How’s Your Gizzard?

This may be somewhat of a departure from a coaching or sports theme but, as I think about it, nah, not really.  Of course, I can relate anything to the lessons of sports.  I don’t want this to be a piece of moribund reflection but rather a recollection of some of those snippets of personal history that everyone has from time to time. Recall examples of statements, inflections, gestures, or facial expressions that stick in your brain and trigger some small meaningful memory. 

Like the time when you were 10 years old and told your mom a dirty joke you had heard having no idea why it was funny.  All you knew was that people laughed.  When you repeated it with enthusiasm to your mom she didn’t laugh.  In fact, she furrowed her brow and asked where you heard it and told you never to repeat it.  You didn’t understand why for another 4 years and then cringe every time you recall your mom’s look and warning.

You remember shaking hands with a friend of your Dad and he turned to your father and said, “I am impressed! He has a firm handshake, looks you in the eye and is polite!”

You recall the great reinforcing feeling of lessons your parents taught and knew from then on you would always greet people that way.

There are countless little recollections that contribute to the shaping of attitudes and behaviors.  Coaches provide many of these snippets to their athletes.  It comes to light when you meet a former player and they ask, “Do you remember when you told me. . .”

And you politely acknowledge the recollection actually not remembering anything about it.  It can be unnerving for a coach to discover how seemingly innocent verbal exchanges, inflections, and expressions or the lack thereof, can permanently influence a young player.

So what has that got to do with “How’s Your Gizzard?”  Sounds like the name of a Thoroughbred race horse: Howzyourgizzard.  (“…And at the top of the turn Monday Monday leads by a length, Gonzalez goes to the whip swinging Say it Again outside as Howzyourgizzard is closing charging along the rail. . .”) It was the common greeting of my childhood neighbor, Paul DeFaccio.  I have never heard it uttered by any other human being.

Ever look up the word gizzard? No?  (1) Also called ventriculus (“How’s your ventriculus?” Nah.) the thick-walled muscular lower stomach of many birds and reptiles that grinds partially digested food, often with the aid of ingested gravel.

Since I was old enough to understand the concept of words, I thought it was a standard greeting.  For many years my older brother, Ken, assumed that we had gizzards and should have known whether they were good or not.

Paul DeFaccio was the patriarch of our neighbors.  His youngest son of three boys is my age and a life long friend.  When Paul passed away he was well into his nineties.  He lived a satisfying life raising his family, establishing a very successful family business, and positively influencing the neighbor kids with his infectious enthusiasm, story telling ability, incredible work ethic, and the ever present “How’s your gizzard?” greeting that made a little boy always feel welcome and liked. 

That three-word question has always been a subject of affection and positive memories for my brother and younger sister. It is one of those recollection snippets that influenced us all of our lives. 

It represents caring, friendliness, a zest for life both in work and play.  The last time I saw him I think he was 89. I wanted my wife and young son to meet him.  I asked his partner and wife, Pearl, where he was.  She chuckled, “Oh, you know where he is. He is up on the hill pulling blackberries and cleaning out brush.”  Sure enough there he was: shirtless, in shorts, gloves on, holding a four-prong rake. His dark brown hair, now gray and thin. But as frisky as ever, the same articulate, clipped voice. A big smile.

“How’s Your Gizzard?” He asked all three of us. 

“It’s great,” we responded with the only acceptable answer.

It was the last time I saw Paul and I am sure he never really knew how much he meant to the three Neville neighbors. Maybe he did.  I hope so.  I wish I had told him. I am happy that my own family had the opportunity to meet him.

Never take for granted how much influence you are capable of having in what seemingly is the most casual of circumstances.  Time passes very quickly.  Always take the time to say “thanks” to those who mean so much. 

Paul DeFaccio.  He was the best neighbor.  And his gizzard was always great.

Bill Neville