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A Saint, A Servant And A Secret Pact

Tribune photo by Greg Fight

Al Noto, 82, helps prepare Pignolatta . He has been cooking and serving Italian food for the Feast of St. Joseph for 33 years to raise money for the McDonald Training center.

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By MICHELLE BEARDEN | The Tampa Tribune

Published: March 15, 2008

Updated: 03/15/2008 11:57 pm

It started with a promise made 33 years ago. Al Noto, a West Tampa man of modest means, struck a deal with St. Joseph, the patron saint of workers. Help me out, and I will serve you. Something mystical transpired between the two. That was the beginning of Noto's commitment to a bountiful Italian-themed fundraiser luncheon for the MacDonald Training Center, a Tampa facility that empowers people with disabilities. Way back when, he picked the day for the annual affair: March 19, on the Feast of St. Joseph.

Most of his buddies who cooked and served alongside him under the blue-and-white tents are gone now. Noto, 82, had a stroke in the mid-1990s and another one four years ago. He lost Dalia, his wife of 51 years, about the same time. Despite a broken heart and failing health, he hasn't wavered on his pledge.

Like the wonder of faith and power of love, some mysteries are never explained. Noto has never revealed the reasons behind that vow and why he has steadfastly honored it for more than three decades.

Pete Noto, his gregarious son, gets tight-lipped when asked about it.

"It goes something like this. You ask something of St. Joseph, and you make good on the promise you make to him. My dad, he just chose this way, for whatever reason."

'The Power Of One'

Whatever the reason for Noto's dedication, they are grateful at MacDonald Training Center.

Sue Mesko, the nonprofit agency's longtime executive assistant, says the impact of the gesture is immeasurable.

This isn't a big-name charity that garners a lot of attention. Once a year, it's in the spotlight, a noisy, go-to event that draws hundreds of supporters from all over with a lust for Noto's homemade meatless spaghetti sauce and sticky-sweet pignolatas. They give one another bearhugs and kisses and are serenaded by an ensemble playing Italian music as they stand in long lines to fill their plates. There's a drone of chatter, in English, Spanish and Italian, as people who don't often see each other catch up.

It's a big deal for the MacDonald clients as well. They help with the setup, the serving and the cleaning. Before the crowds arrive, they eat. That's the way Noto wants it. Honor students from Jesuit High School earn community-service hours busing tables, running errands. Weeks of planning and preparing come to a head in a few short frenetic hours.

"What he does for us is a monumental thing," Mesko says. "It gets our name and our mission out there." Patrons are asked to give a donation or, if they can't afford it, enjoy a free meal. Noto doesn't want anyone left out. Mesko estimates the event has raised $375,000 and fed more than 50,000.

Former Tampa Mayor Sandy Freedman has known Noto for three decades. She says not everyone likes his straight talk. He can be gruff and stubborn. "He tells it like it is, whether you want to hear it or not," she says.

But Freedman knows beneath that tough exterior is a generous heart. Noto helped in all her political campaigns, hosting his secret-sauce spaghetti dinners to raise money and introducing her to well-connected city leaders. She didn't know any other way to repay him than come out to the benefit feast, roll up her sleeves and serve patrons. She has lost track of how many years she has been spooning out the sauce.

"He's not doing this for the accolades," she says. "Al just genuinely cares about the community. He's a dying breed. We don't have many people like that anymore, at least the kind who give year after year without a break."

For the training center, with a budget of $6.4 million, the fundraiser is a welcome boost to its diminishing coffers. Budget cuts are a yearly nuisance, always threatening the scope of MacDonald's vision. A few dollars here and there can save a doomed program or provide an extra service for its 600-plus clients.

"All because one man has kept his promise all these years," Mesko says. "It's amazing, when you think of the power of one."

A Brotherhood

In the beginning, there were three.

Noto, a warehouse foreman at Tampa Wholesale Liquor, and his pal Joe Busciglio went to their friend Marcelino Huerta Jr., a guy everybody knew as "Chelo."

Chelo, a football coach who flew bomber planes in World War II, was working with the MacDonald Training Center. "We want to do something to help the center," they said. "Put us to work."

And so it began. The men would buy the food and cook an authentic Italian banquet for the spring fundraiser. They would tackle the whole shebang: pasta with an herb-infused tomato sauce, maybe throw in some anchovies and sardines; whole red snapper or grouper; chopped Swiss chard, pattied and fried; cardoon; fried cauliflower; homemade braided breads; and that crowd favorite, pignolata, fried pastries drizzled in a sweet honey mixture. Ladies from Tampa's tight-knit Italian-American community pitched in.

They bought giant pots and worked out of a garage, starting the laborious process weeks in advance. It was as much a time to get together and grouse about politics and trade gossip as it was to prepare the meal for the masses. They would stir and chop and knead, slipping into their native tongue and conversing at a rat-a-tat speed. This was a brotherhood.

Tony Scolaro wanted in. He met Noto, a first-generation Sicilian born and raised in Ybor City, in front of Columbia Restaurant when they were 7 years old. Scolaro was selling newspapers, and young Noto dropped in for a cup of Cuban coffee.

