My dad was born on August 25, 1924. His seventieth birthday was therefore in 1994. It was a Thursday. 1994 was a pivotal year for TSI and for my relationship with Sue, as explained here. I was up to my armpits in alligators. By then Jamie had five children. By my calculation Cadie was 16, Kelly was 14, Gina was 6, Anne was 5, and Joey was 3. I could be off by a year for any of them.
Although it was torn down decades earlier, the company that designed this building still featured it on its webpage in 2023.
A decision was made that my parents would come to New England to celebrate my dad’s epic birthday with his grandchildren. Jamie probably negotiated this with our mother. Her conversations with my dad seldom ended pleasantly, and I am pretty sure that neither Sue nor I had any input. The plan was for them to stay at a hotel that was near the Lisella’s house in West Springfield. I think that they stayed at Howard Johnson’s, but they might have chosen the Hampton Inn if it was open yet. I don’t think that they rented a car.
The party: Jamie reserved a large room at the Simsbury 1820 House for the gathering. My recollection is that on the big day Sue and I picked up mom and dad at HoJo’s and met the Lisellas at the restaurant. A total of eleven of us attended—three couples and Jamie’s five children.
The party did not get off to a great start. The chair reserved for the guest of honor, who certainly weighed less than 170 pounds, collapsed beneath him and left him on the floor. Fortunately, he was not seriously injured, and the event proceeded more or less as planned.1 I had prepared an interactive presentation. I think that I took the floor for it after the meal. I hoped to involve Gina and Anne by asking each of them a question that I was pretty sure they could answer. They both let me down. Gina remonstrated me, “Uncle Mike, we are only children.”
I struggled through the rest of my little talk as well as I could. I think that I rescued the evening, however, by leading everyone in a non-traditional rendition of what all of us called the family song, “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” It was my dad’s favorite song of all time. So, we sang it all together, each of us singing the same words but using different melodies, keys, and tempos. My dad, who was completely tone-deaf2, thought that it was great. That was all that I can recall about the evening.
The name was changed to Baystate Noble Hospital.
The basketball game:I am not positive that the following event occurred on this same trip. I did not keep track of when my parents came to New England for visits. They only did so on a few occasions.
Every meal that we consumed at the Lisella’s was a cook-out. Joe fired up the Weber and cooked hamburgers and/or hot dogs. The grill was placed near the garage, which was at the end of the driveway. On the side of the driveway was a basketball goal set at precisely the regulation height of ten feet.
Before and after every meal there was a basketball game of some sort. On the occasion in question some of Joe’s brothers competed. I had played with them a couple of times in the eighties, but by 1994 I was not in nearly good enough condition to compete. Instead I kicked a soccer ball around with the kids.
At that point I had known my dad for seven and a half decades. For a few of those years we had a basketball goal at the end of our driveway. I used it extensively. I have no recollection of him ever taking a basketball shot, much less playing one-on-one with me. On this occasion, however, some demonic spirit overcame his reason, and my dad decided to play.
I did not see how it happened, but my dad fell down and broke his arm. Joe had to drive him to the emergency room at Noble Hospital. He was admitted and stayed for a few days.
I am unfamiliar with the details concerning the next few days. I may have had to take a business trip. By 1994 my mom’s mental condition was not good, and she depended greatly on my dad. She was almost certainly under a great deal of stress.
Other memories: I am pretty sure that it was on this trip that the following exclamation burst forth from Gina, “Uncle Mike, you have the same hair as Grandma!” She was right. Our hair matched in color (both before and after aging), texture, and waviness. I don’t think that she previously had put two and two together to realize that her grandmother was her uncle’s mother.
One time my mom mentioned that the Lisella house did not have many books. I had noticed that myself. Joe’s reading was mostly confined to World War II. I don’t know what Jamie read. She might not have had time.
1. Jamie talked with me later about this incident. I understood her to say that she had refused to pay the bill provided to her by the Simsbury 1820 House. I may be wrong about this. I have remembered quite a few events incorrectly.
2. His favorite musical genre was Gregorian Chant. That was also the only kind of music that met the approval of Pope Pius X, who was also tone-deaf.
Jim and Dolores Wavada were married on September 1, 1947. I was not there, and so I cannot provide details of that occasion. I found a few black and white photos of the event among my dad’s possessions. The one at the right is by far my favorite.
I don’t remember them making much of an occasion about any of their anniversaries. By the time of their 25th anniversary in 1972 I was working at the Hartford (story begins here). If they had a celebration, I did not attend.
In May of 1997—after living at 8800 Fairway in Leawood for thirty-five years—my parents moved to a bi-level apartment or condo in Overland Park.
