It is said that at the end of our life, the question will not be how much have we taken but how much have we given; not how much have we saved but how much have we served—because the real measure of life is not duration but rather donation.
The world is a better place thanks to Mario Cuomo. I believe the lasting legacy of Mario Cuomo is that we should always have hope in a great tomorrow—remembering how he pulled the city together in the worst of times—and that we should have pride in glorious past accomplishments.
We will find that vision when parents and children walk together with love and loyalty for one another.
In early 2016, Chris Cuomo and his son and heir, young Mario Cuomo, “starred’ in a touching CNN father–son video that went viral. The two of them sat alone in a small fishing boat as Chris explained to young Mario some of the lessons that he’d learned from his father, the governor. And then he revealed some of the life lessons he learned from his young son as well. Their conversation reveals how the governor’s legacy will continue to live on in their lives, and in the lives of those they touch as well.
My son made me change in a way that made me who I am right now as much as any experience in my life. I’m not embarrassed to say that my relationship with my son is not how I wanted it. I wasn’t doing the best for him. It wasn’t making him the best that he could be. If you have to raise your voice with your kid every time you want him to do anything, are you really getting it right? Being intense and insistent works as a journalist. But it was not working for me as a father. Even as a baby, my little man literally ran the other way. Mario is who he is even at this young age. And he’s always been completely sure of telling me that he doesn’t like what I was doing. Sure, he knew that I loved him. But we ended up in frequent standoffs that were kind of funny. Really frustrating.
It’s almost impossible for me to compare how it was for me and Pop with how it is for me and my kids. Times were different.
I realized my son and I were saying the same things, just in our own way. It was really hard for me to change what I thought was right, what I knew and how it was. He helped me do it.
CHRIS CUOMO TO HIS SON, MARIO: I used to get angry a lot more than I do now. I would say I’m sorry, I stink. I’ll try to be better. How do you think you helped me become a better daddy?
YOUNG MARIO: You always were a good daddy.
CHRIS CUOMO: Do you think you’ll always be my buddy?
YOUNG MARIO: Even when you’re not on this earth anymore, you’ll always be my buddy. Always.
Now I know when he says that, he’s thinking about Grandpa being gone, and so am I. I think Pop would respect the effort I made for my family. He put inside of us what we need to stay together and stay true to what matters most. And that’s all I want for my kids. Two Marios changed my life, I suppose. And my hope and prayer that matter most is he will live on in me, my girls, and the son who carries his name.
CHRIS CUOMO: Do you understand why it was important to name you after Grandpa?
YOUNG MARIO: No.
CHRIS CUOMO: Because Grandpa is gone, right. But his name lives on.
YOUNG MARIO: He’s not gone, he’s still in my heart.
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Who Was Mario? Personal Stories
Since the governor’s own departure on that sad January day in 2015, the Internet has been filled with reminiscences from people all over the country who were exposed to Mario Cuomo’s wisdom and goodness, many who said he changed their lives by his words and by his example. For many of us, Mario had become a vessel that we poured our hopes into.
Some months ago Brandon Steiner, the baseball memorabilia mogul, was in a Westchester saloon telling us about flying in a private plane to baseball legend Hank Aaron’s seventy-fifth-birthday celebration in Atlanta in 2009.
Steiner, who regularly pals with Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, and just about every other modern-day baseball star, found himself seated next to Mario Cuomo on the jet. The ebullient memorabilia millionaire said it was the most “thrilling” ride of his life: “to have a two-hour conversation with such a great man—we talked about everything!”
Mario was also there to pray in a Westchester church for that young man, my stepson, whose name was Michael. And so too was his son Andrew, then attorney general of New York. After the funeral Mario sent that mother a simple note with the initials MMC engraved at the top of the vellum: “Sweetness eternally,” and signed, “Mario.”
