“The First Lady of Little Italy”
Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Church
Bronx, N.Y.
December 17, 2008
May it please you Reverend Father Eric Rapaglia …
Your posting as pastor here at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel is a great gift
from His Eminence … for the Parish … and for the neighborhood.
And Mama Rose would have been so pleased by the presence on the altar
of Monsignor Bill O’Brien, the legendary founder and chairman of Daytop
Village who enjoys a well deserved international reputation … and also
Father Sebastian, the Parochial Vicar of St. Pius X, where he serves the
“underprivileged” the “poor” and “distressed” of Scarsdale, N.Y. … with
another great priest Father John O’Brien.
Actually, we’ve been here before in this great Bronx church on another
bittersweet occasion accompanied then as now with a rich admixture of
sadness and joy.
It was one month shy of ten years ago that we prayed for and remembered
“Pop” … Mario Migliucci. On that day, January 27th, 1998, the people of
the neighborhood came together as you have now to bid farewell to another
legend of the Bronx. They came out of their shops on that winter day …
the greengrocers … the bakers … the breadmakers … the fishmongers … and
the butchers. That day was for Mario.
And so we are here again … to pray for Mario’s beloved Rose Bochino Migliucci
… to remember our incomparable “Mama Rose.”
But it is right, I think, that we also mention Pop as we pray for Mama
because you can’t really assess the life of one … without the other.
They were always, it seems, together … ever since that day when a young
girl named Rosie Bochino peered out the window of her tenement house which,
incidentally, was directly across the street from Mario’s Restaurant.
She took one look at Mario, who moved like a graceful ballet dancer, even
when waiting on tables or twirling pizzas … sending them airborne … with
great élan and a certain finesse … at his father’s Neapolitan restaurant.
His father having come from Cairo to establish a life for himself in these
undeveloped precincts in the early 1900’s. 1919 in fact.
This was all happening during the days when actual farms existed in the
Belmont section of what was becoming known as the “Little Italy” we know
today.
We all know the story of their courtship … how when Pop started dating
Mom … the popular lore of the neighborhood has it … that Mom had another
suitor who was, in fact, an usher, a very upstanding fellow, who took
the collection every Sunday in this very church.
And then one day Mario – “Pop” – now greatly taken and deeply in love
with Rose Bochino, went to pay this fellow a little “visit” here at the
church … (I don’t think Mario came here to pray that particular day) …
and legend has it that the man somehow saw fit to transfer his genius
at passing the basket to another parish! And the rest you know. They lived
and loved and flourished for over 70 years together. Rose and Mario.
Right here in the Bronx. Right here on these streets, in this fabled
neighborhood they call “Little Italy.” Or “Arthur Avenue” as some would
have it. And, always, on Mondays … by the ocean in Montauk. The two of
them.
The papers which wrote stories of her passing last weekend at 94 called
Mama Rose a “restaurateur.” Well, those of us who knew – and loved her
– know she was much more.
Rose Bochino Migliucci was essentially, a teacher. She taught us all the
oldest virtues and verities. She never preached. Rather she instructed
by living, by example, by fortitude, by consistency, by dedication.
She had a quiet charisma … presiding over her domain and her family from
that old, wobbly stool near the cappuccino machine from which were drawn
the famous “Bochino Cappuccinos” … (I could use one tonight, Dominick
… and you could spike it too!)
Incidentally, Joseph was thinking about closing down in Mom’s honor …
for at least one day. Then he realized that Mama would have been the first
to say: “Don’t even think about it, Joseph!” So he got the message delivered
from on high!
To her favorites at the restaurant she would proffer her pickled carrots
… her “Mom salad,” which she made herself and her chopped liver (You have
to remember … this was an Italian restaurant!).
She was always there … in every season … until late into the night. Feeding
people and loving them. And when life turned sad and difficult, when things
were spinning out of control, we would repair to her counsel, to her warmth,
to her wisdom.