At about the same time my parents had a falling-out with my sister Jamie Lisella. I did not learn of this until six months later when my dad wrote the following to me:
When you were here for my birthday I almost showed you the Mother’s day card, the last one, she sent your mom in 1997, which mom received just a few days before we moved from Fairway. The front says: Mom, I always thought it was great the way you cared for helpless animals. Inside it says:…. especially Dad. I can still see your mother’s tear-filled eyes as she said: “Isn’t she awful? She ruins everything.” I still have the card, which was sent about a month after she hung up on me when I told her mom was too ill to move to New England.
I don’t know if anyone invited Jamie. She was living in West Springfield, MA, and working at TSI at the time. I certainly would have paid for airfare for her. She did not attend.
In 1997 their many friends in the area wanted to throw them a party. I am pretty sure that it was held at the home of Ed1 and Betty2 Rafferty. September 1 was a Monday in 1997. I flew by myself to KCI and took the private shuttle service to my parents’ place.
I did not take any notes about the trip. Why would I? I did not own a camera at the time. If I took any photos with a disposable camera, I do not know where they are. My memories of the entire trip are very sketchy. In fact, I only remember clearly one detail.
My recollection is that my dad had been in the hospital. I think that he might have had pneumonia. There was quite a bit of chaos concerning the party. By this time my mother was having a great deal of trouble with her memory. She did not want to go to the party because she was afraid that she would not remember people’s names or commit some other faux pas. My dad did not know what to do. I sat down beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. I said something like, “Mom, these people are your friends. They don’t care about that. They want to see you and to help you celebrate this occasion.”
That was enough to convince her to go. She and my dad both had a great time. I don’t remember much about the party itself. I recall a feeling of relief when it was over. On the plane ride back to New England I was, of course, greatly concerned about my mom’s condition.
1. Ed Rafferty had been a naval air pilot during World War II, which meant that his planes took off and landed from aircraft carriers. He never talked about it. He died in 2017 at the age of 94. His obituary can be found here.
2. Betty Rafferty appeared to be living in Overland Park in 2023.
After the Golden Anniversary party in 1997 (described here) my mother’s physical condition deteriorated. I worked in at least one visit to Kansas City in the next several months. She was miserable and hated her life. She asked my dad what she could have done to deserve her condition. There was, of course, no answer. My dad communicated with me by telephone and email during this period. He told me that the doctors did not know what she had. They had given her a couple of blood transfusions. On Friday March 6 he called me at the office and told me in a broken voice that she was slipping away. I immediately booked a flight for the next morning.
I flew to KC and rented a car. When I arrived at my dad’s apartment he did not need to tell me that mom had died. It was written all over his face and his feet—he had on one slipper and one dress shoe. He was distraught but not sad. Neither was I. It had been apparent that she was very unhappy, and no relief was in sight. My mother was a doer and a planner. Her disease deprived her of the meaningful part of her life.
My dad and I talked about what needed to be done. He told me that he had an appointment with the funeral director. I agreed to drive him there. He did all the talking; spots at the Catholic cemetery in Lenexa, Resurrection, had already been reserved for both of them.
I think that the wake was held on Monday, and the funeral mass and burial were on Tuesday. I don’t remember whether anyone wrote an obituary to appear in the Kansas City Star or not. There is no obituary available online. II had not thought of this oversight even once in the intervening decades.
Sue caught a plane on Sunday and flew to KC. I picked her up at the airport. We stayed in the spare room in dad’s apartment.
Jamie’s entire family crammed into their van and drove to KC non-stop. I would have gladly paid the airfare. They stayed in a hotel. The younger kids were actually pretty excited about it because the hotel had a swimming pool.
I have no memory of the wake whatever. I am not even sure that there was one.
I clearly recall the funeral mass, which was performed at Curé of Ars in Leawood. Fr. Edwin Watson1, a long-time friend of the family, was the celebrant. In his sermon he had mentioned that he had been with my mom in her last hours, and he said that he had absolutely no doubt that she was now in heaven. I had prepared a few words to say, but I was too choked up to try to speak. Jamie made a nice tribute.
All that I remember about the burial at the cemetery was that it was cold.
We probably all went out to eat somewhere afterwards, but I don’t remember any details.
My dad told me that the doctors had recommended an autopsy, but he had refused to grant permission. I would have liked to know what my mom had. I inherited half of her genes; I certainly did not want to end up the way that she did. However, I did not argue the point.
On the following day we all went back to New England. Sue and I flew; the Lisellas drove.
1. Fr. Edwin died in 1999. The story of his life can be read here.
Until I was almost forty years old I did not have much of a relationship with my sister Jamie1. I remember being quite disappointed when I learned that the sibling that I knew was coming turned out to be a girl. I was in second grade at the time. The girls whom I knew there were all hopelessly stupid. THEY PLAYED HOP-SCOTCH AND PAT-A-CAKE AT RECESS!! I had no use for them at all.
I was nearly seven and a half years older than Jamie, and that half year was significant. I was a freshman in high school when Jamie was in first grade. I had graduated from college before she started high school. During her high school years I was in the Army and then working halfway across the country. We went to different kindergartens (both public), different grade schools (both parochial), different high schools (hers parochial, mine Jesuit), and different colleges (hers a small Benedictine near home, mine a huge state university over seven hundred miles away.
