JOHN SHEEHAN

78 Years Ago Today!

Theologians tell us the love of God for mankind is the source of all goodness and when we love one another we are reflecting a Divine characteristic.  Psychologists will often measure our mental health by our capacity for loving others.  When I remember Filippo, the joy of his generous spirit reminds me that he was imbued with a God-like love for mankind.

It seems he never met a stranger he didn’t like.  He had an innate curiosity about people, an affection for human idiosyncrasies and foibles and an extraordinary aptitude for empathy that was wide open and immediate.  Fili was a salesman, it was his job to connect with the customer and he was offering wine which soothes, comforts and stimulates.  He was genuinely curious about the folks he met, intrigued by their opinions, encouraged by their interests.  He also befriended waiters, bellhops, garage attendants, doormen, drivers, nurses and secretaries.  He wanted to learn about their lives, experience their joys, to meet their families and to know how they felt.  He had an enormous talent for loving people.        

I remember a night when he was suddenly hospitalized at Lenox Hill.  He phoned to ask me to bring him socks and underwear from the apartment; when I asked if he needed anything else, he said “a meatball hero, potato chips, a banana, some cookies and a soda, NOT diet.”  I arrived to find him telling jokes to his roommate, a guy called Luiz.  I gently reminded him that salt and sugar wasn’t good for his diabetes.  “That’s for Luiz,” he said, “he was in the ER all day and hasn’t eaten.  I just want the banana.”

Peter Junior tells about the time Philip arrived for Thanksgiving and invited the taxi driver in for dinner with the family.  “He’s from Albania and has cousins in Italy, one of them went down on the Andrea Doria.”  Philip’s mantra was always “the more, the merrier” and many a host or hostess found his inclusivity maddening when their plans were upended but, for a guy who grew up in post-war Hell’s Kitchen where every penny counted, he believed there was always enough to go around.  He couldn’t help being generous, it was imprinted in his DNA. 

We’ve now managed to survive for almost a decade without him, in a very different world from the one he left.  Refugees abound all over the globe, communities are less hospitable to strangers and the love of mankind is more frequently called into question.  We remember Filippo and love him for his kindness and generosity; we couldn’t do better than to emulate his example. 

NOVEMBER 13, 2023

Philip’s Patience

It's hard to believe it's been nine years since Philp left us. It was hard to believe, back in 2014, that life would go on without him.  And now, so much has happened, so much has changed, I wonder what he would think of the political complications, pandemic woes, international aggressions, monetary fluctuations and implicit threats from AI that have occurred in that time. 

Philip was never naive about the world and its troubles; he understood with a patience that was remarkable, how difficulties hold us up, how trouble unravels and how problems always arise, demanding solutions.  I can remember many a time, sitting in the car with him, on the way to his office, or to the theatre or a restaurant, facing insurmountable traffic, that famous NYC gridlock that slows everything to a crawl.  He was always remarkably sanguine about it, patient and calm in the congestion he had lived with all his life, that he wouldn't allow to frustrate him.  He'd fill the time making a few phonecalls or he'd slip a CD into the player and relax to a little Verdi or Sondheim, and simply keep the conversation going.  I would rail in frustration: "How can you be so calm, look at this jam, we're gonna be LATE!" and he’d just smile.  “Where should we go to eat?” 

Philip had been famous, in our early years, for being habitually late so he apparently knew how to cope with that predicament.  As he matured, flew all over the world and attended more than his share of meetings, conferences and conventions, he was forced to arrive in time for the flight, the curtain or the reservation, and he learned to catch the wave, ride the momentum and roll with the punches in his calm and easy manner.  There was no point in getting upset over something he couldn't change.  When his health began to deteriorate, he took the same benign attitude and faced the inevitable with a composed and pragmatic disposition.   

It was an important lesson I learned from him.  He had enjoyed the bounties of life but never took them for granted.  He accepted the challenges as well as the rewards of his many adventures and he responded gratefully and gracefully to situations that required his patience.  There was no fussing or complaining, no recriminations or resentment.  His view of the world remained benevolent and he continued to love the people who filled it.  He had learned - and taught others - to live in the moment, to not allow sorrow to dim his luster, and to navigate his trials as well as his blessings with stalwart optimism. 

Today, as we face challenges he might not have imagined, we still miss him.  If only he could show us how to face all the bad news that besieges us!  He'd probably smile and put in a CD of Nabucco and sing along to the “Va Pensiero”.  He knew how to live, he did it well, and he showed us all how to do the same. 

March 4, 2023

Philip Singing….

If the big guy were still with us, no doubt we’d be singing “Happy Birthday” to him and popping a few corks.   

It puts me in mind of something he used to do on occasion – not often, but often enough that I remember.  In the middle of a conversation, he would suddenly sing a phrase or two from a song we both knew … softly, as if fondly reminiscing, and leaning into the melody.   

