Guest Book for Antonio D'Angelo

Provided by SALVATORE Rocco & Sons Funeral Homes Inc.

Posted by: Kevin Cullen
Wed February 28, 2018 Mr. D’Angelo was a sweet guy. When I was a kid, I was best friends with his son Dom. Mr. D’Angelo gave me my first glass of wine, from one of those big jugs. I think I was about 9 years old. It was a small glass, and it was to be consumed only with a meal. Mrs. D’Angelo was in my mind the best cook in the world, and they fed me the best Italian meals I’ve ever had, to this day. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars at Prezza in the North End and Il Mulino in Greenwich Village and some high-end joints in London, and my taste buds were never as satisfied as when I was a kid and Mrs. D’Angelo was spooning loads of ziti and sausage onto my plate and Mr. D’Angelo was motioning at me with his right arm, saying, “Mangia, Kevin, Mangia.” My mom was Irish and she had many fine attributes, but she wasn’t the greatest of cooks and I spent so much time at the D’Angelos they could have charged me rent. Mr. D’Angelo wasn’t above giving me and Dommy a kick in the pants when we deserved it, and we often did. I think Dommy and I ran around like knuckleheads at Orsogna Plaza once and his dad was not happy with us. But he was a loving guy, and he was never a mean guy. If he got mad at me and Dommy, we deserved it. He took great pride in his tomato garden, right next to his house at the corner of Linden and Waverly in Malden. Dommy and I went to Cheverus, and while Dommy was a pretty well behaved kid, I was constantly getting into trouble with the nuns, usually because of my smart Irish mouth. On a school-sponsored Walk for Hunger or some charity like that, we were under an overpass, if that is possible, and Dommy yelled something rude about one of our classmates. Inevitably, I got blamed for it because I was walking right next to Dommy and I had a far worse reputation for being a wiseguy. The nuns went nuts and smacked me around and said they’d suspend me from school, which I wish they did but they never did. I would have sat at home and watched The Price Is Right. But I never gave up Dommy. He was my friend. I took the hit, literally. Dommy told his dad I was a standup guy, and one day not long after that there was a knock on our front door. My parents weren’t home, just me and my brother Joe. I don’t know where my sister Maureen was. Anyway, I opened the door and there was Mr. D’Angelo. He had a brown paper bag full of beautiful tomatoes. Mr. D’Angelo wasn’t a big talker, so he just handed me the bag of tomatoes and said something to the effect that I was a good friend to his son. Then he grabbed one of my cheeks and pinched it so hard it really hurt. Then he hugged me really tight and turned on his heel and left. Now that he’s gone, that’s how I’ll remember Mr. D’Angelo. Pinching my cheek and giving me a big hug. He is one of the best people I encountered as a kid. He was a great guy. My love and condolences to Dommy and his family. Peace.

Posted by: Mary (Masse) Fowler
Mon March 19, 2018 I remember Domenic, declaring most openly in class one day when my mother was substituting, that he loved his parents. He continued to tell us how much they did for him and how much he appreciated their sacrifices for him. My mother was so impressed with him as was I. I couldn't believe (being too cool to ever affirm publicly my love for my parents) that he would speak so candidly, but he didn't care what I thought or anyone else. His love was deep and real and he has always been a beautiful son, I'm sure because I heard these words so clearly at Cheverus. My condolences.

Posted by: Kevin Cullen Wed February 28, 2018	Mr. D’Angelo was a sweet guy. When I was a kid, I was best friends with his son Dom. Mr. D’Angelo gave me my first glass of wine, from one of those big jugs. I think I was about 9 years old. It was a small glass, and it was to be consumed only with a meal. Mrs. D’Angelo was in my mind the best cook in the world, and they fed me the best Italian meals I’ve ever had, to this day. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars at Prezza in the North End and Il Mulino in Greenwich Village and some high-end joints in London, and my taste buds were never as satisfied as when I was a kid and Mrs. D’Angelo was spooning loads of ziti and sausage onto my plate and Mr. D’Angelo was motioning at me with his right arm, saying, “Mangia, Kevin, Mangia.” My mom was Irish and she had many fine attributes, but she wasn’t the greatest of cooks and I spent so much time at the D’Angelos they could have charged me rent. Mr. D’Angelo wasn’t above giving me and Dommy a kick in the pants when we deserved it, and we often did. I think Dommy and I ran around like knuckleheads at Orsogna Plaza once and his dad was not happy with us. But he was a loving guy, and he was never a mean guy. If he got mad at me and Dommy, we deserved it. He took great pride in his tomato garden, right next to his house at the corner of Linden and Waverly in Malden. Dommy and I went to Cheverus, and while Dommy was a pretty well behaved kid, I was constantly getting into trouble with the nuns, usually because of my smart Irish mouth. On a school-sponsored Walk for Hunger or some charity like that, we were under an overpass, if that is possible, and Dommy yelled something rude about one of our classmates. Inevitably, I got blamed for it because I was walking right next to Dommy and I had a far worse reputation for being a wiseguy. The nuns went nuts and smacked me around and said they’d suspend me from school, which I wish they did but they never did. I would have sat at home and watched The Price Is Right. But I never gave up Dommy. He was my friend. I took the hit, literally. Dommy told his dad I was a standup guy, and one day not long after that there was a knock on our front door. My parents weren’t home, just me and my brother Joe. I don’t know where my sister Maureen was. Anyway, I opened the door and there was Mr. D’Angelo. He had a brown paper bag full of beautiful tomatoes. Mr. D’Angelo wasn’t a big talker, so he just handed me the bag of tomatoes and said something to the effect that I was a good friend to his son. Then he grabbed one of my cheeks and pinched it so hard it really hurt. Then he hugged me really tight and turned on his heel and left. Now that he’s gone, that’s how I’ll remember Mr. D’Angelo. Pinching my cheek and giving me a big hug. He is one of the best people I encountered as a kid. He was a great guy. My love and condolences to Dommy and his family. Peace.



Posted by: Mary (Masse) Fowler Mon March 19, 2018	I remember Domenic, declaring most openly in class one day when my mother was substituting, that he loved his parents. He continued to tell us how much they did for him and how much he appreciated their sacrifices for him. My mother was so impressed with him as was I. I couldn't believe (being too cool to ever affirm publicly my love for my parents) that he would speak so candidly, but he didn't care what I thought or anyone else. His love was deep and real and he has always been a beautiful son, I'm sure because I heard these words so clearly at Cheverus. My condolences.