Summer 2010 Email [email protected]
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Per Niente Published and Edited by Joe Di Leo l’estate duemiladieci Associate Editor Joey Giambra Volume VI Issue III Summer 2010 Email [email protected] Angelo Patri was pal at PS #4 (the first Italian-born to do so in the an Italian- United States) American author From 1908 to 1913 he was Principal of PS #45 and educator. in the Bronx, a school that housed students from His was born An- immigrant families. There, one of Angelo’s students gelo Petraglia in was Julius Garfinkle, a dead-end kid who was also Piaggine scholastically poor because he spent much of his (Salerno). He and time running with neighborhood gangs. Garfinkle’s his family came to potentially bleak future took a positive turn when the United States Angelo Patri saw something special in the boy and in 1881 and lived became his mentor. Patri channeled the boy's en- in New York’s East ergy and introduced him to the world of Theatre. Harlem. His Garfinkle began performing in school plays and a mother, Carmela, new vista opened for him. His scholastic record im- hoped that he proved because high marks were required in audi- would become a tioning for plays. Angelo Patri priest. His father, Patri was later instrumental in Garfinkle receiv- The Father of New York Nicholas, a la- ing a scholarship to the Heckscher Foundation City’s Educational System borer, who though where Garfinkle learned the fundamentals of Thea- 1876-1965 illiterate was a tre. Julius Garfinkle who upon becoming a profes- raconteur who re- sional actor and changing his galed his neighbors with wonderful tales of histori- name to John Garfield said of cal Italian figures and past events. Patri, "For reaching into the His parents, realizing the value of education, garbage pail and pulling me enrolled Angelo in school at the age of eleven. out, I owe him everything." With only a limited knowledge of English, Angelo Editors note: struggled. But his tenacity and desire to learn soon Angelo Patri’s syndi- overcame his shortcomings and he made great cated column on child strides in continuing his education. psychology called “Our He earned a B.A. at the College of the City of Children”, appeared in national magazines and John Garfield New York in 1897, and an M.A. at Columbia Univer- major newspapers in- sity in 1904. He was a schoolteacher in New York cluding those in Buffalo. from 1898 to 1908, At which time he became princi- My Father, Angelo A. Fatta Page 2 When Joey Giambra called and asked me to write an in the army during WWII. He served in Patton’s 3rd Army, article for Per Niente about my father, my first reaction 4th Armored Division and was in battle in France and Bel- was to say no. He had only passed away a few weeks gium during the period July to December 1944. He was before and the pain was still with me; I felt awarded a Bronze Star and a Pur- writing about him would only prolong the ple Heart with an Oakleaf Cluster. grief. But within an instant, I said yes, For those who don’t know what mainly because dad would want me to. these last two medals mean, a After all, in addition to all of his wonderful Purple Heart is awarded when a qualities, he loved being the center of at- soldier is wounded in battle and tention. the Oakleaf Cluster is awarded for Our family wanted his passing to a second occurrence. On Decem- never come; we wanted him to live for- ber 23, 1944 he was severely ever. For so many years he was such a wounded during the Battle of the presence in our lives that we couldn’t Bulge. Fifty years later he went to imagine a life without him. His death was Normandy with his sons and probably the only time he ever disap- grandsons to visit the battle sites pointed us. and only then did dad talk about the fear he experienced. To admit Dad, Papa, Grampie, Papo, Uncle one’s fear seemed pretty coura- Ange, Mr. Fatta, Angelo, Ange, Detective geous to me. And looking out over Fatta @ whatever you called him, how- those thousands of grave mark- ever you knew him, he brought richness ings at the American Cemetery at to the lives of those around him. And just Omaha Beach filled me with pro- who was this special man who was born Angelo Fatta and his father, Angelino found thanks that my father came in 1916 of Angelino Fatta and Giacomena back. He and they truly were the Bianchi of Montemaggiore Belsito, Sicily, heroes of our time. who married Helen Oglialoro, had four sons, nine grand- children, one great-grandchild, was a Buffalo policeman, But as much of a fighter that he was, my father was fought in WWII, operated a hot dog stand for many years, kind and compassionate. He cared about people and al- cared about other people, loved a good time and was ways had a sympathetic word or an inquiry into some- even known to place a bet or two on a pony at Fort Erie? one’s or their family’s health. When he worked at my Let me try over the next few paragraphs to capture the company in the 1990’s he was always bringing joy and essence of this extraordinary individual. care (and some of my mother’s cookies) to everyone’s day. And these were no trivial pleasantries; he really did Well, he was tough – probably the toughest man I care about people. ever knew. He would fight at the drop of a hat to protect the honor of his wife, or the safety of his sons and grand- Related to that, he was the living example of “forgive children or the honor of his Italian heritage. And most of and forget”. He just couldn’t carry around anger or resent- the time, the recipient of his toughness was heartily sorry ment. Our mother often called him a sap; he was too easy for the offense. He was strong; he could go 18 hours a going for her likes. She required much more accountabil- day at full tilt and show no signs of wear. Even at the end ity from people. But he would just shrug and say: “Let it he waged a fierce battle with death. He did not go down go Helen.” Sap or no, it’s just who he was. easily; he would not go down easily. In addition to being a Buffalo cop for 33 years, he But as tough as he was, he was not afraid to ad- was the “family cop.” It was not unusual for the phone to mit fear. On rare occasions he would talk about his time ring in the middle of the night from a family member who got into a “little trouble.” Dad would run out and somehow My Father, Angelo A. Fatta Page 3 make the situation right. Afterwards there was the forceful He liked his scotch. Johnny Walker Black was his warning to the errant relative and more often than not, favorite, but every once in a while he’d give me that look that person stayed on the straight and narrow. Many of and I’d know it was time to break out the Johnny Walker us, his sons included, owe him a debt of gratitude for Blue. And his passion in life was the Yankees. Every those midnight rescues. spring he’d be getting himself He had a great sense of ready for the opening game humor, although he couldn’t tell wondering if this season the a joke to save his life. The con- Yankees would break his cept of proper timing and em- heart or bring him triumph. If phasis of punch lines eluded you’re a Yankees fan, you him. But jokes aside, his particu- understand. If you’re not, lar talent was observing the iro- there’s nothing more to say. nies and foibles of life and then There is so much more to say making some wry comment – but not enough space. He sometime in English, sometimes was all these things and in Sicilian, sometimes with a bit more, a truly extraordinary of both – but always withering. The Fattas man. I am reminded of the One of his favorites was “a Thomas, Angelo, Angelo Sr., Michael, Robert lines from Shakespeare’s posta” which has a lot of transla- Julius Caesar: tions but usually meant “Get a load of that one!” His life was gentle, and the elements He loved his family with a passion, our mother So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up Helen, his four sons and their wives, and his nine grand- And say to all the world, 'This was a man!' " children. There was no “dad-loved-me-best”. He made all of us feel equally loved because there was more than On March 14, 2010 our family had to say goodbye enough love in him to go around for everyone. Of note is to a man we all loved, a man who was our father, our the special relationship he had with his grandsons Rob friend, our protector, our mentor and our biggest fan. He and John - the kidding, the giving, the love that went back struggled mightily the last seven weeks. He fought off and forth among the three of them was beautiful to see. I death at the doorstep, but in the end his strong body and remember clearly the night my son John was born.