town from the late 60’s from when he took the family to Lake George.
Once the family grew to 4 kids, and with job changes, family vacations were luxury items that we simply could not afford. So we would “take a drive.” He made the car rides a time for bonding and a time for fun. “We are coming up to a tunnel – duck your head!”
We even found pictures the other night from when he drove Mom, Henry and me to the dream vacation destination of every little boy – the Hummel factory in upstate New York. What Dad taught me was, it’s not about where you go, or how much you spend, it’s about who you’re with.
We had hours of fun shooting marbles into an old shoe box with 3 small holes cut into the edge.
After Mom inadvertently sat on his Macadamia can, Dad blurted out the funniest thing ever said on any family vacation – “Angela, don’t sit in my nuts!”
Dad taught me a nice way to say no without dashing my hopes. If I asked if we could do something, he didn’t say no – he would say, “we’ll see.” It was not confrontational, and left a flicker of hope. They were the nicest “no’s” I ever got. Of course, we all knew "we’ll see" meant “no”, but we all appreciated the way he said no.
One summer we entered a father and son boat race at Rath Park pool, with me riding in a plastic dingy and Dad blindfolded pushing from the back of the boat. He taught me right from left that day. He said look at your hands - the Left one has the “L.” Of course, had he taught me that BEFORE the race, the outcome may have been different.
As business improved, Dad and Mom were able to take annual vacations for a number of years. They enjoyed Aruba together, and they both came back happy, which was great to see. Mom would have visible tan, having been covered up with clothes, sunscreen and time inside shopping at Little Switzerland. Dad would come back so tan that you would think he took his shirt off before they even got off the plane. He we recount his stories of waking up early to “get the hut.” He would say, “If you don’t get there early and put a towel down, you don’t get the hut!”
The Ardsley Years:
Somehow he even found time to finish the basement with Uncle Jim on the weekends, so we had a place to watch TV and stay out of Mom’s living room – please stay behind the velvet ropes at all times
Dad opened his home to Mom’s parents when they were evicted from their apartment. The dormer was raised, and we were then 8 people living under one roof, with 6 sharing one bathroom every morning. People ask me how I learned how to be patient – I would say that was a good starting point.
He was a rock in our family. If there was an issue – many would “just call Henry.”
When wildlife came down Aunt Marie’s chimney when Joanmarie was home alone, Uncle Henry got the call. And he responded. The Marx Brothers would have appreciated the scene and the comical attempts to lure it out of the house with a stale English muffin.
Dad put the needs of others over his own for his entire life. He was a dedicated son to his parents. I can’t imagine anyone being more available to his parents than he was. He was a role model for how to be a son. Those are big shoes to fill.
AMP Tax Service/Petillo and Petillo:
Even his clients would rely on him for many important decisions in their lives. My brother Louis, his business partner, could tell you countless stories. I had the privilege of working in the same office with both of them for a few years, and I am grateful for those years. I got to see first-hand a side of them that I had not seen. Dad was in his glory at work – he was charming, he was a people person. He had a gift for customer relations and for client satisfaction. People didn’t come just to get their taxes done – they came to see Henry and Louis, and share part of a day with them. Year in, year out, loyal clients coming back to share the stories of their lives and their families with Dad. People stopped at special bakeries to bring him a treat they knew he loved. The thoughtfulness displayed on both sides of his desk stays with me. Saturdays in the office during tax season were the busiest, and when they saw the most clients. And that’s when Dad was happiest professionally.
Dad enjoyed being that trusted advisor. He relished the role, and he knew how to make his clients feel at ease. He treated every client as he would treat his friend. And he built many lasting friendships over the years, from Mr. Enzo the Tailor to Tony Barone of C&T Plush Toys. If Dad ever gave you a stuffed animal, if probable came from C&T.
He helped clients whether or not they had the means to pay. It was more than a business to him. One client paid him in cookies, which partly explains my waistline.
He loved to walk up and down Nassau Boulevard talking to other business owners. Louis used to call him “the Mayor” because at lunchtime he could be found talking at the Deli, the Pizzeria, South City Gardens Florist, Barnes Gallery, Garden City Dance Studio, the gas station or any other business up and down the Boulevard. Many became clients; all became friends.
