My family and why I'm writing this Blog

My family and why I'm writing this Blog.

The Dakota Indians say “He who serves his fellows is the greatest of all.” Similarly, the Buddhists believe “One thousand candles can be lit from a single candle and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by sharing.”

These two quotes are meant to answer the question some of you may be asking, which is ‘Why did I write this blog?’ It’s a fair question and you’ll find the answer in the previous quotes. I’m writing this to help because that’s what people should do. It may seem that we’re walking the world alone but in reality we’re all part of a greater whole and our duty lies in helping each other.

We should teach others what we’ve learned because it could be useful to them. One of the things we learn the most from is our mistakes. You should never be embarrassed to talk about the dark secrets or humiliating mistakes of the past because these could be a boon to someone else in the future.

As an example, I’ll tell you a little bit of the unfortunate history of my family and how I fell on hard times. This little tale will hopefully serve as a lesson for others. The tale begins way back to the late 1800s, when a father-and-son team of tailors left Catanzo Italy to make their fortune in the United States. The father was Anthony G. (My great-great grandfather) and his son was Frank G. (My great grandfather.) They were accompanied by Frank's wife Ernesta. (My great-grandmother) They arrived in America just before the turn of the 19th century. They were experienced tailors. (Anthony was the second generation of tailor in the family and Frank the third.) Using the money they'd saved up and whatever they could borrow, they opened a tailor shop in Brooklyn, NY. Their work was so good that word spread quickly and the shop became very successful. Within 10 years, they'd opened a second shop (One run by Anthony and the other by Frank.)

The twin shops were exceptionally successful. The father/son team was making more money than they'd ever imagined. At a time when the average salary for a worker in this country was less than $10.00 per week, my family was making over $400.00 per week. That was an exceptional amount for the early 20th century. They were written about in the paper as successful local businessmen.

By 1910, the family owned three brownstones in the area which is today called Park Slope. (It's become a very upscale area and those brownstones would be worth millions today.) They also owned many acres of land on an old country road near Hauppage, which would today be part of Smithtown NY. (Another upscale area. My family would own a chuck of that thriving town today.) My grandfather (who was born in 1903) used to tell me about his childhood on the farm, which he loved. Anthony and Frank also each owned a nice house of their own. Life was good.

Things turned bad in 1913 when my great-great grandfather Anthony died, leaving the business totally in the hands of his son Frank. This was a problem because Frank had a gambling problem. Frank kept his compulsion in check while his father Anthony was still head of the family and President of the company because Frank feared his father's disapproval. But once his dad was gone, my great-grandfather Frank was in total control and had no one to keep him on a leash.

Frank's gambling quickly went out-of-control. He was just no good at it and nearly always lost. The first thing he lost was his father's house. Then he lost the first of the three brownstones, and soon lost a second. After than he lost the farm (much to my grandfather's dismay) and then the final brownstone was gone. After that, he had so many debts he sold one of his tailor shops. Soon after, they lost the house and moved into an apartment. Finally, the debts piled up so (and he owed money to some ruthless people who wouldn't take "I don't have the money to pay you" for an answer) so that he was forced to sell his remaining shop. The business was gone and Frank had spent the last of their savings on the horse races.

The family was left with nothing but debts and the arrival of the Great Depression did nothing to ease their struggles, especially since Frank never did stop losing money gambling. My grandfather got a job in someone else's tailor shop (making him a fourth generation tailor) to support the family. Frank worked odd jobs for the rest of his life, never holding them very long, frequently borrowing money (including from the family of his second wife) until he died broke in 1954.

In the early 1930s, my grandfather got married to my grandmother and moved out on his own. He had a nearly forty year career working at Lord and Taylor, raising two daughters (my mother was the younger one, born just before WW2) and managing to buy a house of his own, which he lived in until he died at age 91, in 1994. My grandmother lived there until she passed in 2003, after which my aunt (their eldest daughter) sold the house.

Before that, my mother and father used to rent the upstairs of my Grandfather's house when I was growing up. Grandpa used to tell me about the farm he loved so much as a kid and how sad he was that his father Frank had lost it so stupidly. I could tell by the sound of his voice how much he missed that land in Hauppauge/Smithtown. He wasn't an emotional or effusive man by any means (most men of that era were very stoic) but when he mentioned that farm, the regret was evident. Even though I, myself, never got to see the farm (It was long gone by the time I was born in the 60s) I admit I felt strangely deprived of the pleasure of spending time on the family farm. I kept thinking “Boy, it would have been nice if someone had left me Smithtown in their will.”

My family has been struggling since the 1930s, as blue-collar workers. My grandfather managed to do right for his family, as did my father, but life has been a struggle. Add to that the fact that my mother was manic-depressive and unstable, which made my life a constant whirlwind of chaos. My parents died when I was young, killed in a horrific accident before I’d finished college, so I had to quit school and make a living on my own. Not having a college degree has always made finding work difficult. It’s been a struggle. However, the trials and tribulations of my life did inspire me to go on my spiritual journey. It made me seek answers to questions that seemed unanswerable. Why were these constant events—over which I had no control and did nothing to cause—constantly causing me to be mired in grief and financial strife? These queries led to examine life in a new way, hoping to find meaning in chaos. I looked into many spiritual practices, religions and philosophies. I have been practicing Buddhism for eight years as I write this but Buddhism wasn’t the only thing I studied during my experimental years. It was one of two spiritual practices which I felt a special connection to. The other was Native American philosophy. Both of these schools of thought are so admirable because they have managed to hang onto their core heritage, ethics and rituals for centuries. In the years since discovering these two remarkable philosophies, I have worked hard to develop a combine system, using aspects of both Buddhism and Native American culture, to help me get through many rough years and I hope that it can help others, too. 

So, getting back to the original premise of this blog…share what you know, good and bad, because the knowledge you have may help someone else. I’m no Buddha or shaman, but I want to share what I know with you.