Goodfellows52: The 'Happy' life of a good man

Goodfellows52: The 'Happy' life of a good man: “Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.”       J...

The 'Happy' life of a good man

“Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.”     

Jiddu Krishnamurti

AUBURN, Maine — I cut his lawn as young boy and shared a drink with him as an adult, but I never knew his first name until I read his obituary on the Revere Journal’s website this week.

I knew him as Happy Sciaraffa — a confirmed bachelor and quite the ladies man — and as he aged, he continued to surround himself with classy, beautiful women as well as enjoy the night life. 

He knew how to live and I admired him for his gusto and bravado. I have no idea where his nickname came from but Happy was always a mystery to me.

And yes, Mr. Sciaraffa was a ‘Happy’ guy and a charming character who remains one of the many outlandish and cherished adults who came and went in my life.

I met Happy as teenager. I started my own landscaping business called, “I Mow Lawns.” A good friend of mine, Bob Marra, came up with the name of my endeavor.

Clever, huh?

The first time my ad ran in the Revere Journal over a dozen elderly people called my parents’ home and hired me on the spot. My father allowed me to take his car and I drove around the Greater Boston area cutting lawns for older adults, who really just liked having some company and an excuse to feed a growing young man.

Older people enjoyed a visiting short-haired teenager who didn’t addressed them as sir and ma’am. They trusted me with their unlocked homes, and when I left for college, their generosity with a going-away gift or two was overwhelming. And they fed me, and at that age, I was always up for a free meal, and there really is nothing like home-cooking

Happy heard about my enterprise through my father. The two were the old guard of Revere and were solid and upstanding citizens who loved their community.

After meeting with Happy, I thought he was a quirky guy with a unique sense of humor. It was a relationship that was forged with sarcasm, trust and jocularity. He was proud to work for the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles — where Bay Staters grow old waiting in long lines to renew their licenses. 

I cut his lawn through college to pick up a few extra bucks and stay in touch with Happy. Northeastern University’s tuition wasn’t cheap, but Happy was stubborn when parting with a buck. He thought I should be paying him for the privilege of mowing his lawn.

We sort of grew into a comedy team, where we tossed barbs at each other as we mowed his huge yard with a push mower. It took three hours to complete the task, but Happy would drag it out and insist we take a break and enjoy a libation at his well-kept, shaded backyard that was hidden behind a giant brick house that resembled an old army barracks.

All I knew is his home was dark inside and also housed his Uncle Bill, a cherubic and easygoing fellow with a large smile. I also worked for him filling in pot holes in the parking lot or cleaning the kitchen at the Bayside — a pub and restaurant owned by Bill in Revere.

The Bayside no longer exists like a lot of good people in my life.

Happy would get me other jobs, including cutting the lawn for his brother Pat — a man rough around the edges with warm heart. I got so busy doing odd jobs that my sisters began working with me.

Happy wheeled in a large color TV into the backyard and turned on the Sox game.

“Sit with me,” Happy demanded. “What the hell is your hurry. Can’t you just enjoy the game with a friend.”

“Hap, I really should get going. Got things to do,” I responded.

“C’mon kid. Really! Just sit here a little while and enjoy the game, will ya” Happy said.

“How’s your father. The team looks good this year,” Happy would always ask.

He always kept an eye on the Revere High baseball team, which was coached by my father, Al Blasi, for 42 years.

But Happy was using a stall tactic. He liked having me around to brag about his friendship with the mayor and taking trips to the Red Sox spring training camps.

And you know, I didn’t mind keeping company with him and listening to those stories about my community. When things got rough at home, and an issue arose concerning my car insurance, Happy brought me to the registry in Boston to meet with higher-up who helped solve the issue.

He was a friend, a good friend and a kind person.

We had an audience during our landscaping efforts on several occasions. Aldo Misci and his wonderful wife would stand at the fence and playfully harass both of us. For the Miscis, it was a night out at the Comedy Connection as Happy and I verbally sparred with each other in the next yard. Aldo resembled comedian George Burns. Aldo’s repartee was just as sharp as Burns’ brilliant barbs.

When I moved to Maine, we didn’t see much of each other. You get married, have a child and your world changes on a dime. There are new priorities and unfortunately friendships drift.

During visits with my parents, there were times when I would walk up the street to get a coffee and tiptoe past the driveway that led to Happy’s haven in the backyard.

He always spotted me trying to sneak past the driveway. If I didn’t get away, my coffee break would be delayed by an hour.

Sure enough, Happy called out to me.

“Hey, get over here right now. Don’t you dare walk away from me. Sit down with me,” Happy said. “What is going on with you. How’s your dad and mom?”

There was no backing out now.

I spent a precious hour talking with a gentleman who made my life interesting. There would be other times when I would sit with Happy and chew the fat.

Happy’s death hurts on so many levels. He took a piece of my youth with him on his trip through eternity and his death also represents the passing of time.

 I will miss him.

When I sadly discovered Happy had passed away at 95 years old last week, I learned his real name was Carmine, but I will always remember him as Happy because he made all of his friends and family feel that way.

Goodfellows52: Catching up with Ringo Starr 60 years later

Goodfellows52: Catching up with Ringo Starr 60 years later: BANGOR, Maine — We were wonderstruck at the sight of a 75-year-old former Beatle parading around the stage like a young Olympian.  ...

Catching up with Ringo Starr 60 years later

"We were all on this ship in the sixties, our generation, a ship going to discover the New World. And the Beatles were in the crow's nest of that ship." 

—  John Lennon

BANGOR, Maine — We were wonderstruck at the sight of a 75-year-old former Beatle parading around the stage like a young Olympian.

