[Note: My cousin, Tony, and I tag-teamed the writing of this eulogy for his father (my uncle), Sam Oliva. Tony delivered the eulogy at the memorial gathering, and it is therefore written in his voice.]
A man’s legacy is not determined by the amount of wealth or possessions he accumulated. It’s determined by the number of lives he changed.
My dad—“Mr. O”… “Uncle Sammy”… “Professor Big-a-nose”… “Galloping Groovy, the Gourmet Weatherman”…changed a lot of lives.
My dad’s own life was full of interesting experiences, artistic accomplishments, and enormous influence.
He was born in Utica, NY to first generation Southern Italians. Utica is a formerly thriving industrial city in upstate NY that was home to a huge Italian-American population—90% of which seemed to be an aunt, uncle, cousin, or friend of his.
Growing up in Utica, he had two passions: Food, and music.
The food passion was by stroke of luck. His mother was one of the best home cooks in central NY. She spoiled him rotten with a childhood full of tomato pie, pusties, homemade ravioli, fried zucchini blossoms, the onion/olive/anchovy calzone called “Fucazzo,” and most importantly…the Oliva family’s made-from-scratch, meat-heavy macaroni sauce.
If his passion for food was by stroke of luck, his passion for music was driven by talent, intelligence, and relentless practice.
He put down his fork and picked up a string bass. Inspired heavily by his musical idol, Paul McCartney, his string bass morphed into a bass guitar. Several bass guitars, in fact. And he played those bass guitars for a number of renowned central NY bands—most notably, the “Four Syns,” “Aerodrome,” and the jazz/rock fusion band “Fuel.”
He graduated from Proctor High School at age 17, and left home to become a touring musician. This was a gutsy move; and not always a smart one. He once spent the night in a Florida jail when local police discovered that the youthful-looking electric bassist on the tavern’s stage was, in fact, still a youth. True story.
He did session work during those early years with a number of major acts—including the Beach Boys, the Mills Brothers, and Daryl Dragon from the Captain & Tennille.
How many of you can say that you’ve met The Captain?
And, of course…after moving to Nashville, he spent two decades playing in Boots Randolph’s band.
He was a private pilot for many years, and a commercial pilot with Catskills Airline for a few. His biggest and most important vocation, however, was as a middle and high school music teacher.
But he was more than just a teacher. He was a mentor. A role model. A challenger of mediocrity. He was a builder and shaper of young men and women—coaxing them, cajoling them, bullying them to be better than they knew or believed they could be. And he did it in a way that still seemed fun.
When it was announced on Facebook two weeks ago that his journey was coming to an end, nearly 150 former students and colleagues—some from as far away as California—poured into the air park for one last class with Mr. O.
Most of you have read the avalanche of Facebook tributes that followed. But in case you haven’t, here’s a small sampling:
- “Mr. Oliva was hands down the BEST music teacher I could’ve asked for. Starting from being a complete violin noob to first chair in one year. He taught me so much.”
- “One of the most honorable, loving, gifted, smart men I have ever met. He touched so many lives.”
- “It still amazes me how well his kids played despite being in the type of high school where string programs rarely thrive.”
- “He was my orchestra teacher from 7th-12th grades and taught me how to play the violin, but more importantly he taught me about life.”
- Mr. O wasn’t just a music teacher to me. He was a father figure in my life who cared deeply for his students’ safety and well-being.”
- “[He] did more in [his] time on this earth than most will ever do. [He] left a legacy of musicians and music lovers.”
- “He has taught me so much more than how to read notes and tune a violin. He taught me that music can heal the deepest wounds and that our orchestra was a family.”
- “Some people have such an impact on your life and the way you conduct yourself in your career. I only had the pleasure to work beside him for four years, but the impact he had on me and so many others has been great. He knew how to take care of me while at the same time treat me as an equal colleague even though I had nowhere near the experience or cred that he did. The lessons he taught his students were life changing. The lessons he taught me were life-giving. If I can be half the teacher he was, I will be doing well.”
- “He is a big reason why I am the person I am today. When life got crazy around me and school was challenging, I couldn’t wait to go to my Orchestra class and forget about everything and play music. I appreciate music so much more because of him.”
- “We went through some super awkward phases together, and this man walked us through all of them. He taught us so much more than music. He invested his time, energy, his whole heart, and even his own finances into us. He got up at dawn to meet me at All-State auditions for moral support. He gave me private lessons after school to prepare me for those auditions. He took us on adventures and gave us experiences we wouldn’t have had otherwise, like convincing our principal that a trip to Six Flags was educational, and getting into a real recording studio to record a CD. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”
- “We may not have come from much, but [he] brought us much joy through music. [He] helped us discover our abilities to persevere and succeed not only in music but in life. We will never forget the care [he] showed us or the values [he] instilled in us and will cherish our memories of [him] forever.
- “I was never in Samuel Oliva’s class, but we taught together for seven years. I cannot even begin to describe how much of my teaching style comes from Sam mentoring me all those years. He was a fantastic musician, and was so skilled at building relationships with his kids. I was always amazed at how he could hold his students to such high standards and make them love every second of it along the way. My students may never know, but he is still having an influence on THEM because of what he taught me.”
- “[He was] so much more than a teacher. [He was] a friend, confidant, mentor but most of all [he was] a parent to so many of us. No matter how irritating we all were, [he] never gave up on any of us. [He] loved unconditionally. Some of my best childhood memories are with [him] and all the class trips we went on.”
- “I only pray that my son is lucky enough to have a teacher who invests in him half as much as Mr. O did all of us.”
So…as I said at the beginning…a man’s legacy is not determined by the amount of wealth or possessions he accumulated. It’s determined by the number of lives he changed.
In this respect, my dad’s legacy is enormous. “Mr. Holland’s Opus” ain’t got nothin’ on “Mr. O’s Opus.” “Jerry’s Kids” ain’t got nothin’ on “Sammy’s Kids.”
I don’t know if my dad realized the enormity of his legacy until just a few weeks ago.
Let’s be honest. He often complained about the frustrations of teaching. He often lamented that he never got to pilot 747s from Nashville to Italy and back. But the life he lived was far more valuable than that of any airline pilot—because spread throughout the world are hundreds of former students that are better musicians, better teachers, better parents, better human beings than they otherwise would’ve been. All—or, at least, in large part—due to my dad.
This, I know, he finally realized in the end.
So…if I had a glass of Scotch in my hand (and believe me, I will before this day is over), I’d raise it in celebration of Professor Big-a-nose. The body is gone, but the man lives on.
He lives on through me.
Through his step-children.
Through his nieces and nephews [ESPECIALLY SAL, WHO IS HIDING IN A CONFERENCE ROOM WRITING THIS WHEN HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING].
Through his hundreds of former students.
And through every one of you that sets aside that jar of Ragu and takes the time to make the Oliva family’s meat-heavy macaroni sauce from scratch.
