Long lfe: Be a peasant

saving a buck. While family, guests, and relatives scurry to the beach several blocks east of my seashore abode, I busy myself trying to create a little bit of Longwood Gardens in Diamond Beach, New Jersey.

Being a devout peasant demands adherence to the Mediterranean diet. We eat fresh. White bread is an abomination. Olive oil of the highest virginity flows like water. Two glasses of good red wine accompany my nightly repast. Arias sung by Caruso, Gigli, and Correlli filter into the kitchen allowing me to think of Italy, where dining is an art form among my fellow peasants. We shun takeout. My life will never run on Dunkin’ and Domino’s

Being an avowed peasant doesn’t stop with loving manual labor. It conditions me to think of family first, its security, its cohesiveness, and its integrity. The peasant in me would know little of the joy of life if I failed to protect the family before I searched for friends and acquaintances. We call it “La Famiglia.”

Three degrees, hundreds of op-ed columns, countless speeches to all kinds of groups, and relationships forged with great people have never given me a big head. I still believe that you can take the kid out of South Philly, but you can’t take the South Philly out of the kid.

I am often asked by clients, parents, my students, and doctors what makes Sammy run. The answer is simple – staying in touch with one’s real self. To me, it’s the peasant in me which most likely reaches back to Roman times.