Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

My dad has been gone since 1994. I was 41 when he died. So I had 41 years to get to know Fred Del Ponte. To say he was quite a character is an understatement.

My father built our first buggy. He used a broomstick to push me and my brother and sister around the block from Pearson Ave., and down Prichard. We took turns steering.

In 1968 the nuns at St. Clements offered a piano to anyone who was willing to move it. Dad got it home and that was the piano me and my brother learned on.

Dad became a scoutmaster when my brother and I joined Troop 71. He came on weeklong camping trips with us. He enjoyed the bossy role of scout leader while my brother and I dealt with the other campers making fun of him. His real name was Ferdinando and a few of the older scouts had a blast teasing him. They called him “Ferd” and my brother and I were called “little Ferds!” He straightened them out by giving them garbage detail and other silly jobs. They had nicknames for him and he had nicknames for the two biggest wise guys. He called one “bulb nose” and the other “frying pan head.” Lol.

Dad worked as a welder at the Charlestown Navy Yard before he was married. One of his favorite stories was when he was stopped thenight of the Brinks robbery and the cops searched his car.

During World War II, when dad was stationed in Italy, he was in charge of Frank Sinatra’s USO airplane. I guess Old Blue Eyes was being rude to some of the service men so my father bumped him off the plane and made him wait an extra five hours. Dad did it “his way.”

When we were really small, probably around 1962, my father called Fort Devens and told them he was a Somerville politician and they drove us around in an official staff car and gave us the royal treatment all day.

When I started taking guitar lessons, my father bought himself a guitar and took lessons with me. I remember sitting on the picnic table in the backyard trying to show him how to play “G-L-O-R -I-A GLORIA!”

Dad had a watch repair office in our house. I still have a cigar box filled with broken watches with tags on them that he never got to. The names on the tags are aunts, uncles, neighbors and even a couple of nuns from St. Clements grammar school.

Dad became an usher at St. Clements church for a few years. He’d be at one or two masses on Sunday passing the collection box. He used to tap us with the basket for a joke when he came to our bench. He thought that was the funniest thing ever. He made it well known that the only reason he was an usher was because of the hearty breakfast served in the Rectory.

For a while, dad drove a limo and flower car at Cataldo’s funeral home. I still cringe when I drive by the former site. My whole family ended up there.

A great memory was marching in the Memorial Day parade with the Italian American War Vets, Post 20 ITAMS. I was about 10 years old. We wore huge helmets and baggy leggings, and thought we were so cool. Me and my cousin Eddie Pellagrini looked forward to marching with our dads every year. The party afterwards was fun too, with cold cuts and Joe Antonelli entertaining everyone on the piano.

Dad’s friends were the best. There was Lenny Scott, Mary Forni, Eddie Pellagrini Sr., Marie Howe, Artie Ardolino and Sabby Capuano to name a few. Some of dad’s best buddies were Somerville icon Gene Brune, Dr. David W. Jones, educator extraordinaire. My dad’s best pal was my uncle Sal. In later days when dad was active in The Masons, him and mom hung around with Donald and Pat Norton, and uncle Sal and aunt Olga. Dad loved his friends.

Dad always had a few jobs. He also helped at my uncle Joe Del Ponte’s glass business. But the job he loved was head engineer running the engine room of Dewey and Almy Chemical, later to become WR Grace. He ran those boilers for 38 years. That was him blowing the 9:30 curfew whistle at night. I remember seeing an iridescent glowing liquid at dad’s work. Probably toxic goo.

My father lost his wife, my mom, in 1986. It was a very sad time for us. But nothing prepared him for losing his 39-year-old daughter six years later. He was left to fight for custody of his 9-year-old granddaughter against her abusive father. Dad and his granddaughter were the best of friends. Dad was triumphant, but those grueling court sessions and losing two loved ones weighed very heavy on him.

The news of my brother’s terminal illness was enough to push him to the brink. I believe dad willed himself to die so he didn’t have to bury a third loved one. He basically turned the family over to me. He often referred to me as his “right hand man.” I loved that.

Dad never met my two boys but I tell them stories about him all the time. I say things dad used to say. They just pop out and I have to smile and say, “Wow, my dad used to say that!”

My dad Fred hung around the Supreme Deli in Davis Square right up until he died on Thanksgiving Day, 1994. He proudly wore his Kiss 108 jacket with his name on it and a Yankees hat. He handled the ribbing well. You can still hear dad’s voice occasionally on Kiss 108 saying funny things like “You guys are all cuckoo up there,” and “Right you are, Mr. Siegel.”

Fred was quite a colorful guy. I’m a lot like him in many ways. I’m loud, I yell at cars to slow down on my street and I love my family like crazy. One of my father’s favorite things to say was, “You tell them your Daddy said so!”

Hopefully, dad is reunited with his loved ones and friends in heaven.

And in closing, I’ll leave you with one of dad’s favorite sayings: “Yeah, that’s it … what the hell more do you want?”