Not just your garden variety herb!
Gretchen and I, for the past 20 or so years have had a tradition of going out on Valentine’s Day, dressed to the proverbial “nines” to a restaurant to which we have never, ever gone before. That was always a challenge for me as I am charged with picking. That meant research and chance…but as my track record will show…I’m pretty good!
Covid put a damper on that tradition, but we decided to come back strong.
We live in Ridley Park, PA, a lovely little community with a lot of history, just passed the Philadelphia International Airport. We downsized from Swarthmore…old people will do that.
In our lovely little community, a business shut down and something most wonderful took its place; Rosemary, not just your garden variety herb.
We decided that we would restart our tradition with this new place, as of course, we had never been there before. New, not many have. But that has certainly changed.
So, we got dressed to those proverbial “nines” and went on February 14, 2024. The interior could not have been more well thought out. It can be whatever you want, dressed up or casual depending on the occasion. It was absolutely lovely, and we were hoping the food and service would follow suit. Well, one was better than the other. The food was no less than excellent, and the service followed suit. In short, we had a wonderful, wonderful evening and we didn’t even have to “click our heels” or follow the yellow brick road.
Today, Sunday, July 21, we went for brunch. Again, nothing short of exquisite. Our “babysitter” Helen (waitress) was lovely, personable, knowledgeable and I’ll stop there before I get into trouble. And it all started with a greeting at the door that made you feel like family. Smiles were the uniform of the day.
We had Bourbon French Toast…lovely, and to start off we did perfectly executed strawberry Bellini’s. And we went back for a second one of those. If we didn’t worry about taking up space, we would still be there.
The owner (the man behind the curtain) came over to check on us and wound up pulling up a chair to chat. Who does that? and what fun it. It made the whole experience that much better. Owner Philip Breen, is young, smart, talented and has the chops to make a good restaurant great; restaurant, bar, greenhouse, outdoor seating…what’s missing? YOU! Just go: https://rosemaryrp.com/
Who knows, maybe we’ll see you there. What a great place to meet old friends and make new ones.
Ciao!
So Gretchen’s best buddy JoAnn came to visit for the weekend from State College.
They spent Saturday in the Chestnut Hill/Mt. Airy section of Philly and the Woodmere Art Gallery, the off to the hunt to visit Cogslea the home of the Red Rose Girls.
I wanted to make this a special weekend for both, so on Mother’s Day, I treated both to a musical event not to be forgotten any time soon at Victor Cafe.
JaAnn was unaware.
If you know Victor, you know you will be treated to great food and opera and broadway arias from the area’s best.
The first suprano hit the bell, the music started and for JaAnn…so did the tears.
It was truly a memorable Mother’s day!
OH…the food was over the top!
ciao
In trying to come up with my next story, I decided to post my partial list of clients and at random, or when the spirit moves me, I’ll pick one of the followint and run with it. If you want to hear about a favorite from this list, let me know and I’ll be happy to tell the story.
Some Notable clients we enjoy servicing or have serviced in the past.
Cheyney University (RT)
Widener University (RT)
George Blood, Recording Engineer, Philadelphia Orchestra (PT)
Pierre and Elise DuPont (R)
Bobby Short (VA)
Michael Feinstein (VA)
Duke Ellington Band (VA)
Oscar Peterson (VA)
Sarah Vaughn (VA)
William Bilson (VA)
New School of Music, Tamara Brooks (RT)
Temple University/Main Campus, Ambler Campus, Center City Campus (RT)
Vladimir Sokoloff, Curtis Institute, WHYY (VA, ASR)
Rudolph Serkin, Mozart on the Square (VA)
Pennsylvania Ballet (RT)
Philadelphia Opera Company (RT)
Philadelphia Musical Academy (RT)
The Walnut Street Theater (RT)
The Hershey/DoubleTree Philadelphia Hotel (RT)
Annenberg Center, University of Pennsylvania (RT)
Davidsbund Chamber Players (RT)
Concerto Soloists of Philadelphia (RT)
Philadelphia College of the Performing Arts (RT)
The Philadelphia School (RT, R)
University of Pennsylvania, CC Campus (RT)
Rutgers University, Camden Campus (RT)
Mozart Orchestra, W. Jerome (ASR, VA)
Mendelssohn Club of Philadelphia, T. Brooks (RT)
Robin Hood Dell (RT)
Andrew Willis, New School, Official Pianist/Philadelphia Orchestra (PT)
Natalie Hinderas, Temple University (PT)
Lambert Orkis, National Symphony (PT)
Richard Raub/Academy of Vocal Arts (PT)
Richard Rome (VA, ASR)
Susan Starr, Philadelphia College of the Performing Arts (ASR, VA)
Claus Tennstedt (VA)
Philadelphia Singers, M. Korn (RT)
Vladimir Horowitz (VA, ASR)
Arthur Rubinstein (VA,ASR)
Joseph Plon (PT, VA)
Chestnut Hill Academy (R)
Chestnut Hill College (R)
Settlement Music School (ASR)