 A smorgasbord of ageless rock and rollers, whose timeless music brought the audience to their feet all evening, looked on as Ringo Starr shouted peace and love followed by a piece sign to the cheers of a grateful crowd last Wednesday night at the Cross Insurance Center.

Ringo introduced his All-Starr Band, which featured: Steven Lee Lukather, singer, songwriter and guitarist whose know for his work with Toto; Greg Alan Rolie, a keyboardist and organist who was also a lead singer for the bands Santana and Journey; singer and songwriter Todd Rundgren; Richard Page, lead singer bassist for Mr. Mister; saxophonist Warren Ham and drummer Gregg Bissonette.

Several of the musicians played their own music, with many of Ringo’s favorites like “Photograph” and “Yellow Submarine” interspersed throughout the evening.

These guys have aged like the rest of us, but their precious voices have not withered over time. They sounded like they were in the prime of their lives.  Time has been kind to all of them and their music. Ringo’s voice never wavered and his quirky sense of humor made us all smile.

Listening to three Santana songs with Rolie working his magic with his voice and nimble fingers on the keyboard was a delight for this Santana fan. I thought Carlos was somewhere in the building providing backup on each of the three songs.

Rungren’s rendition of “Bang on the Drum” made us all feel like banging on a drum all day. Page’s voice is still stunning and Lukather is still one helluva guitarist.

Ringo bid the audience adieu with his heart-rending rendition with “A Little Help from My Friends.” Of course, we all could have listened to all his friends play for another hour.

What a son of a gun!

I haven’t been to a rock concert since Crosby Stills, Nash and Young played at the old Boston Garden in 1977. I knew Ringo was still touring with a variety of talented artists over the years but never considered attending the band’s performances until my son sold me on the idea several months ago.

My son, Anthony, had an ulterior motive to persuade me to shell out $240 for the three tickets for a show in Bangor.

For years, I reminded my son that The Beatles performed three miles from my home in Revere, Mass., on Aug. 18, 1966. The mop-tops played at a racetrack called Suffolk Downs, which is located in East Boston, which right next door to Revere.

I was six years old when my cousin Suzy informed me that the Beatles were coming to Boston on a hot summer day.

I was terrified and raced for home to tell my mother that huge beetles were heading this way and it was time to get the hell out of Dodge or be eaten by giant bugs. She was puzzled but smiled at her frightened son. She explained that the Beatles were musicians who were part of the British Invasion of talented rock singers.

What the hell did I know that the four Lads from Liverpool were a worldwide sensation and made young girls scream and cry with every note they sang.

My father, who wasn’t a rock-and-roll fan, thought the Beatles could spark the end of civilization as we knew it. A few years later, I couldn't get enough of the Fab Four.

Anthony’s angle was that I now had an opportunity to see a Beatle perform and settle a score with history. Hey, if a guy from Ireland can fly a couple of thousand miles to see Ringo and his All-Starrs, making the 90-minute drive to Bangor was an easy sell.

Hanging out with my son and wife, Terri, who danced and sang the night away, and catching up Ringo 60 years later was worth the price of admission.

Goodfellows52: Garden good to go and going on parade

Goodfellows52: Garden good to go and going on parade: "I am definitely not the guy who drives to Vegas and stands in the middle of the street drunk with beads around his neck. I'm th...

Garden good to go and going on parade

"I am definitely not the guy who drives to Vegas and stands in the middle of the street drunk with beads around his neck. I'm the guy that's with his family in the backyard holding sparklers."

 James Marsden 

The yard is in full bloom thanks to Mother Nature.

AUBURN, Maine — Thanks to Mother Nature, a sturdy shovel and a neighbor’s industrial tiller, my garden no longer looks like the contents inside a huge pipe that carries sewerage from 43 Massachusetts communities to be treated at Deer Island Waste Water Treatment Plant in Boston.

All that organic table waste, fresh-cut grass and wood ash that I dumped in the garden all fall and winter has now been ground to a pulp by a tiller that handles like a bucking bronco.

The crops are in and I have installed a flower bed that should be featured in “Home and Garden.”

We have already experienced summer-like weather and a chance of a frost has passed in Maine

I have planted tomatoes, summer squash, peppers, cucumbers, spinach and carrots. 

The soil looks good and all systems are go for a good garden — depending on the weather and frigging varmints, of course.

All gardeners and farmers are always at the whim of the weather, but people who like getting their hands dirty also understand weather is our friend no matter how fickle it is.

So now we wait and water our land, hoping the dirt yields vegetables not tainted with pesticides.

The flower garden is teaming with color as Mother Nature to struts her stuff.

I recently read a great piece in National Geographic about how nature and your backyard can relieve up to 30 percent of stress the moment you step foot into a green paradise.

My well-kept yard is a refuge and a quiet spot to read or write.

If I am feeling worn out, a hike or my yard is great way to revive my tired bones and give me piece of mind — and vegetables.

Going on parade

OLD ORCHARD BEACH, Maine — An hour-trip to the coast and stroll along the beach in a refreshing sea breeze does a body good.

Breathing in that salt air and looking out over the water in this seaside community made my Memorial weekend.

A slice of pizza and a dish full of golden fries in the sun, which finally made an appearance around noon, brightened our day.

But we got word that a Memorial Day parade was heading our way and it would be passing through town.

I hadn’t been to a Memorial Day parade in years. I appreciate Americans who served and paid the ultimate sacrifice with their lives. Parades are just one way to tip our hats to men and women who have defended our nation.

The folks in Old Orchard Beach paid a wonderful tribute to the men and women who served with distinction with a spectacular parade.

The parade also featured a submarine float to honor all those who served in the silent service.

Kudos to Old Orchard Beach for paying tribute to American servicemen and women.

Watching people take time out of the busy schedules to line the streets and salute veterans made me proud.