There were certain lines he liked to quote, favorites of his that would just pop into his head and he’d share them.  “Time, I’m just taking my time” from Subways Are For Sleeping or “Forever and a day” from High Spirits or “Your smile in the morning, your step on the stair” from Robert & Elizabeth were all favorites.  Sometimes he’d comment on a Sinatra phrasing or remark how Tebaldi shaped a passage.  It was almost as if the memory of these small beauties overcame him for a moment and he just had to spill them out.    

I remember when he visited me in Ireland, he came out of the baggage claim area singing “How are things in Glocca Morra?” while some passengers looked at him suspiciously.  Another time, entering a bustling restaurant, he burst into “Abbondanza” from The Most Happy Fella.  He couldn’t help himself, sharing the joy he appreciated and savored in music, with anyone within earshot.   

Sometimes, at a party, he would sing a show tune in Italian gibberish, emphasizing operatic swoops and flourishes.  One of his greatest hits was “The Party’s Over” which he’d render in a romantic, fulsome Puccini-style that had the crowd in stitches, laughing and applauding.   

It all sprang from his generosity.  He loved music, the joy it inspired and the warmth it engendered and he wanted to share his appreciation and enthusiasm with everyone around him.  It was his M.O. and just one of the many reasons why we miss him now and remember him still.   

November 13, 2022

Pippo Remembered

November 13th is always a sad day for many of us.  I still remember that morning when Filippo closed his eyes and slipped away in the cold, bright winter light.  In the years since, I’ve often thought how lucky he was to have missed so much bad news that has followed: our political craziness, international atrocities, inflation crises, racial strife, a worldwide pandemic and the loss of so many of our mutual friends: Mario, Aileen, Bill, Anne, Steve, Theresa, John & Bert.    

And yet, every time Fili comes to mind, I can’t help smiling.  I hear his laughter as he calls for ‘an emergency order’ and I see his smile when he tells me about a new restaurant, an opera or an acquaintance he’s made.  His enthusiasm rushes into my memories and I relive the joy he brought with his presence and I’m not sad anymore.  Philip lit up the world with his spontaneity, his generosity and his kindness, and he made us all feel better when he was around.    

Pippo’s contributions to our lives weren’t accidental; he was highly motivated.  He worked very hard at his life, at living his best, for his own sense of honor, for his family, for Italy, for Banfi and, of course, for his friends.  He made an effort, went out of his way, took the extra step to make sure that the people in his world enjoyed their time with him.    

For all of his predisposition to sharing, Filippo never laid his troubles, his unhappiness or his worries on others – that just wasn’t his style.  Over the years, with all his medical crises, he kept his own counsel and, with few exceptions, declined to burden us with his concerns or fears, opting, instead, to emphasize the positive.  “We’re hoping this protocol will work” or “I may be eligible for a new kidney” or “Once we get the meds balanced, I’ll be OK.”  I don’t think he was fooling himself; I believe he was choosing to be optimistic because he saw the world in a positive light and believed in the goodness of mankind.    

I remember, in the last months of his life, a night when we went to the theatre.  He was having stability issues, needed to use a walker, and had to summon all his strength just to get out of the house but he was going to the theatre and that was important!  He had arranged for an Access-A-Ride to pick him up after the performance but when we emerged onto 45th Street, packed with limos and taxis and jammed with cars and pedestrians all trying to get somewhere, the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. We tried to spot it but couldn’t.  I made sure he was seated against the wall of the theatre, out of everyone’s way, and set out to find the bus.  After a fruitless search all the way to Eighth Avenue, I returned to find Philip – gone!  I looked frantically around and sure enough, spotted him halfway up the block, eight-speeds forward in the other direction and in the middle of traffic, pushing his walker and navigating through cars and trucks to reach the big white Access-A-Ride which was blocked in at the corner.  My heart nearly burst with admiration for his determination.   

I think now, that had he lived into this era of difficult times and challenging events, he would have demonstrated the same determination, the same fearlessness, the same optimism that was consistent in his life.  He put a benevolent spin onto everything in his big, generous way and brought the rest of us along with him.

So there’s really no need to be sad today.  We were lucky to know him, fortunate to have his example in our lives, and our memories of him can’t be anything but grateful - and happy.

MARCH 4, 2022

It’s Filippo’s Birthday!

If he were with us today, he’d be struggling to blow out 76 candles on his cake and maybe, still trying to find his phone!

I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately, especially while watching the new film version of West Side Story. It was Philip’s favorite musical. Was it because he lived the first ten years of his life on West 57th Street in Manhattan, just blocks away from where the original movie was filmed in 1960?

