Jack Lupo

There is something very peaceful and comforting about walking around the yard you grew up in. There are memories in every corner. And if you know where to look, there’s always a story.

A good example would be the chinaberry tree that grows in the backyard. I planted that tree for a very specific purpose when I was about ten. The rumor was that my Uncle Jack knew how to make a popgun from just such a tree. I planted it with that thought in mind. And although we never got around to making that popgun, every time I see that tree I think of my dad’s brother, Jack Lupo.

Jack Lupo was born in 1922 and died in April of 2001. In 1940, he was drafted into the Army, serving in both North Africa and Italy, before returning home five years later. My father remembers traveling with his parents to Ft. McPherson in Atlanta in hopes of running into him as he returned from the war. As they waited, dozens of troop trains came in each day, but none with Uncle Jack. After several days, they finally gave up and went back home to Phenix City. Uncle Jack showed up several days later and he never really left town again except for vacations.

Uncle Jack always wanted to return to Italy after the war and he did in 1976. We met him there in Siena. I still remember standing at the hotel window, and watching him as he drove up the cobblestone street in a white Fiat. I have several other vivid memories of that vacation. The first occurred as we were driving from Florence to Rome. I started feeling very sick in the car and we finally pulled over to the side of the road. I remembering him saying “he’s turning green”, just before I starting throwing up. It was a horrible feeling. I may have been the first to get sick, but I was not the last. Apparently, we all picked up a good case of food poisoning. After 30 years, I still haven’t lived down the second incident on that trip. Since I was the first to get sick, I was also the first to recover. Uncle Jack and Aunt Ellen weren’t feeling as bad as everyone else, so they agreed to take me with them to see Vatican City and St Peter’s. I had my heart set on climbing the steps up to the top of St. Peter’s. Uncle Jack wasn’t up to it and we were forced to take the elevator. I was furious. I may have been only 10 years old, but I had not come 5000 miles to take the damn elevator. So when we came down, I decided to head back to our hotel by myself. The only problem was that our hotel was across Rome at the Spanish Steps.

Undeterred, I stomped off. I am certain Uncle Jack and Aunt Ellen were sure that I would come back, but I really didn’t have any intention to do that. I was certain I knew the way back, so I just left. It probably still gives my parents nightmares, but I could still make the journey today. You go down the big road by the castle until you hit the river where you cross at the ice cream stand. Take the next right, stay to the left where the roads fork and it will lead you right to the foot of The Spanish Steps. My mother still tells that story anytime someone mentions Rome.

However, Uncle Jack couldn’t give me too hard a time for my lack of judgment. He had shown some lapses of his own along the way. When he was a young man, he walked across the railing of the Dillingham Street Bridge. The bridge is a solid structure that spans the Chattahoochee River between Columbus, Georgia and Phenix City, Alabama. It is probably 150 yards long with a cement railing . It was a very brave and absolutely foolish thing to do. One false step would have been met with certain death (but those are the kind of stories that people remember). Uncle Jack also had a fondness for fireworks - cherry bombs in particular. Sometimes, he would tie a cherry bomb to a rock and toss it into the lake up on the backwaters. It would detonate beneath the surface like a depth charge and the stunned fish would boil to the top where we scooped them up with a net. I realize this isn’t something to really brag about, but as a child, my brother and I thought it was just cool as hell. One time he set one off one in a yellow jackets nest and several bees stung my brother before he could get away.

Some of my fondest memories are the simple things that aren’t normally part of the facts and figures of one’s life. I loved the way he would position his hands and fingers in such a way that it looked like he was pulling off his finger. He would moan and groan as he strained in mock agony. As children, we would beg him to do it over and over again. It doesn’t say much for my intellect, but it took me years to figure out that he really wasn’t pulling of his finger. When he wasn’t entertaining us with the finger gag, he would sometimes reach his hand around our leg just above our knee, grinding his thumb into the muscle on the inside of our leg. He would yell “horse eating corn” and we’d scream in pain and laugh hysterically at the same time. As I grew older and had children, nieces and nephews of my own, I used both of these well-worn tricks very successfully.

On Christmas Eve, we would sometimes visit his house and I would marvel at his artificial Christmas tree. I had really only seen green ones before that, but his was white and covered with silver balls and lots of silver tinsel. His taste in trees was pretty gaudy, but he turned out to be something of trend setter when it came to shoes. He used to wear these god-awful brown leather shoes to fish in. He never wore socks with them and they smelled horrible when they were wet. We would always make fun of them in the 1960’s. I guess we could have never envisioned 15 years later, that same Sperry Topsiders worn without socks would be all the rage.

One night when we were kids, we came home to find two knives my Uncle Jack had left us by the back door. They were small survival type knives about eigh inches long with a plastic handle. Several years later, I cut my hand pretty badly while cleaning mine. I still have my knife hanging on the poolroom wall and think about Uncle Jack every time I look up and see it.

Story ID:	25
Written by:	Scott R. Lupo (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	OurEcho
Story type:	Biography
Location:	Phenix City Alabama USA
Year:	2004
Person:	Jack Lupo