I keep going back to Mario’s relentless interest in matters spiritual. But it wasn’t always all so lofty and soulful with the man whose brilliance was accompanied by a marvelous sense of humor. Some examples: When Mario lost to George Pataki, our pal Joe Reilly, at the time president of the New York State Broadcasters and chief Albany lobbyist for the radio and television stations in the Empire State, moved quickly—and appropriately—to ingratiate himself with the incoming Pataki administration. The defeated governor sent word, “Tell Reilly Mario says he is ‘assiduously adaptive’!” Still broadcasting upstate at the age of seventy-five, Joe Reilly to this day wears the description as a badge of honor: “Mario Cuomo called me ‘assiduously adaptive’!”
And speaking of George Elmer Pataki, it should be fairly noted right here that the Republican governor made several gracious and thoughtful gestures on the passing of his old political rival.
Mario loved to kid one Anthony Malara, who ran the most obscure television station in New York state in Watertown, up near the Canadian border. Tony Malara was a charming and beguiling Italian who also served as secretary of the local Republican Party—until he was discovered by CBS at a broadcasters’ convention at the Otesaga, the old lorelei of a hostelry in Cooperstown, which led to his meteoric rise at the “Tiffany” network. And when Malara was elevated to a high, new estate as president of CBS Television, Mario was immediately on the phone trumpeting, “Tony is now the highest ranking Italian in network television! We can’t let him get away with that! Should we tell people how, as an officer of the Watertown Republican Party, he would send personal checks to ‘Friends of Mario Cuomo’? But he didn’t trust the post office in Watertown, so he would give [them] to the Greyhound bus driver to deliver!”
Some years later Mario delivered a gorgeous tribute to Malara at a memorial service at 21, during which the governor said he didn’t want any “eulogies” or tributes at his own funeral. Thank God his son Andrew wasn’t listening to his old man this one time. “You can say just one word over me when my time comes. I got it from my son Chris: ‘Finally!’ ” Other speakers that day for Tony Malara were Dan Rather and Phil Lombardo, head of the Broadcasters Foundation of America.
When he heard that a friend was visiting Litchfield, a tony town in the leafy hills of western Connecticut, Mario asked if his pal was wearing “lime green trousers with pink frogs.”
And when he heard that same friend had taken a spill on his motorcycle coming out of the American Yacht Club . . . the governor rang me up: “I just had a call from the superintendent of the state police that there is a new pothole on U.S. Route 1 in Rye where your head hit the pavement!”
Call this one “A Tree Grows in Elmira.” During a swing upstate, Mario’s advance team scheduled a modest event in Elmira for the governor to plant a tree as part of a local conservation effort along the banks of the Chemung River. His advanceman, John Charlson, overnighted in my guest cottage in nearby Waverly; and as he was planning the event with the resident state trooper, I suggested we provide a “snack or two” for the attendees, which we estimated would be about fifty, mostly political types—“if the weather cooperates”—certainly no more than seventy-five. Meanwhile, we tipped off a reporter for the Elmira Star Gazette (which was the very first Gannett newspaper) that the governor would be in town the following day, and that everyone who attended the great tree planting would “be fed hot dogs, hamburgers, and Italian sausages.”
However, when Mario arrived, more than 600 hungry upstaters were on hand to greet him! My friend J
oe Valeant, a local restaurateur who catered the event, said, “You dumb bastard, everybody in the region is on food stamps,” as he took off across town to round up more food. Mario made a gracious, impromptu speech and shook all 600 hands. But as he climbed back up into the state chopper, he winked at Charlson. “Boy, they love us here in Elmira!” He’d been tipped off about the newspaper story. And for years he kidded me about how “popular” he was in the southern tier.
NEW NEIGHBORHOOD
When the Cuomos moved to Sutton Place, a swell neighborhood near the river on the East Side of Manhattan, Mario quickly discovered that, upscale or not, the posh environs contained just as many colorful and endearing characters as existed in Queens, whence he had come: “I was driving Matilda crazy with the unpacking, and she sent me out for a walk. It was a beautiful day, I remember. And after a block or two, a lovely older man caught up to me: ‘Look, I know who you are. Welcome to Sutton Place. But I have to tell you right now you won’t find a good bagel anywhere around here. So prepare yourself for it. Nice neighborhood, but barren of bagels!’ I could only thank my new friend for letting me in on the culinary offerings—or lack thereof—in our new 10022 ZIP code. But that was only the first bulletin. Every so often he would let me know of a ‘new bagel emporium, just 20 blocks away, if you think you can make it.’ ”
LE CIRQUE
Here’s another having to do with food, from my memory bank: A clearly apprehensive Governor Cuomo called a friend in Westchester to share a dilemma: “I have to go to dinner at Le Cirque. What do I order? What’s the guy’s name who owns it?”