Filippo’s appreciation of music was always advanced so perhaps he found the modern jazz of Bernstein’s syncopations, melismas and hemiolas revelatory and thrilling. Perhaps he recognized the operatic expansiveness of the score, the passionate romance of the story and the impetuous youthful energy of the Jets and the Sharks set against the gritty reality of life in the city he knew from infancy. His keen awareness of ethnic distinctions and differences, not to mention the American immigrant experience, resonated in him all his life, so maybe it was those fiery Latin rhythms that excited him. Philip was crazy about Chita Rivera; he also was a terrific dancer and undoubtedly impressed by the kinetically virile Robbins choreography that ignited those characterizations of street kids trying to find their place in the world. Undoubtedly, the Sondheim lyrics also tickled his brain even as their wit detonated his ready sense of humor (“Nobody knows in America, Puerto Rico’s in America!”) The Laurents libretto, adapted from Shakespeare’s classic tragedy is spare and sharp, even as the whole piece is wrapped in a poetic elegance and urgency that plays out its drama with disciplined artistry, soaring passion and rapturous beauty.

That the show is one of the all-time greatest works of the American Musical Theatre canon speaks to Filippo’s level of taste; he recognized superior creativity and wouldn’t have been so drawn to anything less than a masterpiece. When West Side Story premiered on Broadway in 1957, it was a theatrical event of immediacy, taking place in the ‘now’ of a city fraught with juvenile delinquency. Ironically, while the music is still fresh and exciting 65 years later, its drama of racial strife still sadly relevant and its theme of pure young love still timeless, the film is now a period piece, betokening a simpler era in America and a nostalgic view of urban life.

I’m sure Philip would have loved it. I’m sorry he didn’t live to see it but then, he’s also been spared the confounding Covid quarantines and protocols, the polarization of our politics, the slump in our cities and the atrocities of authoritarian aggression – not to mention the preposterous predicaments of senior living!

Today, just to remind myself how enthusiastic Filippo would get over music and artistry and beauty, I think I’ll play the original cast recording of West Side Story ... you know, just in case he’s listening ...

November 13, 2021

Philip’s Laughter

It’s almost impossible to think of Filippo, to remember him, without a smile coming to our faces or even a laugh, perhaps small and interior but real.  Fili was joyful and he loved to amuse everyone he met.  Those of us who knew and loved and miss him also know that laughter was integral to his life.   

He prompted or created it, enjoyed and shared it, embodied and reveled in it.  Sometimes he would catch it from somebody else; more often he ignited it for others with schoolboy delight.  A laugh would start with a slow slide in his throat that soon opened into a minor explosion; other times it crept into his words to underline a phrase or a punchline. He would quote a line delivery or imitate a comedian or pass a smart and quick retort that detonated a few seconds later among his crowd.   

He saw the humor in everything because he was attuned to the jocular frequency of good vibes and he easily absorbed, savored and passed on to his friends whatever made him laugh.  His benevolent view of the world allowed him to recognize the absurd, appreciate the ridiculous and share the joy that he found in so many people and situations.  

That joy still resides in us who remember him because he spread happiness prodigiously, everywhere he went, to whomever he met.  Laughter was his passport into the world and he gave it to us from his open, happy heart.     

March 4, 2021

Philip – the Romantic

Today is Philip’s birthday. If he were with us, we would undoubtedly be having a “Big Birthday” party for his 75th, his family, friends and colleagues gathered around and celebrating with good Banfi wines and some fabulous pastas!

Of course, he is here, still with us, in our memories and in our hearts, warming us and making us smile just to think of him. And I would be making a toast, to thank him for so many years of laughter and love and happy times.

I would toast Philip the Romantic, a sobriquet not unconnected to his Roman heritage. Webster’s defines ‘Romantic’ in a number of ways and all of them seem to point to Philip.

• A person marked by expressions of love or affection.
Check. He hugged everybody and everybody hugged him back.

• Someone responsive to the appeal of what is idealized, heroic, or adventurous.
Check. His ideals were heroic and his adventures fearless.

• A visionary, in plan or conception, with an emotional attraction to what is imaginative.
Check. He planned the sale of Mediterranean to Heublein and loved imagining a bold future for Banfi.

• Someone living the characteristics of legends based on chivalric love,even the supernatural, in the Romance languages.
Check. He was devoted to the women in his life and his ‘supernatural’ quality has kept him alive in our minds and hearts for these seven years.

• The hero, especially in a light comedy.
Check. He was a primary character in many of our lives and he sure made us laugh!

• An adherent to music of the 19th Century characterized by an emphasis on subjective emotional qualities.
Well, if that isn’t an opera lover, what is?

We all know how emotional he could get. The same Tempesta energy fueled his fights and his hugs. His laughter was legendary and bountiful but he also cried easily: at the opera, the theatre or movies, or at some friend’s misfortune. He was emotional in his anger too: he’d curse and threaten on the phone (or yell at the TV) then reconcile with an irresistible affection.

