Luigi

I met Luigi at the South Weymouth Naval Air Station in 1965. He was the gardener for the whole base. As far as I know he was the only one. He was a Sandcrab. That is what the Marines and Sailors called civilians working on a United States military installation.

By now you know that I grew up in a very ethnic Italian neighborhood. So naturally I was attracted to the short Italian man who walked with an awkward gait, as if one leg was 8 inches shorter than the other. He spoke very broken English and always chewed garlic, the aroma of which would make your head spin when you spoke to him.

In the service no one called you by your first name. No one but Luigi, that is, and for some reason he called me Bill. Luigi was 83 at the time and I didn't think it necessary to correct him. So I never did.

Ona day hea comea upa to me and he say, “Bill, I hear you gonna getta married.”

I confirmed that I was.

He said, “Bill, whata kind of ah girl you marry, Eetalian?"

I said no. He seemed tripped up by that answer.

He thought it over and he said, "Bill, you marry a French girl?"

I said no.

He thought and he thought, and finally he say in a mildly frustrated way, "BILL, WHAT KIND OF AH GIRL YOU MARRY?"

I replied, “A Polish girl, Luigi.”

That stopped him cold.

He thought and he thought. He rubbed his chin while shaking his head. Finally he said, "She be OK!"

A week later, he presented me with this rug as a wedding gift. As luck would have it, he was correct about my future wife. Maybe because of Luigi's blessing, we will be married for 43 years this September anda si si si she's a been very OK.



Lucky me, Iah stilla hava the rug and I stilla hava the girl.

Sadly we don't have Luigi anymore, but I know where he is.

Written with sweet memories by his friend
Bill Bacon