Arden Theatre Company of Philadelphia (RT)
Richard Goode ( PT)
Victor Borga, Valley Forge Music Festival (VA)
Dr. Nicholas Provenzale (VA)
Albany Records (VA)
The List Continues…
Benjamin Whitten, West Chester University (PT)
Shirley Aliferis, West Chester University (PT)
Nijole Dedinas, West Chester University (PT)
West Chester University School of Music (R)/Visiting Artist Series (VA)
American Music Theater Festival (RT, VA)
Magnetik Productions (WFLN/Franklin Broadcasting) (RT)
Malcom Bilson, Cornell University (R)
Bill Balkin (VA)
Dr. Robert Sataloff, DMA (PT)
Dr. Dahlia Sataloff, DMA (PT)
Michael Korn (PT)
Marc-André Hamlin (PT)
C. Alan Lightcap (R)
WHYY Radio (RT)
Elizabeth N. Morgan, Ph. D, Associate Professor, St. Joseph’s University (RT)
St. Joseph’s University (RT)
The Agnes Irwin School (RT, R)
Bud Dengler, Music Director, Agnes Irwin School (PT, R)
Ridley School District (RT)
Rose Tree Media School District (RT)
Wissahickon School District (RT)
Methacton School District (RT)
Westtown School District (ASR, VA)
‘We The People’ Celebration of Philadelphia (VA)
St. Lukes of The Epiphany Church (RT, R)
Dr. William Gatens, Good Shepherd Church, WFLN RADIO (PT, R, RT)
Dr. Terry Klinefleter (PA, R, RT)
Jonathan Bowen, St. Luke’s of the Epiphany, (PT, R, RT)
Kim Beamon, St. John’s Church, (RT)
Dr.Vincent Craig, Main Line Unitarian Church, (RT, R)
North Penn High School (R)
Gratz College (RT)
Arden Theater (RT)
Carol Lawrence (R)
Steven Sondheim (ASR)
Philadelphia Academy of Music (ASR)
Kimmel Center (ASR)
Alexander Fiorillo (PT)
Professor Harvey Wedeen (PT)
Temple University ( RT, R, Instructor)
Richard Goode (PT)
Albert Franz, (PT)
LEGEND : PT = Personal Technician R = Rebuilding Client VA = Visiting Artist
RT = Resident Technician ASR = Artist’s Special Request
NB: The above list is to demonstrate an outline of our more recognizable clients. This list is, by its very nature, incomplete. The above is in no special order.
Industry and Trade Clients Serviced
by
Ralph Joseph Onesti Piano Restorations:
The following is a list of those for whom we have worked over the past fifty plus years. These are capable technicians and/or manufacturers, the most discerning type of client a rebuilder might service. To be chosen and accepted by one’s peers nationally, as their custom piano rebuilder or consultant, is truly an honor. Pianos from the following are in service all over the United States.
Michael Sweeney Piano Craftsman, RPT (R,C) Wayne, PA
Donn Young, RPT, Accurate Piano Service (R,C) Devon, PA
James Chadwick, RPT (R,C) Drexel Hill, PA
Judith Palmer, RPT (R,C) Merion, PA
Webb Phillips, RPT, Mainline Piano Service. Allied Guild (C) Horsham, PA
Peter Reichlin, RPT (R,C) Washington’s Crossing, PA
Victor Benvenuto, Sr., RPT The Piano Shoppe (R,C) Philadelphia, PA
Joseph Benvenuto Piano Service, MPT (R) Mt. Airy, PA
Edwin C. Trefz (R,C) Norwood, PA
Joseph Sciortino Piano Service (R), NY
Copelin Piano Service (R), Arkansas
Wesley E. Beaumont Piano Service, (R) Princeton, NJ
C. Alan Lightcap Restorations (R) Lambertville, NJ
Leary Musical Service (R,C) Cleveland, OH
Stuart Davidson Pianos (R,C) Sioux Falls, SD
Ralph E. Nelson Pianos (R,C) Hayward, CA
Polans, AMICA (R) Long Island, NY
LA Piano Service (R) Los Angeles, CA
Sol Kohen Piano Service, RPT (R,C) Horsham, PA
Henry T. Meyerman, Sr., RPT Piano Service (R), Wilmington, DE
Steven P. Winder Piano Service, RPT (R), Harleysville, PA
Aeolian Restorations, Rebuilders (R), Sumneytown, PA
John Daubert Piano Service (R), Barrington, NJ
James Ficca Piano Service (R), Wilmington, DE
Nicholas Natale, B&N Piano Service (R), Aston, PA
Stephen Prentice, RPT Piano Service (R), West Chester, PA
Richard F. Rioux, Piano Service (R), New Egypt, NJ
C. Paul Joseph, RPT Piano Service (R,C), Upper Darby, PA
Thomas Sterner, RPT (R,C), Wilmington Opera House, Wilmington, DE
Howard Stickley III, RPT, Piano Service (R), Philadelphia, PA
John Campbell, RPT, Piano Service (R), Phoenixville, PA
Steve Houck, RPT (R), Baton Rouge, LA
Herman Giersch, Media, PA (RTC)
The list continues….
Various National Insurance Companies (Appraisal Consultant and Forensics)
Young Chang America (RTC,C)
Kawai America (RTC,C)
Mason & Hamlin (RTC,C)
Yamaha Piano Company (RTC)
Samick (RTC,C)
Pacific Piano Supply Company, Van Nuys, CA (R)
Best Piano Services, Putnam Valley, NY (R)
Luca Music, Mineral Spring, RI (R)
Meridian Music, Indianapolis, IN (RTC)
Wilmington Piano Company, Jordan Kitts Music, PA, DE (RTC,R,C)
Aeolian American Piano Manufacturers (RTC)
The Smithsonian Institution RTC
Philadelphia Museum of Art (RTC, R)
Brandywine River Museum (RTC)
Cunningham Piano Company (R)
Warner Piano Company (C)
LEGEND
R = Rebuilding Client C = Field/Shop Consultant RTC = Regional Technical Consultant
RPT = Registered Piano Technician MPT = Master Piano Technician
NOTE: Rebuilding clients’ work consisted of higher-level types of shop work not normally handled by in-house personnel such as: soundboard, pinblock, bridges, and action manufacturing and design.
