Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

I’m writing this on my Grandpa’s birthday. He was born on February 10, 1892. He would have been 128 years old. I knew him until I was 11 years old in 1964 when he passed.

My grandpa, Giuseppe (Joe) Del Ponte smoked a cigar just about 24/7 and he and his house smelled like cigars. He used to hug us with the cigar in his mouth or in his hand. That took skill. What I remember most about my grandpa was that he was always happy and smiling and he beamed when his grandkids were around. When Grandpa saw us he would gleefully say in broken English, “well-a, well-a, well-a” and give us a big hug. “Nice-a boy!” or “Nice-a girl!” He really loved us.

My grandparents landed in Somerville from Italy and bought their house in 1918. That house on Elmwood St between Davis and Teele Square is still in the family. My cousin Carol grew up in that house with her parents, our aunts and uncle, and our grandparents. My brother and sister and I always thought she was so lucky to live with Grandma and Grandpa.

She learned to speak Italian and was always our interpreter, especially after Grandpa passed and we would visit our grandma. We would look at grandma and say something, then Carol would translate it for grandma. She had to practically yell the question because grandma was pretty deaf. I loved those interactions and I do a great imitation of Carol acting like translator for our grandparents.

There are a few stories about my grandpa that I found interesting. He was a very proud man and a good provider for his wife and six kids. It was actually eight children but the two oldest sadly died when they were toddlers. That’s a story for another time.

Grandpa had various occupations including custodian at the Bingham School formerly on Lowell St. He also tended to the boilers there, keeping all those school kids warm. Running steam boilers was a profession my dad followed him in. I remember dad telling me that grandpa used to be a cowboy in South America for a while. He lost a lung due to poison gas, fighting in France during World War I. I still have his helmet.

When my dad was about 19 or 20, my Grandpa went to visit his brother in Argentina. While he was away my dad sold the family piano and bought a TV. Grandpa was fit to be tied when he came home but soon became a big fan of television.

Grandpa was very set in his ways. One of my cousin Carol’s jobs was to have his coffee cup ready every morning. She had to put a teaspoon of Sanka (decaffeinated instant coffee) into his mug and leave the spoon in for him. He liked to be waited on. Whenever he had a 10 cent glass of beer at the bar on Mass Ave. after work, he would bring a container of ice cream home for his kids. That was a ritual.

And this one kills me. Every Sunday he would sit down with the TV section that came in The Sunday Record American and check every show he intended to watch that week. No one was allowed to watch anything else and no one could touch the TV. It was Bonanza, Rawhide, Gunsmoke and The Rifleman and shows like that. He was the king and keeper of the television. My cousin Carol had to beg him to let her watch The Flintstones when they came out. He later learned to enjoy that show too.

Grandpa was very demanding. He expected things to be run his way. Pa, as his kids called him, hated when things were out of order. If he went by a chair in the kitchen and it had anything on it like a book, a jacket or keys, he would simply tip the chair over and knock the items onto the floor without a word.

All his children (my dad, aunts, and uncle), were expected to be in their seats at supper time. Once, my dad’s younger brother, my uncle Joe (the former Somerville fireman and glass guy) was late for dinner. Grandpa casually threw a loaf of French bread at him. Uncle Joe ducked and it hit the glass door behind him but didn’t break. Auntie Jill got “the look” from Grandpa for laughing.

Grandpa did pretty good living into his mid 70’s with just one lung and smoking cigars. The last thing I remembered was when they brought us up to his bedroom to say goodbye when he was sick. I recall that day in 1964 very vividly. When grandpa passed it was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.

My Grandpa was very well liked by the staff and students at The Bingham School. He was loved by his children and especially the grandkids he was alive to meet. Our memories of our grandpa are all happy. He had a very special way of singing Jingle Bells that all of us kids remembered being delighted by. He was the perfect grandfather. I wish we got to have him longer but we are grateful for the time we had.

Happy 128th Birthday to you Grandpa, also known as “Pa” and Giuseppe (Joe) Del Ponte. The house he bought in 1918 now has a plaque across the street declaring the area Del Ponte Square. Grandpa was in World War I, my dad was in World War II and my uncle Joe fought in Korea. Since grandpa started the name Joe, there have been five Joes in my family, so far.

Grandpa and grandma started our family in 1918 in Somerville and there are still a bunch of us living here. And as I said, the house is still in the family being very well taken care of by my cousin Carol. To us, it’s more like the family museum. There are still many one-hundred-year-old tools, household items, wine making devices and even an ice box in the cellar. But most of all, priceless memories.

To this day cigar smoke still reminds me of my Grandpa. I wonder what smell my grandkids will remember me by? Maybe Dunkin’ coffee or Old Spice red, or the TV clicker. Hopefully, they will remember me as fondly as I remember my Grandpa. Buon compleanno, Grandpa.