Joe Mangano’s funeral mass took place Tuesday, November 11, at Saint Raphael’s church in Raleigh. It was a very sad and moving event. So many of our friends showed up unexpectedly-their love and support was really meaningful.
I had called our old friend, Monsignor Michael Shugrue, to let him know about the funeral Mass. He had not known about it and said he would be there–and put on his robe and shared the pulpit with Father Gerald Lewis, the long time rector of Saint Raphael and a long time friend of the Mangano family, and Father Gerry Blaszczak, the current rector. It was such a blessing to have Mike there, who had married us, and baptized Dino, and been such a good friend over the years, along with Father Lewis, who had been especially close to Joe and gave him his first anointing of the sick back in May. Father Gerry was newer but had already endeared himself to the Mangano family with his intelligence, kindness and strength. We were so lucky to have all three of them there.
Before the Mass there was a reception hour where the family mingled with guests in the lobby of the church. There were plenty of medical people and some old patients of Joe’s. The mood was pleasant but somber–it was good to chat some with the guests beforehand and share memories of Joe and hear how he had touched the lives of people we had never met before. We talked and watched a loop of photographs from Joe’s life that the funeral home had put together. Maria and I were touched that a good number of our friends had made the trip over from Durham, earning a hug of surprise and joy as they walked in the door–“Beth and Keith! This is so nice of you!” Alex Charns came, and Sue Coon and other friends–and Shawn and Lynn and Sadie from Maria’s office–people from all parts of our lives. My sister-in-law Glenda drove up from Charlotte. It was poignant, but good to see them all, even if we did not get to socialize with them much.
We processed in after the priests and the service began. Maria and I cried on and off–to see the family in the pews, watching Grandma cry, listening to Dino read the Old Testament portion from the book of Wisdom (“I was glad to go first,” said Dino, “before I got all choked up.”). Looking at the little gold metallic box that contained Joe’s ashes, and that sat on a table in the center of the broad area between the pulpit and the dais where priests sat, was so sad. Maria read from 1 Thessalonians 4, about those who have died in Christ: “For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”
Father Gerry, a big hearty Jesuit (a real contrast to the mild plump Father Lewis and the serious asceticism of Father Mike), had chosen for the Gospel John 13:1-17:
It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2 The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. 3 Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; 4 so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. 5 After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.
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10 Jesus answered, “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” 11 For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean. 12 When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. 13 “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. 14 Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. 15 I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. 16 Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 17 Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.
Gerry explained this choice, which he said was rather unusual for a funeral, by saying that Joe had told him several times “I am not a very religious man,” but that in his lifetime of service to his family and to his patients he had lived out real Christian faith in a humble and devoted way. “Now that you know these things,” how Joe lived his life, “you will be blessed if you do them.” It was a powerful sermon. He ended with the last words of the Divine Comedy, spoken in Italian:
ma già volgeva il mio disio e ’l velle,
sì come rota ch’igualmente è mossa,
l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.
(but already I could feel my being turned -
instinct and intellect balanced equally
as in a wheel whose motion nothing jars -
by the Love that moves the sun and other stars. )
El, Alex and Quentin all gave their eulogies right before the close of the Mass. Each was well-spoken and heartfelt. It felt good to have grandchildren from both our family and the Cioffi family speak about how much their Papa had meant to them and what a constant, devoted (Quentin’s words) grandfather he had been. It was good to hear El to talk about her Pop; she had done so much for him over the last year. And it was especially touching to me that Chris Cioffi, who could not come from Montana on short notice, had collaborated with Alex on what to say and that Alex gave him credit. Quentin talked about Papa’s weekly letters with the Final Jeopardy answers carefully copied out, the crossword puzzles, a $20 bill. Those letters–like Papa--have been such a fixture for our kids for so many years, wherever they have been. More tears were shed about that.
Usually the procession out of the church after Mass ends at the door to the sanctuary, when the priests turn off to go in to the sacristy to disrobe, while the congregants pass out through the lobby to the parking lot and the world outside. But this time the three priests walked on ahead, in their bright white robes and red and gold stoles, toward the columbarium, across the parking lot, where Joe’s ashes would be interred. Because of the simple luck of where we were sitting Maria and I were among the first to walk out of the church right behind them and walked with them out into the driveway.
I saw that I was walking next to Charles Mangano, who was carrying the gold box with Joe’s ashes. The family had had long discussions about who would get to speak, and for how long, during the Mass (the diocese only allows 5 minutes), but no one had said anything about who would carry the box. I don’t think Joe had ever said anything about it. And there it was, right next to me. Without really thinking about propriety or what Charles might feel or say, totally on the spur of the moment, I asked Charles if he would let me carry the box a little bit. I assume he had not expected anyone to ask this, but anyway he promptly replied “Sure” and handed the box over to me.
What an incredible honor–to carry the box with Joe’s ashes. “I’m gonna carry him,” I said to myself as much to anyone who was near, “ Just like he carried me.” The box was heavy–surprisingly so for a little metal box–it carried not just bones and dust but all the weight of the life that Joe had lived and was now gone, and the sadness which weighed down the family walking behind me, and the love and devotion he had shown to our family and with which we were marking his passing into the next world. I offered the box to Maria and Dino, who were walking near me, but they did not want to carry it–I did not really mind when they said no. Nobody else claimed it and I wound up carrying it up the hill and holding the box as the three priests stood by the niche in the columbarium and intoned the final funeral prayers. The box really was heavy and my arms began to tremble, but there was no way it was ever going to fall as long as I had breath to hold it up. We all said a Hail Mary and the Lord’s Prayer and I placed the box into the niche.
I know Joe’s spirit has gone on and what was in the box was just the bones and ashes of his earthly body. I know that his body, like mine, was dust and will return to dust. I know that his spirit lives on still in the loving devotion of his children to their families, in the little Papa whistles they give, and the many memories we all share. But I am only human. The inward is most important, but outward acts, even if symbolic, are also hugely important. The ritual of carrying him that last weary mile, of holding him up that one last time, really meant so much to me.
When the prayers had ended and the priests dismissed us I ran crying to Charles and hugged and thanked him over and over for letting me do this thing. I think he was surprised–“I was just conscripted,” he said later–that I wanted to carry Joe’s ashes and that it meant so much to me. So it was. I will always be grateful to Charles for readily saying “Sure” and allowing me to do that.
We had talked some about getting some of Joe’s ashes–to have in the house, to scatter on the family graves in Mount Vernon. I, much more than Maria, thought putting some of his ashes on his parents’ graves would be important. Now that I have done this though, I do not really feel much need. It is done. God Bless you Joe.