After the Army, Scolaro came back to Tampa and got a job as a wine consultant at Tampa Wholesale Liquor. Noto reminded him of Gen. George S. Patton.

"Someone would call in with a complaint, and he'd put the phone in the wastebasket. Then he'd pick it up a few minutes later and tell the caller, 'Yep, I'll take care of that.' It was really quite masterful," Scolaro, 82, recalls. "Al was tough, hard-nosed and the best manager I had ever worked for."

Scolaro claimed his contribution to the feast. He would build and decorate the altar to St. Joseph. He would set up a statue of the saint shrouded in palm fronds and vines, and encircle it with sprays of colorful fresh-cut flowers and an array of fruits and vegetables. It's a Sicilian tradition.

Back in the 1820s in the old country, drought-plagued farmers prayed to Joseph for rain to revive their dying crops. He answered their pleas with a lifesaving downpour, the story goes, and they promised to honor him by giving some of the fruits of their labor to the needy.

Scolaro is still making the altar for the luncheon. This is about the only time of the year he sees his old friend these days. Since the strokes, Noto is less likely to be holding court at La Ideal, a Cuban coffee shop, or the Aguila Sandwich Shop. It's a shame, Scolaro says. Noto has always been a talker.

But some things are still the same. "He's also got a real big, generous heart. You need a favor, he's there for you," he says. "We got used to doing this, helping out the center, and now it's just part of our lives, you know what I mean?"

Giving Back

Noto's speech has slowed, and he doesn't get around too easily these days. Sometimes, he needs a wheelchair or a walker to take the burden off his tired feet.

No one really wants to talk about it. But the reality is, things come to an end. Not this year, maybe not for a while. But there will be a day when Noto won't be at the center's Italian feast.

But blood runs thick. Noto and his late wife raised their four children - Pete, 54; Maggie, 53; Anthony, 49; and Josie, 46 - in Ybor City in the same house Noto grew up in. They were across the street from a convent, which served as a constant reminder of the obligations of their Catholic faith. They instilled the principles that guided them. Be a giver, not a taker. Lend a hand to a stranger.

"We'd be driving down the street and my dad would see a guy down on his luck. He'd stop the car, get out and tell me to wait a bit," Pete Noto says. "I'd see him walk over and talk to the man, give him a $5 bill or something like that. He always had a soft touch. He didn't want to see people hurting."

The Noto offspring have been part of the fundraiser since the beginning, taking on more responsibilities as the years progressed. They say they'll carry on in their father's name and turn it over to their children one day. This has evolved into a family tradition, executed with precision and patience.

"Well, it can get a little stressful this time of year. We can end up arguing and fighting," admits Josie Noto. "I might end up calling Sue Mesko and saying, 'That's it, I'm gonna kill him.' But we always muddle through, and it always comes together."

It's not like everything always goes according to plan. Like the year TECO accidentally cut off the electricity right before the luncheon began, or the time it rained so hard the Jesuit boys were frenetically filling sandbags to hold off the rising tide of water on the grounds.

The lunch has moved around to several locations, settling in a few years ago at the West Tampa Convention Center. With the inside venue, the weather isn't a threat. They depend on returning patrons to bring new guests for the food and fellowship. It's a system that seems to work.

"Some years, they're heavy with the money; some years, they're light," says Pete Noto. "But there's always a crowd, and it's always fun. People get happy."

Mike Gonzalez, 45, is a special operations chief for Tampa Fire Rescue. A friend of Anthony Noto, he started volunteering about 10 years ago. He says it makes sense that he gets involved. As the father of a 15-year-old autistic son, Gonzalez has empathy for people with disabilities. Early on, he thought Noto had a similar connection.

"But then I found out he just did it out of the goodness of his heart," Gonzalez said. "Al Noto is a compassionate man who leads by example, a role model to people like me who understand the importance of giving back to the community."

Asking One More Time

Praise like that brings Noto to tears. The strokes make it hard to keep his emotions in check. Ask him what's so special about the MacDonald Training Center, and he leans forward, his shoulders hunched and his grizzled face contorted. Then the waterworks begin.

"Dad, pull yourself together," Josie Noto prods.

He slowly looks up, then gathers himself. He speaks deliberately, searching for the right words. Noto says it just makes him feel good to see the smiling faces of the center's clients and the people who come to support the event. The home-cooked food, the music, the camaraderie. It's a magical day.

So the question has to be asked, just one more time. What was behind that promise to St. Joseph, so many years ago?

"You know, you would be surprised by what he could do for you," Noto says. And the tears flow again.

WHAT: A benefit luncheon for the MacDonald Training Center, featuring homemade food and music by the Arena Twins

WHEN: 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. Wednesday

WHERE: West Tampa Convention Center, 2005 W. Columbus Drive, Tampa

COST: Donation

INFORMATION: (813) 870-1300

Reporter Michelle Bearden can be reached at mbearden@tampatrib.com or (813) 259-7613. Come into the Notos' kitchen where feast preparations are under way on Michelle Bearden's "Keeping the Faith" at 9 a.m. today on WFLA-TV.

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