For My Inspiring Father: Augustine (Gus) Perilli

By April 26, 2019 July 22nd, 2024 Transformative Empathy and Partnerships
Sharing a toast with my Dad and Mom a few years ago.

By Aggie Perilli

Until a few months ago at age 94, my Dad played tennis with a circle of enthusiastic buddies. On his drive home from the courts, if he unexpectedly visited me after I had gone out, he’d leave a tennis ball by my front door.

A devoted husband for 63 years to the late Louise Perilli, my father is survived by four children, eight grandchildren, and 14 great-grandchildren.

A first-generation Italian-American, my father grew up in Trenton, New Jersey, where he worked in his father’s newspaper and publishing company. He later became a successful printer and machinist in nearby Hamilton, and a gifted craftsman.

In his basement workshop, my Dad would lose all track of time as he built and fixed mostly household items for family members and friends. In December, Dad handcrafted the ninth in his series of wooden chess sets, and had nearly a dozen friends at the Hamilton Township Senior Center signed up to learn to play chess from him.


Dad referred to his basement workshop as his playroom.

My dad felt proud to frame the steel and porcelain sign that hung outside his father’s business for my communications business office.

Teaching came naturally to Dad. He had previously taught swimming and disaster relief for the American Red Cross. For his Catholic parish, St. Anthony’s Church, he served as a Boy Scout leader and later started an Explorers group.

Lifelong, Dad enjoyed well-rounded forms of community service. A former Marine from what is known as the greatest generation, my father remained active in The American Legion and Knights of Columbus and served as a lieutenant in the Civil Air Patrol. Formerly, he supported Catholics United for the Faith and served as a trustee of the Italian American Sportsmen Club.

As recently as November, my father served as a judge on the municipal election board. He also volunteered with Friends of the Hamilton Public Library.

Throughout his illness this year, thankfully my Dad’s spirits remained high and his mind, sharp. When I asked my Dad how he felt, he joked, “With my hands.”

Beloved by admirers of all ages, my father looked forward to our daily visits and phone calls. From Washington state and Colorado, his 101- and 97-year-old sisters regularly phoned their “little brother” and mailed him cheery puzzles and gifts. My three siblings and I provided 24/7 care, while his great-grandchildren played spirited games of balloon volleyball with Dad in his recliner.

For his 95th birthday on March 15, my siblings and I gathered with my father in his living room and watched decades-old reels of home movies. It moved him to relive the days when my Mom, who had passed four years earlier, guided our first baby steps. We reminisced about Mom, our grandparents and the aunts and uncles, cousins and friends seen filling our red brick home of 55 years, which Dad had built with the help of his father- and brothers-in-law.

On Saturday, nearly one month after his 95th birthday, my father passed. It’s a comfort and joy to feel his undying love and that of all departed loved ones revisited on film. May I, and everyone touched by Dad’s playful love, build on his nearly century-long generosity and joy.

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