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The Life of John Merola

It is a Sunday night and we have just finished with family dinner, minestra, a meal that I have been eating for as long as I can remember and a go to pick when someone asks what I want for dinner. It is a warm dish full of greens, beans, ham, and peperoni. The smell engulfs the kitchen throughout dinner as we use our Italian bread like a sponge to sop up all the broth. It reminds me of when I was a kid at the dinner table with my mom and grandparents. We used to go there for dinner multiple times a week, something I wish we still did. I am sitting at my dining room table with my mom, grandma, grandpa, and boyfriend. My dog is under the table laying down in her usual spot, not bothering to beg for food because she knows my grandma will give her a bowl of minestra after dinner. She usually sits on my grandfather’s feet, as he will point out throughout dinner, wondering why she chooses to sit on him. It was a rainy day, but it has cleared up by now and it feels just like home. In this state of comfortability, I decided now would be a perfect time to start my interview which will include a plethora of background chatter and interruptions from my family.

John Merola, born in Troy, New York was the child of Frank and Louise Merola. The first of four, my grandfather would live for 2 years as an only child before his brother Tony was born and later, his brother David and sister Annmarie. They grew up in a small house and later moved across the street to an even smaller house, a three-story house that also housed other Merola family members on the other two floors. They only had one tv that him and his brothers shared. His brother wanted to watch basketball on Sundays while he wanted to watch hockey. They ended up producing a system to alternate weekends to watch their sport. Once his brother got a girlfriend, he did not have to worry about missing the Rangers game anymore. Their house was so small that he would end up sharing a twin bed with his younger brother and the other two siblings were in the room with them. This living situation would persist until the two oldest got married within a few weeks of each other and finally moved out.

His sister was born when he was around 10 years old. When she was only six months old, his sister came down with an awful case of measles. Her fever raised so high it did permanent damage to her brain, leaving her physically and mentally disabled for the rest of her life. She was able to go outside and enjoy the weather, her brothers would carry her up and down the stairs to visit her family who lived above and below her, but she would never walk without assistance. When she was six, she was sent away to Rochester, NY to an assisted living home where her family would visit when they could. She also came home from time to time to visit her hometown. She bounced around living situations, group homes and nursing homes, but she never fully left assisted living. She was also never able to form coherent sentences, but we made it a point to understand her. My grandfather remembers missing her when she was away, he has fond memories of her even though she could not interact like everyone else. He did not say it outright, but I do think that going through this as a child has led him to be much more empathetic. He always spoke fondly of her even though she was not around when he was a kid, and he would visit her frequently out in Schenectady where she would live until she passed. She passed away a few years ago but her memory lives on in my grandfather and our family. I remember going to Schenectady to visit her and how she would light up when we could finally understand what she was trying to tell us. I remember dreading those visits but looking back now I wish I could still visit her. I feel bad for my grandpa that he lost his youngest sibling.

My grandfather says he had a great relationship with his parents though he did not really elaborate on it much. His father used to take him and his brother to Yankee Stadium every year once he turned eight to see the double header against Cleveland. Being Italian American he of course comes from a large family. He recalls having his aunts and uncles come over with tons of food to hang out in the yard. They would drink and play bocce until he and his brother would go out later in the night. He says that sometimes they would not even want to go out because they were having so much fun. He used to go out a lot when he was younger, he started drinking around seventh grade and smoking when he was around twelve years old, though my mother and grandmother will tell you he was eight. He claims he started smoking because it was just what everyone did back when he was younger. He quit smoking when he was thirty-two after a conversation with my grandmother about her health. The doctor said she needed to start losing weight, so he said he would stop smoking. He has not picked up a cigarette since.

Most of his childhood was dedicated to music and sports. His siblings and he would pretend to be the Beach Boys, playing their instruments and mimicking what they saw in their performances. When The Beatles came onto the scene, they did the same with them. Before that, their lives were focused on baseball, football, and basketball. “We were never home” he claims while addressing his childhood. They were in the little league, as were most kids their age at the time and they played football in the house when they were stuck inside. His father brought home spools of string from work, and they would have bowling tournaments with them. They would play games at night like hide and seek and “kick the can.” They would walk up the hill to Prospect Park to the pool where they learned how to swim. Then another pool opened in South Troy when he was a teenager which was very cool in his teenage mind, it was also a faster and easier walk since they did not have to walk up the huge hill of Prospect Park. Stickball was a game they frequently played in the lot behind his grandmother’s bakery which still exists as the stickball court for the yearly tournament my job hosts for charity. He was playing stickball on his wedding day, pitching a no hitter, “I couldn’t leave” he says fondly remembering being taken away from the game to get ready for the wedding.

He says in grade school he says he had a new girl on his arm every week. He says his first kiss was in kindergarten which scandalized me until I remembered I too had my first kiss in kindergarten too. “Did you do make out, in kindergarten?” my mom cuts in feigning surprise. He says he never really had a serious girlfriend until my grandmother. He had girlfriends but none of them really meant anything. It was more just the cool thing to be hanging out with a new girl every week, kissing them, and going out. With people frequently comparing his younger self to John Travolta, I cannot say I am surprised he was able to pull so many chicks though he does not like to talk about it because he thinks my grandma will get mad. After 50 years of marriage, I do not think she has to worry.

