To my friend, Vincent

By Mark Yablonsky
Once in a while, you'll come across someone who will stand out in kindness, character and decency, someone who leaves such an indelible mark that you'll cherish their memories for a lifetime. One such man was my maternal grandfather, Bert, who died when I was just 10 days shy of my third birthday. Another was my friend and neighbor, Vincent Moncelsi, who passed away suddenly and unexpectedly on Jan. 2 of this very new year. He was only 60 years old.

Vince, as I called him, was simply one of the nicest, finest people I've ever met, a perfect elixir to an otherwise jaded society in which people are measured by dollars, not decency. Vince, who was born on July 22, 1953, grew up in the Little Italy section of Manhattan and fortunately for me, ended up being my neighbor just three years ago. Almost immediately, we became friends and developed an immediate rapport with one another, one based on fellowship and mutual respect.

"There he is," Vincent often said to me as I left my house each day. "What's doing?" Other times, he would say, "Hey, Maak," in his New York accent, something I will never, ever forget. and will forever miss.

Vincent had lots of friends, who also were his admirers, of which I was only one. And as you might expect, those friends had/have much the same type of class he exuded. Before long, they were to become my friends, too, including his children, former wife and others with names such as Michael, Karen and Johnny B., to name just a few. Like Vincent. I appreciate the finest, simplest things in life, such as good citizenship. But I was never quite the guy Vince was, for he was an outstanding teacher of karate and someone who might have become a community leader if he had wanted to. But he did not. He was simply content with his family and friends, and to me — and them — that spoke volumes. Knowing how much I enjoyed and appreciated his excellent cooking, he frequently would ring my doorbell, holding a container of fresh-cooked food. "Who is it?" I would ask. "It's your neighbor," he would reply.

The shock I felt when I heard of his passing hit me profoundly, especially since he died after shoveling some snow on a bitterly cold, snowy night, There were police vehicles outside with flashing lights and I figured that someone might have been ill or there might have benn an emergency of some kind. I am deeply sorry that I did not put on my coat and see what was wrong. But I didn't want to interfere with emergency personnel who were doing their jobs. That guilt is something I will forever carry with me.

Of the many nice things Vincent did for me, one of them was hooking me up with his lifelong friend Johnny B., who sold me my current car after I had lost my previous vehicle in an accident. Vincent, you see, was not just a nice guy, but he was the kind of man who would reach out and go the extra mile for a friend, especially if that friend needed help in any way. When I told him of my brother Alan's passing two months ago, he had meals at my door every night. And no matter how busy he might have been, he always had time to say hello to his friends. It speaks unmeasurable volumes that many of his former students were among his biggest admirers, including a good, decent man named Josh whom I met at Vince's home the night after he left us.

I am more than saddened by the passing of a friend, I am deeply in sorrow for the loss of such a great person.

Vince, rest in peace and know that you are profoundly missed by all of us. Know that we will miss you and think of you often. And know forever that we love you very much.

May we someday meet again and renew our friendship. Until then, I say in my New Jersey accent, Auf Wiedersehen.

Until we,meet again.