Paul Kengor: Remembering a historic Pa. mayor — and the importance of preserving memories

Pennsylvania has lost a remarkable public servant. His name was Bruno Carnovale, and he died June 3 at age 95. In 2017, he was honored as Pennsylvania’s Mayor of the Year. To say it was well-earned is an understatement. Bruno had been mayor of the town of Emporium, located in Cameron County, for 51 years.

Bruno graduated from high school in Johnsonburg in 1944 and then served his country in World War II. He earned a degree in electrical construction and became an electrical designer and supervisor for Sylvania for 40 years. He was an electrical inspector for countless homes and buildings and businesses.

A terrific guy, Bruno’s daughter Laurie eulogized him as hardworking, charitable, humble and happy, despite losing two sons and his wife long before him, and with aggravating health problems dating back decades. Said Laurie: “He said, ‘Use your God-given talents to serve your family and community with joy.’ ” He ended every conversation, including with strangers, with the wish, “God bless you.”

OK, now for the added reasons I’m remembering Bruno.

Firstly, he was a relative. His mother and my mother’s father were siblings. I always called him my uncle, probably because he was 40 years older than me.

By the time of his death, Bruno was a family patriarch, the longest-surviving connection to our past. If you’ll indulge me, let me tell you about the last time we spoke, because it gets to my second reason for writing this tribute: a lesson on this importance of finding your own Brunos and getting them on video before they leave this world, taking irretrievable memories with them.

No living person knew my great-grandfather like Bruno did. His name was Pietro Giovanazzo. He hailed from Reggio Calabria, the largest city in the Calabria region of Southern Italy, across from Sicily. Bruno heard firsthand from Pietro about his time as a stowaway on a ship to America circa 1908, unable to get a passport because he had pulled a knife on a policeman in the old country. Pietro dramatically dove off the ship as it approached Ellis Island and swam across the Hudson River to the shore. Lord knows what he did next. Apparently, he somehow knew where to go in New York City (that itself raises a few family eyebrows), and with virtually no English. He managed to make his way first to the hills of Latrobe and ultimately to Emporium. He changed his name along the way to Pete Grovanz, likely for reasons related to escaping his checkered past.

I learned this and much more from Bruno just a few months before his death. My aunt had passed away. At the end of her funeral at St. Mark’s parish in Emporium, I saw Bruno and seized the moment: “Uncle Bruno, tell me about my great-grandfather.”

Bruno started talking, and I pulled out my phone and started recording. Others gathered around. I got lots of precious information on video for family and posterity. It turned out to be our final conversation. You never know.

My lesson to readers: Find your Uncle Bruno or Aunt Mabel or whoever. Take that phone that has become an appendage to your body, click the video button, and start chatting and recording. These people are our connections to the past. Get their stories preserved.

Seriously, stop and do it now. Before it’s too late.

And Bruno, thanks for the memories and a wonderful life well served.

God bless you.