It has been very kind to hear from those at the mass that they wanted a copy of my fathers Eulogy. Vincenzo Cristiano February 3, 1924 - October 14, 2014 Funeral Services October 21, 2014 Eulogy written by Carina Cristiano Our father did not have a middle name; he was simply named at birth Vincenzo Cristiano. Yet his larger than life personality and presence required him to be called by so many first names. He was called: Vincenzo, Vince, Enzo, Vici, Utzi, Zio, Pop, Dad, Daddy, Grandpa, Nino, Mr. Nino, Mr. Cristiano, Boss, Patron, Compadre, and even Jack by my brother Mike. And let us not forget, “King of Italian Food” by Ted Thomey Restaurant Critic of the Long Beach Press Telegram. He was born in Grumo Nevano, a province of Napoli, Italy. He was the older of two boys and he loved learning and took school seriously. He loved goofing around and playing soccer. His father was not a great dad. He was never really there and eventually left my father and his family. At ten years old, my father needed to drop out of school to support his mother and brother Pasquale. He did so many jobs to make ends meet for his family from carrying bikes over bridges, to working in a shoe factory, to a tailor shop, and even selling cigarettes on the street. Even with this burden and responsibility, my father had wisdom beyond his physical years possessed. He shares a story that they were so poor, living in a place with dirt floors and no indoor plumbing and rations of food that were hardly enough for one let alone three. Despite my father’s hardship, he had a lot of friends. I’m certain his friendships growing up could be compared to what we know in America as Little Rascal’s, Micky Rooney’s Boys Town, and the Rat Pack:” Playing pranks on one another, playing cards, soccer, and building friendships in all that he did. Simply too many funny stories to share here, but would love to share later with each of you at a later time. My father worked hard to support his mother and brother and he enjoyed caring for his family. He started working for the American Army in 1943 driving supplies. This was a good job for him providing him the financial security he needed for his family. After the war, he traveled to Germany to sell beautiful Italian fabrics door to door. My dad was a natural salesperson. He met another salesman during his sales travels that told him “You are so lucky that if you start selling hats, people will be born with two heads.” In 1951, he was having ice cream and his world stopped. From that day on, it is hard to talk about the man without talking about the woman in his life, our mother, Inge Cristiano. My mom says she was having ice cream in the same shop and, “He would not stop staring at me.” Weeks later she was walking down the street with her friend again and ran into my father once more. This time he introduced himself and truly the rest is history. When Nino was born, my father took fatherhood as his most important job and calling in life. My father was doing well financially and they enjoyed living in Germany, but my aunt wrote them saying they should come to Canada. So for no real reason other than my dad’s adventurous spirit, they left their comfortable life, their friends, family and financial security to explore Canada. Canada was beautiful, but it was rough. The winters were incredibly cold, especially for my Southern Italian Father. He somehow landed a job with a carpenter with no prior experience because for some reason the hiring person loved him and wanted to train him. At the time, minimum wage was around 90 cents an hour, but this job paid my dad almost $5 an hour. My father was instructed to pretend he was sawing when the Forman walked around so he wouldn’t be caught learning on the job. The work was incredibly laborious and ruptured his hernia. When he got out of the hospital my father felt Canada was not for his family. They had to scrape all of their money together for a flight to send our dad to Bogota, Columbia where he knew friends could help him. He left my mom and brother in Canada with ten dollars. My mom says that she and Nino lived on canned raviolis. When my Dad arrived in Bogota, all his Italian friends came rushing the gate to greet and hug him. He stopped them in their tracks and ordered everyone to empty their pockets. He explained he left his wife and child in Canada and needed to send them money to get back to Germany to be with her parents. So Mom and Nino went back to Germany while our father was in Bogota, trying to explore a new continent. Our father sent for them within 3 months. In South America, my father owned two restaurants, and worked for the police making police uniforms. They made a lot of new friends there and loved the people, but there was too much social unrest for them to want to stay. My mother was too far along in her pregnancy with Mike so as soon as she gave birth and then they were off