QUALIFICATION:
NEITHER THE COMPANY: RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS, NOR THE INDIVIDUAL: RALPH J. ONESTI, IS AFFILIATED, RELATED TO, OR CONNECTED WITH, ANY OF THE ABOVE-NAMED INDIVIDUALS OR COMPANIES. IT IS TO BE UNDERSTOOD THAT ANY WORK PERFORMED FOR THE ABOVE INSTITUTIONS IS STRICTLY BY CONTRACT AGREEMENT ONLY. THE COMPANY RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS, AND THE INDIVIDUAL: RALPH J. ONESTI HAVE BEEN SEPARATE ENTITIES FOR THEIR ENTIRE EXISTENCE IN THE FIELD OF PIANO TECHNOLOGY.
PERSONAL BACKGROUND: Ralph Joseph Onesti, RPT
(Registered/Qualified/Certified Member of the Piano Technicians Guild an international association of qualified, certified piano technicians)
Registration Number: 6898
Federal Number: 23-2491388
Having several decades invested in the piano industry, the necessary background, skills, and expertise were drawn from many critical areas. Now recognized, both regionally, nationally, and internationally, RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS is responsible for setting, and keeping, the standard for the highest quality instrument restorations, as well as efficient and timely service in the home or on the concert stage.
The following is a chronological outline and brief biography of the education, training, development and related experiences leading to the aforementioned credentials:
• Temple University, Drexel University, Community College of Philadelphia - Engineering
• Temple University, Philadelphia Musical Academy - Music Education
• Violin manufacturing, 3 years
• Acoustic classical guitar manufacturing
• Studied With:
John Scheer; tuning, repairs, concert preparation.
• Instructor for:
Temple University/Main Campus, two-semester, four credit course in Piano Technology.
Piano Technicians Guild: Local, Regional, National, and international levels.
Master Piano Technicians of America: Local, Regional, National levels.
• Subject Expert:
Appraisal expert in the field or Piano Technology for high level insurance companies, auction houses, attorneys, piano owners for sales and insurance, Internal Revenue Service for non-cash donations for over 4 decades.
Listed with the Technical Advisory Service for Attorneys. (TASA)
Experience in; deposition, mediation, arbitration, and court.
Top expert in the New York Times owned web site: Allexperts.com
• Chapter President: Philadelphia Chapter, Piano Technicians Guild (past/2 years continuous)
• Member: Rebuilding Standards Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Member: Testing Standards Review Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Chairperson: Regional Testing Center Committee of the International Piano Technicians Guild (past)
• Chairperson: Northeast Regional Advertising Committee. (past)
• Recipient of Distinguished Service Award - Rose Tree/Media School District 1994
• Published in the International Piano Technicians Journal
TECHNICAL BIOGRAPHY: Ralph Joseph Onesti, RPT
1964 to Present:
Early on, it was quite evident to family and friends that Ralph Onesti had an uncanny talent for understanding and memorizing, not only the mechanics, but also the physics, of many things. Soon after, he began his studies in the field of Piano Technology in 1962, with his uncle, a longtime Piano Craftsman. After showing great accomplishment and determining that he could do no more for Ralph, his uncle sent him to become an apprentice to one, John L. Scheer, a nationally recognized technician. Once under Mr. Scheer’s tutelage, he became proficient in various, essential, field techniques. This was to become the start of RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS.
In addition to running a piano service business, with a growing passion for acoustical instruments, Ralph then studied violin making and classical guitar building with a local luthier. Through this experience, coupled with his own perceptive and acute awareness, the need to be further educated was acknowledged.
It became very clear to Ralph that for him, working with the piano would not be limited simply to tuning and repairs. As always, he would not be satisfied until he fully understood every aspect of the job he was to undertake. Therefore, he enrolled in studies in the field of engineering, specifically the areas of Acoustics and Physics.
Having acquired the book knowledge, he then set out to further familiarize himself through training with several recognized leaders in the piano industry. In every case, as recognized by these masters, the student quickly surpassed the mentor. In addition, he felt it imperative that he not only become somewhat proficient at playing the instrument, but also that he completed courses in Music Education.
It is therefore, evident that a full background, including engineering, music education, piano studies, and studies in the field of stringed instruments, has laid the foundation for Ralph Onesti becoming one of the most recognized piano remanufacturers in the country and the finest service facility in the Delaware Valley.
Onesti, realizing that perfection in any field is impossible, continues to strive for improvement in his day-to-day work. As a result of this attitude, and his desire to give back to the field of Piano Technology, some of those benefits that he has derived, he set out to instruct those less knowledgeable than he. His teaching has taken him from private lessons in his shop, to teaching a full Piano Technology Course at the university level, as well as teaching regionally, nationally, and internationally for The Piano Technicians Guild and the Master Piano Technicians of America. Add to this, a combination of his desire to help and his engineering background, and you have the development of several innovative, rebuilding tools, created by Onesti and used nationwide by piano remanufacturers today.