The friend: “Great, it’s long overdue; you should go and enjoy. Nixon was there last week, and Ronald Reagan the week before. Maestro Sirio Maccioni will take care of you. He knows you’re coming; I’ve already talked to him. Just watch Matilda—she’s been there often. It’s about time you went. You’ll have a fabulous evening!”
Late that night Mario called back. “You were right: the guy—Sirio—does look just like John Wayne! But who was our captain?”
“His name is Renato Palmieri, Mrs. Maccioni’s brother. They call him Zio Renato!”
“Well, he was a darling older man and kept bringing out all this marvelous food. And before he brought the check and after furtively checking to see if Sirio was watching, he leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Gubernatori! You gotta do-a something about-a the racetracks! Please!’ ”
FUN TIMES
One day the governor requested that I set up a luncheon at the Four Seasons restaurant with Neal Travis, the colorful, Runyonesque New York Post gossip columnist and pal of Rupert Murdoch, who founded “Page Six,” and Steve Dunleavy, his swashbuckling Postie compadre, both of whom were known to enjoy a cocktail of an evening, according to the proprietor of Langan’s bar on the West Side, a Mr. Des O’Brien. “We’ll take them to the Four Seasons, Brother Bill. And I, the governor, will treat. It’s my check. And when Julian [Niccolini, the co-owner] comes over to take our order, I will announce, loudly, ‘We’re not drinking today, Julian!’ And then you and I can just sit back and watch Travis and Dunleavy chew on their fingernails and munch on breadsticks!”
There was another marvelous lunch, some months later, this one at 21, during which Travis, the beguiling New Zealander, said to Mario, “Will you look at all the damn swells and moguls around here watching us. The whole room is wondering what the hell we’re talking about. They’d never believe the governor and a Post columnist are sitting here in this high-class saloon talking about life, and about our bloody souls!” I would believe it.
A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY
Sometimes, “too many vowels” can lead to a case of mistaken identity. What did the former “Senator Pothole” Al D’Amato, the hero cop and popular Bronx congressman Mario Biaggi, and Chrysler’s legendary Lee Iacocca have in common? Answer: They were all “setups” for Mario Cuomo’s humorous asides about mistaken identity. Mario also swore that President Ronald Reagan came over to him at a White House reception and said, “Welcome, Lee Iacocca!” And Joe Spinelli remembers a woman who came up to the governor one night in Las Vegas and gushed, “Oh, I admire you so much, Senator D’Amato!” I myself well recall a night at Mario Migliucci’s iconic restaurant in the Bronx when the governor told the proprietor that he was “constantly being mistaken” for Mario Biaggi.
Mario also loved to tell of introducing his mother, Immaculata, to Lee Iacocca at the Executive Mansion on Eagle Street in Albany:
“He’s a very famous and powerful man, Momma. He makes cars.”
“What’s-a matter with you, Mario? You no know how to make cars!”
One of my favorites is this little vignette, which I call “Stamina on the Lecture Circuit.”
The governor, with some regularity in recent years, would depart his prestigious Manhattan law firm, Willkie, Farr & Gallagher, to debate conservative icons George Will, Dan Quayle, and William Bennett before various trade groups around the country.
On one of those occasions, as the governor was taking his place on the stage for a “debate” with Bill Bennett, the blustery conservative educator-author, before some 3,000 midwestern grocers, Mr. Bennett leaned over (with the mikes off) and whispered, “Mario, I hear you’re going to do some television with Bob Dole. Try to find out about the effects of Viagra when you see him.”
Mario, adjusting his lapel mike, replied, “Bill, I’m an Italian. I don’t need to ask about that stuff!”