The Kinks on Shindig in 1965. Jamie was 9; I was 16.
So, the only times that we were together were before and after school and during the summers. I remember watching bits of Captain Kangaroo with Jamie before school and some TV shows in the evenings. Batman and Shindig in the evenings. We sat on the floor of the family room watching the tube while mom worked and dad lay on the couch reading a magazine or newspaper punctuated by an occasional “Mmm hmm”. However, I often withdrew to my bedroom to read or work on a project or to the basement to shoot pool and listen to records.
The time between returning from school and supper time was precious to me. I spent very little of it in the house. I either stayed after school to take part in some activity or came home, set down my books somewhere, and dashed back outside to play with my friends. I felt the same way about the summer. If I wasn’t earning money mowing lawns, I was probably out of the house.
So, I never really developed a close relationship with Jamie. We had no great family crises to create bonds of shared suffering. We also did not do that much together as a family. The whole immediate family went on summer vacations (as described here) together, but my only clear recollection of any interaction with Jamie on these trips was when I became very upset that our parents “could not find” the Smithsonian in Washington, DC. She tried to calm me down, which was nice (but ineffective).
SSG Barry Sadler would not have approved of our dance.
We did have a few moments. Perhaps the best was when we invented a dance to perform during the hit song “The Ballad of the Green Berets”. There were not many games that we could play together. War was no fun; Jamie always won Inspired by Sheepshead, I invented a gambling game called “Sevens and fives” and revealed the rules to her one at a time as they came up. I enjoyed that. Of course, I gave her back the money that she lost. Well, most of it.
I also remember spending an afternoon or two helping to teach Jamie how to drive my brand new Datsun in an empty parking lot. This must have been in 1972 after my own stint of heroically defending New Mexico against peace-crazed Ghandiists. Barry was two ranks higher than I was, but I never went to prison.
It was not anything about Jamie’s personality that made me limit our time together. I just enjoyed being with my friends and being by myself a lot more than being with family.
Maybe I was not a very good big brother. Decades later Jamie told me that she had been bullied (or worse) when she was on the way to kindergarten at a public school. I would have been in the eighth grade. If I had known about this, I would probably have tried to enforce the Law of the Jungle (“If you so much as touch my sister, I will …”). I would have, too. I was at least two years older than anyone at her school, and kids who attended public schools were presumably heathens. Also, I knew some moves. I watched a lot of wrestling in the eighth grade.
I don’t know how I missed this. Maybe I was just oblivious; I often am.
Jamie and I had similar senses of humor, and we were both rather tall and quite thin, but those were almost the only things that we had in common. She was always the cute one. When she was little, she had blonde hair that she evidently got from a relative that I had never met and her mother’s dark eyes. She was also a much better athlete and was tremendously more sociable than I was. I did better in school, and I was almost never in trouble.
This is Jamie on her prom night. I was long gone by then.
From 1966, when Jamie was ten and I had left for college, through 1985 I had minimal contact with Jamie. She made a mysterious visit to our apartment in Plymouth (described here), and Sue and I visited her and her husband, Mark Mapes2, once in Iowa (described here).
Other than that, we might have talked on the telephone a few times, but that was it. Why didn’t I call her? It did not occur to me. I didn’t call anyone. I have always hated talking on the telephone, and in those days long-distance calls were expensive.
In late 1985 Jamie was living in the Chicago area with her two daughters, Cadie3 and Kelly4. How they got there is a long story, and I am ignorant of most of the details. Cadie was, by my calculation, eight years old, and Kelly was a couple of years younger. Jamie was working at O’Hare airport for American Airlines. There she met Joe Lisella Jr.5, a fellow employee. I think that they got married in 1985. Jamie has told me a few stories about the travails of working in baggage claim. She may have had other responsibilities there, too.
In 1985 the newlyweds moved to an apartment in Simsbury, CT. For a time both Joe and Jamie worked for American Airlines at Bradley Field in Windsor Locks, CT. Their family grew rather rapidly. Gina6 was born in 1988, Anne7 in 1989, and Joey8 (Joseph III) in 1991.
During the fourteen years that Jamie lived in New England I worked at least seventy hours per week. Sue and I found time to visit Jamie and Joe a few times in Simsbury. I remember that we ate supper with them at least once at Antonio’s Restaurant near their apartment.
Joe and I played golf together quite a few times, first at a course in Southwick, MA, called Edgewood and then, after they had moved to a house in West Springfield, at East Mountain Country Club in Westfield, MA.
I had a good time, but I still took golf too seriously to have many enjoyable conversations with Joe. Another problem was that we both sliced the ball. He was, however, left-handed. His ball was therefore usually in the rough to the left. Mine was usually pretty far to the right. Talking is, of course, discouraged on the greens and tees.
