Sharing a Long Life

Mario Arena, a Webster resident, turns 90 — and invites everyone to celebrate, including a 55 PLUS writer

By John Addyman

 

It’s a busy day in the supermarket.

A wife is pushing the cart and checking things off on her list. She’s talking to her husband, who’s walking next to her, about prices and dinner plans. He’s a careful, picky and healthy eater, so she checks to make sure what goes in the cart is what he’ll actually eat.

But his ears are elsewhere.

He’s picked up a child’s crying tantrum rising above the surface noise. And he walks toward the distress.

In the next aisle, there’s a little girl in full meltdown, with a mom hovering over her.

He reaches in a back pocket and pulls out a dog’s squeaky chew toy, a little thing that can disappear in your hand. Holding the toy behind his back, he approaches the child and mom and the toy starts squeaking.

The child is instantly alert to the different noise. The mom sees a grandfatherly guy approaching, a gentle smile on his face. She’s wondering, “What the heck is this?” But a quick glance from him soothes her, especially as she notices her little girl is no longer screaming.

With a look of puzzlement on her face, the little girl wonders how the old man can be making this noise.

“Here,” he gestures to the girl, looking for approval from mom and the chew toy is brought from behind his back. He extends it to the girl and she grasps it like a prize. She smiles, tears still running down her cheeks.

A grateful mom thanks this grandfather stranger.

“May I know your name?” she asked.

“It’s Mario…Mario Arena,” he said.

Kind of like the Lone Ranger, he leaves the toy with the child and walks off into the sunset to find his wife in the store.

What just happened is part and parcel of Arena’s life.

“Every day I try to find somebody to help,” he said. “You never know what your impact is on somebody. You never know how far it goes. So, I just try to help everybody. Why not? It costs nothing. People are nice.”

 

Turning 90

On July 13, Arena turned 90. His daughter, Jodie and wife, Nancy, along with a lot of family and friends, organized a huge birthday party at Casa Larga in Fairport. The party was attended by 117 of his closest friends and family. This writer was also invited.

He stood at the door and greeted every guest, one by one. He thanked each one for coming.

They were there to celebrate his life of consequence.

His work. His giving. His friendship. His guidance. His service. His goodness. His presence in each life.

The party pulled out all the stops: open bar, a hot pasta station, a pizza station, a sliders station, healthy snacks, cakes and waves of hors d’oeuvres. Take-home bottles of wine.

Arena had loved his 30-year career as an insurance man; when the company was sold, he spent five years in shattered depression, spending many an afternoon crying on the couch. Finally getting off the mat, he bought a distressed house, fixed it up and flipped it. Then he did another. Then he did five more. At one point he owned 20 properties in the Auburn area. He had condos in Florida. He provided homes for his kids.

Retirement came, but his restlessness continued. He started assembling partitions in his Webster home, which were the resting place for all of the boxes he’d filled in his professional and entrepreneurial life. There were partitions full of tools, full of educational stuff, full of family photos and mementos.

Visiting Mario and Nancy, who have been married for 46 years, meant a tour of his basement with a glass of wine, getting regaled by the stories behind all of those partitions and the life treasures Mario had nailed, glued, screwed, stapled or hammered onto them. His children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren want nothing to do with all those partitians when Mario moves on. But someone should preserve them — it’s folk art or what he describes as “Garage Art.”

That’s just one of the things he had been thinking about as he approached 90.

What does hitting that mark feel like?

“I don’t feel any different,” he said, sitting at his dining room table with a plate of Nancy’s chocolate-chip cookies in front of him. “But turning 90 scared me a little bit. That’s a big number — 90. When you’re growing up, you think, ‘Oh, God, that person is old: he’s 50!’ I don’t think much about my big number. But every once in a while, it scares the hell out of me. Just common sense: You get to be 90, you die. Who lives to 90? How many people do you know that are 90?

