Obituary of Alfonse Joseph Amelio

Alfonse Joseph Amelio lived life the way Joe DiMaggio played baseball: with elegance and grace. He gazed at his family with square-shouldered confidence, through chestnut eyes that silently said, ‘I’m here. You can count on me.’ He managed a complex world with a simplicity of action: He cared about the right things and stayed away from the wrong things. What he cared about most was his family.

He met his wife Margaret of 65 years at a resort in the Catskills and promptly invited her to a special New Year’s Eve event in the city. On that summer evening, Margaret didn’t know what she was doing New Year’s Eve, but she knew she had met a good man. A man who would love her, adore her, care for her, laugh with her, and provide for her and their six children for 65 years. Together, Alfonse and Margaret gave their six children long Sunday dinners, barbecues in the backyard, and dinners with Entenmann’s cabana cake at Malibu Beach Club. On Sundays at home on Palm Lane, the family would go to the ten o’clock mass at the chapel and walk home to an early Sunday dinner. Then, his six children would take baths and come down in pj’s to warm their hair by the fire. Alfonse would carry his children up the stairs to bed. They clung to his shoulders as he sang,‘Who wants to buy a Klapitadoo?’ For a man of clear common sense, it was a nonsensical phrase that somehow expressed the teeming joy he felt in his children’s presence.

Born in 1929, he was raised in a tenement apartment by immigrant parents in Italian East Harlem, the largest population of Italian-Americans in the country at the time. His mother would put the kitchen table chairs together and place a board on top for his bed each night. Years later in his large suburban home, Alfonse would tell his children, ‘It was fine.’ Then he’d laugh and say, ‘The only problem was when Grandma and Grandpa had company over - then I had to sleep in the hall.’ Italian was his first language; he learned English in the New York City public schools. As a teenager, he and his buddies jumped off the Second Avenue Bridge and swam in the East River, where a leaf stem punctured his eardrum. He never told Grandma and Grandpa. Decades later, he’d wear earplugs when he swam with his children in the ocean at Malibu Beach Club, being careful never to ‘go under’ as he navigated the waves he enjoyed so much. As his children grew, he held their hands through life’s rough waves. His family loved his strong hands, with skin as smooth as Sinatra’s voice.

Alfonse was a model from an earlier generation that believed in being solid citizens and strong family men, devoted to something other than themselves. As a successful executive, he still called his parents every day from his Manhattan office to check in. When his oldest brother Joe was advancing in years, Alfonse called him every day at 6:30 PM. He’d drive to the Bronx and take Joe out for pastries and espresso to lift his spirits. With only a high school diploma, Alfonse rose to significant career success in the banking industry. He managed his own financial affairs with brilliant efficiency, putting his six children through Catholic school and through college. Without seeking a word of praise, Alfonse raised six first generation college graduates, with each of his children earning at least a master’s degree. His family enjoyed the large suburban home on Long Island where he and Margaret raised their six children and a second home in upstate New York called The Yellow House. At 93, he played bocci with his children and grandchildren in the extra land he purchased around that country home.

Alfonse is survived by his loving wife of 65 years: Margaret Amelio; his six children: Marie Calo, Susan Voltz, Theresa Amelio, Vinny Amelio, Margaret Brown, and Annie Gonzalez; his eleven grandchildren: Elizabeth, Andrew, Kelly, Luke, Sophia, Patrick, Declan, Joseph, Kate, John, and James.

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations in Alfonse's name may be sent to St. Jude Children's Hospital, Memphis, TN. www.stjude.org.