I learned today that my Uncle passed away at the age of 93. He was at peace the past few weeks, spending his last few days on earth at home with his family.
First, Carl Cochi was not my Uncle. He was my dad's first cousin. My dad's mom, Delia, and Carl's mom, Lena, came to America in the early 1900s from Maenza, Italy. I grew up in a small town in upstate New York. As a. young boy, I only knew Carl as "Uncle Carl ."My dad and his cousins were a group of older men I looked up to and helped shape my life. My father's side of the family was Italian. I have strong memories of Sunday afternoon road trips to St. Johnsville, NY (about 40 miles from my hometown) to visit my grandmother. She and the relatives lived in this beautiful small town where they settled after arriving from Italy. Sunday afternoon dinners were usually homemade Chicken Soup, Veal Cutlets, garlic and peppers, fresh warm Italian bread (from Barca's bakery). Dinner was typically followed by watching a basketball or football game, but the highlight came later in the afternoon. We would drive the 1 mile trip down Main Street to my grandmother's sister's home.
Aunt Lena's (everyone called her Aunt Lena) home was where my dad's cousins would gather (especially during the holidays). I would walk into the dark living room, and the older men would all be half-awake (post-dinner) watching a golf tournament. There was Uncle Dom. He was my dad's cousin Laura's husband. He was a great athlete, and my dad would always tell his friends that Dom not only scored a 300 in bowling, but shot a hole in one, and was an outstanding baseball player that could have been in the major leagues. Uncle Oscar was the football coach, and to this day, I think of him as the Vince Lombardi of the family. I have to admit, he scared me a bit as a young boy, only to realize later in life that he was a wonderful human being and had a heart of gold. Later in life, I realized that my dad's cousins were more like brothers and sisters, and growing up in an Italian family was something that I would look back and cherish.
Uncle Oscar, Uncle Dom, Aunt Laura, and my father passed away a few years ago, and today, Uncle Carl is the last of that legacy group to leave this earth and join up with his family in heaven. He lived a wonderful life and deeply impacted me during my high school days, four years at the Naval Academy, and keeping in touch all these years. I was eight years old when I attended his wedding (my first wedding). I watched his children grow up. He took me to Syracuse football games (I remember when they killed the Navy one year). I remember watching the UCLA-Houston game in the Astrodome on his color TV (Lew Alcindor vs. Elvin Hayes).
A paragraph in the bestselling book "Lincoln Highway" reads, " But for most people, it does not matter where they live. When they get up in the morning, they're not looking to change the world. They want to have a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, put in their eight hours, and wrap up the day with a bottle of beer in front of the TV set. More or less, it's what they would be doing if they lived in Atlanta, Georgia, or Nome, Alaska." I disagree a bit and comment that I was glad to grow up in upstate New York and have family in the small town of St. Johnsville. It was the epicenter of a family, summertime at the park, fireman field days, eating 5 cent popsicles and penny candy from Aunt Lena's gas station, and watching town team baseball. All are now distant memories while I live in an overgrown suburb on the California west coast.
The sad news today only makes me ensure to keep in touch with all the 2nd/3rd cousins of Uncle Carl and ensure we keep those memories alive and forever passed down to future generations.
RIP.