I began Weekend Inspiration nearly ten years ago. At that time we were in the midst of a national financial meltdown and the onset of what we now refer to as the Great Recession. There was a palpable and pervasive sense of uncertainty, gloom, anxiety and defeatism that seemed to permeate our national conversation and mood. Amid that dark atmosphere of dread and fear, I wanted to sound out another message- one that, hopefully, brought a little light into what seemed like a shrouded void.
Though our life’s journey inevitably includes many steps that are shrouded in darkness, sadness and loss, there are also many steps that abound with the radiant glow of life’s wonders and miracles, its joys and triumphs and it’s bountiful fruit that we bear through the bonds of love and family.
Sometimes, we have the honor of witnessing or participating in an event that blends both the darkness and light into a hue that provides the transformational brush strokes in the creation of our masterpiece – our Book of Life. This past week I was privileged to bear witness to just such an event with the passing of my father-in-law, Dr. Phillip F. Purpera.
When his obituary appears this weekend, there will be the traditional recital of his bountiful 94 year life – his “dash” between his first breath taken on April 12, 1924 and his last on October 9, 2018. In many ways, his life was rooted in the classic American Dream. His father, Salvatore immigrated to “The Light of the World” in the mid-1800’s. He didn’t come alone. A sister and two brothers accompanied him. Ellis Island, like it was for so many thousands of others, was their entrance turnstile to a new life of opportunity.
It is not just at its end, but throughout its creation, that our life’s canvas mixes the hues of light and darkness. Salvatore’s new bright beginning was mixed with the darkness of leaving. He left a mother, father, brother and sister behind in Sicily. That darkness, that loss amid the brightness of new possibilities, no doubt planted a foundational family root the impact of which was generational.
Salvatore made his home in Morganza, Louisiana where he successfully operated a general store and taxi service He married and fathered thirteen children. Phillip was the second youngest. At the tender age of four, his mother, Nunzia, suddenly died. Another mix of darkness and loss that was wounding, but also served to strengthen the importance of family (famigghia). And yet another root was planted on which future generations would grow.
Not much is known today about Phil’s early childhood growing up motherless, but surrounded by doting sisters, in a small town during the depression years of the mid-1930’s, but, undoubtedly, it made a significant impression on the young lad, because he recalled vividly that “the only man in town who could afford to eat steak every night was the doctor.” That’s when he said he decided what his life’s calling would be.
If this wasn’t a dream come true story, one might consider it highly unlikely that a young man, a first generation-American, from an over-crowded family of relatively meager means would attend LSU, let alone its prestigious Medical School. Yet that’s exactly what happened. Even more than the fulfilment of such a laudable dream, Phillip accomplished even more when he met a young lady – a nursing student from Youngsville, La. – named Flossie. Having grown up in a large family and on a working farm, she appreciated two qualities that Phillip also embraced – family and hard work. But Flossie also possessed qualities that would add new shades to the family canvass that they would soon paint together – an adventurous and worldly mind and an appreciation of true class. As important as his calling to be a physician was to his life’s masterpiece, Phil’s calling to Flossie was vital to achieving their greatest accomplishments – Toni, Phillip, Jr. (Chip), Stephanie, Monica, and Angela (Doozer) – their family. Another root was planted.
I didn’t share their life growing up in the mid-50’s to the mid 60’s but I’ve heard the stories and seen the pictures. I grew up less than a mile as the crow flies, but didn’t know Dr. Purpera until 1968 when I asked his daughter, Stephanie, out on a date. With Dr. “P” you always got what you got, but often you just weren’t sure of what you were getting. I experienced that the first moment I met him. I went to his back door to pick up Stephanie. It was a multi-pane door with a cloth covering. I knocked on the door. The drape moved just enough so that I could only see an eye looking intently and unblinkingly at me. I smiled. Nothing happened. Seconds seemed like minutes, but I know this scene remained frozen for at least several minutes. I know I was beginning to feel moisture on both my forehead and underarms. Finally, I heard the door latch click and he opened the door, smiled at me and chuckled, “Come on in, you son-of-a-b____!”
Over the following years through our courtship and marriage I got to know “Pop” in action. He was a general practitioner of the first order. He saw scores of patients every day. He even did house calls at night. I rode with him. He built quite a successful practice, but, perhaps remembering his roots, he often would accept produce or bartered services for those who wouldn’t take treatment for free.
Pop possessed a strange comingling of cheap and generous. He loved the beach. Every year going back to the late 1950’s the family would pack up and spend a week at a condo that Doc would rent in Destin. He’d pack the whole family in a two-bedroom condo. Even as the family added husbands, wives and even grandchildren, he’d rent the same size condo. The guys would have to sleep on the veranda. He never bought a condo for himself, but two years ago, long after he was past the point where he would enjoy it, be bought one for those he would leave behind.
As if that’s not enough to brilliantly fill one’s canvas, Dr. Phillip F. Purpera loved life. He loved babies, music, olive oil, and sweets (ice cream and whipping cream above all). He also, inexplicably, loved buttermilk. Sometimes mixed with grape juice. He loved his family. He also deeply loved God and his faith.
He loved where he came from and we love what he has left behind. Closing the circle, this past week, he was surrounded by his loving children, their spouses and his grandchildren. Light amid the darkness.
That root that traces back to Salvatore and which now stretches to the generations beyond remains strong…Famigghia!
Here’s to your masterpiece, Pop! It will forever hang in the galleries of your family’s hearts and souls.
You have changed my mourning into dancing; you took off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. With my whole being I sing endless praise to you, Oh Lord, my God, forever will I give you thanks. –Psalm 30 IV 12-13
Have an AWE-full Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque