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Anthony "Tony" Bruno - 88

1/22/1931 - 8/16/2019

Longtime Chicago Heights resident

Anthony H. “Tony” Bruno age 88.  Longtime Chicago Heights area resident. Passed away peacefully August 16, 2019 surrounded by his loving family. Graduate of Bloom High School Class of 1949. U.S. Army Veteran Korean War.  Retired after 8 years from the Illinois Secretary of State Department of Motor Vehicles Chicago Heights Office and 30 years from Standard T Chemical. Beloved husband for 65 years of Carol nee Romano.  Father of Enrico “Rick” (Jean) Bruno, John Bruno, Toni Lynn (Robert “Coot”) Bruno-Griffith.  Grandfather of Gregory (Rachel) Bruno, Daniel Bruno, David (Antonett Madriaga) Bruno, Thomas (Carrie) Bruno, Jacob and Noah Griffith. Great grandfather of Kaidence, Vincent, Dominic, Nathan and Adam Bruno. Son of the late Carmella nee Ross and Enrico Bruno. Brother of the late Louis (late Irma) Bruno, James (late Phyllis) Bruno and Arthur (Virginia) Bruno. Uncle and friend of many. Resting at Panozzo Bros. Funeral Home, 530 W. 14th St. (U.S. Rt. 30, 3 blks E. of Western Ave.), Chicago Heights on Tuesday August 20th from 2:00 PM to 8:00 PM.  Funeral Wednesday morning 9:15 AM to St. Kieran Church, 724 – 195th St., Chicago Heights.  Mass 10:00 AM.  Interment Calvary Cemetery, Steger. Info 708-481-9230 or

1 Comment

  • Enrico Bruno

    on 08/22/19


    Last Friday night my father passed away.

    Dad was at home, recently returned from the hospital. The Cubs game was on in the room, and he was surrounded by family. As most of you know, he had been ill for a long time, and his release from pain though sorrowful for us, was a relief for him. Ironically, his passing was almost simultaneous with the Cubs blowing the game in the 9th inning in Pittsburgh. I did not blame him.  It is quite possible that a human being can only endure so many losses by the Cubs, and it just so happened that my father reached his limit.

    If so, there were also many things that were limitless in my father’s life. His love for us, his children his 6 grandchildren and his 5 great grandchildren, and his love for my mother were limitless. He loved us deeply and unconditionally. He loved his extended family, alive and dead and he never forgot a cousin three times removed. If you had met him before, you were family, if you were Italian, you were family, if you were from Chicago Heights, you were family, if you were a friend of any of us, you were family, if you were a White Sox fan you were, eh….

    You may have heard of a country song by George Strait; it’s called “A Father’s Love”. Part of the refrain of that song is “Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then. It’s a love without end, amen.”  That typifies how my dad felt. I believe that kind of love survives death.

    My Mom and Dad met while they were both working in a factory on the east side of Chicago Heights. My dad had recently been honorably discharged from the army, and he took a liking to a girl who worked in the office. They fell in love, and soon announced their engagement. Many thought they were moving too fast and that it wouldn’t last. This coming September 11th would have been their 65th anniversary. I guess it lasted. I never saw two people so much in love. It was a beautiful relationship, and we were lucky to have such wonderful parents.

    My earliest memory of my father was lying on the living room floor with him, and watching the old westerns on our black and white TV. I remember “Rawhide”, and “Have Gun Will Travel”, “Bat Masterson” and “The Rebel”.  The good guys were always good guys, and the bad guys were always bad guys, and the good guys always won. That was how I expected the world to be.

    Our extended family went to church every Sunday at St. Annes, and afterwards we all ended up at my grandparents’ house on 26th Street in South Chicago Heights. My dad’s three brothers and their families would be there, and it was wonderful. How I miss those days. Every Sunday was Easter Sunday.

    Children loved my dad. I think that is the true measure of a person’s success. Children can sense good guys from bad guys. If you walk into a room, and adults don’t acknowledge you, but children run up to you, you are a success. The kids on the block loved to sit and talk to my dad about baseball, and he knew a lot about baseball. They would see him on his lawn chair working on his suntan in the driveway and just come up and talk with him. He would tell them, if you watch enough Cubs games, you will see things you will never see happen to other teams. He was prophetic. He played catch with them, listened to baseball games on the radio with them, probably lost bets to them.

    One of my Dad’s quirks was his vocabulary. My father’s vocabulary workshop book should have been recalled by the publisher. We all understood him very clearly, but he used words like “motorsackle,” “lightling”, “pamoramic” and “wrastle”.  There were others too, and whenever he spoke to me and slipped one of these into a sentence, it derailed me for a fraction of o second until I could decipher it. We all got pretty good at it. But one word he constantly used never failed to blow my mind. My father, you see, considered himself “Eye-talian”. One hundred percent. That was one Tony-ism I could not tolerate, and I frequently reminded him there was no such country as Eye-taly. But even that term was endearing.

    My father had three older brothers, all of whom fought in World War II. They all came home too, and they were heroes to me. As time went by, each of my dad’s brothers passed away. But each time that happened, it was during the month of May. My father detected a pattern in this, and as a result, he dreaded the month of May. He was very cautious in May, but every June 1st was celebrated.

    The best advice my father gave me happened when I first started dating Jean. She had only met the family once or twice, but at a luncheon at the Tivoli restaurant, he came up to me and said, “I don’t care who you marry, as long as you marry her.”  I figured he knew a thing or two about marriage, and marrying the right one. I’m very glad I took his advice.

    Last Wednesday, out in Pasadena, our daughter-in-law Carrie gave birth to our fifth grandchild, whom they named Adam.  I showed my Dad Adam’s newborn pictures, and he smiled and said what a beautiful baby he is. I was glad he got to see pictures of Adam.

    But as it was obvious to me that Dad did not have long to live, my joy at the birth of Adam was tempered by the sorrow of my father’s decline.

    One life beginning, another ending almost simultaneously. It was quite an emotional pendulum. But as it swung between joy and sorrow, I had time to contemplate.

    I will miss my father for the rest of my life, but thanks to him I have discovered some truths.

    Faith is stronger than doubt.

    Courage is stronger than fear.

    Joy is stronger than sorrow.

    But love is the strongest of all. Because with faith, courage and joy, Love conquers death. It’s no contest. Thanks, Dad. We love you.

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