I knew this was going to happen! On September 29, 2025, I died. I leave my beloved family---my wife, Velma D. Pugliese; my daughter, Rebecca Pugliese; my son, Nathan Pugliese and his wife, Tamar Eckstein; my grandchildren Abby, Henry and Spencer Aziz, and my grandchildren Noah and Zachary Pugliese. I am also survived by my nephews, Bart Cutrali and his wife, Maria, their children Michael (Bianca), Christopher (Briana) and Gabriella, and David Cutrali. I also leave my wife's son, Philip Brigham, and his wife Mary, and their children Melissa O'Neill (Greg), Allie Lacaria (Tom), Abby Considine (Sean), and grandchildren Luca, Owen and Leah Lacaria, and Charlotte O'Neill. My former wife, Barbara Perry and her husband John also survive me. It falls to my dear friend, adopted brother, and co-founder of Granby Ltd., Alphonse Avitabile, to carry on our work. I was predeceased by my sister, Sandra Cutrali, and unforgettable friend and partner in mayhem and mischief, Tom Brigham.

I was born in Waterbury, CT on December 6, 1939, the son of Rocco A. and Irene Forte Pugliese. Being the smallest kid on the block gave me a lifelong underdog mentality, a feeling of other than in my family, not quite belonging. That I had a silly childhood nickname, which I won't share, didn't help. This detachment sharpened my powers of observation and was helpful when I began writing. The New York Yankees symbolized upper-dogs, and I hated them to my dying day. This made growing up in the Italian Town Plot section of Waterbury that worshiped Joe Di Maggio, Phil Rizzuto, and Yogi Berra a challenge, but it perfectly suited my contrarian nature.

Early in my childhood I took note of the injustice meted out to "colored people" and developed a deep empathy for their plight, not only because it violated what I was learning in grade school about American democracy and certainly not because I was morally superior, but because they were America's designated underdogs.

That underdog mentality probably had something to do with my contrarian streak, or maybe it was the other way around. Though I liked school and being an altar boy, in my mind, there were always questions. Why weren't there people with Italian names like mine in our history book? Was I American enough? How could the bread and wine possibly become the Body and Blood of Christ at Mass? Did Lutherans really hate Catholics, as the priest had thundered from the pulpit? Needless to say, the more I heard about these villainous Protestants, the more I wanted to know about them, a curiosity that never left me. I later developed a deep respect and affection for Judaism and things Jewish and believed that Christianity's de-emphasis of Jesus's Jewishness is among its greatest sins. I eventually came to believe all the major religions have their own wisdom consoling us for having been born only to die.

I had fond memories of my early education, having had some exceptional teachers at B.W. Tinker "grammar" school, the most beloved of whom were, Ms. Lucy Shanahan, my Kindergarten teacher whose piano playing began my life-long affair with that instrument; Miss Gertrude Delaney, who nurtured my love of history; and Miss Ann Barry, who taught me more about the English language than any teacher at my level of education. Our graduation ceremony from Tinker School was one of my most cherished memories.

I also had several outstanding teachers at Crosby High School, notable Miss Loretta Parker for second year Latin, Mr. Bill Kazlauskas for German, and Miss Dora Milensky for history. I was a proud graduate of the Crosby class of 1957 and had a lasting affection for my classmates at Tinker and Crosby.

From Crosby I went on to Fairfield University and a Jesuit education heavy on required philosophy and theology that set my contrarian mind at work. Theologically, Martin Luther made more sense to me than Thomas Aquinas, and I later cultivated an interest in the great philosopher, Baruch Spinoza. Moreover, some of the Church's doctrines and dogmas seemed questionable. At times I felt as though the Jesuits had more answers than there were questions, and I began to understand the pejorative word "Jesuitical" and its argument style of never admit, seldom deny, and always distinguish to the point of ad nauseam.

When the sex scandals of the early 2000's exploded, the groundwork had already been laid for a self-exile of sorts from the Catholic Church. St. Bernadette was the thread keeping me in the Catholic fold---no one of my indoctrinated generation really leaves the Catholic Church. The Church is our difficult mother.