again. They landed in Long Beach in May 1957. Nino was four years old and Mike was two weeks old. My dad worked two jobs, my mom one. It was a hard time in America. My mom says it was impossible to find a place to live because people did not want to rent to people with children. Also there was racial segregation and my parents did not believe in this. So they worked hard and treated everyone they met with kindness and respect. Mike was restless as a baby and the easiest way to get him to sleep was a car ride. Therefore my father would take Mike for a drive to get him to go to sleep. Meanwhile he would drive the commercial corridors of Long Beach looking for a restaurant location that was near a residential area. He found the location in Bixby Knolls and decided it was where he wanted to raise his family. English was the hardest of our father’s five languages to learn, but he was diligent in doing his best to speak it. When he went to the Planning Commission office at City Hall to get the permits to open the restaurant, the city employee told him, “Come back tomorrow at 8:00 am. Plan on being here all day and do not be late.” My father was not certain why all day, but he was prompt and ready to do whatever it took to get the proper permits to open his business.” The city employee was not in a suit and tie, rather in regular clothing. He explained to my father he took the day off and was going to take my father to all the different departments and help him get his licenses and permits. The man said to our father, “You have a lot of guts coming to a new country with a wife and two small children. Learning a language and having the courage to open a business. The least I can do is to help you with the paper process.” My parents also went to the Restaurant supply in Los Angeles, and the nice Jewish man who owned it told my parents to take everything they needed and pay him later. My father in disbelief asked why and the man replied, “You have an honest face.” Nino’s Italian Restaurant opened on July 31, 1958. Because he was so attached to his family, He named his business after his first born son. My father cooked and my mom waitressed in their humble beginnings. I was born in 1966. He named me after the only two women he ever loved in his life, his mother and his wife, Carina Inge Cristiano. I feel honored by my name. The restaurant was booming and my parents were very happy with their success and the friendships in their new Country. They felt at home and had no desire to move again, this was it. In the early 70’s, their business Landlord, Dr. Harris approached my father. He gave my parents a personal loan to purchase the restaurant building and the two adjacent properties. He wanted to make certain my father was going to be okay because Dr. Harris was just diagnosed with a brain tumor. Dr. Harris explained that to my parents, that he admired their work ethics and appreciated them paying their rent on time and maintaining the building as if they owned it. So in his words, “they might as well own it.” This is how my dad bought the Nino’s property in the early 1970’s to later expand our restaurant. Despite all of the hard word my parents put into their business, they put just as much work and love into our family time together. We had home cooked meals prepared by my mother, barbecues and swimming parties in our backyard, and a lot of holiday open houses too. In general my father would sing at these parties and at the restaurant. The parties were huge and included everyone: family, friends, neighbors, customers, and employees. We also visited our Italian cousins in Italy during our summers as well as have regular game nights and social gatherings with our German cousins living in America. There was such a balance of work, friends, and family time. My father had no boundaries in his heart and the outpouring of his death is truly a result of how well he lived his life. He was a devote Catholic and his best friend in America was a Holocaust Survivor, Rabbi Kane. Our father would say, Jewish and Catholics make the best friends. He is a registered Republican and yet his favorite politician is Mayor Ernie Kell, a Democrat. He believes in family values, and yet he was firm that all should have equal rights, and this was a “period.” He firmly believed in equal rights for everyone. He had three children and a granddaughter, but his staff was equally loved as his children. He was known for making everyone laugh as much as giving solid advice in business and life. He was no nonsense one minute and then he was full of nonsense the next. Our father’s charisma is considered legendary. He was present in everything he did and present with all who he loved. He lived his life with intention and purpose. Let us face it; my father did it his way before Sinatra sang the song.
Posted on: Thu, 23 Oct 2014 18:01:31 +0000
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