In conclusion, all instruments rebuilt or serviced by RALPH JOSEPH ONESTI PIANO RESTORATIONS, are, in their completion, the consummate result of one person’s commitment to provide the very finest restoration and service facility available.
When the dog bites, when the bee stings…
No, these are not a few of my favorite things, but recently a few clients asked what my pick of the best piano might be.
There isn’t one anymore!
At one time there were over 100 manufacturers in New York alone. Now, only one. If fact, in the United States, there are three: Charles Walter, Steinway, and Mason & Hamlin.
What happened? Nothing. You must remember that we have about 300 million people here. But, we have been making and selling pianos since the mid 1800’s. Virtually every household has a piano. We burned out our market…that’s all. “Even our piano in the parlor, daddy bought for ten cents on the dollar!” Are you old enough to remember that?
So, the piano, invented in Europe, was developed largely in the Philadelphia area and bubbled to the top in New York.
Where do I see them? And remember, this is just one man’s opinion, not the law. And I hope I didn’t, but I may have missed one or two in any of the levels.
The creme de la creme: Which is the best? The one you like the most. They are all way up there in quality. Some have more or less name recognition depending on your station in life. If you are a pro, you probably know all of them. If not some of them you may have never heard of, but then how many of us is familiar with the Lamborghini?
Bechstein
Bluthner
Fazioli
Schimmel
Seiler
Bosendorfer
Steinway & Sons
Kawai – Shigeru
Yamaha – S class
Honorable mentions: Schulze Pollmann Pianoforte, Kawai GX and the Yamaha CX, these are really strong instruments.
The Middle class:
Charles Walter
Kawai mid-level
Yamaha mid-level
Estonia
Boston
Young Chang
Petroff
Mason & Hamlin
Some of the upper-class manufacturers do have a mid-level brand to compete in that market, so you have to be cautious, not every Kawai is an upper-level instrument. However, in both Kawai and Yamaha, their X series are pianos to be taken seriously!
The rest fall to the bottom. These are generally Chinese or Korean made pianos with German or American names. Not to worry, some of these names will climb in stature and quality as the markets change as Yamaha and Kawai did.
Then there is the used market - a mine field. Don’t go without protection: a Registered Member of the Piano Technicians Guild. They can run interference for you. There are some great buys out there and some terrible traps.
The last market is the rebuilt one. When I closed my shop, unfortunately, many of the top rebuilders followed suit, sad! One in particular, David Hughes closed, and I cried. He started following me and quickly surpassed me. There is Lindeblad in Pine Brook, NJ. I see their work when they come my way. You have to be pretty sure of yourself to send someone like I out to do warranty work on your rebuilt piano, LOL. However, Lindeblad is doing a stellar job from what I can see. The retailers send their work out, many times to Mexico, again, careful! I am not one of those technicians that beats down everyone else’s work. If it’s good, it’s good. But if it’s bad…oooopps.
One final word: WARRANY!
Some have 5 years some 10. Some are transferrable, some not. Do your homework!
Ciao,
Ralphie
https://phillymemories.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-philadelphia-naval-hospital.html
That slick site you now see west of Broad Street on Pattison Avenue wasn’t always a practice facility for the Philadelphia Eagles. What’s now known as the “Novacare Complex” (corporations get to buy their way into naming just about everything sports-related these days) was once the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Younger area residents will remember it as an old building that seemed to stand vacant, gathering cobwebs and dust. But for us who have a few years behind us, we know that it was a premier facility for treating troops of every military service, especially during the Vietnam War. This hospital had one of the top programs for prosthetic limbs nationwide, and some of the top surgeons in that field. Today, it’s just a memory.
How do you spell PTSD
Testa Durra…Part Two:
Out of boot camp and off to casual company. That is where you wait for your orders to be cut.
I was there for a couple of weeks and then off to school in 29 Palms California. Average temp-too hot if you’re not a marine.
I was in Air Traffic Controllers and Weapons Tactical Management School. That is where we sat in a radar hut and watched for friendlies or bogies. “Friendlies” were ours and we managed if they could make it to a target given their fuel and weapons payload. “Bogies” just never made it home. We learned weather and communications also.
I was heading for the top in my class when the instructor came to me reminding me that a Major was in the class. Apparently it was not courteous to outdo an officer. The Major overheard the instructor and came over. He said, “Marines do the best they can, go for it.” As a result, I was at the top of my class.
I wanted to go to Nam, but the numbers said no. So, I was stationed at Willow Grove Naval Air Station.
One day, I was summoned to duty. A 707 out of Philly was on a direct path in line with an F4 Marine aircraft out of Johnstown. The captain said, “Onesti, do something!” I had equipment at my control that was 40 years ahead of its time. Bear in mind the speed of an F4 is around 1600 miles per hour. The cruising speed of the normal 707 was 500-600 miles per hour. So, the F4 could get in trouble 4 times faster and was more maneuverable.
