My father, Charles Paul Attanucci, was born on June 29, 1922, a first generation American born of Italian immigrant parents. He grew up in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, my hometown. And passed away in January of 1998. Trying to capture a bit of his essence as I write this, based on a few spare records, my imperfect memory, and subject to my own re-interpretations. As it should be.
If you search my father’s name online, there are no articles to be found, just a few address and family references that do not describe him in any personal way. There is a relative scarcity of pictures to keep and share, and the almost complete absence of those that include my dad and I together. I found a few family pictures that somehow, I am not included in. I did find one with all of us together, but it is a picture taken of a glass framed picture, with significant glare on my version. Perhaps my brother and sisters have more photos stored away. It makes you think about how common digital images are today, and how generally rare in the past. Much food for thought.
He grew up on 318 Ruxton Street in the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Mt. Washington with two sisters and two brothers. One of his brothers was my namesake Vincent, who passed away at a young age in the 1940’s. He had another brother Aleck, and two sisters; Carmella and Angie who at a young age I would often see at our family gatherings. Mt Washington and 318 Ruxton Street today. The property had fallen into dis-repair until it was recently re-purchased and re-furbished.
During World War II he was ready to enlist, but was held back at home for a period of time because he was the sole provider for his mother Anna. He entered the service in 1944 and was enroute to Japan in 1945 when the war ended. As a vehicle and transport mechanic, at some point he hurt his back and received a medical discharge. We think. Somehow his service records filed at the National Personnel Records Center were destroyed in a fire in 1973. So much for permanent records. Upon his service discharge he worked as a welder and an automobile mechanic at Studebaker car dealership and then moving on to Rohrich Cadillac on West Liberty Avenue on the south side of town. Apparently, he was quite the welder, who knew?
During World War II he was ready to enlist, but was held back at home for a period of time because he was the sole provider for his mother Anna. He entered the service in 1944 and was enroute to Japan in 1945 when the war ended. As a vehicle and transport mechanic, at some point he hurt his back and received a medical discharge. We think. Somehow his service records filed at the National Personnel Records Center were destroyed in a fire in 1973. So much for permanent records. Upon his service discharge he worked as a welder and an automobile mechanic at Studebaker car dealership and then moving on to Rohrich Cadillac on West Liberty Avenue on the south side of town. Apparently, he was quite the welder, who knew?
Charles married my dear mom Louise and had four children (John, myself (Vincent), Janet and Patricia). At a young age we lived in a row house on Key Avenue in Dormont, a close-in “suburb” to Pittsburgh and then moved to my maternal grandmother’s house within the Beechview neighborhood in the city after the passing of my grandfather, circa 1960. My first memories were in that Key Avenue row house, playing with small friends, meatloaf / mashed potatoes / peas for dinner, a small plastic swimming pool in the backyard, sledding down the street, listening to baseball games on the radio. Mom came running through the house when Bill Mazeroski hit that 9th inning homerun to beat the Yankees in 1960.
My father progressed his working career for many years at Rohrich Cadillac, first as a mechanic and then working his way forward into the position of service advisor. Working just a few blocks down the street from our “new” house in Beechview. He dressed in a uniform of sorts with a crisp white shirt and an over jacket with matching pants. Returning each evening and somewhat worn down by the press of business, he was determined to wash up, eat dinner, read the paper and watch the evening news. We gave him some space until he was fully settled in for the evening. He set an example for us by his hard work. He had old fashioned view on society, consistent with the culture of those times. He respected everyone and was generous to those who had less.
In my memory he was very intelligent and intellectually curious. His goal was to get us all through college and on to good lives. Somehow my parents saved enough money to enroll us in college preparatory Catholic high schools. At a young age I remember standing in the driveway watching him working under the hood of our car. I asked how I could help, perhaps to learn a bit about car mechanics. His response was clear, “what I need from you is moral support”. His way of telling me that my future was somewhere well beyond the world of automobile repair.
Growing up, our world was circumscribed by what we could see in the news, and how far a car would take us in a day’s drive time. He found time to take us out away, all packed into our Chevrolet station wagon with a fold up seat in the back. Off we went each summer, to the New Jersey shore (Wildwood) with our cousins, to Lake Erie – staying in a rooming house at the lake. Niagara Falls, so far away and spectacular. And then off again to Chicago to visit our cousins. And local trips to see sights available in the mountains to the east and south of the city. Memories of those trips stay with me trips even now, as did the endless car rides; listening to baseball games on the radio, dad in fully in charge of the driving, the routes and designated gas / meal stops.
Sports. As hard as he worked, he still found time to enjoy sports, coaching basketball and following pro teams, the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Steelers through good years and bad. He took us to historic Forbes Field for many baseball games; he knew some of the ushers there and was able to get us close in tickets on occasion. Somehow, he obtained an autographed bat used by Roberto Clemente, my favorite player. We followed the Steelers through many lean years until suddenly they were contenders. Over Christmas break in December 1972 my brother John and I went down to the stadium on a cold Saturday to buy tickets for the next day playoff game against the hated Oakland Raiders. This was his Christmas present from us. We sat high up in the south end zone of old Three Rivers Stadium. Little did we know that the game would become famous, the Immaculate Reception with Franco Harris, perhaps the best remembered play in the history of the NFL. We were there. He was happy. We were excited. We lost the ticket stubs. No one would believe that we were actually there. But we were.
He taught us how to golf, perhaps an unlikely sport for a city born car mechanic. Practicing in the backyard with plastic balls. Early on Saturday mornings, wet foggy starts, he would take us to the public courses nearby, and after we learned to play, on long drives in the darkness to the Riverview Golf course, nestled up a winding road from the Monongahela River. He loved to bowl and socialize in Saturday evening mixed lead games, a place for him to be himself with adult friends, away for a moment from work and children. Riverview first tee.
I found my love of nature from him. We brought home every type of pet that a city boy could hope to have, turtles, fish, an opossum, an iguana, snakes, parakeets, and a puppy of course. He built us a small concrete box pond beside the back porch where we kept fish and anything else that swam. When he had more time in retirement, he applied himself to crafts and painting. I have his paint by numbers of the Last Supper and remember watching him work intently at the dining room table for months on end. His finished product was a work of art in its own sense; I wish I could have taken him with me to Milan to see the original.
He enjoyed these hobbies and interests and seemed to relish his free time in retirement. He was intelligent and opinionated and had a sense of humor, quick with a smile or a laugh. Stern with us when he needed to be. Above all of this was his dedication to family. He was absolutely determined that we would all graduate from college and be successful in life. He framed each of our college diplomas to display these accomplishments on our dining room wall.
In his later years I believe that he was fully content with the family and career that he built, and proud of his accomplishments, enjoying retirement. Dad – your legacy of hard work, love of life, and care of family is secure. It was a life well lived.
