Papa, whose given name was Armando, was born at home, the fifth son in his Italian immigrant family, and the first of the family to be born in America. His mother Graziella was ill and unable to nurse him, and the doctor told Papa's father Vincenzo that the baby wouldn't survive the night. Vincenzo held baby Armando and said, "If you're going out of the world tonight, little one, I want you to go happy." He took a crust of bread and dipped it into wine and put it to baby Armando's mouth, again, and again, and again.
And in the morning, the crisis had passed. Armando had survived.
What became of him?
In winter, it was Armando's job to meet his father after the work day at the trolley stop, and to run ahead of him all the way home, scattering ashes on the sidewalk so that his father would not fall in the snow or ice.
Armando was an excellent student, but was reprimanded in school for wearing a turtleneck sweater his mother had made for him, because turtlenecks were worn by tough boys and forbidden at his school.
From his teen years on, he was called Pat.
He loved opera, boxing, Shakespeare, arguing and playing the ponies.
And was an extraordinary grandfather.
