During the 1950s most Italian families from Chambersburg in Trenton, New Jersey, were related to the food industry in one way or another; pizza houses were on every corner. Our family, exception to none, stands out specifically. Now 90, Pop is still around to tell his story. For the most part, Mom kept us away from the restaurant, not wanting that we should get “that taste” in our mouths, so to speak. Dad’s third-grade education helped him scribble an X on a document at 17, when he turned the key to his business for the first time.  Mom graduated valedictorian, yet she was forced to give up her passion, opera, and go to work for Dad to help support the household while her brother, in the Marine Corps, was lost in Korea. Shortly before Dad’s 30th birthday they married and lived in the second-story apartment of her family’s home. I was born in that apartment, so these grandparents were my true role models. Our three-bedroom Rancher was purchased five years later, just one mile away—charting the course for the future of four children. Dad worked 16-hour days, seven days a week, while Mom grew …