It’s hard to believe but my cousin Bill Mignoni died 28 years ago. 1996. He was born in 1949. He was too young.
Bill, William, “Weeham,” as we called him as kids, was the brother I never had. My early memories were visits, overnights at the family’s Winder Village house. As a Bristol borough kid, Winder Village was the country. So many memories. We ran in the yard and scurried around the neighborhood. There was a small woods nearby. I vividly recall a bike trip Bill and I took to the Levittown Shopping Center. I was about 10; Bill maybe 8. New bikes. We ride out from Winder Village to Bath Road, into Bristol, up Radcliffe Street to the shopping center. When we got back to the house Uncle Frank went wild. Nothing was said to me but Bill was crucified. He wasn’t allowed to ride on the major roads. I also remember his Lionel train platform in the basement of the house.
He could be a bit of Dennis the Menace. Sometimes he was pretty rough with his sister Ellen. But beneath the surface he had an extremely sympathetic childlike heart. In the mid 1950s, the Mignonis moved to Radcliffe Street. Although we both lived in Bristol, we developed friends our own age. I went to Holy Ghost Prep; Bill went to Bristol High.
While in high school, the Mignoni’s began to rent a winter apartment in the Poconos. Split Rock. Skiing. I was invited most weekends to ski with them. Uncle Frank took us to a ski store in Trenton and bought us used rental skis — wood base laminated, black leather lace up boots. I was still using them in college. Aunt Ellen sewed us pegged ski pants. Always thrifty. We were on the slope in style. Our maternal grandmother, Hannah Gallagher moved in with the Mignonis at this time. Whenever Bill brought home a date Nannie disapproved and she was vocal about it. I remember being glad I wasn’t dealing with her judgement.
It was probably my junior year at Boston College. Bill was a freshman at La Salle in Philadelphia. He came to visit Diane and me for a weekend. I think he was trying to “find” himself. I remember taking him to a strobe light club around Kenmore Square. The music was loud; the lights pulsating. Bill went off looking for a dance partner. I was intrigued with his independence. My young cousin. After a few days, he said goodby and I believe went off to Cape Cod.
Bill had a sly sense of humor. It was rumored that he was one of the gang who kidnapped a cow and led her up to the second floor of a dorm. The culprits were never found but Bill had a grin whenever the story was told. No photographic evidence that I know of.
Bill skied and he was also a good swimmer. When we were in elementary school, my family and the Mignoni’s rented a house together on Long Beach Island. Bill and I played together, swam, and fished. I recall his learning to navigate a skimmer board. The Mignoni’s eventually bought an oceanfront house in Harvey Cedars. We were always invited to visit for a day, a week. Diane and I spent most of the summer and early spring there when she was pregnant with Jenny. Bill bought a fishing boat and would take everyone fishing. I was totally impressed.
It wasn’t a surprise that on graduation Bill gravitated to Uncle Frank’s real estate business. Uncle had high expectations. Bill was driven. I remember one afternoon soon after graduation while we were having a beer in Mari’s Bristol House when Bill commented that he got sick to his stomach if he was unoccupied, walking in a park for instance. I was amazed and somewhat saddened. But within years Bill was quite successful and opened his own office. He eventually sold the business making a significant amount.
Bill and Margie had three children. The oldest Frankie was held to the same expectations Bill faced with Uncle Frank. He was tough. But sweet with his daughters, Krista and Andrea. He could surprise. I recall his returning from a business trip with a horse from an antique carousel. I believe he went white water rafting on the Colorado. Skiing in Colorado.
Sometime maybe in the 1990s Bill was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. He lived in Washington Crossing. In his final year, I remember visiting several times and we would take walks along the Delaware Canal. He seemed so happy to be out, just slowly walking. He died February 26. Too young. I cherish his memory.
vprofy 