Troy, NY was a beautiful place to live in the fifties. The streets were full of shops and bustling with people. Kids running around, playing in little league baseball games and swimming in the public pool at Prospect Park. Troy was the third richest city in the industrial revolution and kept its charm well into the 1900s. My grandfather will never forget the beauty of that city, he tells us all about it when we go downtown and elaborated on it more as I talked to him. He says he had a great childhood and remembers it fondly. His family of six would eat dinner together every night, and though they never went on vacation, they never had to. My grandfather never even went to Albany, only 20 minutes away from Troy until he was eighteen. The city was so full of life that he did not need to. He used to pick berries on the way home from school and small little family-owned shops lined the street. I could not even imagine finding berries in downtown Troy and I certainly would not eat them.

When my grandfather was 4 years old, in 1952, Norman Rockwell would sit on the steps of my grandfather’s childhood home and paint the piece “The Street Was Never the Same” displaying a busy street with horse drawn carriages and children running around. People are staring out of brightly colored houses, gazes all fixed on one thing. A gas-powered car, clearly the first one that any of them have ever seen. There is a horse pulling a carriage, bucking up in fear of the car. Children are chasing the car and one child points at the car while staring straight at the view, mouth open and eyes wide. My grandpa obviously does not remember this, but it is still a particularly important part of the history of Troy. My family has prints of this painting in each of our houses as well.

Ask anyone in Troy back when my grandfather was a child or today if they know a Merola, chances are they will say yes. Back in the day my grandfathers’ parents owned a grill across from where I currently work. He even used to go into the shop next door of the same owners which is still open to this day. He and his brothers would go by every day after school and visit his parents on the way home from school and grab a soda and a bag of chips. He remembers how he loved washing the glasses at the grill. His grandmother owned a bakery where she made pretty much exclusively bread though she would make pizza on Fridays. Sometimes when the fair was running, she would send pizzas up there to sell. People went back and forth from Troy to the fair around 40 minutes away. The grill and the bakery are closed now and will most likely be completely forgotten about one day. Most of the old shops like this have been closed now with fewer and less families carrying on the tradition of family-owned businesses. One family-owned business still stands on Fourth street where shops used to line the side walk and I am lucky enough to be able to work there and watch as what used to be a little mom and pop shop expands into multiple locations, and reviews by brands like Barstool Sports.

My grandparents met when they were 21 and 17, my grandmother being the younger of the two. She was still in high school when they met, both hailing from Catholic High though their age gap did not allow them to cross paths in school. When asked how he knew she was the one, my mom cut in with “After the ultimatum.” Three years into dating was when my grandmother decided they would get married. He did not even get to propose to her but by the sound of it I do not think he was in a rush to. My grandmother said one day, “We’re getting married,” and so they did. He gave her a promise ring and told her that it did not mean they were going to get married. “How long after giving her the ring did you get married?” I asked, “Three months,” he said confidently. Kids came soon after as is the case with most marriages, though my grandmother was not sure she would be able to get pregnant. After months of discomfort and strange symptoms, a bad stomachache prompted a doctor’s visit. Though my grandpa claims he gets that all the time, a mother knows when something is up. Sure enough, she was pregnant with a baby due “any day ”. She gave birth to my aunt shortly after. My mom was born five years after, though she was not a surprise.

Fifty years ago this year, my grandfather got a job at Prout Printers where he still works two days a week composing pamphlets for the local school. The small print shop sits right across the street from my boyfriend’s old elementary school. He started his career in the printing trade at the Troy Record. He worked late nights making sure the paper got out in time for the morning. Back when he was starting out, printing was a very important trade. He started out as an apprentice and worked his way up, securing a key role in getting out two papers a day for Troy. The image to the left is my grandfather demonstrating how to use a printing press for a school field trip.

Growing up I would say my relationship with my grandfather was somewhat rocky. I cannot speak for when I was super young but once I hit twelve and I became a real terror. I was just angry at everything and was so sensitive to the world around me. I was especially sensitive to people chewing. Some sort of sensory issue that I am still trying hard to get over, that plagued my younger years. Hearing people chew would make me cringe and frustrate me to the point I would be in tears. All of this to say, my grandfather was a loud chewer. Everyone noticed, they could just tolerate it better than I could. A lot of memories I have of my grandfather are me getting upset with him for something he really cannot control. In my defense I could not control how I was feeling either, but that is not the point. As I get over my stupid pet peeves, I have grown closer to my grandpa. I am sure just my general maturity also helps. But now all the memories I make with him are good. I am closer to him now than I have ever been, and I am so very grateful to get to make whatever time I have left with him amazing. I am doing things he has wanted to do his whole life and while he says he is jealous, and he clearly is, he is proud that he can live these experiences through me. We bond about hockey and music, and we make each other laugh at dinner. This newfound closeness is what inspired me to tell his story and I am sure this is only scratching the surface. He is an amazing man, and I am so proud to get to call him my Pepa.