I told the Marine pilot to take his hands off the controls and stuff them down his trousers. A little brash on my part (heedless of the consequences) mixed in with a bit of nervous, scared, and trust your training. This was a new data link system that allowed digital connection and communication between ground control and the auto-pilot system. In reality, the Marine pilot was not rendered useless of course, but I, like the fourth seat in the Blue Angels, could see everything and help with the decision. I told the captain of the 707 to hold fast asking for hie altitude. Dropping the F4 in altitude and taking it to port, we; the equipment, the F4 pilot and the training, quickly and efficiently avoided a collision, (details omitted). This allowed the 707 to continue to climb normally and on course, and the passengers never spilled a drop of their respective drinks. The captain of the 707 told me he was impressed with my fast thinking and actions and to give him my name as he would put me in for a commendation to the FAA and the Marine Corps. He never mentioned the Pilot of the jet…oops. I told him that I just told a Marine pilot to stuff his hands down his pants and I respectfully declined to mention my name. He understood. My CO, a smart guy, told me to get the hell out, go to the mess hall, put on my cover and grab a mop. Strategy…you do NOT wear your hat (cover) indoors unless you are armed. He knew that Major would be hot for me as soon as the wheels hit the tarmac. After all, I stole his thunder. He was right. The Major finally came storming in the mess hall, saw me with my cover on, screamed to take it off indoors, called me a few choice and familiar names, and stormed out…SAFE!
After a short while I went to my commanding officer and asked to be transferred to the regular Marine’s division and sent to Nam. My destination was Monkey Mountain. He thought I was nuts. He said radar operators were the first to be targeted. I said, my skill was such that I could save Marine lives. He said “No.” I was his top Air Traffic Controller and his best teacher. I was unimpressed. I told him I was going AWOL, Absent Without Leave. He said, “Where will you go.” I said, “Saigon!”
“OK, OK,” he said, “How about if I give you a duty where you can help your fellow Marines and still stay state side.” He let me go to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital where I helped parents reunite with their incoming Marine and Navy children. That sounded OK for now, except that he didn’t tell me I would help reunite parents with parts of their children.
I took moms and dads aside and schooled them gently that what they saw go off to war, was not what they were going to see now. I told them that their son, there were no daughters at the time, was injured, some very seriously both physically and mentally. I told them that a positive front, no matter how hard, was best.
In we would go to the hospital room, and invariably, parents would lose it. Fathers would weep, mothers would faint. I would stay to stabilize the situation as long as I had to.
If you want to see something difficult, watch the face of a mom look at her once whole son with no legs, or arms, or parts of their faces. I still lose sleep over this; my PTSD is intractable.
Then one day, my Commanding Officer said, “Onesti, you are walking like an old man, what’s going on?” I didn’t know. I went into the radar hut, 50 degrees to keep the equipment running, and my body was going stiff.
He sent me to my doctor who said I had arthritis, especially from the waist down and he never saw this in a young man.
My Commanding Officer sent me to the Naval Hospital, this time for an evaluation. The Navy doctor agreed with the finding of my doctor and deemed me unfit for duty. I thought I would retire or die as a Marine and they evicted me! Yet another dream demolished!
What to do with the rest of my life. A good friend suggested that Pennsylvania had a Vocational Rehabilitation Department, and I should go see them and I did. After much testing, they gave me a full scholarship to the Philadelphia Musical Academy. I was to be a music educator carrying on the tradition of my Uncle Frank. However, you don’t just get in to PMA just like that. You have to audition. My Uncle Frank had a good friend, Florenza Decimo Levengood, a piano professor at PMA. We met, I played for her. She was kind but reminded me that most people that get into conservatories at that level start playing seriously when they are five! She said that perhaps in five years or so I would have a shot. OK! I started lessons with her and practiced some 6-8 hours a day. My advancement was nothing short of miraculous. At the end of the year, she said that because I was going for Music Ed and not performance, I might have a shot, and a shot I took. I got in!
My body and pain worsened. PMA was a 5-year program. I transferred to Temple as it was a 4-year program in an effort to reduce my sentence. I just could not finish. All the while, I continued to do piano tuning and repair to make a living…things didn’t go well for me.
I continued to have trouble walking. I went to the Rothman Institute where Dr. Vaccaro told me I had severe scoliosis at the base of my spine, specifically L1 through S5, and the amount of arthritis suggested an injury when I was a young man. I never put the two together; falling from the rope climb in boot camp and trauma induced scoliosis. I didn’t pass the MCATS!
I had L3, L4, and L5 fused to straighten my spine and relieve the nerve pressure.
I now live with a pain level of an 8 on a good day and off the charts on a bad one. BUT I’m a Marine. I still work a full week at 76 and I probably should be retired, but I can’t afford it.
So, some time ago, I got a letter from the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. They said, “I think you might be a veteran.” I laughed. They gave me a ton of paperwork to fill out-I did.
I received a follow up that said, “We think you are trying for Veteran’s Benefits. If so, please fill out this paperwork.” Same paperwork! I did.
So, one day I was working at the Proclamation Church in Bryn Mawr. A young man from Congresswoman Mary Gay Scanlon’s office called to say “I see where you are trying to get your veteran’s records. I would like to cancel that and help you do it correctly.” I went on line, filled out a form, and gave them permission to get my military records.
A few days later, he called again and said he had half a ream of paper on me. He didn’t know if what I needed was in there would help but sent them over to me immediately.
In the first few pages were the reports from my personal physician and the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, both in agreement. I had a body full of arthritis and probably trauma induced scoliosis.
In steps Dave Delloso State Representative. His office kicked into gear and set me with the American Legion who is running point on my problem.
So now I am in the middle of going through the process of trying to get the VA to understand what happened. I was marked fit for duty when I went in the Corps and thrown out shortly thereafter.
The rest is history. I worked hard as I pointed out in an earlier blog, became rather competent at what I did and built a small but sustaining business built on work ethic and pain.
Welcome to Ralph Joseph Onesti Piano Restorations…not my choice!
