I was born on May 26, 1964 to Albert Joseph “Buddy” Voiland and Joan Patricia Devlin in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, New York. I am the last of their five children and am a second generation American, happy and blessed to say my parents are both still alive; 85 and 79, married fifty-nine years. My sister Patty is the oldest and then three boys; George, Bobby and Albie.
My father is Italian, his parents from Procida, Italy although my grandfather was actually French (Voiland) adopted on day-one by the Corteo family in Procida. We believe my grandfather’s mom was of French aristocracy and became pregnant out of wedlock. Well, you can fill in the blanks given it was 1895 in Europe. Anyway, my grandfather was fiercely Italian. He immigrated to the United States at seventeen, making his way through Ellis Island in New York Harbor and eventually to the long-shore docks for work. So in the end we don’t describe that half of the family as French but Italian or face my old man’s wrath. My grandfather ended his career with the Brooklyn Navy Yard where he worked for thirty years without missing a day of work; amazing. My grandmother was a childhood sweetheart of my grandfather’s who followed him to America where they were married for over sixty years. I really don’t remember much about my grandparents because they were elderly by the time we moved to Florida. What I do remember vividly is my grandmother sitting at the end of her couch saying the Rosary every time we visited.
My mom is Irish and Austrian. My grandfather was a professional baseball player – for the Yankees – until illness ended his career. I have his genetics along with my dad’s to thank for my love of baseball and a short professional career of my own. My grandmother immigrated to America as a young woman to escape an arranged marriage back in Vienna. She stowed away and entered America through that same Ellis Island. Before marrying my grandfather she was the nanny to the Florsheim (shoes) family. My grandmother was a tough Western European, a big woman that we called “fat nanny”. She became wheelchair bound in the mid 1970s and had a host of medical issues afterwards. Even so, she lived to 96 and only died after the tragic loss of her only son, my uncle Joey, at 58.
My parents are my heroes, always have been. My dad is a World War II veteran, an Ensign in the Navy, who was given the privilege of steering the USS Columbus into Tokyo Bay – right behind the Missouri – where the surrender of Japan was consummated, ending the war in the Pacific. Ironically, the Missouri was built in the Brooklyn Navy Yard where my dad’s father caulked the entire teak decking. Afterwards, my dad was a business owner most of his life until he semi-retired in Florida.
My father was the hardest working and most dedicated provider I’ve ever known. He busted his butt his entire life to provide for his wife and kids, rarely ever asking for anything for himself other than a good dinner and a baseball game to watch. What an unbelievable example of self-reliance he is. My dad is the singe greatest doer I’ve been around. While others were analyzing a situation or philosophizing, my father was getting it done. And in the end, results are all that matter and his example on delivering have been invaluable to me in my life.
My mom raised five kids on her own, basically, while feeding and housing dozens of others at the same time given the Voiland house was always the center of adolescents social activity. In her 40′s, my mother became a nurse and began a career that has lasted to this day. She has dedicated her life to taking care of the elderly and home-bound, most recently providing hospice-type services to her best friend Joan. My mom is the most service oriented person I’ve known and even in light of her many life challenges with my dad and us has always maintained a positive attitude each day and a smile. My mom’s personality is infectious because she is at peace with life and knows where she’s headed in the end.
My parents are ardent Catholics, as I would like to be someday, attending Mass 6 days a week, saying the Rosary and remaining obedient to the Church. Not all their kids can say the same, although we were all raised in the Catholic Church. But that’s life, we all make our own decisions as adults and then reap what we sew as my mom has always told me.
My family and its history are things I am incredibly proud of. Even as I write this section I say to myself, “If my kids were to write such a piece about their parents and grandparents, would the story be this amazing?” I don’t think so, that’s because as generations pass in this country and we unfortunately become more liberal and less American – in my opinion – the struggles that our forefathers and mothers faced, gladly may I say, will fade in the entitlement mentality that pervades our society now. I will be forever proud to be a Voiland/Devlin and will keep that legacy in tact until my last breath.
