In December 2015, with absolutely no premonition of his passing, I wrote a long letter to my very good friend and brother-in-law, Joe Piazza, accompanied by a bunch of photos that were found in my growing collection. Rather than just send them with a note, for some reason I thought Joe might like to know how much my dad came to like him – and my dad was pretty hard on everyone – especially his own kids.
In my letter to Joe, I began by saying that my dad did not particularly like Italians – not because of their heritage – it was because one of his Italian neighbors always borrowed his garden implements and didn’t return them. Or, if he got them back, they were not immaculate like they were when they were borrowed. For that, my dad decided that all Italians must be bad because they didn’t return a clean shovel on time.
When Joe Piazza began dating my sister Karen, or Jeannie as I always called her, I was only about eight years old, but I was old enough to know Joe was going to have a hell of a time schmoozing my dad. Just for the record, it took me thirty years before he began to have even a tiny regard for me, and I was his flesh and blood. Using that as an example, Joe did not stand a chance.
I am not sure if Joe consciously tried to woo my dad into his fold (my mom liked him instantly), or if it was just his nature to be a cool. When I say “cool,” Joe was like a walking ice cube – he was cool in everything he did and said, especially to a small boy.
Unlike my other two brothers in law, Joe was more of a city guy – he wore really nice clothes, drove a nice car and oh the wrist watch he wore. I had never seen a watch like this one. It was gold, square shaped and had a black face. It had to cost a fortune, or so it seemed to a small country bumpkin.
In addition to being cool, Joe was quiet and respectful when he came into our ancestral home. He always held the doors open for my sister, engaged her in conversation, and did all the stuff that a man is supposed to do when he is trying to ease his way into someone’s family.
When Joe first came to our house, I figured he wouldn’t last long, and would get the eject button from my Old Man immediately. But my dad did not know Mr. Smooth, who gently, but firmly assimilated himself into the Goodwill clan. Over time, Joe not only was accepted by my dad; he was welcomed with open arms when he and Jeannie came to visit.
When I got out of the Army I was accepted to attend Youngstown University, which is only about 12 miles from Jeannie and Joe’s house in Sharon, PA. I got out of the Army on Saturday and had to begin classes the following Monday. Since I had been serving in Italy, some 5,000 miles away, there was no time to find a place on campus to live. Joe and Jeannie invited me into their home to stay until I could find a place to live.
Since that magnanimous gesture, Joe has always been like a brother to me, and over the years we became even closer than my blood brothers. One of the things that bound us together was golf, and just like life in general, Joe was very cool on the golf course. If he hit a great shot, he might say something cool like “that’ll work.” If he hit a bad shot, he might just shake his head, while everyone else is jumping up and down, turning beet red with anger. That simply was not Mr. Cool.
Joe used to be a marshal at a beautiful country club between the Pennsylvania and Ohio borders, and in return for his serving during tournaments, he was able to bring other friends to play the course for free. I fondly recall driving up from Virginia to go with Joe and my brother Dick to play this magnificent course, and my sister Jeannie would pack a box lunch for each of us. I can still see the course in my mind’s eye and recall almost every hole that we played.
On my trips from Virginia to see the rest of our family in Meadville, my first stop was always to see Joe and Jeannie, and then Joe only when my sister passed away. After my sister’s death, which was such a sad period for our family, one time I was visiting Joe and he showed me some very hefty hospital bills that were paid by his medical insurance. That really brought tears to my eyes, knowing that my sister did not have to worry about financial matters in addition to fighting her battle with cancer.
Joe had a great appreciation for intelligent conversation, and I recall so many times sitting in his living room discussing world events. However, if you wanted to create a ruckus with Joe, there were two easy ways to do it. First, just say something bad about Democrats. Second, say something good about Republicans.
Joe was a died-in-the-wool Democrat, and there was no way he wanted to hear anything about the other side. In fact, sometimes to just get him going, I would say something like “how about that Nixon, he created the Environmental Protection Agency….who would have ever thought that?” That would be enough to get Joe to put down his Wall Street Journal and glare at you before he began his anti-Republican rant.
One of the wonderful annual events in the Pizza household was my sister’s Thanksgiving dinners. She would invite perhaps a half dozen people in addition to her own family to participate in what I have to say is the finest cooking I have ever tasted other than that of the grand master of all victuals, which would be my mom.
Joe simply loved my sister’s cooking, and to show you how particular he was, I once asked him what he thought of the Olive Garden Italian restaurant chain. He glared at me for a moment and said one word: “garbage.” I laughed so hard when he said that, because I am not sure he ever found a restaurant that was as good as Jeannie’s cooking.
In addition to the wonderful Thanksgiving meals Jeannie cooked, Joe made an important contribution as well…his terrific home made wine. Not only was it delicious to the taste, but he would put it in a crystal decanter which made sampling it even more like what you would expect at an upscale restaurant. And there was no way he was going to give you his recipe either. When I asked him for the ingredients, he smiled and said “raisins.”
To those who did not know Joe well, he could appear taciturn, but he definitely was not. What he did was to keep a good poker face going. For strangers he would sit quietly and analyze them, saying very little. Among his family and friends, however, he was garrulous and outgoing, and just a lot of fun to be with.
I was with Joe on several occasions when he glowed with glee. Once was during the marriage ceremonies of each of his three daughters. Secondly was when his daughter Terri graduated from college, and the third was when Joe, his lady friend Bev and a few others of us got to meet Tony Bennett at a gala in Washington, DC. On that occasion, Joe was smiling from ear to ear, knowing that he met one of the greatest vocalists of all time, and he was Italian to boot.
Since Joe had lived in the same house in Sharon for most of my adult life, I never thought he would leave there unless it was via the funeral home. However, when Bridget first moved to Montana with her husband Steven, Joe’s loyalty to the old homestead began to dissipate.
With the birth of Ivan, his first grandson, the ties to Sharon loosened further. When Terri decided to move to Montana, that was sort of the last straw for Joe. He immediately put his house on the market, left behind a lot of possessions, and headed west. As best I can tell, he never regretted the move for a moment.
I called Joe often, always saying in Italian “Giuseppe come’ sta…bene bene? In English, this means: “Joe, how are you… good good?” In our chats, he always mentioned two things: how much he loved Montana, and the time he spent with Ivan.
When it comes to Joe, the only mystery is how he got the nickname “Joe the Pipe.” I think it came from his work at Westinghouse, and would guess his girls probably know.
I like my nickname for Joe much better…. “Mr. Cool,” because everyone wants to be cool. While Joe was very warm and loving, he also had the ability to be calm while most others were anything but. That is a tough act to pull off, and just one of the many reasons why I will miss him terribly. I am not religious, but I know Joe and Jeannie are now in a better place, reliving all those wonderful years they spent together, and that makes me very, very happy.
