JOE THE FINN

When I was growing up in Brooklyn, we always had nicknames for people with style. The names you heard on “The Sopranos” are an outgrowth from the Italian neighborhoods of the 20s and 30s that carried on right into the 50s and 60s and to some degree the 70’s. Although it still happens within families, usually not as much. Italians were notorious for giving out names to supplement, define and create color for all who lived within the confines of Italian-American culture.

 If you happened to be something other than Italian, it usually meant that you would inherit a nickname of your very own by your Italian-American friends and newly adopted family, even if you didn’t have any style. And sure enough, there was one gentleman who was not Italian, had style and frequented my Grandmother's house, Joe “The Finn”, of Finnish heritage.

 Joe “The Finn” was my Dad’s best friend, and he could do anything, as long as someone needed help, Joe was your man. Perhaps his notoriety stems from the fact that he never paid his electric bill but always had electricity running in his apartment. This was because Joe “The Finn” was a genius in worker’s clothes. He devised a way to connect again with the electric company after they shut him down by using a simple copper penny!

Somehow he always knew what was needed and did it. Joe “The Finn” was also a mechanic of sorts, and with his wiry frame, jet black hair and wise-guy attitude, one would find him under my Dad’s or some neighbor’s car getting it back on the road, and all he would ask for was a $1 coin! If you looked under the hood of the car as he worked, there was a Maxwell House coffee can sitting there, wired to whatever needed the wire, and darn if it didn’t work like a clock.

 If there was one thing that troubled Joe “The Finn” it was his family. His wife was rather large in stature and bulk, and his two sons were very skinny and as he would say: “very dopey.” He would wail on how one son or the other did something stupid, never leaving a class without repeating it at least twice, or embarrassing him in some way. Sitting in grandma’s kitchen over a cup of espresso or having dinner, he would regale us in tales of his adventures, his son’s antics or his rather unsympathetic descriptions of his wife’s condition. I don’t believe it was mean so much as comedic, with enactments and facial expressions that made for many an underwear change!

 Joe never knocked he just walked in, sat down and Grandma would pull out another plate whether or not Dad was there, he was family!

 Being how I was quite younger than his two sons. Joe would take out the $1 coin, ask me if this was a quarter or a nickel, and I’d say a dollar and he would give me the dollar and compare me to his kids. Of course, my Dad would get all over me to return the money, I would, and when I got home, I’d find it in my pocket again!

But it was Grandma who made him welcomed Being he was dad’s friend and a good man, grandma wanted him to feel at home and adopted him in her way treating him like a son. There were many sons and daughters in her kitchen that she never gave birth to, but you would never know it. It was important to show your love and be Christian in actions only, giving money, a place to sleep for a night, and getting someone to assist when others needed it.

My suspicion is he resides now in Heaven, maybe wiring St. Peter’s car or the house lights.

Over the years Joe disappeared and we learned rather sadly that he passed from cancer.

Wherever you are Joe, I love you.