Of Bats and Men: Tales of a Blue Collar Renaissance Man

Bats, perhaps undeservedly, have a bad reputation.

Portrayed in media and movies as fearsome, blood draining predators, being wary of bats in your midst is a common theme for just about all of us.

But, bats are beneficial to us in many ways. According to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife service:

“Bats play an essential role in pest control, pollinating plants and dispersing seeds. Recent studies estimate that bats eat enough pests to save more than $1 billion per year in crop damage and pesticide costs in the United States corn industry alone. Across all agricultural production, consumption of insect pests by bats results in a savings of more than $3 billion per year.”

Photo by Monstera Production on Pexels.com

My grandfather wasn’t having any of that. More than a few years ago, when we both worked in the family restaurant, a bat made it’s way from an upper floor of the building to the ground floor to, per his view, become a menace to employees and customers alike.

Before the bat could get to the dining room, my grandfather picked up a broom, and with one well timed swing, knocked the bat out of the air to the ground, stunning it.

Before it’s composure could be regained, he flipped over an old bucket, trapping it underneath. At that point, I thought, “great – he’s going to bring the bucket outside, letting the critter back into the wild.”

But, that wasn’t quite his plan.

Instead of following a humane “catch and release” plan, the man I called “Pop” flipped the bucket off the bat, while in the same motion swinging the broom down, smashing the bat against the floor.

Not once or twice, but several times, to my youthful horror. His plan all along.

Protection of family, property, and customer – especially the ones eating my Nonna’s pasta e fagioli in the dining room.

Aside from his violent tendencies toward nocturnal, flying mammals, my grandfather was a work and family centric man with a kind heart that matched his efforts. Other than protecting kin and customers from bat intrusions during a meal, he exhibited so many other skills.

My grandfather was no one-talent specialist. He was a true renaissance man, of the blue collar variety.

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A clogged toilet in need of attention? It was no match for him. Fixed in a jiffy.

Someone flushes their dentures accidently down the same said toilet? No matter. Toilet taken apart, dentures saved.

Industrial dishwasher doesn’t meet the temperature requirements to pass a health department inspection? Watch his plumbing and electrical skills go to work. No match for my grandfather.

Frantic call from his sister-in-law that an electrical outlet in the house is on fire? No need to call for help! Fire out, damage limited – no match.

Need to grind, by hand, ten loaves of bread in 15 minutes so my grandmother can make meatballs? Again, no match.

Need to work an eight hour shift at the factory, then another shift at the family restaurant? Six days a week? Time and hard work were no match for my grandfather. He went through physical work shifts like a buzzsaw.

Settling in a foreign land, with no grasp of English, and taking every dirty job that not many would take, so that you could provide for your family? No dirty job could match him.

As I wrote previously, coming to America was just the first step at the bottom of the hill. He was relentless in his ascent up the mountain of the American dream.

That dream must have looked impossible to a man whose English was rough, and came to the USA with primarily physical skills.

His was the story of thousands of Italians who emigrated to these shores, to the land of hope and dreams for sons and daughters to follow.

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The recently late, great songwriter Kris Kristofferson was an artistic renaissance man. Elon Musk has transformed more than a couple of industries on the technology side. My grandfather Sebastian survived and thrived in America with his ability to adjust and adapt to any situation.

There were times in his life that I’m sure he thought the odds were insurmountable. You would have never known from his demeanor. He was a straightforward, stoic guy that always seemed to be on a mission. His mission: survival and success, at all costs.

He was, and is, one of my heroes.

Thank you Anthony Prezio for the initial inspiration for this article. The memories we’ve brought up together have made me laugh, reflect, and feel grateful.

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7 Italian Concepts That Can Change Your Life

No question about it – as I was mentored and shaped by my Italian family, on my dad’s side, the more entrenched I became in the culture: that way of simple living, traditions, and style that they brought with them from the motherland.

As I’ve grown older, and almost all of those family members have passed on, I now find myself obsessed in the thought of holding that way of life, although in our modern life it’s a challenge to do so.

Hanging around my Nonna on such a frequent basis – usually sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee – gave me much exposure to her creeds, her frequent sayings: some of her favorites were “Life is precious,” “it’s later than you think,” and “life is worth living,” among others.

She was a font of wisdom and common sense for me growing up, and as I moved through my 20’s and 30’s, no doubt molding me and forming my own values without me even realizing it.

For that reason, quaint old school, Italian sayings have a special place in my heart and more than likely always will. I recently discovered some others that resonated with me, shared with me by those who have a similar proclivity and passion for Italian culture.

I’m happy to share with you.

Chi va piano, va sano e va lontano.

“He who goes slowly, goes safely and goes far.”

Be patient. Take things at a steady pace. Success, happiness, and wellbeing can be yours in the long-run. Consistency is more important than intensity.

L’appetito vien mangiando.

“Appetite comes with eating.”

Sometimes you have to start something to find the motivation to continue.

Begin, and it will come. Don’t wait for enthusiasm to strike.

Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco.

“Not all donuts come out with a hole.”

Not everything will go according to plan.

Accept the things that turn out differently than you hope.

