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Not a man to be budged

My mother’s brother, Sam, defined the lexicon, “piece of work.” He was Gibraltar, the Great Pyramid, Jonah, and Antarctica. He wasn’t going to be moved or pushed out of the way for anything or anyone. He had a heart of gold and a will of steel. He had no match on earth, except for Aunt Vera. He might have been Samson but she was Delilah. There were many times when Sammy stepped in it or was challenged. For instance, when he was a boy, his father, my grandfather (Pop), would warn him to not tease the dog, a German Shepard. Sammy wasn’t afraid of anything with four legs. He would tease the dog and stick out his tongue at it; once too many, the dog bit him, scarred his nose and almost took his tongue. Who did they move, the dog of course. Sam had a lot of friends. His loyalty to them knew no bounds and they were forever. Sometimes he would embarrass them. Sam, Vera and a bunch of plumbing buddies along with my Mom and Dad were headed on a tropical vacation courtesy of a local plumbing...
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Willie goes on a run...

The fire department is full of character  heroes. One such was Willie,  a  notorious drinker until his late fifties  before  the realization of a sober life overtook him. H e  had  eviscerated the idea that his heroism was generated by the rocket fuel (booze ) of  choice. He was  also  a badass clean sober.   Before he became a sober thinker, he was notorious for going on runs and doing whatever ,  independent of any guidelines or behavior. It was at a Reno golf outing that he made his most fa mous assault upon logic.  The three-day golf tournament was  truly a test for the stamina of the body, mind  and  most  importantly the liver. Willie was taking care of two out of the three.   We had a  tournament  banquet  dinner, preceded by a hosted cocktail  party,  subsidized by free cocktails all day and night as long as you were gambling.  With wine at the table,...
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There is no word for that in Sicilian

My infant youth was spent living with my Sicilian grandparents in San Francisco. My mother and I lived there while my dad was serving in the Navy during World WW II. The predominant language in the home was Sicilian (Italian)  since my grandparents were immigrants from the island. In fact, one of the determining factors of  our  leaving the Sicilian nest was when my  father, of  English and Irish heritage,  came home on leave and said,” Good morning  Lessie .” My response was, “ B uon giorno papa. “ I spoke more Sicilian as an infant than English.    When we were young boys, my brothers and I would be placed in the Sicilian Summer Conditioning Program (SSCP). We would be dep osited at the ranchette owned   by  my mother ’ s parents . It was in a little area west of San Jose called Monte Vista, Spanish for Mountain View. Everyone in the family called it the “Country House”. It was a simple one-acre parcel that had three bedro...
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