Ralphie Mascarpone was a good old boy from Hoboken. He grew up in Sinatra City in the 50’s and 60’s in a large Italian family comprised of two nonnas, three sisters, four brothers, and two saintly parents. Ralphie presided over the children as the eldest, and as such, he assumed the quasi-parental duties of walking his younger brothers and sisters to and from school, checking on the grandparents that lived in the apartments above and below his, and putting the fear of God into any and every potential boyfriend his sisters brought home.

He was a good kid. He loved his family. He was loyal to his friends. He protected his school. He got good grades.

Yeah, you heard right. I said he protected his school. I didn’t know if that’s just the kind of guy he was or if this is one of those little stories that turn into big stories with each telling. Like that fish analogy but with nuns.

Ralphie always liked things neat and he took care of his own. If something threatened to disrupt the organization of his life, he cleared it up any way he knew how.

That’s what happened on prom night in 1968. Ralphie was seventeen years old and the combination of his charisma and intellect meant that he had the nuns in his back pocket. They had him in theirs too, though. The dance was going strong. Boys and girls were arm in arm on the dancefloor, swaying to Cream’s Sunshine of Your Love and drinking punch. It was the night all the girls had been dreaming of their whole live and it stayed that way thanks to Ralphie.

A group of eight or ten guys from St. Mary’s, Ralphie’s rival school, showed up and started causing problems. They were throwing bricks and lighting off bottle rockets. It was dangerous and it was dirty. Ralphie was out on the dancefloor with his sweetie, Blyth, at the time and they were twisting and shouting like there was no tomorrow.

Maria, the fat nun, walked out onto the floor and tapped him on the shoulder. She told him that they had a problem and he needed to clean it up pronto. She crossed herself as he ran out of the gym with his buddies and looked to God, praying for a nonviolent resolution.

Now, I’m unclear on what happened exactly, but let’s just say Ralphie took care of it. He cleaned it up and order was restored. He saved the prom for those sweet girls that didn’t even know there was any trouble. He was a good kid. That’s just the kind of guy he was, Ralphie.

He grew up and grew to be a good man. He got married to Blythe, bought a house, and had some sweet little daughters of his own. He lived and died by those girls and that’s just how a father should be.

Yeah, he fell on hard times, Ralphie did. But it’s like Frankie said: “Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention.” That’s just life. We have high times and we have low times and if we’re lucky, lucky like Ralphie here, then we keep going and see things through because we’ve got the strength and love of a beautiful family behind us. I truly believe that. And Ralphie did, too.

When those beautiful little girls grew up, went away to college, and got married, God, I knew that just broke Ralphie’s heart. But it was also filled with pride. He felt lost without those girls under his roof, but he knew they would turn out to be big stars. And look at them now. There’s gorgeous Janey the speech pathologist—she works hard with little kids who just can’t find the words to express themselves. Look at beautiful Marcy over there. God, just stunning. And she’s a field nurse, God bless her. Babies, Ralphie loved you and was so proud of you.

That was my Ralphie. In his later years, he joined a bowling league. And let me tell you—the Goombas were the sharpest dressed guys out there. Like everything, my boy Ralphie kept things with his league neat and organized. If they had any troubles, my Ralphie cleaned them up without getting so much as a spec of dirt on his pristine shirt. And boy did they win tournaments! We won a lot.

Ralphie, my friend, I love you. You were a brother to me and you saw me through my lowest moments. I thank you for pulling me into the Goombas and cleaning up my act. I owe you my life and may your legacy live on through those beautiful babies of yours. I will truly mourn your passing, but I know that God needs you up there to clean up this world. It’s a mess down here, pal, and you’re just the guy to clean it up. May God Rest Your Soul.

For what is a man?

What has he got?

If not himself, then he has not

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows

I took the blows

And did it my way