His heroism guided experts and enthusiasts alike through the realm of his oenophilic passion, whether he was training sommeliers at Cornell or guiding tourists on the canals of Venice. He was also a hero to his nephews and nieces, neighbors and friends, an example of good behavior, kindness, generosity and concern for others. He was honest in his beliefs and stood his ground in the face of opposition but also had the humility to change his mind or admit when he was wrong. He was a true leader.

He ventured around the world where he learned the languages, customs and cuisines of many cultures and inspired appreciation for all of his discoveries among those with whom he shared them. He was intrepid in acquiring new skills, tastes and – of course – friendships, that spanned the globe.

He was chivalric and faithful to the women in his life, his mother Connie, his sister-in-law Susan, as well as his cousins, nieces, daughters of friends and colleagues. He loved having so many women friends and he stayed in touch with all his former girlfriends, even one in particular, whom he took great pains to provide for.

And as for loving, do I need to elaborate on how much he gave - and received? Philip loved life because he loved the people in it; he was interested in everyone. He found something special, admirable or lovable in everybody he met. He took time to understand them, their faults and foibles and therefore, he was more forgiving - and that made him wise. He idealized human beings because he knew the goodness of which we’re all capable. He appreciated the talents and accomplishments of Corlene and Kevin and Cristina and James, taxi drivers and CEOs, opera stars and secretaries. And because he was so romantic, in loving everybody, we all loved him back.

November 13, 2020

Philip’s optimism

With our increased reliance these days on cyber connections, Zoom teaching has become ubiquitous.  Over the past 8 months, I’ve often imagined how Philip would have taken to online instruction, his presence bursting through our monitors with jokes and laughter, information and wisdom.  How great it would be to have him on video, alive once again on our home screens, to reassure us that the world can still hope in friendship and kindness, loyalty and generosity!  

It’s been said that “teaching is optimism” and, if that’s the case, Philip had optimism to spare.  Although some of his friends may not have realized it, he was an inveterate teacher; under one of the many hats he wore in his profession, he relished sharing his knowledge of wine and his expertise extended to all its facets from the planting of the grapes to the tasting of the palate.  He informed and educated countless oenophiles not just because it was his profession but because he understood and loved wine’s capacity for providing sustenance and flavor, zest and joy to our lives.  

Philip also shared many other kinds of awareness: he was an authority on opera as well as popular music and he was highly knowledgeable about other performing arts as well as film and literature.  He appreciated fabrics and textures in clothes, advances in technology, he followed politics avidly and studied world history, connecting it to the many places around the globe that he learned to appreciate from his travels.   

He taught girls how to dance and guys how to drink, some of us how to drive, others how to pack, many of us how to speak and, even, how to listen.  Everything he learned, he shared with all of us; his eagerness to pass on what he had acquired was a function of his innate generosity.   

And let’s not forget food!  His taste was so broad you couldn’t help but bump into something new when you shared a meal with him.  He would often say, at a restaurant, “You have to try this … it’s so unusual, they make it with …” and off he’d go on a detailed explanation that he’d undoubtedly learned first-hand from the resident chef.  He was a born teacher, encouraging, illuminating and inspiring us ardently…and, by his example, he taught us how to live! 

It's been six years since he graced our lives but I’m willing to bet we all, still, have something in our minds that he put there. That’s his legacy, the part of him that will endure for as long as we live.  And as long as we remember that, he remains immortal.

March 4, 2020

Happy Birthday, Fili!

The New York Times columnist David Brooks, in his book The Road to Character discusses the concept of résumé virtues vs. eulogy virtues.  “The résumé virtues are the skills you bring to the job market and that contribute to external success.  The eulogy virtues are deeper, at the core of your being – whether you were kind, brave, honest or faithful and what kind of relationships you formed during your life.”  

Well, we all know Filippo was a character … and many of us were lucky enough to know, too, that he had character. 

He was a superb spokesman for the wine industry, knowledgeable and experienced.  He also represented his friends and family, proclaiming their successes, defending their errors and understanding them with sensitivity.  He was undeniably supportive of those who struggled at work or with illness and while his concern was deep and unwavering, he was also, like any good spokesman, discreet. 

Philip had presence; he was charming and funny, putting everyone at ease in his company.  He was also attentive to those who weren’t easy in crowds or quick in business.  He was patient and kind to the less fortunate, thoughtful and caring with misfits and would slow down and pay attention to those who weren’t as comfortable in his fast lane.

Generosity was in his DNA; whether he gave you his time, attention, advice or help, he had an open hand and an open heart for everyone he met, from taxi drivers, waiters and doormen to business icons, competitors and celebrities.  Pippo gave to charities and to beggars, to anyone less fortunate, without comment or show; he had no need to advertise his largesse. 

