After my Father passed on, it was much harder to put into words exactly how I felt about him. I mean he wasn’t a bad person or anything like that. It was just that he was so serious and practical all the time. I always remember him working very hard, taking very few vacations, and speaking even less. He was a good man, but rarely showed his feelings.

He definitely wasn’t the guy I could borrow five bucks from on Saturday night, and yet when it was time for me to attend a private high school, he was more than willing to pay for my education. He wasn’t the guy to ask for guitar lessons, and he always gave me a hard time when I wanted to borrow the family car for a hot date, but he did put me through college and he helped me buy my first computer.

And he’d never go see the latest Clint Eastwood movie or shoot hoops with me on the basketball court, but he was always willing to talk about an interesting article he had read in Newsweek magazine, and he was more than willing to volunteer his time to help my school raise money during special fund drives. I guess it was those contradictions that made him hard to figure out.

A good example of his wisdom and practicality was a small piece of advice he once gave me. "Every time you drive across the Verrazano Bridge," he said, "always use the lower level because there’s no incline and you’ll use less gas to get on and off." A very practical idea, but certainly not very inspirational.

My Dad was the oldest child in a family of seven boys and one girl. Maybe it was working with my grandfather on a horse and wagon when he was only eight years old delivering ice all over Sunset Park, or helping to raise his brothers that made him so practical. Or maybe it was serving overseas during World War 2 as a sergeant in the U.S. Army that made him so tough. He was away for four years, first in Oregon, and then over in France and Germany.

I recently found a priceless photo album of his tour of duty. There were so many interesting old black & white pictures of him and his buddies posing in their Army fatigues, looking very strong and handsome. I was so proud as I looked at each photo, trying to imagine what that experience must have been like for them. He mentioned the war a few times to me when I was growing up, but I never paid much attention.

When he returned from Germany, he spent time getting to know his four-year-old son. My older brother, Joe Jr., was born right before he left for the Army, so there was a lot of catching up to do. His wife Mary had written him dozens of letters that usually included the latest baby picture. My Dad used to respond by sending her small plastic records with his voice on them. The G.I.’s were able to make these one-minute recordings to mail home and my father even sang an old song entitled "I’ll See You In My Dreams" on one. Naturally, Mom saved everything and she even played him the song when he got home. I still have that record.

Dad worked a few odd jobs while attending a trade school to learn mechanical dentistry, but obligations to his family eventually led him to open a heating oil business in Park Slope in the early 1950s. He named it "Trailblazers" in honor of his Army regiment, and asked two brothers, Marco and Domenic, to join him as partners. With a little help from my grandfather, they purchased two trucks and hit the open road to deliver heating oil to customers all over Brooklyn.

As the business expanded, they invited three more brothers, Angelo, Peter and Ralph, to come work with them. The seventh brother, Frank, was the only one able to attend college and he graduated with a degree in Pharmacy. He eventually moved out to Long Island and opened his own drug store.

While putting a lot of mileage on the oil trucks, each of the other six brothers had developed their own special skills. One had the potential to be a plumber, another was a pretty good electrician, two had a flair for sales and marketing, one knew carpentry and how to work with tools, and my Dad did most of the book- keeping and ran the office. They often talked of opening their own retail store and finally decided that their combined skills would give them a better opportunity in the hardware business. So shortly after I was born, they sold the oil business and opened Six Brothers Hardware in 1957.

Their new venture did very well and, as time went by, the hardware store expanded to include three buildings on the block. It always amazed me that my father and his five brothers were able to get along and run their business so well. It put food on the table for six families and all the children were able to go to college. "God’s watching out for us," my father used to say.

The Bay Ridge store even encountered a little taste of fame in 1977 when location scouts from a movie company approached my father about possibly using Six Brothers as part of a film they were working on called ‘Saturday Night Fever,' starring John Travolta. I learned later that my Dad was reluctant to close the store for a few days and let a camera crew move in with dozens of lights and hundreds of feet of cable. But my uncles really liked the idea and eventually talked him into it.

Our family was very excited and we spent two days behind the scenes watching the crew shoot part of the movie. As most people probably know, the story involved the life of a young dancer from Brooklyn who was a local hero at the neighborhood discos on weekends. During the week, he worked in a paint store as a salesman, but he dreamed of moving to Manhattan to pursue an entertainment career.

In between takes, John Travolta would go sit in my Dad’s office to sip coffee and study his lines. He was always a gentleman and responded with a smile every time one of my red-faced female cousins would approach him for an autograph or a quick photo opportunity. And I’ll always treasure a particular moment when I found John’s mother in the back of the store chatting with my Mom about their favorite subject, their sons. Two minutes later, I walked into my Dad’s office and found him speaking to John. As they shook hands, my Dad told him: "You seem like a very nice young man and I think you’re on your way to becoming a big star." Talk about a ‘Kodak’ moment, and me standing there without my camera.

