It is with great sadness that we share the passing of Stephen DeNichilo on May 21, 2020. Our Dad, born on June 23, 1940, was a simple man on the surface, but a true force of nature built on ridiculous hard work, loyalty, constant action movies, and never ending bowls of pasta for everyone. Dad, lovingly known as “the Beast”, had an amazing journey that took him from the hills of Petacciato in Italy to the top of almost every skyscraper in New York City. He had a heck of a story over 80 years.
In Petacciato, a small town most Italians rarely know, Dad grew up in an apartment with no running water, electricity or bathroom. He would recall how he had to scamper into the hills to “go” in the middle of the night - unless it was in the winter, and he would “just hold it”. He would say other Italians from more refined cities would call him a “Montagnola” which is a derogatory term for someone from the mountains. Dad said he could care less what other people thought and would just laugh. His father left Italy after World War 2 for Chile and Venezuela when Dad was only 7 years old – his father, Giuseppe, left home to find work, save money, eventually get to America and ultimately bring his family from Italy to the United States. As a child, my Dad did not see his father for the next 6 years.
Dad left the small town of Petacciato for the “big city” of Molfetta where his next apartment amazingly had electricity but still no bathroom. He would tell us tales of playing soccer in the street, eating razor clams straight from the sea, and loving Molfetta’s big annual food festival the Madonna dei Martiri, and nightly “passeggiatas” after dinner.
When his father saved up enough money, Dad eventually immigrated to the US in 1954 from Naples on the boat Vulcania – the trip took a ridiculous 18 days – stopping in Palermo, Genoa, Gibraltar, Lisbon, Halifax, Boston and then New York. He was 13 years old. He showed up at Pier 90 on 54th street on the west side of Manhattan in the middle of January – wearing shorts. When asked why he wore shorts, he says he really has no idea, that’s all they had.
Dad moved with his 5-person family to a Corona, Queens tiny one-bedroom apartment (with a bathroom!) near Spaghetti Park, his next door neighbors were The Valvanos (as in Jim Valvano of college basketball fame) and the Lemon Ice King of Corona. Dad proceeded to be placed in high school without speaking a word of English, left on his own to figure it out with no help at all. Quickly realizing the need to learn a trade, he pursued employment in New York City’s Local 3 Electrical union where he went on to work over 40 years touching almost every important location you know of – from the World Trade Center to Lincoln Center to Arthur Avenue.
During Christmas time in New York, if you ever saw a large illuminated star at the top of a building under construction in the 1980s and 90s, that was probably my Dad – he’d climb to the very top of the building’s antenna (with no safety harness) and affix a large lighted star on top of the building he was working on – like the top of a Christmas tree. Despite years of hard labor and cold New York City winters (he did eventually learn to wear long pants, though he never wore a real winter jacket or a hat), he always said he only stopped working when his body would not allow it anymore. Even in his final days, he would talk about how much he loved to work, and how he would be so excited on Sunday nights. His work ethic was legendary throughout the industry.
When construction was slow, he would create ridiculous projects at my house, digging foundations by hand, and pulling up walls and support structures with elaborate pulley systems with the help of his 90 year old 5 foot mother. Inspectors would come to my house and laugh at my Dad’s new, latest “one man project”. If he wasn’t building someone a new shed or fixing a car, he would be tinkering on a model train set forever under construction until it was perfect. He once built a beautiful elevated porch in my backyard by hand, only to knock it down a year later because he “changed his mind.” Even in his late 70s, Dad would invent some project at mine or my sister’s house and we’d find him crawling through our attics running wires or tenuously perched on a ladder. If he happened to call me and I was not at work, the beast would emerge and boom “Why the hell aren’t you at work?!” In his mind, and the love of a job well done, one was always working.
The word selfless does not fully capture the essence of Dad. He would drop everything immediately to help a friend (or a friend of a friend) if anything ever needed fixing. And he could fix anything. But his selfless nature went far beyond home improvement projects. The beast was actually a teddy bear who only wanted you to smile, put away your phone to actually sit and talk, and enjoy life surrounded by amazingly good food.
Of course the food was always the centerpiece to every get together. Most of Dad’s meals were actually quite simple (garlic, oil, parsley). His simple Italian salad (don’t forget the celery Stephen!!) was literally legendary (one part red wine vinegar, two parts olive oil, and enough salt to make the FDA faint). Anyone who was treated to his Sunday dinner would be left speechless. Dad would have the biggest smile on his face when his guests would be sopping up the last remnants of his decadent sauce with a big piece of fresh bread. And he would have a fantastic laugh when someone would gasp at the large bowl of braised lamb necks or rolled pig skin prominently displayed on the table.
Dad always worked hard and kept fixing everything until he was given a terminal cancer diagnosis about 7 months ago. I have often pondered how one would act if given a similar terminal diagnosis, and do we suddenly aim to become some person we always hoped to be? With Dad, there was zero change when he knew his time was limited because he always lived life so deliberately. He lived with a pure, selfless heart solely focused on giving his children the life he couldn’t have as an immigrant, and had an intense focus on making everyone happy through food and two by fours.
In his final months, he laughed even more, drank more Johnny Walker, still served his Sunday dinners, ate huge ribeye steaks, and consumed so much sushi that his favorite place named a sushi roll after him, all while constantly reaching out to everyone to say it all was going to be OK. He always said, “never take life too seriously, no one gets out alive anyways.”
To that end, Dad would yell and scream much more if you failed to put enough olive oil in the Sunday sauce than any bad news we ever received from his diagnosis. And God forbid you put an onion in the sauce, there would be hell to pay. He faced every new piece of bad news we received with courage, dignity, and a casual shrug only to wonder what we should eat tonight.
On the surface, Dad was a seemingly simple man but possessed a granular and vibrant life outlook that any philosopher would envy. He had a pure, selfless heart and achieved so much with literally so little given to him. Dad’s journey from a poor montagnola to the top of the World Trade Center (he helped build floors 80-95 in the South Tower) is a testament to the power of hard work and the indomitable human spirit to move forward in life. He willed a better future. His unsurpassed work ethic created a better future for his children and grandchildren. He always said in an almost perfect Yogi Berra way, “Son, if you don’t do it, it won’t get done.” And it always got done.
We are forever grateful for his hard work. We know Dad is in a better place, finally relaxing under the warm sun, with a cold Rolling Rock in his hand, and a heaping plate of Linguini alle Vongole with more garlic and olive oil than you could ever imagine. Dad’s legacy, courage and simple life lessons can never be forgotten and stand as a veritable blueprint for how much love and happiness a life lived for others can create. Salud Dad, we love you. Always.
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