East Mountain Country Club.
Joe’s brother played with us a few times. I have forgotten his name. Jamie was a very good golfer when she was a teenager, but she never played with Joe and me. It never occurred to ask her why not.
We always played very early in the morning. I sometimes stopped at McDonald’s on the way to the Lisellas’ house and bought Sausage Biscuit with Egg sandwiches for them. Once I evidently messed up about whether we were scheduled to play. They were sleeping in. Someone with bleary eyes came to the door. I apologized when the situation was explained to me, left the McDonald’s bag for them, and drove back home.
At left is a satellite view of the Lisellas’ house on Lancaster Ave. in West Springfield. In the nineties a basketball goal occupied the space where the big white truck in the photo is.
When we visited the Lisellas’ house, there was often a half-court basketball game there. I declined to participate. My skills at basketball were limited to running, jumping, disabling opponents with my sharp joints, and drawing fouls. My jumping days were behind me, running was of no value in a half-court game, and my other abilities were under-appreciated.
The most memorable of these game was the one in which my dad, who at the time was at least pushing seventy, tried to play. He lost his balance, fell down, and broke his arm. He had to be rushed to the emergency room.
The only photo that I could find of Joe Lisella is this one from 1973 on Gina’s sixth birthday.
The menu at the Lisella house was usually hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. Joe had a Weber “kettle” grill, and he used a lot of charcoal. I never asked him about this, but I have never understood how anyone could control the temperature of one of these grills. I have always strongly preferred the ones that allow either the fire pit or the grill to be raised and lowered.
Joe watched a lot of sports on television. In fact the TV always seemed to be on in their house, and it was always set to a sports broadcast. His favorite teams were the Red Sox, the Green Bay Packers, and Notre Dame. I am not sure which team he rooted for in basketball.
When I was at their house I spent most of my time playing with the kids. Jamie always seemed to be cooking, cleaning, or collapsed from exhaustion. Occasionally she took a break for a cigarette.
I did not talk much with Jamie. On the sidelines at the kids’ soccer games she would sometimes keep me apprised of the their progress. I seldom had much to contribute to these conversations. In those days TSI was definitely the focus of my life. Unless I could think of an amusing story, I did not say much.
I clearly remember doing one thing with Jamie. She had somehow scored some tickets for a WWE wrestling card at the Hartford Civic Center, and she invited me. This must have been in 1990. I think that Gina and Anne were there. I am not sure whether the other girls or Sue attended. The girls were really into it. They cheered and booed at all the right places.
The only match that I remember at all was between André the Giant9 and Jake the Snake Roberts10. Although André was way past his prime, he was still enormous and powerful. He could probably have defeated Jake from his hospital bed. However, every move he made seemed to cause him pain, and his back was bent over at a 45° angle when he lumbered from one place to another.He even had difficulty entering the ring. I found the performance rather sad, but I enjoyed the experience of being with the kids.
I marveled at how different this experience was from the other match that the high-school version of me had seen in person. It is described here. In the match in Hartford there was a lot of flash, but very little in the way of wrestling. Vince McMahon had not yet admitted that his events were scripted, but 90 percent of the people over five in the arena could predict the outcome (barring disqualification) of every match. It was kind of like a circus with trained over-developed humans.
In the fall of (I think) 1986 or 1987 Sue and I drove Cadie and Kelly to the Catskill Game Farm11, a private zoo in New York state. This had always been one of our favorite day trips, and it was more fun with the kids. Fall was the best time to go there. The weather was ideal. The deer were in rut, and the cries of the stags could be heard all over the park.
We spent a fair amount of time in the petting area of the park, which was loaded with immature animals that had been handled by humans since birth. That did not in any way mean that they were tame. I had never noticed this in previous visits, but they formed a herd of six or seven species and walked around the petting area as a group.
An priceless trading card from her soccer days autographed by Kelly.
Kelly had been petting one of the fawns, and she did not notice a baby donkey behind her pitching forward on its front legs and aiming a two-legged kick at her back side. Fortunately, the hooves missed by an inch or two.
I also remember feeding the giraffes. The girls got a figurative kick out of that.
Cadie’s glamor shot.
I attended at least one of Cadie’s softball games. I don’t remember too much about it. She was not a star. She was more of an intellectual than an athlete. More than anything else she has always been very artistic. I seem to recall that she studied art at Hampshire College for one year. I don’t know what happened after that.
For my mom’s seventieth birthday in October of 1995 Cadie flew with me to Kansas City. I gave a little speech to a gathering of my parents’ friends about my relationship with my mom. I am sure that my mom, who was already experiencing some dementia, appreciated that we both came. However, it was obvious that Cadie was uncomfortable throughout the entire trip.
My dad took Cadie with him on his trip to Ireland. They both enjoyed the trip, but my impression was that their personalities did not blend too well. No blood was spilled.
