2022
Marvelous Marvin Hagler and the Godfather charles gargiulo
M
y Uncle Arthur was more than an Uncle. He was my Godfather, which is like being picked to become Vice-President. You get an important sounding title but you never have to do anything unless the main guy dies or fails to do the job. My father didn’t die, but he split in 1963 when I was 11 years old, which meant my Uncle Arthur was supposed to step in as the “father figure.” Most guys who get picked as Godfather treat it like being the best man at somebody’s wedding. They show up for that one event and move on with their lives. Not Uncle Arthur though, when he accepted the part, he took his vow seriously. I missed my father and it hurt when he left, but I lucked out because I would have picked Uncle Arthur over any other father I knew. Some of my friends had horrible fathers, others had okay fathers and very few had great fathers. None of them had one better than my Godfather, Uncle Arthur. He wasn’t great like an old spit-and-polished ‘50s sit-com dad who reeked of middleclass respectability. He was great because he never pretended to be my father and remained the kind and loving Uncle who always made me feel special for just being me. Uncle Arthur was a quiet guy who usually didn’t have a lot to say. But instead of being awkward or uncomfortable, his silent ways had a calming influence. We’d hang out together, watch a little TV, then take a walk to the local variety store where he would insist on buying me a snack and a comic book. He never made much money grinding away at his factory job, but he was a really generous guy. He loved to treat me to a couple of outings each year to go see the Red Sox. We’d board the train to North Station in Boston, hop the subway to Kenmore Square, walk over to the sacred grounds of Fenway Park and watch the Sox find an agonizing new way to lose a game. We’d fill up on hot dogs, junk food and Coke, hit the souvenir shops at the end of the game and take the train home grumbling about how the Sox blew it again. Although he enjoyed baseball, his favorite sport was boxing. I think he liked it the most because he had an eye operation when he was young that left him with extremely poor vision. His eyeglasses were so thick, when I tried them on, it looked like I was trying to see through water. It was much easier for somebody with poor vision to watch the action of boxing on a small black and white TV than other sports, so Uncle Arthur used to tune in religiously on Friday nights to watch Don Dunphy broadcast the Fight of the Week, and was saddened when it was cancelled in late 1964. He turned me on to his love of boxing and I have fond memories of watching those Friday night fights with Uncle Arthur and hearing 124
The Lowell Review