OK…back to the top. Am I uninteresting and useless? I’ve thought so all my life. I wanted to be a Marine…I was handed the road not taken. Did I like that? NO. But, I did manage to find a way to be useful after all and I must blame it on my Marine training; NO MAN LEFT BEHIND!
I have taken up a career in helping others. Like my platoon buddies said, “Onesti is the guy you want to have your back in a fight.” And sometimes, the fight is life. In the course of my working I have aided kids in finding the right school or helped them find the right career path, assisted volunteer organizations become more useful and efficient, helped people get through unthinkable tragedy, supported people through brake ups, helped people come out and to have the courage to be themselves, helped musicians get on the right career path and also to get through recording sessions and performance anxiety, supported folks through times of loss, helped folks find the right doctor or psychologist, helped people find the right pet, helped people appreciate themselves for who and what they are, and yes, I have even babysat for some of my clients. The only person I have yet to appreciate, or help is me! I must fix that.
With the help of my beautiful and wise partner (wife, boss, supporter) I will fix that.
As my psychologist said, some people who are abused learn to pass on the abuse and others learn to stay abused. I chose the path of the latter. I will fix that too. If it weren’t for Gretchen, my wife, and my Psychologist Dr. Vincent Morello…long process…I kept from pointing the gun in the wrong direction.
Vincent taught me what PTSD was, how to meditate, do controlled breathing and even tapping therapy…all working. And as irony would have it, I found him through Dr. Mark Tennenbaum a client for whom I built a Mason & Hamlin A (which he still loves to this day…hey…I’m good) who ran the Wayne Counseling Center…Thank you Vincent and Mark and Gretchen, I love you all.
OK….sorry, got to get back to work. Someone may need help!
Testa Dura (Hard Head!)
So, this is what an Italian speaking customer called me not too long ago.
For decades, clients have been urging me to write a book about my stories, and so I did re-start my blog. However, one of my clients who knows me well said, “You need to tell your personal story.” I asked why they thought that was important and they responded, “Because you and what you do are important.” I’m not entirely sure that is true, but I do know this customer would not steer me in a bad direction, so here goes:
Now I don’t necessarily think I’m that important…but you may take a different view.
I started out life in 1948 as an infant, pretty much the way most people do. I was born in the heart of South Philadelphia on Mole and Dickinson. Mole Street is between 15th and 16th, and Dickinson is about 1600 south. That’s 16 blocks south of Market Street. On one corner of Mole was Strolli’s bar, the usual South Philly tappy with food and directly across the street was the Pellicano Bakery, run by my mother’s father Salvatore Pellicano. Turiddu is a nickname for Salvatore. It means, “man of god.” My Grandfather was hardly that! Sometimes they shorten it further to Todo. Todo came from Palermo directly to Philadelphia; no Ellis Island for him. In Sicily he was in the army, then a lineman for the electric company. Of course, there was no job for him here in Philly. So, Grandpop started by buying pasta by the pound for a penny and re-selling it for two cents. That went just so far, so he ventured into pastries; buy for a nickel, selling for a dime. It wasn’t long before he got the idea to cut out the middle man and bake himself, but the problem was he was a lineman not a baker. He put an ad in the newspaper and somehow that ad reached Chicago. He had at least one child by now, Agnese, Sicilian for Agnes. The ad that made it to Chicago was answered by one Thomas Miceli, a Master Pastry Chef from Sicily. What was to become my Uncle Tom, as he fell in love with the boss’s daughter and became famous in South Philly in that he literally taught all of the bakers here how it was really done.
The first Pellicano bakery I remember was again, on Mole and Dickinson. As with most businesses then, it was in the street level part of the house and the rest was for family. Grandpop set up shop in the adjoining garage; mixers, ovens, tables, everything one needed to make pastry from scratch. I remember Uncle Tom teaching me to make phyllo dough to make all sorts of things, but the specialty was sfogliatelle, a light, multi layered dough filled with an egg/cheese custard type filling. Uncle Tom was famous for his butter cream icing. It was never out done even to this day. His wedding cakes, many layers high, required a ladder to finish off.
As time went on and Tom married Agnes, more children came along and things got harder and harder. There were 5 children in all: Agnes, Michael, Francis, Rose, and Peter. Grandpop lost or threw away the brochure on being a loving father. Instead, he was an abusive, authoritarian animal. All the children suffered for it as did their offspring. Throw organized crime into the mix, there was no mafia, which was just a contrivance of Mario Puzo, and the problems mounted. So as the Pellicano family grew, so did abuse. In truth, each sibling requires their own book as does my grandfather and grandmother. Each has their own horror story. Maybe one day Stephen King will pick up on it.
Let’s take a break from that mess and visit my father’s side of the family, the Onesti’s. Onesti in Italian literally translates to ‘honest’ and did they ever take that seriously. So seriously in fact that one day my father took me into the kitchen to teach me a new card game, solitaire. After a few times through I got the gist of the game at which point my father collected the cards, replaced them in the box, looked at me and said the following, “Whenever you play this game, you always play by yourself with a loaded gun on your lap.” Holy crap, now you have a 12-year-old looking for a deck of cards and a 38 special. Years later, I asked Dad what the hell that was all about. “Oh” he said,” You mean cards and the gun!” He continued, “That is what my father taught me. Solitaire is the easiest game in which one can cheat. You are alone with no supervision. If you ever lie, cheat, steal, or are unethical, blow your brains out as you are of no use to anyone including yourself!” I carry that with me today. I couldn’t lie to you if you put a gun to my head, but if you pull the trigger…don’t miss, it will be a sad day for you.