“Did I ever think I’d be 90? No. In my entire family — parents, grandparents, brother, all passed away before 90. My brother was 70, my father was 54, my mother was 81. I’m the first one in my family to be 90. That’s why I had to have a party. I had to.”

When she came back from a trip overseas in 2024, Nancy knew something was on Mario’s mind.

“He told me, ‘I’ve decided: I want a huge party for my 90th birthday.’

“I said, ‘How huge? How many people are you thinking?’

“Everybody I’ve ever known and my family,” he responded. “I want to be with all the people. I like everybody.”

They invited 125 people. Two people who RSVP’d died before his big day and Mario felt the loss.

At the end of the party, son-in-law Michael Salemi spoke about dad, unfolding a picture of life with a beloved patriarch.

“He always has wise advice,” Salemi said. “We call them ‘dad-isms.’ Here are the top five:

• No. 1: “’Show up, suit up and shut up.’” Mario wants his kids to be at work on time, fulfill their responsibilities, be appropriately dressed and keep their mouths shut: be respectful, no complaints, no grief, no unsolicited opinions. “’Take pride in what you do; take pride in what you wear.’”

• No. 2: “’Be aware of your surroundings,’ dad does not sit still.”

• No. 3: “’Do you need anything? Let’s go down to my basement and get what you need.’ This exemplifies his generosity.”

• No. 4: “’Text me when you get home.’ He wants to know you’ve arrived safely.”

• No. 5: “’Family is everything.’”

 

After party

People took heart to Salemi’s message. Mario said that after the party was over, he got a dozen texts from guests, noting that they’d gotten home safely.

The treasures he kept in the basement — all the tools and doodads and items he lent to friends and neighbors — are half of his generosity legacy; the other portion was his wisdom, experience and common sense, which he also shares willingly.

Before the party, he got two messages from real estate entrepreneurs he’d helped.

“You were the biggest influence in my life, economically,” one wrote. “I would have never owned 42 apartments if it wasn’t for you or got into fixing and selling properties here and in Florida. You gave me the knowledge and confidence to do it and I can’t thank you enough. You have a great family and wife. Keep moving every day physically and mentally.”

“I know I have told you before, but you made the greatest impact on my life economically, more than anyone I have ever met and for that I am forever thankful,” another said. “I have learned so much about the business. You are also a great father to your kids and have done so much to help them.”

 

Garage art

Mario is doing his part to leave a trail as he moves on.

When a friend scored a hole in one in golf, Mario made him his own garage art sign, complete with seven golf balls, including the one that went in the cup that day.

Another friend, a fisherman, Ron Stein, got a Mario-assembled piece of garage art loaded with seashells, lures, a bobber and the note “Friends for over 50 years.”

One Corvette owner who visited the basement got Corvette garage art, complete with a scale model and lights.

In the range of the 117 people that showed up for Mario’s birthday, many have similar garage art treasures at home.

“There were a lot of smiles in that room,” Mario said.

“You make me laugh every day,” added Nancy, noting that the Arenas have a sign that says just that on the wall in the living room.

“That 90. It’s a big number,” Mario said, thinking about the party and how far along the road he’s been.

“How do you live a long life?” he asked, answering a question he hears more frequently these days.

“That’s up to you and the Lord. The way I live my life is very simple: every day I visit a friend and I find people to help. If I can help someone, I help them. When I was in the insurance business, I absolutely loved that. Every day, I couldn’t wait to see people, to talk to people, help give them advice, tell them how important it is to save money and where to put it.”

“Mario has an amazing reach with people,” Nancy said. “He makes instant connections. Everybody loves him because he’s a nice person. He’s non judgmental. He’s home by dinnertime. We don’t sit around. At night we go out with friends or have friends over for dinner.

“He makes birdhouses and gives them away. He’s out with his high school friends; he’s out to lunch with his grammar school friends. He sees his friends in nursing homes every week. He’s always going.”

And he’s always prepared and on the lookout for that screaming child…