My most vivid memory of Kelly is from the day that she helped plant flowers around a tiny pine tree in our yard on Hamilton Court. The tree, which is now more than thirty feet high, was only a little taller than Kelly at the time.
Kelly was a good soccer player. I remember watching her in at least one game. She was a defender. I don’t know too much about soccer, but the other team never came close to scoring. Her team’s goalie need not have attended.
Kelly had trouble with math in high school. Jamie once asked me if I would be available to help her with it. I said that I would, but I never heard about this again.
Sue and I were invited to attend Kelly’s graduation at the horse show building at the Big E in Agawam. We went, but I don’t remember any details except that I was surprised that the students were mostly wearing casual garments (even shorts) under their graduation gowns. I also recall at the subsequent get-together at the Lisellas’ house. Gina and her classmates humiliated me on the basketball court.
Kelly left West Springfield shortly after finishing high school. I knew that she moved to a western state, but I did not know what she was doing there. I haven’t had any contact with her since then.
This is the oldest photo that I could find of Anne and Gina. If I had waited much longer to ask them to pose with me, I would not have been able to lift them.
I tried to see Gina and Anne as often as I could. One weekend day they stayed with us for a few hours in Enfield. They were delighted to discover that we lived right behind a school that had monkey bars and other athletic equipment.
I usually bought the kids some kind of board game at Christmas. When I was at the Lisellas’ house in West Springfield, I spent most of my time on the floor. In retrospect I wonder if the games were a good idea. Some of them had a lot of pieces.
I bought a Foosball table for them one Christmas. I probably should have asked if it was OK to do so. They seemed to enjoy playing it that day, but I noticed the next time that we went to their house that it was on the front porch and positioned so that it could not possibly be used. If I had been considerate enough to ask ahead of time, Joe or Jamie might have mentioned that there was no possible place to keep it.
This is the West Side girls’ soccer team for 1997. Anne is on the far right in the front row. Gina is second from the right in the back row. In the team photo for 1998 Anne is second from the right in the front row. Gina is in the middle of the back row.
Sue took this excellent photo of Gina, Anne, Joey, and snow.
I watched Gina and Anne play soccer several times. Anne was a fast runner, but Gina made up for lack of speed with determination and grit. No one ever called Anne gritty. In fact, no one ever called her Anne either. It was always Annie, Princess, or Prinnie.
I also watched Gina play basketball once. The opposing team had one player who was much better that everyone else. Gina’s coach assigned her to guard her even though Gina gave up several inches to her. Gina hung tough with her throughout the game. Unfortunately, it was not enough. The West Siders came up short.
I bought three tickets for the Connecticut Opera’s production of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte at the Bushnell Auditorium in Hartford. I made plans for them to attend with me. I was convinced that they had agreed to go, but somehow the plans got messed up. I ended up sitting between two empty seats for the evening. I should have called to confirm, but …
Anne (on the phone) and Gina.
I have one memory of Gina as a teenager. She was on the computer with three or four chat windows open with her friends. She could move among them very rapidly. I was impressed.
My parents came up to visit the Lisellas occasionally. They stayed at the Howard Johnson’s on Route 5. I remember that the first time that Anne saw me beside my mom, she blurted out, “You two have the same hair!” I don’t think that she realized until I told her that her grandma was my mother.
From the time that Joey was old enough to walk, or maybe even before that, he was consumed with sports. He liked all sports, and he was quite good at them. Some of his peers caught up with him later, but I doubt that there was a more athletic four-year-old in all of New England than Joey Lisella.
Joey and I played one-on-one tackle football in the living and dining room when he was a toddler. As soon as I entered the house, he grabbed onto one of my legs and tried to bring me down. Then he picked up the football and tried to burst past me. He could not have known that that his opponent starred in 1961 as the wingback/defensive back of the Queen of the Holy Rosary Rockets, as documented here.
On August 6, 1995, Jamie brought Joey to a party at Betty Slanetz’s house in Enfield. He carried a Whiffle ball and a plastic bat around with him all afternoon. I volunteered to pitch to him. He was batting right handed. I stood about ten or fifteen feet away and threw the ball underhand to him. Rather than swing, he took his left hand off the bat, caught the pitch one-handed, threw it back, and announced, “Overhand!” My recollection, which may be faulty, is that he hit every pitch that he swung at. I was duly impressed. He was four years and zero days old.
I saw Joey play soccer several times. The first time he was on a mixed team. He was too young to play legally, or at least that was what Jamie told me. He was certainly the shortest participant on either team, but he was positioned as the striker on his team. After he scored his fourth goal in just a few minutes, the umpires (!) overruled the coach’s assignment and made him play defense for the rest of the game. The final score was 4-0.
I don’t remember this game. It is hard to believe that Anne is only two years older than Joey.
The last soccer game that I recall involved Joey’s high school team. Joey was still one of the smallest players, but he was still quite good. He did not dominate this game the way that he dominated as a youngster, but he was a force to be reckoned with.
