Papa Sam Cacioppo Offered Candor Behind Meat Counter

Every kid who walked into Cascioppo Brothers Italian Meat Market in Ballard knew Papa Sam. He was the one who would sneak them Tootsie Roll pops, ice cream sandwiches, and once in a while a dollar coin.

With his signature chocolate-brown Fedora hat, neatly trimmed mustache and booming voice - "Hey, how ya doing?," - Sam Cacioppo melted like butter when it came to children.

Raised by his brothers and sisters when he was orphaned at age five, Mr. Cacioppo made it a point to make children feel welcome, said his daughter, Julie Cascioppo. (Ten years ago, Mr. Cacioppo dropped the "s" from his name when he realized his father's name had been changed when he arrived from Italy.)

"When he was little, his favorite thing to do was to go to the butchers," his daughter said. "He was always so hungry. The butchers would always give him treats to eat. That's why when my dad saw children in his shops, he made sure he gave them something as well. That's how my father was."

Mr. Cacioppo died Thursday in Whittier, Calif., of pneumonia. He was 72.

Mr. Cacioppo was known for dispensing wit and wisdom along with his sausages from behind the meat counter.

A staunch Democrat, he discussed politics, economics and philosophy with his customers, and was always quick with a joke. He cussed a mean streak about the Republicans and reveled in their defeat on Election day, said his son, Tony Cascioppo, who owns the market near the corner of 24th Avenue Northwest and Northwest 80th Street.

He also was a man who felt strongly about his Italian heritage.

Mr. Cacioppo was renowned for his skill in creating Italian sausages, pepperoni, and frozen dinners, although his salsa, kosher pickles and pickled herring were as admired as his ravioli.

He also was in charge of cooking the spaghetti sauce - two five-gallon pots of sauce - every week. Dressed sharply in a suit, tie, and red suspenders, he would lord over the pots. He listened to Frank Sinatra or Mario Lanza to get into the mood for five hours of cooking.

"That's some of my earliest memories of him, cooking spaghetti for us every Sunday morning," said Julie Cascioppo. "He would throw in the sausage and garlic and we would hear Sinatra sing `Come fly with me,' in the background."

Mr. Cacioppo learned how to make hearty pasta dishes from his brothers and sisters, who raised him in East Los Angeles when his father and mother died. The youngest of nine children, he was nicknamed "Toto."

"They would eat big plates of pasta," said Tony Cascioppo. "It filled them up. They had all this pasta and just this little ounce of meat. That's how he learned how to cook."

When Mr. Cacioppo volunteered for the Navy during World War II, he became chief petty officer and chief on the ships. Stationed in Seattle when he was not out to sea, Mr. Cacioppo met Solveig, the woman who was to become his wife.

Mr. Cacioppo opened more than a half-dozen meat stores in Seattle. Sometimes, he did fine. Other times he did not. When he didn't, he supported his family by hitching out to Alaska with the salmon boats, cooking for the sailors.

Eventually, Mr. Cacioppo settled into his son's market where the flank-steak sandwiches became as legendary as his generosity.

Almost every morning, Mr. Cacioppo could be seen driving to the neighborhood bread store to pack his blue Lincoln Continental with loaves. But instead of selling the loaves, he would give them away free with steaks and frozen dinners.

On one occasion, a man came into the store and ordered two of the most expensive steaks.

"In my next life, I want to come back as your girlfriend," said Mr. Cacioppo.

He talked to everybody who walked through the doors.

"You always thought Sam was your friend," said Barbara Boardman, whose daughter is one of Mr. Cacioppo's godchildren. "I think he made every one feel that way. I can't express how much I miss him. I still expect to see him in the aisle in his fedora. I lost a wonderful friend, but so did a lot of people."

Mr. Cacioppo's memorial service will be held Wednesday at noon at Wiggen and Sons Mortuary. After the service, friends and family are invited to attend a gathering at Cascioppo Brothers Italian Meat Market on 2364 N.W. 80th. St.

"He always said, `I want you to have a big party when I die.' I knew he meant it," his daughter said.

Mr. Cacioppo is survived by his former wife, Solveig; his sister, Mildred Kesterson of Whittier, Calif.; his four children, Norman, Julie, Tony, and Danny, and four grandchildren.