James Perillo, 71

James Perillo, a longtime civic leader in New Haven, died Aug. 18 at the age of 71. Perillo ran the New Haven Coliseum for many years; staged a campaign for mayor in 1989; and most recently served on the board of directors of the Community Foundation for Greater New Haven. Perillo’s son Christopher gave the following eulogy at the funeral:

On behalf of my mom, and my brother and sister I thank you for being here today. To see so many people who loved and cared for my Dad and who want to be here to say good-bye to him is heartwarming.

What can a son ever truly say about his father on a day such as this? The death of someone who has lived with cancer is not unexpected. However, this does not lessen the grief and sadness my family feels. My father battled cancer like he lived his life; with tenacity & strength, dignity, humility and just the right amount of humor.

My father was a strong man. Whether he was on the basketball court, cutting down a tree, or walking into an important meeting, he charged through life with a tenacious will. In his final weeks, when his body betrayed him, he found strength in my mother’s strength, he found courage in her courage, and he found hope in her hope. That was my dad; that was his love for my mother.

My father was a dignified man. Be it a mayoral debate on the Green where he refrained from mudslinging; or when he returned to teaching at a time when teachers wore 3 button polos — he wore a jacket and tie every single day. Even in his final weeks, with his conditioning worsening, he maintained a dignity that was inspiring.

My dad was a humble man. I knew he was a pretty good basketball player at Notre Dame High School. But, I just recently discovered that my father was captain of the basketball team at Southern Connecticut. I also learned he was president of his junior class. I never knew these things about my father because he never felt the need to boast or brag. He had nothing to prove. My father never thought he was better than anyone else. 

Just the right amount of humor… My father had a witty or dry comment for almost any situation. When the Perillo family went out for dinner D, Beth and I knew that my dad would have playful remarks with the hostess and especially the waitress. Years later, this naturally carried over to the nurses at his chemo treatments. Just last week, I was wheeling my father out of the office after an exhausting four hour treatment. His favorite nurse stopped us to give us some unpleasant medical supplies.

I looked at her and asked ​“What kind of a gift bag is this?” the nurse laughed and said ​“Now I know, you are Jim’s son!” 

Besides family and friends, my father’s other love and passion was woodworking. I believe he started this hobby with tools he borrowed from his Uncle Frank. My dad handcrafted benches, end tables, hutches, coffee tables, picture frames, and desks. These handmade items can be found in the homes of numerous family members and friends. One item my dad made is especially important to our family. It is a cradle that all five of his granddaughters have slept in. It is beautiful. Each granddaughter’s name is on a brass plaque attached to the cradle. We intend to pass this down to our children’s children. Decades from now this cradle will have dozens of names on it. And future generations of Perillos will be able to see one special plaque — It says ​“Handcrafted by James E. Perillo.”

My brother and I spent a lot of time helping my Dad with woodworking and household projects. While my brother became knowledgeable and skilled at using various power tools, I mostly learned how to curse. For as good a craftsman as my father was, he was possibly even better at cursing. The four letter words he strung together were mightily impressive to a teenager. I have never seen anyone curse themselves and inanimate objects like he did.

The other thing I found fascinating about my Dad’s skills as a craftsman was this: in the last 30 years my Dad never fixed the broken front door handle to our house. You are welcome anytime at 33 Cleveland Road, but be warned, once you enter, it’s hard to leave.

My father spent 17 years as the Executive Director of the New Haven Coliseum. They were the best years of his professional life. For D, Beth and I, it was as close to a dream job as a dad could have. Some of my fondest memories of the Coliseum do not involve concerts, Nighthawk games, or wrestling matches. What I remember is walking in the bowels of the empty arena with my dad and my brother. I remember driving down to the Coliseum late at night because an alarm went off. I remember hanging out in the loading dock as stagehands unloaded concert equipment from semi-trailers. On those times I didn’t have to share the Coliseum with 10,000 other people. It was just me, D and my dad. The Coliseum was ours.

My sister Beth, was both daddy’s little girl and the baby of our family. In my eyes this earned our little sister a bit different treatment. Over time I realized there was an upside and downside to this. While D and I took two buses to get to high school; my dad drove Beth to school every day. If D and I wanted to go out on a Friday night we just went; Beth on the other hand had to answer a series of increasingly annoying questions. I know it wasn’t always easy being the daughter of overly protective father. But he always had her best interests at heart.

My dad deeply loved his family, he loved spending time with us, and to my Dad, an important family time was dinner. My Dad has instilled this tradition in me, so sitting down with Sarah and my three girls for dinner has become a nightly ritual. My Dad worked a lot of late nights at the Coliseum, and to ensure that we were able to have dinner together, he would set an alarm on his watch to go off at 6 o’clock. Ten minutes later, he would walk through the back door, dinner would be on the table, he’d make a drink, sit down, and look around. Meal after meal, week after week, year after year he would ask the same question .… ​“What? No bread?”

You see, over the years, my Massachusetts born, 100% Irish Mother learned to make a mean lasagna and red sauce, but for some reason she never bought a 99-cent loaf of Italian bread. It drove my father crazy. And meal after meal, week after week, year after year there was never any bread on the table.

I know my father is in heaven. He is with his father and his beloved mother, who he has not seen since 1974. I like to think they have gathered around the supper table. Uncle Naldo and Aunt Amelia, Uncle Kelly and Aunt Josie, and Uncle John and Aunt Fannie are there. So are Aunt Clara and Uncle Frank. They just finished playing a game of pinochle. There is homemade sauce warming on the stove, and a hand rolled pasta dish baking in the oven. Grandpa has gotten much better at making backyard wine. Aunt Clara’s anjinettes taste better than ever. It is suppertime and the family is together again. And there is bread on the table.

My father was an emotional person, yet he did not talk about his feelings very much. I think these simple yet beautiful words by the late Warren Zevon express how he felt:

“If I leave you it doesn’t mean I love you any less, keep me in your heart for a while.

​“When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun, keep me in your heart for a while.”

I love you Dad. You will always be in our hearts.