Mike Stamos
His Memory Lives On
Mike Stamos was a better man. All of us here today are good people, made better by having known the wonderful man who was my father. Throughout his life his kindness and good humor touched the people around him earning friends wherever he went.
John and Tsampika Stamos emigrated to this country in 1928. They had three children - Mary, Mike, and Loula.
Michael Stamos was born on November 24, 1932 at Hartford Hospital. As a young man growing up in Hartford he had lots of friends and fun, playing stick ball, ogling restaurant patrons, teasing the cops. They would all stand on the corner staring up and pointing at the corner of a tall building until an expectant crowd formed - then they would walk away laughing. To cross a busy street they would pretend to limp. He once welded a nail to a quarter and pounded it into the back steps - people would try over and over to pick it up.
Once he brought home a puppy in a paper bag. A brown and white terrier. “We don’t need a dog - get rid of it!” his father insisted. Before a new home could be found the dog remained where my father slept - in the kitchen tied to the stove which was their only source of heat. Then one night a fire started in the kitchen, the little dog sounded the alarm saving everyone. They named her Lucky and from then on she ate leftover steak and lobster from the Bond Hotel. Lucky went with him on Boy Scout camping trips. She would sleep at the bottom of his sleeping bag - that is until she heard an animal noise - then she would come tearing out right over Mike! For a city boy the scouts opened up for him a whole world of nature, hiking, campfire stories, and Indian lore. He was admitted to the “Nicaweegees” an honorary scouting group. In a secret ceremony he was given a medicine pouch, the contents of which where never to be revealed. It, and it’s secret will be buried with him today.
When he was sixteen he met Trudy Bornowski, the love of his life. It was at a CYO dance. After the music stopped he asked her friend to go out with him for a soda. When she declined he asked Trudy. Second choice? No way! A week later they met again at the same dance. This time he got it right. They danced every dance and have been together every since. They have been married for 53 years. Their relationship stands as an example of love and friendship that withstood all hardships and only became stronger as they grew old together. They loved each other.
In 1952 America was at war in Korea. Mike determined to serve his country and enlisted in the US Navy. He trained as an aviation electrician and worked on aircraft as the Navy made it’s transition from propeller driven to jet powered planes. After two years in the Navy he married Trudy. They moved to Kingsville, Texas where he was stationed. He was honorably discharged in 1956. Mike and Trudy Stamos moved back to Hartford in 1956. That same year Trudy gave birth to their first child Mary Lou. Five years later I was born.
He became an electrician and joined the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers. He was proud of his union and was a strong supporter of worker’s rights.
At about this time he took up golf, an affliction that would be with him for the rest of his life. He loved the game and the companionship that came with it. It was challenging and difficult - the occasional moments of triumph were all the more rewarding because it was hard. He always played fair.
What gave my father the most pleasure was helping people. Without hesitation he would lend a hand to anyone: friends, family, people he just met. He did the lights for the Greek Festival, here and in Boca. You only had to ask. He knew people everywhere. We would be on Martha’s Vineyard or up in Vermont somewhere and inevitably someone would call out “Hey Mike, what are you doing here!” He attracted friends like a light attracts moths. And it didn’t matter who you were, a lowly shoe shine boy or the President of a corporation; from Mike you got respect, a friendly word and a warm handshake. Outwardly he was not very religious but his compassion, generosity, and humility marked him as a true Christian.
But I don’t want to give the impression that he was some sort of saint. He was the life of the party; he could drink, swear, cheat at cards - he loved dirty jokes - just ask my mother where the cat is . . .
He could find humor in anything. He loved life and he loved to have a good time. Even at the end when the nurses asked him “Do you have any pain?” he said, “Yeah, she’s right over there” pointing at my Mom. She’s a good sport and can give as good as she got. But don’t get me wrong in all the years I lived with them I never once heard him utter a word of real meanness or disrespect to her.
In the summers we would go fishing at East Beach in Rhode Island. I probably caught more fish than he did - he hooked just as many or more - but if there was a young person nearby when he felt a bite on the line he would call the boy or girl over and hand them the pole saying “hold this for a minute will ya” just to see the expression of surprise and delight on their face when they realized they had a fish on the line and were encouraged to reel it in.
He loved kids. At that beach he would have a ring of them around him giving each a turn with the pole. He would tell us stories like ‘The Man with the Golden Arm’ or about how his dog used to ride the bus. We played games like Simon Says or Yea - Boo. When we drove under a bridge we all yelled “WEEEEE!” He would stop by the side of the road and moo at the cows. He had a real deep bovine moo. We loved it. When driving to the shore he would, all of a sudden, say “Oh no!” What is it? we’d ask. “There’s no Main street in Stonington!” he’d say as we passed the abbreviated sign for North Main Street in Stonington. It would get us every time.