Nine months after the film crew finished shooting the movie, they invited my Dad and I to a special premiere screening in Manhattan. I attended, but My Dad turned down the offer because he "had to get up early for work the next day." After that, people would often come into our store just to see where the movie had been filmed and to examine a few of the props the crew had left behind. One young girl asked my father if she could climb the ladder that John Travolta used in the movie. "Sure go right ahead," he responded, "but please be careful."

As the years progressed, the six brothers continued to show up for work every morning at 8 a.m. six days a week. Many neighborhood residents patronized the hardware store during the 30 years it served the Bay Ridge community and they knew most of the brothers by their first names. After all, my uncles always gave personalized and friendly service. As each customer entered the store, they would greet the person with "Hi, can I help you?" My father would always pay special attention to senior citizens and it wasn’t uncommon for him to give an elderly woman a paintbrush or a light bulb for free. He would also succeed in making them smile before they left.

As for Sundays and holidays, Dad hardly ever relaxed. He was either doing chores around the house, organizing his tools, or visiting his parents. And my mom was always with him. She even worked in the hardware store on weekday mornings as the official bookkeeper. Her devotion to him was priceless.

When my family finally decided to close Six Brothers Hardware in 1987, many long-time customers came into the store to thank my father and his brothers for all their help and to tell them how much they would be missed. All those years of hard work and dedication to the community had earned those six men a lot of respect.

After they retired, two of the brothers helped their sons open a small neighborhood business while three others enjoyed spending more time with their grandchildren and taking occasional trips to Florida. Unfortunately, my mom’s battle with cancer resumed after a four-year hiatus and my Dad spent much of his retirement taking care of her and running the household. Maybe it was his way of repaying his wife for all the time and energy she gave to him over the years. A typical day would include making my Mom breakfast, driving her to the doctor’s office, shopping at the supermarket, and then laundry and an attempt at making a good dinner in the evening. Mom had been a great cook and she always had a delicious hot meal waiting when my dad got home from work. Now he was on his own and forced to learn how to cook.

Dad hardly ever complained though and asking the family for help was unthinkable. My brother and I would take turns visiting them during the week and sometimes we brought a hot meal with us, but Dad would insist that he was doing fine on his own. And our offers to get him a housekeeper were always rejected. He was a stubborn guy to deal with.

By the time we had convinced him to accept our help, Dad had already been diagnosed by his doctor with the early stages of  Parkinson’s Disease, an illness that affects the nervous system and impairs a person’s motor skills. It was hard watching our parents grow old and suffer with their illnesses, and Dad didn’t like to discuss how he was feeling. He actually continued driving around Bay Ridge doing his chores even though the doctor had discouraged it, and my brother and I always worried about his safety. "I’ve got to go to the bank and pay my bills," he would insist. And he enjoyed when people would stop him on Fifth Avenue to say hello and tell him how much they missed Six Brothers Hardware.

Dad’s biggest challenge came in early 1994, when his wife passed away. My mother had always been a great source of strength and inspiration for all of us, and her soft voice and wonderful smile were dearly missed. It was probably the first time I had seen my father cry, and he was never the same after that. "I always hoped my Mary would get better, and that we would finally be able to enjoy our retirement," he confided in me.

Although he was no longer able to drive, Dad would still walk to the avenue for a newspaper or a bag of fruits and vegetables. And we finally hired a home health aide to visit with him each day and prepare his meals. "I don’t really need her," he would say. "And I’m a much better cook too."

One of my biggest accomplishments at that time was convincing my Dad to let me balance his checkbook for him. It was like negotiating for peace in the Middle East, but I was persistent. His Parkinson’s Disease was getting worse and he was often unable to hold his pen steady or do the arithmetic involved. One of my uncles later explained that it was hard for Dad to accept help from anyone because he had been so responsible and self sufficient all his life. Handing over his checkbook to me was like relinquishing his last bit of independence and I tried to be as diplomatic as I could. "Make sure you double-check your numbers," he would remind me.

I would usually complete my visits by inviting him to join me for a leisurely walk along Shore Road. He always enjoyed looking at the passing ships in the Narrows and he would reminisce about his time with my mother. I realized that now it was my turn to look out for him, and the role reversal felt a bit awkward at times.

After several accidental falls, my Dad was no longer able to walk and his voice could barely be heard when he tried to speak. It was necessary to have him moved to a nursing home for round-the-clock skilled care. One of the hardest things for me was selling the house where I grew up. My parents had owned their modest home for 40 years and they really enjoyed living in Bay Ridge. I felt a little guilty giving up a piece of family history.

I also came to understand and appreciate my Dad more than ever during the last few years of his life. His courage and honesty were admirable and many people have told me in recent months how much they liked and respected him. So all his hard work seems to have paid off. He taught me many important things about life without ever actually saying very much. I’m proud to say that Joe Albergo was my father.

And you know that advice he once gave me about crossing the Verrazano Bridge? Well, I really think I am saving a lot of gas by using the lower level.