His honesty was also striking.  He couldn’t deceive or fool anyone; his truthfulness was the foundation of his career.  He told you what was what, said what needed to be said and leavened any bad news with a sure shot of humor.

Phil was loyal to his colleagues and business associates, to the people he worked for and to the people who worked for him.  Fili was also faithful to his family when they exasperated him, to his friends when they disappointed him, and to his heritage, his education, ethics and morality (exemplified by his father, indoctrinated by his mother) even when those positions were disappointing or felt foolish or outmoded or wasted.  He was virtuous because he chose to be, in his perspective and awareness.

And he was indeed brave.  When the family business ran into difficulty, he calmly and successfully negotiated a solution. When his mother was ill, he stayed close to her for weeks on end, consoling her with his attention and ensuring all arrangements.  When his own health issues started to pile up, he didn’t complain or take out his frustrations on others.  He bore his pains and disappointments quietly, humbly and with the same good humor that accompanied him through his life.

What’s remarkable is that his résumé virtues and his eulogy virtues weren’t so far apart.  Philip was a wholly integrated man who lived as he believed and greeted the world with good grace in both public and private because he knew who he was.  He loved his life and everyone in it, developed relationships with people across the entire spectrum of his experiences and we have all benefitted from the example he set for us. 

And he made us laugh.  Oh, Lord, how he made us laugh!

November 13, 2019

Filippo remembered

It’s hard to believe it’s been five years since Philip left us, that half a decade has passed without his laughter, his love and his light in our lives. It’s hard to believe that we’ve managed to get along without the joy he gave so generously.

His absence is huge, like a building that has been demolished. The land may be filled in, something else is in its place (someone else lives in that apartment, gives that talk, sits in the seat next to me) but we still feel the loss. We miss him.

Five years ago I didn’t think life would be possible without him – it certainly hasn’t been the same and there’s no consolation for that, only memories that warm our hearts and make us laugh – or cry – and stories that we tell about him, things he used to say that make us smile.

An “Emergency order!”

Philip liked to share – not just food and wine but good times too. “Philip would have loved this!” we often think, at a meal, a performance, a gathering. “Philip used to …” begins many a happy reminiscence.

Philip talked about wine all the time. He often explained that we don’t have to know a lot about wine to know when it’s good. We taste it and respond to it. No one has to tell us – a good wine will rarely deceive the nose or the palette. A good wine is self-evident; it announces itself. It gives warmth, joy and satisfaction. That was Philip. No one had to tell us how wonderful he was. We simply responded to him and the connection was unmistakable.

What little I know about wine came from Philip through his patience and generous demonstrations. Philip was theatrical; he possessed a showman’s instincts for telling a story and pleasing an audience. He’d say “taste this!” or “try this!” or “you have to have this!”

He shared information and discoveries – about wine, or opera, or business, or – life! He was a communicator, an astute observer of humanity in all its facets, he embraced it all and then he shared it with us in a way that made us feel richer – and lucky – for having known him. Giving was second nature to him; generosity was in his DNA. He always gave us something wonderful – and we responded.

March 4, 2019

It’s Philip’s birthday! He would have turned 73 today. 

Pippo liked to tell everyone how he was born in Rome, exactly nine months to the day after his father came home from the war.  He also bragged about being baptized in St. Peter’s Basilica in the heart of the Vatican (his middle name was Pietro) and he had the photos to prove it. 

His father was Roman and met Philip’s mother, a West Side girl from Hell’s Kitchen, who was visiting relatives in Italy even as the shadow of the Axis alliance was looming.  When the family returned to West 57th Street after the War, they simmered in the Manhattan melting pot that nevertheless maintained clearly-defined entities of Italians, Irish and Puerto Ricans so Fili grew up with a very keen sense of his identity. 

Indeed, for the rest of his life, Filippo often employed ethnicity as a marker, ice-breaker, introduction or punch line.  Whether it was his family’s pride in their Italian heritage or simply its distinction in their immigrant neighborhood, Philip’s awareness of being Italian didn’t just color and shape the rest of his life; it gave him his reason for being – and celebrating – who he was. 

Italians love food and wine – as Philip did (his life and career obviate any further illumination on that count.)  Italians celebrate music – almost all kinds, from sacred paeans to folk dances to that epitome of vocal and emotional expression, opera, so firmly appropriated in Italian culture.  Phil knew voices like no one I’ve ever known; he could listen to almost any recording of any singer and tell you who it was: Joni James or Giulietta Simionato, Sammy Davis Jr. or Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.  Italians also argue passionately over politics, theories, opinions and values and then love to laugh about those same passions, including desire and sex.  They prize beauty, both in the natural order - of flowers and vegetables, trees and mountains, rivers and beaches – and in man-made, hand-crafted artistry - in architecture and sculpture, painting and printing, jewelry and leather, fashion and design, not to mention the genius of film and literature and, of course, cuisine! 

