Nicolo (Nick) Pietropaolo of Goshen, formerly of Nanuet, passed away on Friday, April 10, 2009 at Arden Hill Hospital. He was 82. He was born on February 21, 1927 to the late Vincent and Antoinette (Locoparra) Pietropaolo in Yonkers, NY.
Nick was a World War II veteran in the U.S. Marine Corps., 4th Division. He attended Northrop Aeronautical School in California. He worked at Otis Elevator Company as a Facility Engineer for 32 years and was a member of the Otis Fire Brigade. He retired from J.P. Morgan in New York City in 1992.
Nick's love of the outdoors included golfing with his buddies and admiring and caring for all the trees. He was a devoted husband, father and grandfather. He was so proud of his whole family and loved them with all his heart.
He is survived by his beloved wife of 57 years, Madeline Pietropaolo, and five children: James (Mary Beth) Pietropaolo of Lewistown, PA, Thomas (Suzanne) Pietropaolo of DeWitt, NY, Paul (Susan) Pietropaolo of New City, NY, Robert (Laura) Pietropaolo of Goshen, NY, and Janet Pietropaolo (Richard) Teetsel of Hummelstown, PA. He is also survived by sisters, Jenny Marino of Rock Hill, CT and Anna Pietropaolo of Newington, CT; a brother, Vincent (Casey) Pietropaolo of Newington, CT; and many nieces and nephews. In addition, he is survived by ten grandchildren: Nicholas and Alexandra, Jill and Amanda, Adam and Daniel, Justin and Joseph, Vincent and Matthew.
He was predeceased by his two sisters, Caroline Murray and Antoinette Gambardella, and three brothers, Julio, Albert and Alfred Pietropaolo.
A funeral mass was held on Monday, April 13, at St. Anthony's Church, Nanuet, NY, with a burial at St. Anthony's Cemetery.
Eulogy by Robert Pietropaolo:
The A-List
Over the past several years there have been a few times where I thought we would be here sooner than today. So over the course of the last few years I’ve had various versions of what I thought I would say once I got up here. And as you can imagine each one had me balling my eyes out while I was either mowing the lawn or driving home from work, where I would compose these eulogies. About two and a half months ago it became very clear as to how I was going to talk about Pop. Here goes. I hope you enjoy it.
The top draw of my dresser is my junk draw. I keep little trinkets there, a rock from Sedona, a Swiss army knife, a picture from the Grand Canyon, a Little Abner pin, a referee whistle, small mementoes to remind me of a passed event. I keep them there because that’s where my dad kept his. When I was a little kid I would find myself in his room and snoop through his junk draw. I don’t remember the first time I did that. It must have been an accident. Maybe I was looking for something and found this treasure chest of stuff that gave me a glimpse into my fathers’ life. I could hold a secret with him, without him even knowing. It had the same kind of stuff in it as mine. A pen knife, Otis Elevator pins, a yoyo, subway tokens, photos from the war, and a dirty joke book. The joke book, of course, was my favorite.
I would periodically return to the draw and look inside, and once in a while a new article would appear, and I would wonder what it would mean to him. Sometimes it was obvious, a pin from a recent event he attended or some trinket commemorating his involvement in the Black and Gold Club, or Little League, something like that. Occasionally there would be a Xerox copy of the latest dirty joke being passed around the office. It did not take long though to realize that there would not be new trinkets added all that often, and eventually I just stopped snooping.
In January, up at the lake house, where my parents moved to after they retired, the temperature dropped to well below zero, there was a power failure, the pipes froze, then burst, and as you can imagine, it was a mess. I was up there moving what could be salvaged to higher ground, and needed to move my dads’ dresser. To lighten the load I pulled the draws out, and once again was faced to face with the stuff in his junk draw. It was really quite a wonderful experience, for the next two hours or so I sat there picking through his stuff, wondering what each little thing might have meant to him. A flood of memories came racing back and I felt that secret special connection from my snooping 35 to 40 years ago.
The top draw of my dresser is my junk draw. I keep little trinkets there, a rock from Sedona, a Swiss army knife, a picture from the Grand Canyon, a Little Abner pin, a referee whistle, small mementoes to remind me of a passed event. I keep them there because that’s where my dad kept his. When I was a little kid I would find myself in his room and snoop through his junk draw. I don’t remember the first time I did that. It must have been an accident. Maybe I was looking for something and found this treasure chest of stuff that gave me a glimpse into my fathers’ life. I could hold a secret with him, without him even knowing. It had the same kind of stuff in it as mine. A pen knife, Otis Elevator pins, a yoyo, subway tokens, photos from the war, and a dirty joke book. The joke book, of course, was my favorite.
I would periodically return to the draw and look inside, and once in a while a new article would appear, and I would wonder what it would mean to him. Sometimes it was obvious, a pin from a recent event he attended or some trinket commemorating his involvement in the Black and Gold Club, or Little League, something like that. Occasionally there would be a Xerox copy of the latest dirty joke being passed around the office. It did not take long though to realize that there would not be new trinkets added all that often, and eventually I just stopped snooping.
In January, up at the lake house, where my parents moved to after they retired, the temperature dropped to well below zero, there was a power failure, the pipes froze, then burst, and as you can imagine, it was a mess. I was up there moving what could be salvaged to higher ground, and needed to move my dads’ dresser. To lighten the load I pulled the draws out, and once again was faced to face with the stuff in his junk draw. It was really quite a wonderful experience, for the next two hours or so I sat there picking through his stuff, wondering what each little thing might have meant to him. A flood of memories came racing back and I felt that secret special connection from my snooping 35 to 40 years ago.
Then another realization was of what I was looking at. The A list, the A list of stuff that after 82 years, still warranted space in this drawer. Marine Core pins, Otis retirement pins, zippo cigarette lighter, the joke book, 9/11 World Trade Center pin my brother Paul gave to him. I know that one was very special to him. Of course there were pictures of us, his kids at various ages, and of my Mom. There where photos of him with his friends affectionately known as the Goofers, photos of his Mom and Pop, his brothers and sisters. Photos of him in the war when he was stationed in China. Some horrific photos of that war. Photos of him before he met my Mom. Some of these photos were out on display at the Wake yesterday. The last and most telling articles left were the love letters he saved from my Mom when he was away from us for weeks at a time while in Indiana setting up shop for Otis Elevators. Trying times for a young couple with five young children.
The only other thing I know he would have liked to keep in his draw would have been his ten grand kids. He loved visiting with, seeing, and hearing about what they where up to. From their first steps, to graduation, from engagements, to any activity or opportunity they where taking advantage of. He had a special place in his heart for all of them. He was proud, and enjoyed the company of, his son-in-law. He was proud too, of the wives, who he would say he hand picked for his four sons.
Now I need to wrap this up. One thing that Pop was not was patient. So I thank you all for coming and know if he were here he would tell each and every one of you “ya look good” except you Laura, you look tired. Now go Pop, Grandma has homemade ravioli for you. Grandpa has some lawns for you to mow. Your brothers and your sisters are waiting. And George Crowfoot has a Tee time for you.
Now I need to wrap this up. One thing that Pop was not was patient. So I thank you all for coming and know if he were here he would tell each and every one of you “ya look good” except you Laura, you look tired. Now go Pop, Grandma has homemade ravioli for you. Grandpa has some lawns for you to mow. Your brothers and your sisters are waiting. And George Crowfoot has a Tee time for you.
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