The Full Story
Tom Bluni
The Chronological life and times of Tom Bluni
The Early Years
Family roots, childhood, and the foundation of his values
Tom grew up on Dumont Street in East New York, living on the top floor of a row house while his grandparents lived just below. It was a home full of movement, voices, and the comforting scent of something always cooking. His father, Domenico — who had come over from Licata, Sicily in 1914 — worked as a longshoreman, while his mother, Josephine, kept the household humming. Though money was tight, the family never went without. Life was full, and love came in abundance.
He was the second of four siblings — John, Tommy, Dominic, and Madeline — and together they built a childhood defined by togetherness. Sundays were sacred: mornings spent fishing and crabbing off the Rockaway Bridge ( "First Bridge," as they called it), and afternoons in the basement of the house for sprawling family dinners. The men played cards, the women worked their magic in the kitchen, and laughter echoed through the walls. It was loud, chaotic, and unforgettable — exactly the way Tom loved it.
He attended P.S. 202, graduated from Franklin K. Lane High School, and later went on to St. Francis College. During those years, he worked at Crystal’s Supermarket, balancing school and work with the same quiet determination he would carry throughout his life. Those early years in Brooklyn — with family upstairs and downstairs, around the table and down by the water — shaped the man he would become: steady, humble, loyal, and deeply rooted.
Building a Life
Career, marriage, and raising a family
After graduating from St. Francis College in 1963 with a Biology degree — the first in his family to attend college — Tom went on to earn his master’s degree in Biology (details to follow). It was a remarkable achievement for a kid from Dumont Street, and it set the tone for a life built on discipline, quiet perseverance, and the belief that education could change everything.
During college, he met Carol Rossetti. The two married and went on to have three sons — Scott, Sean, and Tommy — and later adopted a daughter, Kristen. As the family grew, so did their life together: first in Brooklyn, then to Massapequa, and eventually settling in Coram.
Tom began his teaching career at Bishop Ford High School and eventually found his home at JFK High School in Bellmore, where he would spend his career teaching Biology . He truly loved what he did — and his students felt that. His classroom wasn’t just a place to learn; it was a place where kids felt seen, respected, and encouraged. Later in life, when his health began to decline, many of the doctors who treated him turned out to be his former students — a testament to the impact he had. They remembered him. They truly loved him.
Tom and Carol eventually went their separate ways, and with that came a new and challenging chapter. The three boys lived with Tom, while Kristen lived with Carol. He took on three jobs to keep the family going — teaching during the day, tutoring at night, and running a small gift shop in Port Jefferson on the weekends.
He didn’t complain. He didn’t wallow. He showed up — every day. What his kids saw was a father who worked tirelessly, who packed their lunches, helped with homework, and cheered from the sidelines. He stressed the value of education not just in words, but in how he lived: showing his sons that resilience, integrity, and commitment could carry you through even the hardest stretches.
A New Chapter
Remarriage, a blended family and the joys of grandkids
Tom met Lillian the old-fashioned way — through a singles ad in a Suffolk County newspaper. She responded just before he was heading out of town, and though he promised to call when he got back, he didn’t. So Lillian did what Lillian does: she picked up the phone and said, “Where’s my free dinner?” And that was it — they’ve been together ever since.
They married in 1991, and with Lillian came her daughter, Adrienne — expanding the circle and blending their families into one. Between them, Tom and Lillian became proud grandparents to 11 grandchildren, all of whom grew up knowing how deeply they were loved.
As the family grew, so did the volume — holidays became louder, messier, and more chaotic... and it was pure gold. Family ran wild, the kitchen was always full, and laughter spilled out of every room. Tom, never one for the spotlight, would quietly take it all in — a full house, a full heart, and a life that had turned out just right.Their journey together began in Coram, moved through Massapequa Park, and with retirement, eventually brought them to Ridge — a 55-and-older community the family affectionately refers to as Del Boca Vista. .
The Good Years
Retirement, legacy, slowing down, and the quiet richness of life
Dad, never one to really like people in that social butterfly kind of way, surprisingly took to retirement life with ease — and, dare we say, enthusiasm. And The Glen became his unlikely playground.
He joined the art club. He played bocce. He had weekly card games. And somehow — hilariously — he ended up on the welcoming committee. If you knew him, you know how funny that is. The man who preferred quiet corners and close conversations was now handing out neighborhood maps and greeting newcomers with a grin (or at least the appearance of a grin).
But that was the beauty of these years: they were lighter, simpler, and full of the small joys he had more than earned. He read more. He painted. He perfected the art of the afternoon nap. And he showed up for his grandkids in a hundred small ways — from cheering at recitals and games to feeding them soda dispite the protests by the parents.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t loud. But it was good. And he was happy.
The not so good years...
Life was good — until it wasn’t.
After a couple of years enjoying the rhythm of retirement, his health began to shift. First it was his knee… and then, like these things sometimes go, it snowballed. Aches turned into surgeries. Independence gave way to appointments, treatments, and more days at home than he would’ve liked.
The last few years were a battle. Not a dramatic one — because that wasn’t his style — but a quiet, stubborn fight. He pushed through as best he could. He stayed sharp. He stayed present. And he stayed Tom: steady, understated, and still cracking dry one-liners when he had the strength.
There were hard days. But there were good ones, too — visits from the grandkids, phone calls with his kids, moments of calm with Lillian. He didn’t want fanfare. He didn’t want speeches. He just wanted to be with the people he loved, in the time he had.
And in the end, that’s exactly what he did.