World War II vet Alfred Andreoli dies at 103
DARIEN — Longtime Darien resident Alfred Andreoli was no stranger to death.
In more than a century of life, Andreoli had experienced the Great Depression in full and served in World War II for nearly four years, often face-to-face with the enemy in combat.
Andreoli lived through the Spanish influenza pandemic in 1918 and the coronavirus pandemic in 2020. He’d survived an explosion while working in a factory in Norwalk.
And in 1973, he was hit square in the body by a car while working on the highway for the state Department of Transportation. Nearly every bone in his body was broken, 19 pints of blood were cycled through him and he was in the hospital for six months, his children said. The accident forced his retirement with the Transportation Department.
But throughout his life, “he was a real go-with-theflow guy,” eldest daughter Patricia Fern said, crediting her dad’s longevity to an easygoing attitude and an enjoyment of the little things. “He always told me, ‘Don’t worry so much.’ ”
Andreoli died in his sleep on Oct. 22 at 103 years old. He had outlived his siblings, many friends and his wife of 60 years, Mary Andreoli.
Recently, Fern said she asked her father if he ever thought about dying.
“I die when I die,” Andreoli told her.
Born on April 19, 1918, to Italian immigrants in Plains, Pa., Andreoli was the youngest of six children. Growing up, his family worked in the coal mines. At 18 years old, he joined the Civilian Conservation Corps, a work relief program set up by President Franklin D. Roosevelt to help single unemployed men support their families after the Depression.
In 1939, at the start of World War II, Andreoli was drafted into the United States Army to work as a demolition engineer building airfields. He traveled through England, Italy and Africa during his three years and nine months of service before he was honorably discharged.
Handsome, with classic Italian features and bright blue eyes — “He looked like Laurence Olivier in ‘Wuthering Heights,’ ” his son James said — Andreoli met his wife Mary after coming to Darien in search of work once the war ended. They married in 1949.
During 60 years of marriage, they raised three children — Patricia Fern, who still lives in Darien; James of Trumbull; and Doreen Baker of Fairfield — in a house on Gardiner Street. The house is still filled with decades-worth of memorabilia, the top floor overflowing with wooden tennis rackets, baseball cards and stacks of old books and board games.
“We never wanted for anything. We were happy,” Fern said. “The only time my dad wasn’t home was when it was snowing and he had to plow.”
A Yankees fan, “he made it to every single one of my baseball games,” James Andreoli said. Andreoli Sr. coached his son’s Little League team and later was a staple at a grandson’s baseball games, yelling encouragement from the stands.
Andreoli first worked as a mason and then as a maintenance worker for the Department of Transportation until his 1973 accident.
Though his children don’t recall Andreoli ever voluntarily speaking about the war, he attended several Veteran’s Day celebrations over the years. His funeral Oct. 27 was held with full military honors and he was buried in Darien’s St. John’s Cemetery in a baseball cap emblazoned with “WWII” that he was especially fond of.
Andreoli lived simply, his children said. He loved jigsaw puzzles and liked keeping up with celebrity gossip. He would read the daily newspaper cover to cover until blindness forced him to end his subscription last year, Fern said. Self-sufficient and active until his death, Andreoli drove to a local grocery store until he was 100 years old.
Mary Andreoli, who died in 2009, was a worrier, his children said. In contrast, Andreoli was gentle and calm, a perfectionist who would spend hours over his work.
He lived to see nine grandchildren and six great-grandchildren grow up. A family man, Andreoli never hung up the phone without saying “Love you too.”
Andreoli told his athome aide — he had two in his later years and the family praised the two for their work with their dad — that he knew he would die the night of Oct. 22, his children said. That evening, he kept saying the name of his wife.
“Mary must have been calling him,” Fern said.