For a man who never stepped foot into my parents’ home and who only one person in my family has ever seen in person, Kenny Pizzo has held unusual status among my family for decades. Half-man, half-myth his presence has been felt on an annual basis, and he’s been referenced more often than I am certain even he ever knew. So, who the heck is the legendary Kenny Pizzo? And how did he rise to such esteemed status? Let’s start from the best part, the beginning.
Kenny PIzzo grew up in 1950s Lyndhurst, New Jersey, a working class suburb of New York City. It was here that he met and became friends with my mom, Mary Ann. There was nothing overly notable about their friendship, They never dated, and they weren’t best buddies. So, after graduating from Lyndhurst High School in the late 50s, Kenny and Mary Ann went about carving out their own lives, and like most high school friends, the years and miles caused their friendship to fade. In fact, for most of my life, I never heard of the guy. My sister never heard of the guy. My dad never heard of the guy. No stories were told by mom, and there weren’t any pictures that I ever saw. Who the heck is Kenny Pizzo but another name and face in a dust covered yearbook stowed away in our basement? At least that’s the way it was for many years.
Then, the internet happens and all of sudden those people who drifted out of our lives became just a couple of clicks away, and a group of high school classmates from Jersey were back in touch. Decades had gone by, and these old friends from the 50s decided to get together and have a reunion. My mom wasn’t one of them. As the Lyndhurst crew gathered, my mom sent a few emails and had a few calls, but she decided not to travel back to the Garden State for the reunion. Sure, it was nice to hear those names again, but that was enough for my mom. Heading all the way back to North Jersey would remain just out of reach. Great to hear from them all again, but that was pretty much the end of it. Time to get back to life, or so Mary Ann thought.
Then on the next Mother’s Day a surprise showed up on my parent’s doorstep, a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I didn’t send it. My dad didn’t order it. It wasn’t from my sister. I think you know where I’m going here. Yup, it was Kenny Pizzo. My mom was floored, and thus the legend of Kenny Pizzo was born in the Smith house. My mom reached out to Kenny, and they shared a few laughs. Kenny just wanted my mom to know he was thinking of her, and he wished her well. Those Lynhurst High School days were special for Kenny, and from that year forward, each Mother’s Day another beautiful bouquet would arrive for Mary Ann.
As a result of this unusual act of generosity, Kenny Pizzo’s name took on a life of its own amongst our family. If my mom and dad would get in a disagreement over something silly, my mom would blurt out “I knew I should have made a move on Kenny Pizzo when I had a chance.” If my dad cut the meat the wrong way for Christmas dinner, either my sister or I would jokingly chime in “I bet Kenny Pizzo knows how to cut a filet better than this.” If mom overcooked a certain dish, my dad would chirp “Get in the car Mary Ann. I’m shipping you off to Kenny Pizzo’s.” Of course, the PIzzo clan had no idea we were having this much fun at Kenny’s expense, but we did. In fact, we did it all the time.
This routine went on for years, but in the summer of 2020, things changed. One day in late July, I noticed something wasn’t quite right with my normally jovial dad. We went to see a doctor. Less than three weeks later, my dad was gone. With the snap of a finger our world was turned upside down. My mother, now living with a nerve disorder that has left her handicapped, was unable to live alone. There was grieving to be done, a house to sell, and a new place to be found for my mom to live. All of it sucked, and plenty of seemingly important things slipped through the cracks. In time, we resurfaced, and mom found a place to live where she could get the little extra help she needed. Of course, the calendar doesn’t care what chaos is swirling in our lives. The calendar only knows how to keep moving along. Sure enough, the next May came around again, and Mary Ann got a call from one of her old neighbors. “Mary Ann, you’ve got a flower delivery here for Mother’s Day. It must be someone who didn’t know you had moved.” Like clockwork, another Kenny Pizzo delivery arrived, right on time.
The flowers made their way to my mom’s new place, and a call with Kenny Pizzo soon followed. Kenny shared his condolences, but his generosity didn’t stop there. Did my mom need anything? Was she ok financially? What could he do? For a woman he hadn’t seen for half a century, Kenny PIzzo was ready to drop everything for an old friend who might be in need. Thankfully, my mom is in a good place, but the 2 friends still talked for a while. They talked about Kenny coming to visit and going out for lunch. Maybe in the next month or two, Kenny would make the trip. It would be fun. That was the last time my mom heard from Kenny Pizzo. He passed away that fall.
When my father died, I remember reaching out to a bunch of his old friends and colleagues and sharing the news. These calls were tough, but I was comforted by the stories many of them shared. My dad was a fun loving guy. He loved getting a laugh, and as I made these calls, I heard so many stories about my dad that I never heard before. Each one was absolute gold.
After reading Kenny Pizzo’s obituary, I felt compelled to share his legendary status in the Smith house with the Pizzo family. I tracked down Kenny’s son in Florida and sent a letter sharing much of what you’ve just read. I didn’t expect any response, I just wanted the Pizzos to know their dad cast a shadow ever bigger than they already knew. My only hope was a story like this might help ease their pain just a little bit. At least that was my wish.
A few days ago, that pesky calendar rolled over into May, and Mother’s Day popped up yet again. So, I hopped in the car to go see mom. Mother’s Days aren’t quite the same as they were a few years ago, but they are still pretty special. When I entered my mom’s apartment, my mom didn’t say a word. She pointed to the counter where a vase of freshly cut hydrangeas and lilies lit up the room. On the counter was a small card. It read “On behalf of my father, Ken Pizzo, - Jason Pizzo” The legend lives on.