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Fools Rush In

By Janice Thompson

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If Uncle Lazarro hadn’t left the mob, I probably wouldn’t have a story to tell.
Okay, so he wasn’t actually in the mob; he only sold vacuum cleaners to a couple of guys who were. In the 70’s. In Atlantic City, New Jersey. Before I was born.
But still, mob ties are mob ties, right? And we Rossi’s certainly know how to take a little bit of yeast and puff it up into a whole loaf of bread—which, being interpreted, means we’ve managed to elevate Uncle Lazzaro’s story to folklore status. And, why not? As my Mama always says, “A little extra spice never hurts the sauce, just gives it more flavor.”
Depending on who you ask, it was a Damascus Road experience that did it. Uncle Lazarro swears he was blinded by a bright light that drove him backwards to the ground, just like the Apostle Paul in the book of Acts.
My Aunt Bianca, God rest her soul, told the story a little differently. In her version, Uncle Lazarro was hit by a passing bus on a city street late at night while walking home from a bar in a drunken stupor. She said the headlights came at him like two glowing snake eyes just before the kiss of death. She always exaggerated her S’s when she got to the word sss. . .snake, but that only made the story more exciting.
Afterwards, Aunt B. would lift her tiny silver crucifix to her lips, give it a kiss, then roll her eyes heavenward and mouth a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty—not just for sparing her husband’s life, but for returning both his sanity and his religion.
Regardless of whose story you believed, Uncle Lazarro ended up at the Sisters of Mercy hospital in Atlantic City, New Jersey, where the nuns got a hold of him and led him to the Lord. He called it a Come to Jesus meeting, and his eyes filled with tears every time he spoke of it.
According to my dad, my uncle gave up selling vacuum cleaners that same night. From what I hear, he was never quite the same. . .and neither was anyone else in my family. Funny, how one event can change absolutely everything. In our case, it set the wheels in motion for the whole Rossi clan to end up in the most illogical of places—Texas.
Transitioning my story from the east coast to the humid south would be impossible without mentioning my uncle’s love for pizza. It’s one of a million things we have in common, particularly when it comes to deep-dish, heavy on the pepperoni. He’s also keen on coffees, especially the flavored ones with the foam on top. So, when he came up with the idea to move to Galveston Island in the late 80’s to open Parma John’s—a pizzeria featuring the ultimate in Italian coffees—everyone took the news in stride.
Likely, my parents were more intrigued by his suggestion that they join him in this new venture. My dad, heaven help him, has always been lactose intolerant. I’m still not sure what motivated him to follow after this mozzarella-driven Pied Piper; probably just his overwhelming love for his older brother. Love and loyalty. . .these have always been powerful opiates in the Rossi family. I’ve found them to be both a blessing and a curse.
How my uncle settled on Galveston Island is another story altogether, one that involves the untimely passing of my beloved Aunt Bianca, may she rest in peace. Upon her deathbed, she mumbled these strange and startling words: “Toss my ashes into the Gulf of Mexico.” At least we think she said the Gulf of Mexico. My mother insists she must’ve meant Galva Messio’s, her favorite shoe store. Then again, my mom is always looking for an excuse to shop.
Regardless, the entire Rossi clan ended up in Texas, a far cry from Atlantic City, not just in miles, but in personality. Transplanting the whole group of us—three adults and five children—was no small feat. And the little things nearly proved to be our undoing. For example, I spent the better part of my elementary years figuring out how to transition from “you guys” to “y’all,” something I thought would never come naturally. Now, I can “y’all” with the best of ‘em.
Turns out, Galveston Island was the perfect place to grow up, and the ideal setting for a family business. In fact, it turned out to be such an ideal setting that my dad, probably weary with the whole cheese thing, decided to open a business of his own—Bella’s Wedding Facility.
And that’s pretty much where my story begins.

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