The rich and privileged came from Westchester and Connecticut and even
from New Jersey. They came down from their country clubs in Bronxville
and their yacht clubs in Rye, because Rose and Mario gave them something
they couldn’t get in those rarefied precincts.
Mama’s goodness and charm brought them to this neighborhood … judges,
magistrates, food critics, journalists, merchant princes, civic leaders,
the people of the neighborhood who loved her, even a few competitors –
other restaurateurs.
One of Mama’s admirers – Julian Niccolini – the owner of the fancy, formidable
Four Seasons, one of America’s most elaborate venues, came every Sunday
night to spend his one day off with Mama and Joseph. On other days Julian
feeds tycoons and powerbrokers at his famous landmark Manhattan restaurant
… the Rudins, the Bronfmans. But when he wants to dine … he comes straight
away to Mario’s because, I think, there’s a “realness” … an authenticity
about the place. He also came for Mama. And I expect he will still come
because her spirit is still everywhere apparent.
Mama was so strong, so dignified, so intuitive. Every mother is wonderful
and glorious, I know. Yet, even after you carve away the excess, you know
this one was special. When she walked down Arthur Avenue every afternoon
to the bake shop … you knew something very wonderful was coming at you.
She used to regret her lack of education. Maybe it’s better she didn’t
know cybernetics from a salami slicing machine – or megabytes instead
of the struggle for survival. She was better with her intuition than you
were with your education and intelligence.
She knew only this – that no one could have assembled all this magnificence
and all this complication if it wasn’t going to come out all right in
the end. She knew this, and you could not have a mother like this without
being awestruck by her strength. She was not of a world where Porsches
are parked next to BMW’s.
Rose’s success as a restaurateur was enough to earn her respect … but
not enough to earn her love. She was loved. So today we remember Mario
and Rose … the charity of their souls and the largeness of their hearts.
I only want to quote from the Book of Proverbs: “Her value is far beyond
pearls. Her husband, entrusting his heart to her, has an unfailing prize.
She brings him good all the days of her life. She rises while it is still
night and distributes food to her household. She has strength and sturdy
are her arms. She reaches out her hands to the poor and extends her arms
to the needy. She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs
at the days to come. She opens her mouth in wisdom and on her tongue is
kindly counsel. Her children rise up and praise her. Give her a reward
of her labors, and let her works … praise her at the city gates.”
So it is a remarkable story! A story of generations. A story of a unique
Bronx woman as endearing as she was enduring. And, finally, a story of
a marriage as strong and remarkable and resilient as any of us have ever
seen.
But it was always about family.
And if you didn’t have one, or if your own was falling apart, you could
come and appropriate her family – and make it your own. You could throw
your arms around Rose and have Joseph, who is his father’s son, call you
“brother” and give you a big, wet kiss on both cheeks. His son young Mario
has learned that pretty good too!
So she now leaves us Joseph … and Barbara. And Diane … and Michael. And
9 grandchildren … and 14 great-grandchildren. She could not have existed
without that family … without all of you to love.
And she leaves us knowing that, essentially, her work was done.
Even to her last day, Mama with everything in her being, loved that family
she clung to with a fierceness across ninety-four years.
All of you in that family have your own stories and you will go off now
to share them with one another ... and for days and years to come.
Finally, those of you here assembled may not be aware that just before
she left, Mama waited up for Joseph to come home at 12:30 from the restaurant
last Friday night.
To the very last she made sure everyone in this amazingly strong family
was all right.
And then … what happened … my own wife Nancy Curry explained, with great
sureness, when she heard the news which caused us all such exquisite sadness
this week: “Mama Rose just wanted to spend Christmas … with Mario.”
And that’s what really happened, I think, just like Nancy said …
What a remarkable life. What an extraordinary woman.
So, smile for us, Mama. The years are behind you.
And try to make a little room … and set a table … for us.
