Charles John Giglio

Charles (Charlie) Giglio, deeply loved father to Ken, Bob, and Deb, and Grandpa (Pa) to Stephen, Sara, Nora, Leigha, and Samantha, Grandpop and PaPa to Declan, Charlotte, Josie, Charlie, Fiona, and Aurora, and brother to Sally, passed away peacefully on Friday, May 15, held in love by his children. The family will schedule a celebration of life for the family. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be make in memory of Charles Giglio to St. Jude’s Hospital.

Charlie was born a century ago in Little Italy, Manhattan to Josephine and John Giglio, who came to the US from Sicily (the family name was actually Giglia, but a misread A turned into an O on the immigration documents). The Giglio family made do with little, and Charlie learned to adapt and persevere from an early age.

This grit and determination helped him endure the untimely deaths of his father when he was 12 and a younger brother and much later in life the passing of his beloved wife, Rose, in 2007, his wife of 55 years. He was by her side throughout her life and lifted her, literally, when her health failed.

Barely 18, Charlie enlisted in the army and served with honor during WWII, seeing active duty during the Battle of the Bulge. Again, he persevered through a harsh winter and frostbite and the loss of comrades on the battlefield. He came to loath war and support peace even as he supported our troops. He returned home from the war and learned the printing trade. From a young age he loved to read and write, so being a printer was the perfect fit.

Throughout his life, Charlie showed others what strength and courage looked like, being lion-like physically and mentally tough, and yet he had an abiding gentleness. You could see this tender side with his dear cat friend, Buddy, who he adopted in his later years and who was at his side to the end.

Charlie was a crooner in the tradition of Tony Bennett and even cut a record in his 20s as part of a talent competition. He sang for the joy of it, loving how songs could express his feelings and thoughts. He would sing around the house, at weddings and shows, and whenever he could hold a mic, but he never really needed one to sing from his heart. He wooed his wife, Rose, with “I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” and calmed his children with “Rainbow.”

After I've gone and bought you the rainbow

I′ll go out and I'll buy you the moon

Charlie lived up to his original birthname, Calogero, a Sicilian name, derived from Greek, and meaning “good elder” or “monk.” Charlie shared his wisdom widely, and was a good friend, who would listen without judgement and give guidance when asked. He embodied patience, kindness, and love, and had the capacity to develop nuanced, caring relationships with family and friends. Charlie had the rare ability to see and treat people as unique individuals and made them feel cared about and respected. This included engaging strangers and so many restaurant servers, with some light jokes, like asking their name and then intentionally getting it wrong, which brought groans from family members but brightened up the servers

Charlie was a leader, who led with his values and heart. He was looked up to by many in the communities where he lived from Oceanside, NY to Royal Palm Beach for his passionate defense of those who were less fortunate, no matter their background or where they came from. He was active in the Knights of Columbus, Sons of Italy, and finally Greenway Village South, where he played a key role in ensuring the residents had the highest quality life in retirement. He also was instrumental in helping clear the way for the beautiful and expansive Commons Park by blocking condo development.

He found joy in spending time with his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. He had no problem being silly to get the kids laughing and was famous for his sessions of Simon Says. His grandchildren remember him happily cheating at games, especially by hiding cards under the table. To the kids it was fun!

Charlie will be remembered as kind and caring and wise, a man who would open his door to just about anyone and invite them in for a conversation. He wanted nothing more in life than for his family, friends, and all those he met to feel they mattered and that he cared about them. He treated everyone with kindness, dignity, and love—his gift to us and the world.