I had the same impression the only time that I watched him play high school basketball game. His lack of size was a serious detriment in this game, but he was a good ball-handler and shooter, and he played tight, aggressive defense.
During these years Joey (and just about everyone else his age) was obsessed with sneakers. I am not sure how many he pairs he had, just for basketball.
Joey and I shared one great adventure. In the summer of 1998 (I think that it was) I drive him in my Saturn to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. Sue and I also made this trip during most summers to attend operas at the Glimmerglass Festival.
The Doubleday Cafe.
Joey and Babe Ruth.
It was a long drive. By the time that we reached our destination it was time for lunch. We stopped at the Doubleday Cafe because I knew from experience that it would be a waste of time to try to find a better place. Cooperstown is not known for its cuisine.
I had never been to the Hall, and I was a little bit disappointed. I think that Joey enjoyed it, however, and I definitely enjoyed the time with him.
On the way home I think that we stopped at Friendly’s near Albany. I have a vague recollection of a misadventure in the process, but I cannot recall the details.
Jamie arranged for a party in August of 1994 for our dad’s 70th birthday at Simsbury 1820 House. The celebration got off to a terrible start. When my dad went to sit down by the table, his chair collapsed beneath him, and he fell onto the floor. He wasn’t badly hurt, but Jamie was infuriated. She later told me that she had refused to pay the bill.
I tried something that was too clever by half. I asked a question of Anne that I thought that she could answer and a slightly more difficult one of Gina that I thought that she could answer. After the second failure, Anne rebuked me, “Uncle Mike, we’re just kids!”
So, I set that aside and instead led everyone in a rendition of my dad’s favorite song, “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”12 I am sure that that buoyed everyone’s spirits.
In 2000 Joe drove Gina, Anne, and Joey to Kansas City for my dad’s seventy-sixth birthday. Sue and I were already there.Here is what I wrote in my notes about the occasion:
We had a good time on my dad’s birthday. I brought a wrestling card game that Sue gave me for my birthday. I played it twice with Gina, Annie, and Joey. They all enjoyed it. When Gina beat Joey in the first game, he got angry, accused her of cheating, made a mad dash at her and started pulling her hair. She just laughed, and Joe broke it up.
We went to an Italian restaurant for supper. It wasn’t very good, but Annie lit up as I have never seen her do. She was animated and talkative.
I continued to drive to Massachusetts to watch the kid’s play on sports teams after Jamie left (described here). Sue and I even went to Joe’s wedding with Jenna. It was a rather strange event, held on a boat, as I recall. Joe’s father was wearing shorts and buying everyone drinks. The highlight for me was when Jenna, Gina, and Anne sang along with “Who Let the Dogs Out?”
When my dad died in 2011 he left $18,000 to each of Jamie’s five kids. I administered the will and sent the checks to them.
In 2012, give or take a year or two, Sue and I drove up to have supper with Gina in a town north of Springfield. We tried to arrange a second get-together a few times, but it never seemed to work out.
1. I think that in 2021 Jamie still resides in Birmingham, AL. I am not sure what she is doing there. Her Facebook page is here. I am embarrassed to say that I could locate only one photo of Jamie in all of our junk.
2. All indications are that Mark Mapes lives in Davenport, IA.
3. Cadie Mapes still seems to live in Massachusetts, but I am not sure where. Her business website is here.
4. Kelly Mapes went off on her own at an early age. If I had to guess, I would say that she probably lives in Tucson in 2021.
5. Joe Lisella still lives in West Springfield. He works for McDonald’s. His LinkedIn page is here.
6. In 2021 Gina Lisella lives in the Westfield, MA, area. Her LinkedIn page is here. I think that she recently bought a new house.
7. Anne Lisella lives in San Antonio, TX. She is a nurse. Her LinkedIn page is here.
8. Joey Lisella lives somewhere in the Boston area. His LinkedIn page is here. I follow him on Twitter. He posts about nothing but sports.
9. André René Roussimoff died in January of 1991.
10. In 2021 Aurelian Smith, Jr., is retired from playing Jake the Snake Roberts, but I bet that he would listen to offers.
11. The Catskill Game Farm closed in 2006. It is now reopened as a historic tourist attraction in which one can camp or stay in a Bed and Breakfast inside the compound of the old zoo. The website is here.
12. My dad was tone-deaf. He was—bar none—the worst singer that I have ever heard. He agreed with Pope Pius X that Gregorian Chant was the best music ever produced by man. He could remember some of the words of songs, but the melody he produced bore no resemblance to the original.
This may be the most difficult entry for me. I worked with all of these people, but I only worked closely with the last few. I hired only the last few. Sue hired most of the rest.
TSI’s administrative area had much more turnover than any other area. Some of the people whom we hired did nothing but bookkeeping. Some were hired primarily to help with marketing. Some were hired to be Sue’s assistant, which meant they could be doing anything or nothing. I am not even sure what responsibilities some of these people had.