Situations are not always perfect – most are less than perfect.

But even donuts without a hole can still be damn good.

La vita è bella.

“Life is beautiful.”

You don’t need life-changing milestones to experience joy. All of my older relatives that emigrated here lived, and enjoyed, a simple life.

They noticed the little things: that first sip of coffee, a long laugh with loved ones.

Italians know how to savor the moment.

Chi dorme non piglia pesci.

“He who sleeps doesn’t catch fish.”

Successful people always show up-even on the days they don’t want to.

Rewards are earned, not given. You can’t expect results if you’re idle.

In this realm, my grandfather was my greatest role model.

Meglio soli che male accompagnati.

“Better alone than in bad company.”

(Choose wisely.) You are the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with.

The surest sign of confidence is someone who is comfortable being alone.

A tavola non si invecchia.

“At the table, one does not grow old.”

(And time seems to stop.) The best meals are cherished and savored in the company of others.

The quality of your relationships determines the quality of your life.

Good food and conversation will keep you young.

That last one, a tavola non si invecchia, resonates with me more than the others. Gathering around the table for a shared meal or glass of wine is a sure fountain of youth – flashes of my childhood, adolescence, and beyond are abundant at table, whether sitting with family and friends.

Depending on the dishes served, especially when we host, our table resembles that of a decade that is long past, with it’s flourishes of love, comfort, and abundance.

Credit to my colleague Mark Friedlich, who was good enough to share what I’m sharing with you.

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Shoemaker’s Son: How Rocky Marciano Ignited Italian America

As a boy, I vaguely remember the older Italian men, inside and outside my circle, having discussions of famous athletes of the day, and their inspiring rise to fame.

No doubt you’ve heard of some of them.

Names like Berra, Williams, Rizzuto.

Mantle. DiMaggio.

One that stands out in particular was Rocky Marciano. If the name sounds unfamiliar, he retired as the undefeated heavyweight boxing champion. I grew more curious as I heard the name Marciano in those influential circles.

To describe his rise to glory to that pinnacle as unlikely would be a kind assessment.

Unlikely to survive illness as an infant.

Unlikely to escape the factory life that consumed his father’s life.

Unlikely to become great in a brutally physical sport with his raw, limited skills.

With one sledgehammer of a right hand, the unlikely story no longer resembled a fairy tale, but the ignition of a suppressed culture and an inspiration to millions of immigrants looking for a ray of light, a shred of hope.

An American with Italian roots became heavyweight champion.

According to a piece by writer Al Bruno in La Gazzetta Italiana:

(Marciano) achieved the unthinkable and unimaginable to become boxing world champion. “Get out of this factory and be somebody important,” Marciano’s father, Pierino, a native of Abruzzo, would repeatedly urge and remind his oldest son: fueling him emotionally to do something “special” and rid himself of oppressive factory work and imminent poverty. Young Marciano feared poverty most for his parents and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

I often compared the physical and mental makeup of my grandfather, Sebastian, to Marciano: a short, compact frame, always moving forward, in a relentless space of grit and determination.

Like my grandfather, Marciano’s work ethic may have been the single determining factor in the successes of his life. According to Bruno, “Marciano was on a ‘no-lose’ mission to achieving greatness and he did so by simply out-working and out-conditioning all foes.”

Marciano, remarkably consistent and disciplined, spent hours in the gym, sparring, performing hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups, and putting at least seven miles of roadwork a day.

Similarly, Sebastian performed his jobs like a man possessed: as any true Calabrian would.

As Stanley Tucci described his Calabrese grandparents in his best seller, Taste – “my grandparents left the extreme poverty of Calabria and… knew nothing but labor. All of that labor was dedicated to survival and creating a life with only the most minimal of creature comforts. Nothing went to waste, and luxuries were unheard of.”

Sebastian, as well as my Sicilian grandmother, went through a similar arduous journey.

I’m unsure if my grandfather was at all influenced by Marciano. He was a man of few words and many deeds. A true representative of the “old-school” way of thinking.

I do know that he, after finishing a shift at the factory, would quickly move to our family’s first restaurant, Jack’s in Troy: a bartending shift awaited, to occupy his night.

Was he, in fact, under a subtle influence of the Friday Night Fights of the day? Watching boxers struggle to the apex of the maximum fifteen rounds, as he fought through never ending hours of shift work?

I’d like to think that, in a quieter moment, he stood behind that bar capturing renewed inspiration, watching the athletic struggles of the small screen.

Marciano, against all odds, became heavyweight champion, igniting a culture into social prominence. Sebastian became the champion of his family, determined to leave the poverty of Calabria behind.

For me, and others in our family, he transformed himself from a poor Italian immigrant into the heavyweight of our times.

Just Like Nonna’s House

Businesses that eventually went dark during the covid pandemic – whether because of state mandated shut downs, staffing shortages, or supply chain issues – were hard hit to the point of completely disappearing: as if the threat of personal physical or mental illness wasn’t intimidating enough.

One such business was one of our favorite restaurants, a place called Sam’s Italian American, located in Albany.

