WE REMEMBER
ONE of the many things the coronavirus pandemic has taken from us is the chance to comfort the grieving. In time, we’ll be able to hug one another again. For now, all we can do is recall their lives through the eyes of those who’ve known them best: family, friends and colleagues. May their good works live after them, inspiring us all to be our best, most compassionate selves in their honor.
Conrad Ifill, 81
Long Island
Andre Ifill remembers his father, who passed away on April 17.
A Type 2 diabetic, my father survived a stroke in 1996. Then, before turning 80, he learned to live with colon cancer, which doctors said was too small to risk taking drastic procedures to address. Dad wouldn’t allow colitis to stop him from attending his youngest daughter’s wedding, nor would he surrender to lymphoma. He was a warrior and a champion in his own right, and I’m saddened that he couldn’t triumph one more time.
Dad, who hailed from San Fernando, Trinidad, became a leader in Brooklyn’s Caribbean community. He was the owner of Conrad’s Famous Bakery, which first opened in 1981 in Crown Heights and, in 2015, expanded to a second location in Flatbush. His customers always looked forward to his Trinidadian nine-rum fruitcake during the holidays and his hot cross buns around Easter. He loved baking for the joy his food brought others. But he also loved giving anyone from a Caribbean background a little slice of home.
He left a computer-processing job on Wall Street to open his bakery. He needed to do something that would make him happy. He became a role model and an inspiration, earning awards from the community. At 81, he was pursuing an MBA from Southern New Hampshire University. He would have graduated this month.
He was a lifelong dedicated hard worker. Lately, we’d told him to cut back, and he’d scaled back a bit — but he’d still go to the bakery’s office to get work done.
Dad was committed to making others happy, and not just the customers’ children, whose eyes shone when they got the sweets they wanted. He loved watching his family — his wife, three children and one grandkid — try his latest recipes. He was always enthusiastic to partner with soup kitchens around Thanksgiving to help provide for the less fortunate.
Serving his community always brought him great joy.
Rosa Cammarosano, 89
Brooklyn
Born in southwestern Italy, Rosa Cammarosano became an eldest child after losing two older brothers, took care of her own mother after she lost sight in one eye, and saw meningitis claim the life of her own first-born, Matalena, at 11 months old.
Cammarosano, who died on April 14, “was no shrinking violet,” recalls her daughter Maria.
Cammarosano, who left for New York in 1964 and later had four more children, was also an endearing figure. Last Easter, her granddaughter — one of six grandkids and five great-grandchildren — took a photo of the two of them on Snapchat, using a filter that put bunny ears on Cammarosano’s head. Although it resulted in a cute shot of them smiling, Cammarosano started feeling anxious. She didn’t remember putting on a costume.
“She looked at the photo and worried that she was getting dementia!” recalls Maria. “We [had] fun with that.”
She cracked jokes, too. In 1995 — the night before Maria ran the New York City Marathon on a course that sent her past Cammarosano’s Bay Ridge home — Cammarosano called Maria to let her know she couldn’t come outside to see her fly by.
“Don’t worry about it, Ma,” Maria told her. Her mother replied, “What if you win?”
Cammarosano began working as a seamstress as a teenager in Italy to support her family, and she kept sewing until her final days. She relined all of Maria’s work suits, and even altered the scrubs worn by her assisted-living caregivers. She would bring a freshly made eggplant parmesan to anyone she visited.
“It was about giving from the heart,” says Maria. “She was always sharing things.”
Two years ago, on Mother’s Day, Cammarosano went to Maria’s home in New Jersey to cook her signature eggplant parm. When dinner wasn’t ready, Cammarosano let Maria have it: “‘Why didn’t you get up at 3 o’clock in the morning [to prep]?’ ” Maria recalls her saying.
“She was into tough love,” adds Maria. “It gave me a lot of fortitude.”