In short, Italian culture, in all of its multi-faceted glory was the perfect heritage for Filippo to claim, exult in and promulgate throughout his life.  It also allowed him to indulge in all his favorite extravagances; food and wine and opera and politics and humor and style all whetted his appetites and satiated his proclivities. 

Best of all, being Italian allowed Philip to be emotional!  He cried and he laughed, yelled and schmoozed, exulting in love and despair, sorrow and sentiment. Pride, jealousy, rage and passion are all legitimate colors in the Italian’s palette of emotional responses to life; how could Philip do less?  He was so generous, he could never stint on a heartfelt response.  He reveled in all that feeling, all that celebrating, all that joy and – if anyone should ask – he could simply and happily attribute it to ‘being Italian.’  He was a spokesperson, ambassador and Exhibit A of Italian culture, both in his profession and his preferences, his thinking and behavior.  It was genuine, thorough, seductively appealing and unquestionably successful. 

And wasn’t that wonderful for all of us?

November 13, 2018

When a star dies…

Dear Friends,

Astronomers tell us that even after a star dies, its light keeps traveling on through space.  Here on earth, we often see a star or, rather, its light, shining through the distance, without realizing that the star itself is gone – though it no longer exists, its reach continues.  I often think of Philip like that … that big man, that huge presence, left us four years ago today and yet his light, his humor and his generosity still continue to illuminate our way.  He colors our lives and warms our memories with the joyous radiance that can only emanate from a true star.

March 4, 2018

Happy Birthday, Filippo!

Well, Filippo would be 72 today.   

I’m sure he’s crossed our minds on any number of occasions in the past year.  I’ve thought of him often but, especially, at the theatre or the opera: how he would have loved Bette Midler’s joyous antics in Hello, Dolly! (one of the first shows we saw together, back in 1964); how impressed he’d have been with the new Tosca, the stunning designs and especially the three terrific principals (Yoncheva, Grigolo and Lucic); how enraged he’d have felt about the hideous Rosenkavalier that replaced the Met’s glorious one; how delightful he’d have found our teen-age crush, Anita Gillette’s charming performance in A Parallelogram; how sadly he’d have said goodbye to Barbara Cook and how happily he’d have applauded Jane Summerhays who brought down the house at Barbara’s memorial; how much we’d have argued (or agreed) about the National Theatre’s Follies and the CSC’s Pacific Overtures; how disappointing he’d have rated our hero, Hal’s Prince of Broadway; how enthusiastically he would have cheered The Golden Apple at Encores; how deeply he’d have been moved by counter-tenor Iestyn Davies’s exquisite Handel aria on the candle-lit stage of Farinelli and the King; how proud he’d have felt to see Lisa Iacucci’s billing on two Broadway shows simultaneously; and how absolutely thrilled he’d have been to hear the Overture to Subways Are For Sleeping (one of our all-time favorites) played with a full orchestra in a big theatre, last month at Encores! 

And then there are the countless meals and bottles of wine over which he’s been remembered and toasted, his name invoked with fond thoughts and happy laughter.  How many of us now call for “an emergency order” at the first sight of a waiter? 

A few months ago, I had another dream about him; this one was short.  We were driving somewhere in his car.  In his last years, he had often asked me to drive him to business meetings in Hartford or Boston or Long Island.  But, in my dream, he was doing the driving and we were listening to CDs, of course.  At one point, I looked over and said (as one does, on a long drive) “Are you OK?” and he looked back at me and smiled.  “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

November 13, 2017

Philip remembered

Well, we’ve managed to get through another whole year without Philip.
In the years since he left us, it has not been uncommon for Filippo’s many friends to reminisce, sometimes quite often, over the many funny or kind or glorious moments he provided for us...

“I will always remember how Philip so generously opened up his apartment for us during the times we visited New York.”

“Every time I go to the opera, I think of Filippo and how he would have enjoyed the performance.”

“There are many gatherings around food and wine when I think of him and miss him.” 

“I’m still able to howl with laughter, remembering the times we had!”

“I used to take a picture of any Banfi wine bottle we saw at restaurants and text it to Philip.”

“When I saw Hello, Dolly! I remembered watching it with him, the first time.” 

“Every time I hear Pavarotti, I think of him.”

“I think about him often. So many things remind me of him.”

“I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about Philip.”

“I still think about him most days, still have to stop myself forwarding a comment or joke I know he would enjoy.”

“Something reminds us every day that we miss him, and always will.”

“Whenever I listen to a Broadway show, or read about an opera, or cook Italian food, he is there.”