I do not remember interviewing any of these people or talking with Sue about their qualifications or salary. My impression is that they just sort of appeared in the office.
Our first administrative employee was Debbie Priola. Her story is told here. Kate Behart was hired either just before or just after Debbie left. Details of her employment at TSI are posted here. For several years Kate, Denise Bessette, Sue and I were the core group, first in Rockville and then in Enfield. However, we often had additional administrative people—one, two, or even three at a time. I am pretty sure that I have completely forgotten some of them
One of Sue’s primary sources of new employees was our client base. One of the earliest of those hires had been Caroline Harrington, who did the bookkeeping for Darby O’Brien Advertising (DOB) (described here). I never really understood this. I worked closely with Caroline during the installation of the GrandAd system at DOB, and I thought that she did a really good job. One day she must have either called Sue or been called by Sue, and somehow she ended up as our employee. I don’t know why she wanted to work for us. It always seemed to me like a step down from her responsibilities at DOB. Then again, I am not sure how Sue described what her responsibilities at TSI would be.
I did not work much with Caroline in TSI’s office. At the time I was spending at least half of the business hours out of the office at one client or another. When I was in the office I spent most of my time preparing work for Denise or going over work that she had already done. If I had any time left, I spent it writing programs, dealing with support issues, or writing proposals or contracts. Also, I took a nap every day after lunch.
Caroline’s employment did not last very long. I don’t know why she left or where she went; one day I learned that she was no longer working at TSI.
Another person whom Sue does not remember was a young woman who worked for us for one summer between her junior and senior years of college. I don’t remember what she did for us, but I do remember that I was impressed with her. However, the impression was not strong enough to prevent me from forgetting her name.
I had hoped to recruit her as a permanent employee until she told me that she planned to move to Japan after she graduated.
Crater.
Coyne.
I remember absolutely nothing about Linda White, whose name I found on TSI’s payroll for 1989. Sue remembered her. Apparently she worked for us for a week or two. Then one day she went out for lunch and never returned to the office or called. She might be holed up in parts unknown playing cutthroat pinochle with Judge Crater1 and Thomas Coyne2.
I remember Kim Ouellette. We hired her shortly after we moved to Enfield in 1988. I don’t remember what her precise role was at TSI, but I do recall that at Christmas that year she was my “Secret Santa”. She gave me three pairs of wool socks. I lost one of the socks, but I still wear the other pairs on cold winter days.
Chris Vegliante (she/her) worked at Group 4 Design, one of TSI’s clients (described here). I don’t recall what caused her to leave Group 4 and join our staff. Nor do I remember when or why she departed.
No badminton here today.
I remember two things about Chris. I am pretty sure that she came over to our house once, the summer that we decided to host the summer outing at our house in Enfield. I grilled some burgers and dogs, and we set up a badminton net in the yard between two of our maple trees. Those two trees in 2021 have grown to the point that they nearly touch in the middle. No one would consider playing badminton there today.
My other recollection of Chris is about the day in 1988 on which I received two telephone calls from the Hartford Courant. When the second call came, she announced “I think that you won that short story contest!” The whole event is described here.
For a short period in 1989 a woman named Judy Morrill3 worked for TSI, specifically for Sue. She even came over to our house for a visit once. She brought her young son, who was terrified by our cats, Rocky and Woodrow. He screamed for five full minutes.
Both cats were completely harmless.4
Galilee Pease5 (she/her) was a college student who worked for TSI over two summers. She was an excellent employee. Everyone liked working with her. We had much more success with college students than with permanent employees.
When we were looking for someone to help with the Y2K project, she mentioned that her brother Fred, who stayed up all night playing computer games, was available. She warned us that we might not like him.
Bernice Gannuscio6 worked at Keiler Advertising, but she lived in Enfield. She asked us if we might have an opening. I thought that she could be a valuable employee for TSI. The problem was that we wanted her to answer the telephone in the office, but she had hearing problems that prevented her from being able to do this very well. She investigated hearing aids, but none that she could tolerate seemed to work for her.
Titus?
Titus Britt7 had the distinction of being taller than I was and just as skinny. He was also the only Black person who ever applied for a job at TSI. He lived in the southern part of the state, and so the drive to Enfield was considerable. Because he loved his Camaro, he did not mind too much.
I was never quite sure what Titus’s role at TSI was, but when he heard that TSI’s sales rep, Tom Moran, and I were planning to fly to Seattle to demonstrate the AdDept system for The Bon Marché, a department store chain in the northwest, he asked if he could come. I don’t remember why we agreed to this—from a business perspective it made no sense—but we did. I think that he had family there.
Terri.
Terri Provost8 came to work for us in the late eighties. Her previous employer was Colonial Realty, the company that bamboozled thousands of people in Hartford in the late eighties. The scam and its results are described here. Terri was a secretary for William Candelori, one of the company’s principals. Even after the scheme unfolded, she still had great respect for him. He was charged only with tax evasion. The other partners went to prison or committed suicide.
