In Memoriam of my childhood friend Jack Robertiello

 

I was flooded with memories when I heard of the death of my childhood friend Jack Robertiello, who became a the food critic and authored Mangia: the Best Italian Food in New York City. Jack and I were neighbors and grew up in an immigrant neighborhood in Princeton,  NJ. We lived in apartments that shared a tiny back yard where we used to play together as toddlers. My mother liked to tell the story of a time when she heard Jack crying and came out to see what happened. “We were making mud pies,” I explained. “Then why is Jack crying?” my mother asked. I explained, “He wanted to eat his mud pie and I stopped him!” 

As he grew older, Jack’s taste improved. He became “an expert in the worlds of wine, spirits, and mixology,” according to the NY Times obit. My family and his were very close, and we SHARED an immigrant background in common. My mother was Scottish and my father Greek. His mother was Irish and his father Italian.  We both honored our heritages in different ways-- I studied Greek and the Classics while Jack wrote book about Italian food,.

We were close but very different. He went to Catholic school and was turned off by religion. I went to a secular school and found religion liberating. When I married the daughter of a Presbyterian minister, Jack was my best man.

Jack was brilliant and received a full scholarship but dropped out of college. I completed my BA and went to graduate school. Despite a lack of higher education, Jack was incredibly well read and knowledgeable about a wide range of topics, from comic books, dance, film, music, and especially good food and drinks. As my sister noted, Jack was always interesting and fun to be around. He was charming, clever, and a “bon vivant.’ I remember learning from him the art of making mint juleps.

We often partied together when I was in grad school at the home of an eccentric actor and his wife. Jack tended to hang around “arty” people and I also enjoyed this world, which was a welcome break from academia.

I left Princeton to accept a teaching job, got divorced, and eventually became a Quaker and  moved to California, where I married a Methodist minister. 

At around the same time Jack married Andrea Mohin, a professional photographer, and moved to Brooklyn. He also found a way to use his gift for writing. He  became a food critic and consultant on fine wine and food.  We drifted apart,  inhabiting very different worlds. But I did see his family from time to time when I came home to visit my mother and sister.

When my mother was on her death bed, and I was sitting beside her, Jack’s mother Eileen came into the hospital room and I got up and hugged her. Eileen was like a second mother. As we hugged, we heard a gurgling sound from my mother—it was her spirit leaving her body. I felt my mother's presence hovering in the room  as I embraced Eileen, sobbing. I felt that this was the kind of parting my mother wanted. She left this world with her son in the arms of a dear friend.

I was saddened when Eileen and Rick, Jack’s parents, passed away in Princeton, which was too far for me to travel at the time. Jack and I never crossed paths during the past 40 years. We were Facebook friends but never communicated. I am sorry that I didn’t reach out to him while he was alive. I have been thinking what a blast it would have been to go with him to an Italian restaurant and take a journey down memory lane. I can't help smiling when imagining the look of shock on Jack's face he found out I'm a vegetarian and drink non-alcoholic wine!  I'm sure he would have had something interesting and witty to say on this subject.

I have learned an important lesson from my feeling of loss. Never take old friends for granted. Jack and his family will always be dear to my heart, and I will also remember his humor and joie de vivre. I hope that his family and friends will celebrate his life as he would wish--with good food and good wine and appreciation for a life devoted to family and to gracious living.