My Dad’s family lived a half block from my mother’s family. In those days, no one had an automobile, so you dated withing walking distance. “Where does your girlfriend live?,” you might be asked, “Over there.”, as you pointed to a nearby house, and that’s the way it was.
The Onesti’s were on 16th and Dickinson…you know…over there. Grandpop was from the Campania region of Italy, Naples. He came here as a master barber. His barber shop was in front of the house, while the rest of the house was for the family. There were 7 children, and I’ll try to do this in order. First was Frank who became a school teacher and was literally responsible for building the Philadelphia School System, the high school curricula and the libraries, then Theresa, who worked as a seamstress, Bill, a butcher in the old original Reading Terminal, Vito, my Father, a factory worker, Elsie, a seamstress and afterwards worked in the Leonetti Flower shop, Antoinette, a seamstress and nun wannabe but Grandpop would not allow it, and Henry, a barber in the Union League. My Dad was a brilliant man and the army wanted to put him through school, but after the depression, a job was more important. Mathematics and memory were his specialty. You did not want to play pinochle with dad. He was a card counter.
Unlike the unruly Pellicano family, the Onesti’s were the opposite, nice. The aunts were bat shit crazy but loving and nice. The boys were worker bees and even nicer. I like to think I took after my Pop.
That is the family in the short term. A long-winded account of the Pellicano’s would just curl your toes. Fasten your seatbelt if you decide to read on.
In 1952, we moved to the new section of South Philadelphia which was down at the end of South Broad Street. There was a small section of new houses that were new. Aunt Rose was married to Uncle Bill Rotella by then, a lovely man, and my mother, dad, and I were a half block away. At that time there was nothing except Christopher’s Diner, think “Happy Days”, a bowling alley, Park Lanes, and the South Side Drive-In. After that was the Municipal Stadium, the site of the Army/Navy Games, then the Philadelphia Naval Yard. That was the East side of Broad. On the West was the Southern Home for Boys which my mother often threatened me with, and the A&P market and that was it. There was a farm, game over. By the way, there was no Walt Whitman Bridge, which came later. Instead, there was a ditch with a railroad track that went from the Delaware River to the refinery with crude oil to be made in to gasoline. To get from North on Broad to South on Broad, to go over the ditch, was a wooden bridge.
At that time, at four, my childhood was pretty normal. We had to go to church on Snyder and Broad in the Plaza, a skating rink. Soon there was a new school, a rather large chapel, the rectory for the priests and the convent for the nuns. Before that, the priests lived in our neighborhood as did the nuns.
As for me, I was an avid reader, I had math skills like my dad, and when the new school, Stella Maris was finished in my first year, I was moved from Epiphany to the Star of the Sea. That by the way is when everything went the wrong way. The nuns were animals. They were angry and mean. On one occasion, my younger brother Jim, in first grade escaped school and the nuns came to get me to retrieve him. I ran after him as fast as I could to protect him and walked him home. I think if he had a gun he would have done them in. I learned later that the nuns were borrowed from another duty as they had no teaching nuns for us. They came from a women’s prison hospital. The girls didn’t stand a chance! Most of the priests were nice except for Father Neilon, a certifiable mean son of a bitch.
My Mother got a job at the Naval Ship Yard. Things became more important than family, and nothing less than perfection was tolerated. I can remember her making me erase pages of homework and making me do it over and over. School became a place of fear. Home was the other place of anxiety. She became the animal her father was. In fact, she made it my fault whenever my brother did something wrong. He got in trouble, and I was beaten for it. Can you possibly imagine biting your own child? She was responsible for my almost hating him and for that, I hate her. I love my brother, but it’s too late now. She ruined us. The only regret I have about my mother’s death was that I didn’t cause it. And she was an out and out liar.
All she did was fight with her siblings over her father. She would send my father and me to Grandpop’s to smooth things over. I should not have been a part of that. Again, I was put in the middle to fix things; the kids called me Henry Kissinger. She fought with her sister Rose continuously. She and her sisters died far from being loving sisters. In fact, when my father died, she made me stand guard at the funeral parlor door to make sure her older sister Agnes did not gain access. To top that, they accidentally buried him on top of Uncle Tom. Remember that Italian families by funeral plots by the dozen. That was a huge mistake. That festered in my mother’s sick mind for two years until she made my brother Jim and I go to St’s Peter and Paul cemetery, have him dug up, put him on a flatbed truck, and then back in the ground in Holy Cross Cemetery. Is that the sickest family story you have ever heard?
My Dad and I were friends and would, on occasion, he’d come to visit me. We would sit at the dining room table and have scotch. One day he told me that every once in a while, the “boys” would come to the barber shop, give my grandfather an envelope and ‘borrow’ my father. In a huge Hudson, together they drove to somewhere upstate New York or Connecticut. Stopping at a farm house and honking the horn, the farmer would appear with two giant tins of pure grain alcohol…prohibition days. The hootch was loaded into the trunk and they drove back. At the end of the run, the guy gave my father five bucks. It was like a million dollars back then. My father explained that police, noticing an older man and a child would suspect only a family situation.