I could tell you it was a favorite because of the menu, the staff, the simple “old school” decor: it was all that and much more. Whether you ordered a plate of braciole, vodka sauce, or clams and linguine, you could be sure your plate overflowed with the flavors of your past, the aromas of childhood.

One reason it was such a favorite of ours stands out: either our son or daughter (I forget which, although my wife claims it was the latter) walked through the wall papered entrance of the restaurant, immediately proclaiming “it smells just like Nonna’s house in here.”

Just Like It Used to Be

I’m not sure if that moment cemented my fondness for Sam’s right there: I do know that, as I’ve recalled it repeatedly, I took my child’s proclamation as a way to knock the momentum from any pandemic related funk – vowing to continually search for the simple and the satisfying, that way of life that reminds me of just like Nonna’s house.

Nonna Rosina, next to my grandfather with his fork

With the help of my wife, I tend to pay more attention to my natural surroundings – animals, trees, flowers, the sky – just like we used to at Nonna’s house.

Play is becoming a bigger part of life. Just like I used to with the brick facade of Nonna’s house, bouncing a rubber ball, watching it explode off the brick and into my baseball glove for hours on end.

The social scene was big at Nonna’s house. Friends, family, neighbors would all stop by (remember the “drop in”?), eventually sitting at table for coffee, and what comedian Sebastian Maniscalco refers to in his memories as “company cake.”

Whether sitting for a coffee with my 100 year old great aunt (shout out to Zia Maria) or a post-mass Sunday brunch with a bunch of my cousins, the replication of that decades ago social life isn’t just necessary now: it’s critical.

When you look at the post pandemic landscape, it’s a horrendously ugly map: inflation, shootings, a senseless war wrought by a douchebag dictator, a general disrespect towards other humans, and the very sanctity of human life.

The concept of faith, family, and meals shared together, whether on a Sunday or any other day, is a dying breed here in America.

We need to do what we can to keep it on life support.

It’s not just an Italian American thing either. I believe that, once upon a time, most of us shared these common and important values.

A place like Sam’s was always a respite from the craziness, the confusion that permeates the outside world – bringing back the memories and emotions, the way of life that seems long past, that felt just like Nonna’s house.

In Defense of “Remember When”

“Remember when is the lowest form of conversation.”

The above is a favorite quote from television’s The Sopranos, delivered and made famous by the late great actor James Gandolfini.

I used to be able to see that point of view: to express boredom with individuals that spoke of nothing but the past.

My belief is when Soprano said this, he pictured the clichéd form of Remember When: the heroics of a high school playoff game, first loves, snapshots in time where the hair is less gray (or there at all!).

I’ve come to disagree with this nugget of Soprano life advice. Navigation of the late fifties age will do that to a guy.

If Tony were able to fast forward to this era of unrest (I’ll refer again to what Eagles founding member Don Henley might call “a graceless age”), he’d agree with me: Remember When is an elevated, and necessary, form of conversation.

In post election, post social rage, (hopefully soon) post covid – why wouldn’t you want to reach back into your archives for golden moments with more frequency?

When the future may be less bright than imagined, why not temper approaching clouds with images from your past?

In the fragmented remnants of years 2020-21, why wouldn’t I want to drift back in time to my grandmother’s kitchen, to when my kids were young, or back behind the mahogany bar at my family’s restaurant?

In Remember When, I recognize legacy. When you acknowledge or explore your roots, there is no possible way (for me, anyway) to celebrate success without giving credit to the tables that were set so neatly for me before any opportunities came along.

Remember When is remembering where you came from, and ensuring that remains the spotlight on your life.

Remember When helps you keep loved ones close. The ones we’ve lost. The mentors, the teachers, the rule breakers.

I often return to the idea that a man, or woman, passes away twice: first, the physical death, and then when no one speaks their name again.

Remember When is helpful to keep them alive and vibrant, even if only in a symbolic sense.

It was, and is, the vision of my grandparents still vibrant in their sixties, seventies, and beyond.

Not just them, but the vision of their house as well. The house they had built, paid cash for (against all odds). It would serve as the backdrop of my life for over 40 years.

Remembering the massive vegetable gardens that my cousins tended. That grapevine that my great uncle Mariano pruned with painstaking care. The fig tree, homemade wine, wooden arbors with roses draped over the sides.

Remember When is the Sunday dinner: time spent with cousins, aunts, uncles et al around a crowded table, made even more crowded by the plates and platters of food that my grandmother had spent the better part of two days in preparation.

In 2022, of course, everything is different. The gardens provide no food, the shrubs I used to trim are overgrown, and the grape vine is a skeleton shadow of the past.

I would always see my grandparents, spending time most days at that house. Now, I occasionally visit them at the cemetery, just a few miles away.

I’ll tell you, however, that doesn’t make me sad. It makes me grateful. For the good times had, the memories that can never fade, my “lightning strikes” luck of being born into the family that I was.

Those memories are most meaningful in the sense that they began the final chapters: a conduit to the beginnings of the next, the new generation.

Even though I’m older now, I still consider myself part of that new generation.

A new generation that can reflect, looking back, as well as towards the future with the words remember when.