Frank R. Acquaviva

Dear Friends:

It is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of my father, Frank, on Sunday, July 10, 2016. He was 86 years old.

Visitation will be on Sunday, July 17 from 6:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m. as well as on Monday, July 18 from 9:00 a.m. – 11:00 a.m., immediately followed by a prayer service, at the Walter B. Cooke Funeral Home, 352 East 87th Street, New York, NY 10128. The online Guest Book should be available shortly, should you wish to sign it. Below is a link to the funeral home’s website: http://www.dignitymemorial.com/walter-b-cooke-funeral-home/en-us/index.page

I have been staring at a blank screen for the past few days wondering how to capture the essence of 86 years of life in a few brief paragraphs. To those who knew my father, you will agree that there is no way to fully capture in such few paragraphs the essence of who he was. I will, however, endeavor to do my best to describe who he was to me: a loving, proud and generous father.

My father was the youngest of 10 children and born and raised in New York. His parents were from Bari, Italy, and although he never spoke Italian, he did understand it. He was a Korean War veteran and was extremely proud to have served his country. I never knew until a few days ago that he was also the recipient of both the Korean Service Medal with two bronze service stars and a United Nations Service Medal. He never spoke of his accomplishments. My father was a member of the Local One IATSE theatrical stage employees union for more than 40 years. He took me to my first Broadway show (“The Prince of Central Park,” which closed after only four performances) and was always able to get me the best seats in the house, turning me into a self-professed “seat snob.”

My father was the unofficial mayor of the neighborhood I know as Yorkville; he knew just about everyone. He could always find a pub and a pool table. He taught me how to play pool and I have fond childhood memories sitting at the bar eating maraschino cherries watching him play. He had funny quirks and many sayings; his large personality more than compensated for his small frame. Every Thanksgiving, he would unfailingly manage to call every person he knew right as dinner was ready, a habit that greatly irritated my mother. I don’t ever remember us having a warm Thanksgiving meal. He also loved to eat with this tiny fork that none of us understood. Perhaps this is how he maintained his goal weight for all these years, earning him the nickname “Little D.” He also never sat still, and used to say that no grass grew under his feet. He saved everything and laminated pretty much every document he ever had. So it’s no surprise that over the past few days I have found school report cards, college acceptance letters, etc., all with his handwritten notes underlining what he thought was important.

My father had many loves in his life: his country, his children and grandchildren, his union, his lotto tickets and the art of lamination. Perhaps his greatest love, however, was that of my mother, Margaret, or as he lovingly referred to her, “Tootsie.” They met during a screening of “The Sound of Music,” and would have celebrated their 50th anniversary this past May. After my mother passed away two years ago, he was never the same. Even though my sense of loss is so great, I take comfort in knowing that they have been reunited.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

John Acquaviva