Jennie and Albert Lombardo

In the eulogy he wrote for his great aunt and uncle, Anthony Villari recalled Jennie and Albert Lombardo as so inseparable, they fed off each other.

And life was a banquet.

“They were a constant source of love and support,” Anthony noted of the couple, who died within 12 days of each other, he at 95, she at 88. 

“Their love passed from generation to generation without missing a beat.”

Known as Jean and Chick, the Lombardos had no children of their own. But they lavished the rest of the family – including one niece and two nephews, three great nephews and a great niece – with the love and attention of any parent or grandparent. 

They went to baseball games, school plays and karate matches. They asked how the kids’ education was going. They brought donuts to the Villari home: chocolate glazed for Anthony, Boston cream for his brother Nicholas.

Their mother Colette practically grew up at Jean and Chick’s one-story Cherry Hill home. She can still smell her perfume and his cologne. 

“Without their own kids,” Colette said, “they gave double the encouragement, double the support and double the love.”

Jean and Chick met in their native South Philly when he was 26 and she was 19. They married in 1960.

“It was love at first sight,” Colette was told. “For him especially. You couldn’t say the name Jean without Chick and Chick without Jean.”

Chick established a nearly four-decade career at Siemens Electrical Company. Jean spent more than 40 years at Continental Bank, but cherished taking care of her home. He played golf on Saturdays. 

Together, they were impeccably dressed and impeccably mannered – really put together, as someone from their generation might say.

People noticed. Dining once in Atlantic City, they were asked to appear in a billboard ad for the Hilton Casino Resort.

Jean was never without her makeup; people said she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Chick was handsome in four-button sport coats and cream-colored sweaters.

Anthony told mourners that his Christmases really began when he watched Jean and Chick walk up the front steps to his house. Even the next-door neighbor noticed.    

“It was like watching two movie stars,” he remembered. “They were the epitome of class.”

Last year was the first Christmas they didn’t make it; time had taken its toll. During a brief stint in rehab, Chick would call his wife at night.

“I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to sleep,” he was heard to say.

Some of Jean and Chick’s last days were spent in the hospital, she on the first floor, he not far away on the second. He had heart issues and had fought two kinds of cancer. She broke a hip.

As he was about to enter hospice, Colette heard Jean address her husband formally as Albert. 

That didn’t happen often. In a low whisper, she told him they had a wonderful life.  

“He died that night,” Colette recollected. “It was almost like he waited for her.”

Twelve days later – after saying she didn’t want to be alone – Jean passed. The Catholic priest who said their mass had never overseen a dual funeral for an elderly couple. He told Colette he would never forget it. 

Even in death, Colette marveled, her aunt and uncle got noticed. 

“They were a standout to us,” she related. “They were a standout at their church. They were a standout at the casinos. They were the happiest couple.

“They just lived a beautiful life.”

Sources: Bradley Funeral Home, Legacy.com

Inside the obits
On the job

The obituaries are full of people whose careers played a significant role in their lives. Some had jobs at companies that no longer exist, others were a point of pride, even in retirement. And in death.

Florence Helen Staib died at 92, but years before, her first job was at Woolworth’s in Philadelphia, the beloved five-and-dime chain known for its wait-staffed counter and 30-cent burger. She also worked in catalog sales for Montgomery Ward, a retailer that has, like so many  others, navigated online.

Stella Cannon was a work horse who went door to door as an Avon saleswoman for part of her 94 years, a role in its heyday that was said to be a symbol of women’s independence and business sense. Avon ladies still exist today, but are more likely to sell their cosmetics through personal websites or social media. 

Frank Vincent Borrelli once held three jobs at a time: math teacher, football coach, youth leader. But the 82-year-old found his place at RCA in Camden, where he was part of a team that created the first ATM machine in the region. There are now more than 300,000 of the indispensable money dispensers in the U.S.

Mary Anne Folcher was equal parts mother and career woman. The 81-year-old mother of three was a teacher, college lab instructor and editor at several academic publishers. Among the writers to whom she lent her expertise was Jonas Salk, creator of the polio vaccine.

Kenneth F. Besso Sr. passed away on Sept. 14, three days after what we know as 9/11. That date had resonance in the 95-year-old’s obituary: After working as a welder on the Kitty Hawk ship and a stint in the National Guard, he joined RCA/GE in Camden. Among his accomplishments, he helped build the antennas on the World Trade Center.

Sources: Legacy.com, Smith Funeral Home, Evoy-Banasz Funeral Home, Constantino Funeral Home, Falco Caruso and Leonard Funeral Home, Platt Memorial Chapels, Perinchief Chapels.  

The Good Life appears twice a month. To suggest someone who recently passed away for a tribute, email Christina Mitchell at cmitchell@donnelly.media. Please describe in a few words something about the person’s life.