By Steve Cichon
steve@buffalostories.com
@stevebuffalo
He was always “Uncle Phil” to us growing up, and of my 30 or so uncles and great-uncles, he always stood out. There was no one else like him in my huge family.
A large strong man, he was imposing physically– but carried himself in such a way that whether or not you were intimidated was pretty much up to you.
As a master in the art of conversation, he was brilliant but humble, and listened as well as he opined.
He knew hard work– as a young man, he’d spent time working in grain elevators and he brought that work ethic and appreciation of physical labor to his white collar job at IBM.
Going to visit Aunt Elaine and Uncle Phil was something special. It seemed like it was the only time we’d leave South Buffalo. We drove past car dealers with shiny fringy streamers all over the lot, and past the drive-in, too, on the long ride out to the country which was really only to Union & Michael Rd at the West Seneca/Orchard Park border.
Those 20 minute rides, face excitedly planted against the window, were the only time as a kid I got to see big mailboxes on posts at the ends of driveways, usually with either a green Courier-Express or blue Evening News box attached to the poll. The only mailboxes I was used to were attached to the house and newspapers were thrown in the screen door.
In the same way I marveled at the slight differences in mailboxes and big lawns and ranch-style houses, I appreciated the difference in Uncle Phil.
He seemed like a movie star or a college professor or something apart, but also very much one of us at the same time. He was fully all of that. I’ll miss his smile and big handshake that was always a firm indication that things were well with the world.