“The Foonge”
Dad could light up a room with his humor when he wanted to. But if his mood was not right, beware of “the foonge.” Those who have been on the receiving end of the foonge know and respect its power. One facial expression could quickly turn a holiday from “Currier and Ives” to “I’ve Gotta Go” for the unsuspecting recipient.
Mom and Dad were married for 57 years, most of them happy if you were to ask him.
He taught us how to treat a woman like a lady. Remember to open the car door. A gentleman picks up the check. Never, under any circumstances, is it ok to hit a woman. Only a coward hits a woman. He always remembered a card for Mom as holidays, and usually a candy-filled heart or a Whitman’s Sampler Box at Valentine’s Day. Never underestimate the value of an orchid wrist corsage, especially for Mother’s Day.
In years when he could, he took great pride in seeing her open a jewelry box from the family jeweler, “Philly,” at Christmas. He loved Mom and she loved him.
Some say they never said it out loud, but they said it – you just had to know what their words really meant. Every “Don’t you hear my calling you!” was – “I am so glad you are in my life,” and every “As-pet” and “Ah, Managia-Dia” meant, “Darling, me too.”
He was a rock for Mom, especially near the end. Mom will tell you what a help he was in providing care for her. She would call “Henry!” and there he would be.
We are grateful for the 80 years we had him. He stayed around long enough to see a great deal. He danced at our weddings. He was there for our accomplishments and took great pride in each of them. After I told him I planned to propose to Diane, he said to me, Do you love her? – I said “yeah, Dad, I do.” He looked over at Diane, who was the last one still eating at the table. He said to me, “I don’t know what’s going to cost you more – to clothe her or to feed her.”
He was always there for support in times of trouble. Family woes, job woes, money woes – he was there to lend a hand. He would give you his shirt, even if he had to borrow the shirt without telling you that he did.
He was a proud grandfather of 7. Stephen, Brandon, Katie and Nicole are all now in college. He would get phone updates from Henry and Sue for the latest news in Stephen, Katie and Ellie’s lives. He got to attend beautiful Sweet 16 parties for Nicole and Allie. He got to see my daughter, Annabella, dance at her recital.
He appreciated even the little things. Mom and Dad have a mail slot on their door, which Annabella would flip open and call out for him. He would light up when she did that. In fact if he knew we were coming, he would close the door so that she would have to call through that slot.
In recent months, he said he was ready to go. He had made peace with his health, and he knew his time was near its end.
Aunt Lillian was generous in sending Dad and Mom to Florida for his 80th birthday to see Uncle Anthony last summer. Deep down, he knew this would be the last time he saw his brother. He came home from that trip so happy. I had not seen such happiness in him in many years. If you’ve ever seen an excited puppy or my brother Henry shopping for a car, then you know the look.
My last conversation with Dad was not the way I would have chosen it. His last words to me were – “Wait, I don’t have my hearing aids – I can’t hear a darned thing – here’s your mother.” (That was the sanitized version for audiences of all ages).
I wish our last conversation had been more meaningful. We didn’t get the Hollywood ending.
“Father”
“Yes, son.”
“Thank you for all you have done for all of us – we love you.”
“I Love all of you, too, son. I am so proud of all of you.”
The cream always rises to the top - and Dad, you were the Cream.
Every day I try to do something to make you proud. And I know you are proud of all of us. We love you Dad.
As you get in your cars, you might even hear him say what he always said to us as well left the house – “Remember - Nice and Easy.”
S
Sonia and Perry Sheth posted a condolence
Friday, January 31, 2014
with deepest condolences to the Petillo family. You are in our prayers and in our hearts.
Sonia and Perry Sheth
A
Audrey and Manish Baria posted a condolence
Thursday, January 30, 2014
With our deepest sympathies to the Petillo Family at this time of loss- you are in our hearts and in our prayers. With love,
Audrey and Manish Baria
Services
Visiting Thursday 7-9pm Friday 2-5 & 7-9pm Mass of Christian Burial Saturday Morning St Thomas the Apostle R.C. Church 9:45 Interment Cemetery of the Holy Rood
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