Evidently, although CR treated its investors with disdain, it was very nice to some of its employees. Terri told us that the company took its employees to a casino in (I think) Atlantic City. Her boss even gave her some money with which to gamble. I never adopted such a policy.
Not Terri.
Terri and I went on a sales call in Manhattan once. I wrote about it here.
We had no dress code at TSI. As an army veteran who was forced to wear a uniform at work for eighteen months I felt that this was my right. It was never a problem. Most of us wore shorts in the summer and jeans or something similar in colder weather. On more than one occasion Terri came to work in a short dress and back-seamed stockings. I did not know what to think of this. It seemed totally inappropriate to me, but I have never in my life criticized anyone else’s sense of fashion. I said nothing.
Terri came back to visit the office with her young son.
Terri had a baby while she worked at TSI, but the child died after a few days. She kept a picture of him on her desk. I certainly would not wanted to be reminded of a sad event at work9. I said nothing.
My recollection is that Terri became pregnant again and decided to quit her job at TSI. By then she was working for Michael Symolon. I don’t think that they got along too well. I know that Michael was more than happy to replace her.
The woman that Michael hired to replace Terri was Linda Fieldhouse10. She was a joy to work with, and she seemed to like both Sue and me. I am not sure why she quit. I vaguely remember some health problems.
Two from this can, please.
I remember a woman who worked for us in a period in which both Sue and I seemed to be very tense. Both of us drank coffee, and one of the prime responsibilities of the administrative person was to make sure that the coffee pot was not empty. We always made the coffee with two scoops of regular coffee and two scoops of decaffeinated coffee. This employee did not get the message and made it with four scoops of regular coffee. So, for a week or two, Sue and I consumed twice as much caffeine as we thought.
I think that this may be the same lady whose favorite task was the printing of program listings, a task that required very little skill or knowledge. Mostly it was just making sure that the printer did not jam. Everyone else just let the printer do its thing, but she enjoyed monitoring it.
This lady left TSI soon after the coffee incident was discovered. I don’t remember her name, but I found evidence that someone name Bettijane Kaschuluk11 worked for TSI in 1987. Neither Sue nor I remember anyone with that name.
Ann Locke12, who was married to Sue’s cousin, Jimmy Locke, worked for TSI off and on for a while. I think that she mostly did cleaning. I once remarked that she “brought a little bit of Appalachia to TSI.” Denise later told me that she was shocked when I said this, but she later told me that she understood what I meant.
My sister Jamie was married to Joe Lisella Jr. for the decade or so that she lived in Simsbury, CT, and West Springfield, MA. She worked for TSI for part of that time. Her daughter, Cadie Mapes, also worked for TSI part time. That period is discussed in detail here.
1. Judge Crater disappeared without a trace in 1930. His story is here.
2. Thomas Coyne was scheduled to appear on the fourth episode of the podcast Nobody Listens to Paula Poundstone in 2018 . He never showed up or called to cancel. The cast organized an international search that lasted for months but he was never spotted by any “nobodies”. However, I don’t think that any listeners looked form him at the survival school in California that he runs.
3. I think that Judy Morrill still lives in Enfield.
4. This was not strictly true. Rocky never hurt anyone, but Woodrow, although extremely friendly, had an alter-ego whom I called Nutso Kitty. His eyes glazed over, and all bets were off. Once while I was napping Nutso Kitty pounced on my left hand and ravaged it with all twenty claws. I had to throw him out of the bedroom, and I mean that literally.
5. Bernice now goes by Bernice Zampano. Her LinkedIn page is here. It does not include her experience at TSI. I think that she lives in Portland, CT.
6. Galilee is now known as Galilee Simmons. I think that she lives in Utica, NY. Her website is here, but I don’t think that it has been updated in years.
7. I think that this may be Titus Britt’s LinkedIn page. He has had a lot of jobs, but he did not list anything as far back as the nineties. This person does not look as skinny as I still am.
8. Terri Provost, who now goes by Terasia Provost-Darr, in 2021 is a realtor in Vernon, CT. Her LinkedIn page is here. Neither TSI nor Colonial Realty is listed as part of her experience.
The view from my desk.
9. My current office includes pictures of Mark Twain, W.C. Fields, Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, and my photograph of the statue of Constantine’s head in the Capitoline Museum in Rome. Nearby are a plush slipper of my guinea pig Chardonnay, action figures of Wonder Woman and Pope Innocent III, and a plush toy wolverine wearing a tee shirt with a block M whom I named Mitch Egan.
10. Linda Fieldhouse lives in Vernon in 2021. Her LinkedIn page is here. Don’t bother to look for TSI on her experience list.
11. A woman named Bettijane Kaschuluk who is a little older than I am lives in Stafford Springs in 2021.
12. Ann Locke still lives in Enfield in 2021. Her Facebook page is here.