After that my father got quiet and said, “You know, every once in a while they would come for the two-year-old.” It was the same scenario, envelope, take the kid. This time the kid was offered ice cream to go for a walk, any kind of ice cream you wanted. What two-year-old would say no? What father would, or could refuse? So off for a walk and when they got to a certain address, the two-year-old was instructed to sit on the “stoop” and wait until ‘Uncle Joe’ came out. Uncle Joe went in, and no one in the house lived through the visit. Uncle Joe would emerge, take the two-year-old and get any kind of ice cream and as much as they wanted. I quietly asked my father if I had ever gone for one of those walks. He said, “Pour me another scotch.”, and never said an additional word on the matter.
Okay, back to school. Through all of that, I did more than well in grade school, fear and all, so much so that at graduation, Central High School wanted me to go there. Did you hear me, Central High School, that was a huge, huge deal. However, I was not allowed to go. Why? It was in North Philadelphia and there were black people there, and I promise I just cleaned that up. My mother was an ignorant, bigoted woman. Instead, I went to the worst high school in the city, Bishop Neumann High school. There you learned what priest not to be alone with. One day, I was called into the Dean of Discipline’s office, big mistake. I went there and he locked the door and asked me to sit, and he put his hand on my shoulder explaining that we were to become good friends. It was there he met Jesus. Jesus was the ceramic statue on his desk which found a new home on his head. Down he went. I quietly got to the door, unlocked it, and returned to class. I thought I had killed him, but I didn’t. Some days later I was approached by a guy in a fancy car. He said, “Raphie, I hear you clunked a priest on the head and almost killed him.” I nodded in the affirmative. He asked me if that bothered me, and I told him it did not. He then told me he may have some work for me, and he meant exactly what you think it meant. I will end that story right there, any more is not important.
Bishop Neumann High School ruined me. Between high school and my sick mother, I developed learning disabilities. I knew I was not ready for college, mentally, physically, or socially. I knew myself enough to know I would fail in college, but the Viet Nam war was on and unless I was in college with a 2S deferment, I would surely be drafted. So, I was accepted to Temple University Technical Institute. That did not go as planned. The Dean called me to his office. He said that my professors in my technical classes thought I was a genius, but the professors in the liberal arts classes, the easy ones, thought I was a moron. I had no explanation.
I was sent to the testing center at Temple U and there I spent a week going through a lot of mental poking and prodding. The idea was that perhaps I was in an area that was not suited for me and perhaps a change was in order. I went back after a week; they were shaking their heads. They said I was most suited for engineering, or psychology. We were all at a loss. No one realized I had learning disabilities and a great deal of PTSD.
At that point I had to take control. I joined the United States Marine Corps. They were the only ones that would take me; I was fat. I joined the regular Marines, but they felt the numbers said they needed me more in the Reserves. I could switch over at a later date. I thought I was going to Paris Island, but they were full, so I went to San Diego instead. They tested me to see where I would fit in. When I took the English and Math test the Sergeant said, and I quote, “You are the dumbest white man alive.” He said I got only a few questions correct. When I looked down at the tests, I noticed he had the Math template on the English exam and the English template on the Math exam. He said he was wrong and that, as it turned out, he was the dumbest white man alive and then said I could have any position in the Corps I wanted. I wanted electronics. Again, they were filled up and that Air Traffic Control and Weapons Tactical Management would serve the Corps best.
Off to San Diego, I went. I was really overweight, and the normal chain of events was to send me to the “fat boy” platoon to lose weight and get in shape then to boot camp. Instead, my drill instructor, (and I’m not sure you are aware, but every Marine Drill Instructor has a doctorate in Dietitian Sciences,(sarcasm)), said they couldn’t do anything for me that he couldn’t do. So, I was put in a regular platoon. I was instructed that I could eat only raw carrots, raw celery, and black coffee. Doing everything everyone else did I had no nutrition to survive. I grew weak. There is the rule of “3’s”; a human can live three minutes without air, 3 days without water, and 3 weeks without food. I did 12 weeks with no appreciable nutrition. I was sent to the doctor, and he said if I continued in this vein I would die. I just did what I was told. We would have to do a rope climb, maybe 30 feet, and half way up I would literally black out and of course hit the deck at the speed of gravity. We would go on 3 mile runs and when they looked back, there was Private Ralphie out cold on the road. Well, guess what? I did make it up that rope and made it on the runs, how, I couldn’t tell you. And while in boot camp, having to learn things about the Corps, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I made sure every one of my fellow platoon buddies made it through. At the end, I was voted the marine you would want to have your back in a fight. My marine buddies became my charge; NO MAN LEFT BEHIND! I was a MARINE!
Toward the end of boot camp, we were gathered to sit on the deck for one more lecture on Viet Nam. There was a chair and a table. On that table was a semi-automatic weapon, a hand gun. They dragged in what appeared to be a female-not sure as the head was covered in a sack. “This”, the DI said, “Is the woman who would roll her baby carriage into your marine buddies and in that carriage would be a bomb. Who of you are going to stop this murderous bitch?” While he was talking, I quietly got up, walked to the table, picked up the side arm, put it to her head and squeezed the trigger. It was unloaded of course, but the DI said, “You are nuts…PERFECT!” Everyone clapped and that’s when I realized that I was a murderer, and I liked it. I was a MARINE!
At the end of boot camp, after, in a tent, assembling and re-assembling our M-14’s blindfolded, a full bird colonel took me outside and said I had what it took to be an officer and that they were going to send me to OCS, Officer Candidate School. I declined. I wanted to be with my brothers in arms. After all, I was the trained murderer that would protect them. The Colonel thought I was nuts and he was right!