Iza Bogza

Anthony Carra, or as I call him “Uncle Tony,” was quite possibly the most colorful character on my dad’s side of the family–at least that I had the opportunity to know. He lead the life of an Italian bachelor and passed his time decorating, gardening and his favorite, gambling! In a future post, I’ll share more about his life but for now, I want to share my personal memories of him. The year was 1995 and my brother and I were homeschooled. My mom would take us into town for groceries on Wednesdays and we would stop by to visit him at his apartment on the westside of Kalamazoo. My mom has always had a soft spot for old men and since he had no spouse or children, she made it a point to check in on him. As we walked through the door, we were immediately hit with a STRONG aroma of garlic and vinegar and our ears were assaulted by the volume of his television. To say he was obsessed with watching the news (CNN) would be an understatement! I can remember him watching coverage of the OJ Simpson trial and the Oklahoma City Bombing. At every visit, he would be sitting in his lazy-boy chair with his leg up in a foot rest. He had gout so his mobility was limited. His arms were always crossed above his belly and when he would get all worked up (which was OFTEN), the Italian would come out as he flapped is arms all about. His false teeth would shift around and he would often jut out his jaw as he spoke. At every visit, he would say to me and my brother, “there is juice in the Iza Bogza”. Regardless of modern advancements, he still called his refrigerator an ice box. The juice was always cranberry. Not the sweet cran-mix kind but the strong tart kind that made an unpleasant tingling sensation in your cheeks. We didn’t have cable at home and we rarely had juice in the house so the experience made a lasting impact in my memory. I also remember his beautiful white chenille bedspread and credenza that contained cigar boxes with various treasures inside. I still have a cigar box that he let me have. I thought it was so cool and I kept it in my room with mementos in it, showing it to my friends when they would come over.

Later that year, he moved to an apartment in Battle Creek and passed away shortly after.

From what I can remember, he was passionate, vocal, cranky with a dash of paranoid tossed in! He was the stereotypical elderly Italian uncle and the only great uncle I ever knew from my Dad’s side of the family. Though I wasn’t always thrilled to visit at the time, I’m grateful now that I had the opportunity to get to know him before he was gone.