Tulio Buscaglia
by Thomas E. Simmons
For anyone with a father, I’d like to recommend a short book, “Papa, My Father: A Celebration of Dads” (copyright 1989). It’s out-of-print but used copies sell for a dollar and change. Mine cost me four bits at the local library sale. I consumed it in a single evening.
Those who were living during the 1980s may remember with fondness its author, Felice Leonardo “Leo” Buscaglia (1924-1998). He was a WWII vet and a professor at the University of Southern California. He taught courses on special education. He became a nationally known speaker.
He was such a dynamic speaker that his televised lectures became some of the highest rated broadcasts on public television, which is where I discovered him, sweating and gesticulating for effect as he ranted about love and family. A key moment in each of his lectures was the point when his perspiration reached the level where he removed his suit jacket in order to continue. He gushed warmth and goodwill.
Dr. Buscaglia is remembered for introducing himself to everyone on an elevator and for hugging everyone after one of his speeches. He was a cauldron of Italian energy. Unreserved. Benevolence radiated from him, even through the TV screen. He was an advocate of hugs. While I’m not much of a hugger, his essays on the benefits of hugs are difficult to fault.
In “Papa, My Father,” Buscaglia writes, of course, of his father. Buscaglia writes through the lens of recollection, acknowledging:
“I am aware that years of having known and loved my father have transformed him from Papa, the simple human being, into Papa, the near saint. And I’ve come to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong with that. Creating saints of our departed loved ones can help us fill the void and make the parting easier.”
These recollections are divided into ten terse chapters with three-word titles like “Papa, the Husband,” “Papa, the Patriot,” and “Papa, the Oenophile.”
Papa (his Christian name is given only once: Tulio) spoke a Piedmontese dialect and grew up in a tiny village in northern Italy, “the son of a dirt-poor farmer.” He worked hard his entire life. In the family’s Los Angeles home lived Papa, a loving mother, Leo, his ten siblings, and one bathroom.
In the chapter, “Papa, the Philanthropist,” Buscaglia writes:
“Philanthropy is often equated with money or wealth. Still, the dictionary definition of the word is simply ‘one who shows goodwill toward all, whose actions and efforts are directed toward promoting human welfare.’ The word has its roots in the Geek language, meaning ‘love for mankind.’ If this is so, then papa was certainly among the world’s greatest, albeit poorest, philanthropists.”
In the chapter, “Papa, the Philosopher,” Buscaglia recalls being beaten up by a group of boys who called hm a ‘dop’ and his mother a ‘garlic licker,’ then running home in tears and into his father’s arms. After his tears subsided, his father spoke, quietly:
“I see. It’s finally happened. They finally found you. Those people who hurt us and make us cry. They don’t know us, but they hate us all the same. Those cowards who are strong only in groups and pick on us because they know we’re few and not likely to fight back. I know they hurt you, but what happened wasn’t meant just for you. You just happened to come along. It could have been any of us.”
Young Leo snarls, “I hate being Italian! I wish I could be anything else!”
His father’s voice grew strong and threatening: ‘Never let me hear you say that again! You should be proud to be what you are. Just think about it. America got its name from Italians. Italians make sweet music, sing gloriously, and build beautiful buildings. How can you not be proud to be an Italian? And you’re extra lucky because you’re an American, too.”
“But” – Leo objects – “I’d rather be like everyone else”
Papa cautioned, “Well, you’re not. God never intended us all to be the same. He made us all different so that we’d each be ourselves. Different is good. Would you like to be like the boys who beat you up and called you names?”
At the time, young Leo didn’t find his father’s explanation satisfactory. He especially didn’t care for his father’s suggestion: “Bring them home with you! When they know us, they won’t be able to hate us anymore.” Such is often the case with fatherly advice; what once seemed absurd, with time, becomes astute.
The wisdom of Tulio Buscaglia soaks each page of this short book. But for his son’s pen, the lessons might otherwise have disappeared when his father died. In the final chapter, a list of Papa’s rules is preserved. Among them:
Discrimination, for any reason, is wrong.
Cruelty is a sign of weakness.
Dance, sing, and laugh a lot.
Don’t ever betray yourself.
Stay close to God.