You're still reading? Good. I always enjoyed attention, but was shy about it, practicing modesty with self-deprecating humor; deflecting compliments that I loved; slithering my way to the piano bench to display my musical prowess such as it was. And what better way to command attention than to step into a classroom and hold forth upon United States History, as I did at Wilby and Kennedy High Schools for 34 years.

I often said history was my wife and music my mistress. By day I taught history, by night, though classically trained, I was a jazz musician, locally known, but of no renown. I revered Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert as my holy musical trinity, but never considered my classical playing fit for public consumption.

My musical training began with Sr. Gabrielle Desmarais of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel parish covenant in Waterbury and concluded with Professor Donal Currier of the Yale School of Music. My greatest influences were jazz pianists Erroll Garner, and Dave McKenna, from whom I shamelessly stole. I idolized the transcendent Russian piano virtuoso and composer, Sergei Rachmaninov.

Conservative in my tastes, I detested rock 'n roll music from the day of its arrival, felt the same about most of its derivatives, and considered "free jazz" unlistenable musical anarchy. I judged my jazz playing by the highest musical standards, and it's fair to say I was pretty good, but not first rate. There were no invitations to join Stan Getz or accompany Carmen McCrae.

Though some of my listeners, especially my family, urged me to make a recording, I never did---for two reasons: First, in listening to my own playing, I would have heard only what made me cringe. Second, as my memory is passed down and inflated from generation to generation, my great, great grandchildren will be led to believe I am a world class pianist. Dubious though it is, why leave any evidence contradicting my only claim to fame? My writing took the form of many op-ed pieces for this newspaper as well as countless letters to the editor. My most recurrent topic was politics, and I was best known for my merciless denunciations of Donald Trump, whom I considered a cancer upon American politics. I make no apologies for my revilement. I also wrote about music, religion, sports and issues pertaining to justice and equality. At the risk of immodesty, some of my op-ed pieces were of first-rate quality---not that I expected a call from the New York Times.

I often philosophized about life and wrote op-eds directed to graduates during commencement season. I frequently invoked the wisdom of the Hebrew Prophet, Micah: Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly; to which I added the exhortation of John Wesley, the father of Methodism: Do all the good you can, wherever you can, however you can. This, to me, was the essence of religion. How well I lived up to these precepts I leave for others to judge.

Personality-wide, the great psychoanalyst, Carl Jung, would have labeled me an intuitive introvert. I saw life mostly as irony, much preferred a good book to a party, had little patience for small talk, repetitiveness and unnecessary detail, and was a master of avoidance and extrication when faced with bores and conversational monologists. The piano was often my refuge. Contrary to popular belief, introverts are not anti-social or humorless; we just prefer small, simple settings with people we know and enjoy.

I conclude with what brought me the most joy and fulfillment, namely being a husband, father, and grandfather. I was blessed with an extraordinary wife, notable for her beauty, graciousness, and devotion, and I go to my grave believing she came to me from the hand of God. The love and loyalty my children, grandchildren and I shared was an endless blessing, a gift beyond measure. Nothing could ever compare to being their father and a grandfather. I would have given my life for them, and I leave knowing they will remember me.

Finally, whatever good I accomplished in this life was through the grace of God and the guidance of wonderful parents and teachers. My faults and failures were of my own doing.

I thank my wife Velma and my children Rebecca and Nathan for arranging the "private room" I expressly desired. I also wish to thank my Highland Caretakers Promise and Blessed, my hospice nurse Sara Cole, and Ivy nurses Shawntina Hodges and Lisa Roberts who went above and beyond to provide exceptional care, compassion, and support during my final days.

Calling hours will be Thursday October 2, 2025, from 6:00 - 8:00 P.M. at Munson Lovetere Funeral Home, 235 Main Street North, Southbury. A Mass of Christian Burial will be Friday October 3, 2025, 10:30 A.M. at St. Teresa of Avila Church, 146 Main Street South, Woodbury, CT. Burial will follow at New North Cemetery.

I invite those so inclined to make a contribution to Lourdes in Litchfield, P.O. Box 667, Litchfield, CT, 06759. Thank you and have a long life.

To leave an online condolence please visit munsonloveterefuneralhome.com.