“I miss Filippo every day but feel his presence in my heart and mind.”

“Pippo touched all our hearts and souls in so many different ways.”

“Philip will never be forgotten.  He was one of a kind.”

“He is a constant wonderful memory.”

“He always made me smile and feel the warmth of his soul.”

“We were lucky, indeed, to have known the likes of him.”

“It is no cliché that some individuals live within us, forever.”

This list makes us smile because most of us can remember something Philip did for us, or showed us or taught us or introduced us to...or just said, that made us laugh! 

I can no longer face a waiter for the first time without remembering how Philip would announce: “Bring us an Emergency order of fried calamari!” 

That was the joy of knowing Philip: he brightened our lives in a way that made the world a more interesting and pleasurable place and he gave us many happy memories which we still treasure. 

His brother, Mario, who loved him so much and took such great care of Pippo in his last years, is now with him and they are undoubtedly sitting around, giving Connie and Aldo an earful while they sit sipping an old Mediterranean vintage. 

This family set a wonderful example of how to live joyously and generously and we can only respond with gratitude for all that they shared with us.

March 4, 2017

Philip remembered

Dear Friends,

In the past year, I’ve found myself, on many occasions - from delightful dinners to impromptu meals - where someone in the group, upon opening or pouring a bottle of wine, has invoked the name of our beloved, departed friend, Filippo.  All present then raised their glasses to celebrate the memory of this singular, remarkable man in a toast to happiness and bonhomie.    

These spontaneous salutes are genuine outpourings of a sentiment so many of us still feel deeply: that Philip was and remains a part of our lives, especially in those moments when we’re eating and drinking (which he loved to do!) in the company of good friends and family.  How completely fitting it is, for us to think of his great, loving personality in these circumstances!  It’s also remarkable – and appropriate – that so many of us still feel gratitude for the blessing of having had Philip in our lives.  

Today, on his 71st birthday, I hope all of us may have an opportunity to share some food and wine with loved ones and, as so many of us have already done, salute our dear, kind and generous friend who was the life and soul of every party, bringing laughter and joy to all of us.

November 13, 2016

Filippo remembered

Since the dawn of time, we have endowed our dreams with a mythic quality.  In the Bible, dreams are often messages from God; in fairy tales, they may be communications from relatives or comrades who have died; in Shakespeare, they are sometimes portents of things to come and, in psychoanalysis, they can represent our deepest desires and longings.  I don’t dream very often and when I do, my dreams are often fuzzy and indistinct.  I’m not quite sure where I am, I may not see others too clearly or recognize who populates the dream.  But whatever, dreams don’t hold much significance for me so I wasn’t surprised that, in spite of our close friendship and how much I’ve missed him over the past two years, I hadn’t dreamed of Philip at all, since he left us. 

This past September, I had occasion to contact Philip’s brother, Mario and – perhaps prompted by that interchange – my first dream of Philip arrived.  What was so astonishing about this dream was that it was very clear, sharply vivid, like an HD image and what I “saw” was very specific.

I was walking down 8th Avenue in Manhattan, headed south and on the west side of the street (that’s how specific it was!) and I passed a large building that could have been a convention center or hotel.  There were groups of people clustered under the marquee of the building and, as I was walking quickly, I noticed a man with his back to me, talking to two women and another man; he had some three-ring binders and booklets in his hands and the group was chatting and laughing.  His stature was similar to Philip’s so I turned to try to see his face.  When I did, it was remarkably like Philip’s, only twenty years ago: young, full and animated.  I stopped in my tracks and stared at the man. 

He looked up and noticed me. “Oh, hi John!” he said.  My jaw dropped and I stared more closely.  It was Philip!  I gasped his name.  “What are you doing here?”  He looked at me as if I should know.  “I’m giving a talk; we’re having a tasting” and he indicated the pile of brochures he was carrying.  Without missing a beat, he began his standard introductions.  “This is Jeanie and Mary Beth, this is Bob, they’re our sales people.  Everybody, this is my friend John, we went to a military Jesuit high school together.”  We all said hello and shook hands but I couldn’t stop staring at him.  He was in the peak of health, energetic and smiling, leading the group and perfectly composed, as I’d seen him hundreds of times “at work.”  I tried to draw him aside.  “But ... but ...” I sputtered.  “I thought you were dead!  We had a funeral for you, at Frank Campbell’s.  I wrote a eulogy!”  

He looked at me blankly and kind of laughed it off.  “Well, I’m here” he said, “but I have to go in and do this tasting.”  I put my hands out to touch him, to feel his face and body to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.  The group started to move inside; one of the ladies held the door for me and Philip and I continued our conversation as they led the way.  “I can’t believe this!” I kept saying, “I can’t believe you’re alive!  Everybody thought you were dead.  Everyone’s going to be so happy!”  He stopped at a high counter top, like a concierge’s desk or an information booth, put down the booklets and took off his coat.  I was so focused on him and intent in my conversation that the other people moved on and said they’d see him inside. 

