In an October 2023 blog I shared that an international manufacturer of paint applicators and sundries had hired me to help them determine what independent retailers and painting contractors might think of their products were they to be made available in the United States and Canada.
Having received that feedback my client is moving forward with their plans and intends to to initiate operations in the U.S. and Canada during 2025.
I guess they liked what they heard.
That works out nicely for me as that outcome commits the next year of my work hours, to a date beyond my intended retirement at age 62, now just ten-months away. Meaning that I’ll never prospect for work or write a pitch again, which I’m already looking forward to not doing.
What I am looking forward to doing is sharing the name of my client, though now is not that time. What I can share now is what I expressed to them after initially scrutinizing several of their items, now almost two-years ago. That “they contained characteristics unique by current market standards and that those characteristics would likely be considered upgrades by both painters and paint retailers.”
Both of whom agreed.
My fiancéeic Gaetana spent the day my mother died with her father Carmine in the emergency room at Stamford Hospital, so for eight hours that macabre day it seemed as if we might lose them both.
Waiting three more weeks before passing away, Guy’s father Carmine Milone spared us from that trauma.
Born in the remote Italy village of San Mango sul Calore in 1932, Carmine was the eldest son of subsistence farmers, unfortunate enough to be born as the Great Depression became World War II.
It would be 18-years old before Carmine got three squares in one day, the same age he acquired his first pair of shoes or had his first shower. Among my favorite of the old man’s ramblings was his need to ask a friend how to turn on a shower, when as an adult he encountered one for the first time.
Much of Carmine’s youth was spent foraging for food in a war-torn Italy, often walking days barefoot to meet his family’s needs. Along the way eating foods you and I would likely deem garbage.
Years later, “Carmie” would tell those stories with a broad smile and deep laughter which sharply contradicted the desperation of that reality.
Emigrating to the United States in 1970 and settling in Stamford, Connecticut, Carmine refused to let his lack of formal education and unfamiliarity with the language determine his fate. Working three jobs seven days a week for more than 25-years with neither days off nor vacation, Carmine kept grinding so that his family would know comfort in their new home.
Comfort he never felt in his old one.
At age 62 and after decades of manual labor Carmine retired and directed his energy towards the family’s homestead, coercing more to grow from that patch of earth than had ever been intended.
That Carmine could retire comfortably at age 62 having never earned more than a laborer’s rate impressed me enough to asked the old man once how he managed such a feat? Though Carmine took no credit for the accomplishment.
Instead he gave homage to the laborers union he had joined not long after arriving sharing it was only their pension and healthcare benefits which allowed his lifestyle. It would not be until after his passing that the family would learn how deeply Carmine held that belief.
She Looks Like You?!
At an uncle’s funeral my cousins learned they had a (half) sister, because not all secrets get taken to the grave. At his passing Carmine’s family learned his secret, which like my uncle’s exposed the character its keeper.
For 30-years after his retirement Carmine kept paying his union’s active dues, telling representatives the family has since been in touch with that he hoped his contribution would help others the way the union had helped him. That generous act from this otherwise modest man leaving an envelope filled with letters and commendations from a thankful union.
Nothing like the surprise my uncle left, but still it brought the tears.
Rest in peace Carmie.
Carmine Milone April 8, 1932-September 17, 2024