I remember one time when I was about eight years old. My father took my cousins Elaine and John and my sister and myself to get ice cream on a hot summer day. He had a Mustang convertible. Top down. Halfway home he looked in the mirror and saw us as happy as could be with melted ice cream all over ourselves and the car. He couldn’t get mad about the mess; he thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
Years later his mother, our beloved YiaYia, needed medical treatments which she could only get at Mass General in Boston and I would go along to keep my Dad company for the long drive back. The treatments took a few hours so we would go to the Union Oyster House for chowder. Driving back YiaYia would be asleep in the back. We’d listen to the Red Sox on the radio and talk. Those were very special times for me. I knew it at the time. I was so fortunate to have parents I could truly call my friends. My father took me to Greece in 1981. What a time we had. The food. The music. The People. Most of you are Greek so you know. Our first night in the old fortress city of Rhodes we walked the ancient streets with bottles of wine singing and laughing amazed at where we came from. We wandered the narrow cobble stone streets befriending locals and tourists from around the world. It was a peak experience - a true bonding between father and son. We walked till the early hours of the morning. We couldn’t find our hotel.
In 1986 my sister Mary Lou married Yannis Lagoudakis, whom she met on the island of Crete while singing there with a musical group a few years earlier. She resides there now in a small village on the western end of Crete near the city of Xania. They gave Mike and Trudy their first grandchildren, two fine bright boys named Haris and Manoli. This year Haris has entered university.
Mike Stamos was very proud of his Greek heritage. He ate octopus, drank retsina, and listened to ‘rebetico’. He joined AHEPA and was one of their most active and enthusiastic members. He raised my sister and I in the
Greek Orthodox Church and told us about Athens, Sparta, Alexander the Great and the Colossus of Rhodes.
Financial difficulties brought my parents to Florida in 1992. This was a very challenging time in my father’s life. When most people their age were entering retirement they had to pick up the pieces and restart their lives
in a new place with new people. In time they found a new circle of friends centered around the Greek Church in Boca Raton. Some old friends from Connecticut had moved down or spent their winters there giving my parents access to an ever expanding social group. They loved the tropical ambience and the relaxed lifestyle. He golfed three times a week and played backgammon with his friends.
In 1999 my wife Christa and I moved to Florida and in 2002 our daughter Jenna Rae was born. I’m so happy she had this time to know her Papou. She loved him very much and will miss the hours spent playing with him at Sugarsand Park.
In the Spring of this year Mike accepted a temporary position through the electrical union to work at the Foxwood Casino construction site here in Connecticut. He hoped to earn enough money to take Trudy and himself on one last trip to Greece to see his grandsons. He thought it might be nice to have a dual US/Greek citizenship so on October 23 he and his nephew John Pappas drove to the Greek embassy in New York City.
As it turned out Greece had been under Italian occupation when his parents left for America so technically they were Italian citizens at the time. After the Second World War with Greece liberated his parents could have
changed their status but did not, they were American citizens and probably hadn’t given it a second thought. Later that day driving back from the embassy on Interstate 95. John’s car was struck by the tire and wheel of a
truck travelling in the opposite direction. The wheel leapt over the median and smashed into the roof of the car above my father’s head resulting in a serious head injury. Over the next two months Mike would recover only to be set back by alternating seizures and strokes.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007 was a very good day for Mike. He had recovered well from the last surgery to remove pressure from his brain. He felt good and had a wonderful time at the senior citizens party at The
Chowder Pot Restaurant. He went from table to table talking with his friends, laughing, sharing old times. Everyone said how good he looked and how good it was to see him well again. After the party he laid down for a nap with Trudy. They were so happy to be going back to Florida in just a few days. It had been a busy day why not take a rest. She felt his leg spasm and asked him “Mike are you alright?” He looked at her, the woman he loved, and was gone.
He never regained consciousness. Two days later at Hartford Hospital, surrounded by loving family he passed gently away.
He leaves behind Trudy his life partner, mother of his children, and best friend. His daughter Mary Lou - his little hippo - and her husband Yannis and grandsons Haris and Manoli. Myself, John Peter Stamos, my wife Christa and our daughter Jenna Rae. His beloved sister, Loula Apostolides and niece and nephew Beka and Billy. His brother-in-law Leo Pappas and nieces Elaine and Tammy and nephews Spiro and John - God bless them all especially John for the extraordinary friendship and kindness he showed to my parents in this their darkest hour. And Colonel Alan McCauly his closest friend of recent years and kindred spirit. I remember a time when we were on Martha’s Vineyard. We had been fishing from the shore near the lighthouse in Edgarstown and were walking back along the water’s edge as the day was ending and my father said to me “Our footsteps don’t last long here.” And it’s true; the waves wash all away. Only the love lives on in the hearts of those who are better for having known him.
Farewell and Godspeed.
December 24, 2007
JP Stamos