Just then the curtain went up.
The governor loved to tell the marvelous story of how he “recruited” Joe Spinelli. One day he put in a call to FBI director William Webster. The conversation between the governor of New York and the head of the FBI in Washington went down like this, according to Mario:
CUOMO: Judge, we’re looking for a great lawman, a really stellar crime-fighter to become our inspector general in New York state. Right now it consists of one guy, with a badge, a gun, a secretary, and a desk. We really want to build it up and improve things, and I thought you might have some ideas. . . .
WEBSTER: Governor, we’re flattered you would ask the Bureau. May I have until Thursday . . . ?
CUOMO: Take as much time as you like. We want to get this right.
On that Thursday night, right on schedule, the FBI director called the governor in Albany:
WEBSTER: Sir, we have a fellow in our New Haven office. He led one of our SWAT teams and was in six shootouts. He had a role in the ABSCAM investigation and helped bag some big politicians. . . .
CUOMO: Judge, stop right there. He sounds great. What’s his name?
WEBSTER: Well, his name, sir—I have it right here—is Spinelli. Joseph Anthony Spinelli. S-P-I-N-E-L-L-I.
CUOMO: Uh oh, I was afraid of that!
WEBSTER: Something wrong, Governor?
CUOMO: No, no, he sounds just great. It’s just that—why all those vowels in his name? Haven’t you got a perfect guy like that with more of a Central Casting name, like for example somebody named Special Agent Mark Conrad or something perfect like that! Why all the vowels, Judge?”
Joe Spinelli was hired and did a complete makeover of the Office of New York State Inspector General, building it into one of the best in the country. It turned out one of his partners in that elite FBI three-agent squad were Louis B. Freeh, later a federal judge and FBI director. The third agent was John Pritchard, who would go on to head the Metropolitan Transit Authority police and serve as first deputy commissioner of the NYPD.
Joe Spinelli was also alone with Mario on board a New York State Police helicopter en route from New York to Albany just after the governor gave the late Art Athens of WCBS the biggest scoop of his life. As Mario was climbing up into the chopper, he turned to his inspector general. “Joe, I just made the announcement, via Art Athens, that I’m not running for president.”
Lawman Spinelli, who hadn’t heard the news, said, “Governor, it was a tough decision, but knowing you, I’m sure you gave it a lot of thought.”
“Joe, I’ve just been re-elected by an historic plurality. It would be like cheating on my wife. I just couldn’t abandon my responsibility to the people of New York.” And then Mario Cuomo buckled himself in and spoke not another word for the fifty-nine-minute night flight up the Hudson River Valley to Albany.
But Spinelli, who also sat alone with the governor on another sad night—and, in fact, was holding his hand on the ninth floor at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital just a few days before Mario left us—still remembers, with a rich admixture of sadness and admiration, that tears fell from Mario’s eyes on that lonely flight to Albany on the historic night when he declined to run for president of the United States as so many had been urging him.
THE MIGHTY HUDSON
I recall yet another soaring moment when the governor came to Westchester to affirm the state’s protection of the Hudson River. It was, as the Brits would call it, another brilliant day as Mario stood on a bluff in Tarrytown overlooking the mighty Hudson with the Palisades glistening in the background. The late actor-activist Ron Silver, a dedicated environmentalist, was master of ceremonies. Caught up with the bucolic setting in Sleepy Hollow country with the majestic river behind him, the actor launched into a stunning introduction of the governor. I mean it was absolutely riveting, the introduction. The brilliant Silver, who founded the Creative Coalition, spoke fluent Mandarin Chinese and Spanish. And his use of the Mother Tongue on that summer afternoon was nothing short of spectacular. After the actor’s stem-winding intro finally came the governor to the lectern.
Looking over the greensward, Mario saw arrayed before him a local high school marching band, which took up the first five rows in the audience. Most of the youngsters, cradling their instruments, sat glassy-eyed as Mr. Cuomo tried to convey the importance of protecting an iconic resource like the Hudson. It was another brilliant Cuomo speech, which was kith and kin to the one at the Pine Barrens.
Mario Cuomo Page 9