My five foot one inch Uncle Giuseppe, also called ‘Biggie,’ would strut around town like a big shot and a Casanova with just a few pennies rattling in his pockets. Poor Papa worried incessantly about Giuseppe’s soul.

“It no look-a so good,” he’d say to Mama, “I wanna to meet ALL my-a children in the next-a world.”

“Let us first get-a through this-a world,” sighed Mama. “No you-a worry, Papa, he-a come from-a good, sturdy stock.”

Giuseppe would almost have to for all the dalliances he supposedly had. A man couldn’t work if he…hey, come to think of it, Biggie did only work sporadically. Oh, he had his own crew of men who worked construction with him and sometimes he would be high up on a scaffold when out of nowhere, a car would pull up, honk and Biggie would practically break his neck scrambling down the ladder and disappearing into the back seat of the car with a…. You never saw him again until a much slower, tired man now ascended the scaffold, and with his face and forefinger practically up his workers’ nostrils he’d begin with his spiel.

“Ya didn’t see nothin’, ya didn’t hear nothin’, you don’t know nothin’, got it gang?” he threatened. “Hey Tony, what’d ya see?”

“Nothin’, ‘Big B’.”

“Phi, what’d ya hear?”

“Heard nothin’, Giuseppe.

“Lou, what do ya know?”

“Know nothin’, Boss.”

“Good! Remember, one word out of your stinkin’ mouths and you’re all fired! And I’ll see to it ya never work in this area again!” He’d then slap them all on the back. “Nice havin’ you aboard, boys.”

Tell me my uncle wasn’t a character---you can’t. It’s not like you have to condone what a skunk does, but you have to look at the whole picture of a person to get it into proper focus. Yes, he could be a lying scoundrel like when he pretended to be in college studying art. Papa senthim tuition money but he squandered it on wine, women and the horses. Yes, Uncle Giuseppe embarrassed the family, but there’s a true story that he probably even made the Blessed Mother blush, that is, if she was in human form. You see, Uncle Giuseppe was commissioned by the Catholic Church to touch up the saints’ delicate faces in our area’s churches’ altars. He had a skilled hand when he painted intricate things because he was articulate with detail. How a hyper shrimp could funnel such patience when working was a mystery to all. He certainly was a contradiction in character. He also couldn’t work without a cigarette constantly dangling from his mouth. Of course you couldn’t smoke in church, but ‘Big B’ altered the rules to suit his needs and wants. Beside, Mass wasn’t going on and the church was empty. Nobody would know except God, and Giuseppe always bargained with Him anyway. Off to the side was a statue of the Blessed Virgin holding the baby Jesus. Two of her fingers were positioned in the shape of a V, and while he needed two hands to mix his paint, he had to find a place for his cigarette. You guessed it, he propped it in between the Blessed Mother’s two fingers, and the smoke encircled her head like a crown. Just then Monsignor walked in and paled at the sight.

“You leave her alone!” ordered Giuseppe, “She’s old enough to smoke!”

Incredibly Monsignor didn’t fire him, it was like a miracle. There was something about the little twerp everybody liked. That something? Just wait till you hear what he did for Papa. (to be continued)

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