When we were alone, I kept asking “Are you really alive?  Are you OK?” and he said, with his typical humor “Don’t I look like I’m alive?  I’m on a new diet, maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”  I kept shaking my head, I could feel tears slipping down my cheeks, I was overjoyed.  “We all thought you were dead.”  He picked up his coat and turned to me.  “I’m fine, everything’s good.  But I gotta go.”  He reached for the booklets and I put my arms out to hug him.  He turned to me and gave me one of his big bear hugs and I hugged him back, hard, tight.  I felt the pressure on his coat, I even felt his body heat!  He was warm, under his coat, that’s how vivid it was.  He started to walk away, headed for the tasting down the hall.  He turned and waved at me.  And I woke up.  The tears were real.   

March 4, 2016

Filippo remembered

Philip would have been 70 today! 

Hardly a day goes by without one of us remembering his laugh, a funny story, or something he taught us about wine or Italy or opera or life. 

We’ve all got pictures - up on the wall, in a frame on the desk, or in our minds - of his happy smile, his large embrace, his warmth, his joy. 

He’s the man around whom so many happy and grateful memories cluster, it’s hard to believe he’s not on just another trip to Italy, soon to return and fill our ears with his laughter. 

So many of us think about him, talk about him and trade stories of his true and abiding friendship - not to mention his boundless generosity - that it’s no surprise he remains a presence in our lives and endures as an example of a life well-lived. 

His mighty ebullience still resonates joyously in all of us who continue to hold him close in our hearts and not far from our smiles.    

Happy Birthday, Fili!

November 13, 2015

Filippo remembered

It’s only one year ago today that Filippo left us but what a long year it’s been!  A whole year without his company, his kindness and his laughter seems like an eon.  I know we all talk about him, share stories and memories, and laugh at his maddening and inimitable ways.  And I know we all miss him – a lot.   

If you haven’t yet visited the website, or if you’d just like to be reminded of his warm-hearted, dazzling smile, check out: FilippoForever.com  We’ve added some new photos and tributes and have begun collecting the hundreds of comments from his Facebook profile.  We’ve also posted more of the eulogies delivered at his funeral, as well as a timeline of his life and career.  You are welcome to submit any tributes, stories or photos you’d like to share with his friends and family; just go to the ‘Contact’ page on the site for the appropriate information. 

Philip did so much for so many, I know his legacy of generosity will endure for many, many more years to come.

March 4, 2015

It’s Philip’s birthday!

He would have turned 69 today.  While the loss of his company, laughter, enthusiasm and joy still resonates as a deep sorrow, I thought you might like to know that we’ve posted over 500 photos on the FilippoForever.com website. 

I’ve spent almost four months sorting the pictures he left behind as well as those sent to me by many of his friends and, in organizing, cropping and loading them onto the site, I’ve taken enormous consolation from these images that bring back so many happy memories. 

They are also a testament to the rich, full life he shared with his many friends and the travels, adventures, relationships and accomplishments he so genuinely enjoyed.  It’s hard to find a picture of him where’s he’s not smiling! 

The website is a work in progress and will be, I hope, a repository for many more pictures, anecdotes and tributes to be added, shared and appreciated by his many friends.  Please feel free to submit materials to philipstories@gmail.com.  Have a look at it now and come back from time to time and watch it grow. 

We’re hoping to capture the many comments on his Facebook page to add them here so if anyone who friended him is willing to help with that, please let me know.  Also, feel free to forward this message to anyone who may not be on my list but who might like to know about the site. 

I would also appreciate any additional info on the photos already posted: names, locations, dates (and corrections) are all welcome.  The whole purpose of the site is to ease the sorrow of his departure by keeping his memory alive with words and images that celebrate the joy of his life. 

He’s probably looking down right now and wishing he could select a good wine for each and every one of us tonight. 

Happy Birthday, Fili!

Thanksgiving Day, 2014

Dear Friends,

On this day of giving thanks, let's remember how fortunate we were to have Philip in our lives.  Although we still mourn, we can also be grateful for the joy he gave us with his laughter, his kindness and his irrepressible spirit.


Happy Thanksgiving!

November 13, 2014

Philip

It is with inestimable sorrow that I must report our beloved Philip left us this morning at 8:12am.

Mario and Susan, David and Adam, Peter and Michelle and I were with him until he slipped away peacefully and without pain.  He’s done with all his physical ailments, medical problems, treatments, pills, walkers, rollators and access-a-rides.  His spirit is now free to play among the stars and my only consolation is that our loss is heaven’s joy.