Missing PaPa

Francesco “Frank” Calvelli was born in Glasgow, NY on June 14, 1914.  Actually, he was born on the 17^th, according to his birth certificate and Social Security records, but he told everybody he was born on Flag Day, and out of respect and love we all just accepted it.  Of course, it didn’t matter that Flag Day wasn’t even proclaimed by Woodrow Wilson until 1916, Frank was so patriotic it just made sense to everybody who knew him. One day, during a conversation with him, he told me that although he was extremely proud of his Italian heritage (both of his parents were from Italy), he was prouder to be American.  He went on to say that he had seen a lot of other countries in the world and that America was the best, “hands down”.

When he was two years old, his family moved to Stockton California, where he grew up, went to school and helped on the family ranch.  At 27, he joined the US Army and served in the Tank and Artillery Corps under General Patton, seeing action in Italy and Northern Africa.  He didn’t like to tell ‘war stories’ or talk much about his experiences in the war.  He told me once that he continued to have nightmares long after his discharge.  He did tell some of us a few stories, though.  One story in particular that I won’t forget is one that he told my daughter Sarah:

While he was stationed in Italy about 1943, he and his buddies went into town one day.  He happened upon a nun, who explained she was looking for a little coffee for the parish priest, who had a heart condition and couldn’t get out of his rectory.  Frank gave her his coffee, and in return she gave him a small statue of St. Anthony holding the Child Jesus in his arms.  She told him it would keep him safe and get him home safely.  It apparently worked, because Frank returned home from WWII in 1945 safe and sound.

Once home, he met and fell in love with Patricia Lord, and they got married in 1953. Over the next 12 years, they had 4 kids; Marilyn, Frankie, Carolyn and Victoria.  Fast forward to 1973, when I met and fell in love with Marilyn.

I remember coming up the sidewalk next to the garage leading to the front door of the house on Country Club to pick Marilyn up for our first date.  Frank and Pat were there to greet me!  I had heard stories of fathers who loved to give their daughter’s dates the ‘third degree’ upon meeting them, so I was quite nervous.  I knew Marilyn liked me, but her parents??!  Both of her parents smiled and laughed and made me feel welcome as a member of their family from that first day.

Since I had lost my father only about a year and a half earlier, I bonded with Frank as if he were my own dad.  I went to him for advice and sometimes he gave me unsolicited advice, as any man does with his son.  We also had a few conversations about politics and religion, but those were not as lively as when we talked about wrestling or our families.  

At Frank and Pat’s 25^th wedding anniversary in 1978, I asked Frank for his secret to a long marriage and a happy family.  I was anxious for any advice, since Marilyn and I were expecting our first child the following February.  After a few solid jokes about ‘happy Wife, happy Life’ and ‘staying out of the weeds’ and so on, he got serious.  When I asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage, he had held up one finger and said “Respect”.  It was the most important virtue he was looking for in a son-in-law; respect for his daughter and respect for her family.  He held up two fingers this time. “Two things.”  He said them with a definite emphasis. “Respect. Pride.  Always treat your wife with respect and have pride in your family, through good times and bad.  Anybody can say they’re in ‘love’.  Respect and pride prove it.”  Since I can’t remember in the 45 years Marilyn and I have been married ever having any bad times with her or our family, it’s evidence enough for me that his advice was right on.

I can’t tell you the exact date, but I’m pretty sure it was within days of Alicia’s birth that “Frank” and “Dad” was replaced by “Pa Pa”.  His grandchildren were such a source of pride and amusement for him!  He was the quintessential Italian American grandfather.  At family functions, if things were getting a bit noisy or rambunctious, he would shout out (with a half-smile) “Basta!  Enough!”  Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.  But it always got a laugh from some of us.  

He passed away on October 23, 1995.  I sure miss the guy.  I’d love to share grandfather stories with him.  And I know he’d love to know his great-grandchildren.  They give me the courage and conviction to carry on his advice of “Respect. Pride.”