A father's wisdom resonates now

His name was Christos, 51, father of three, nearly broke and on the verge of the worst economic squeeze since the Great Depression when he pumped his only pile of coins into an empty storefront a half-block from the Tower Theater in Upper Darby.

He was a war orphan, a Greek immigrant who seldom spelled the words roast beef without dropping a vowel. And he was placing a bet on a sandwich shop in a town whose best days were over.

It was 1977 - the eye of a growing economic storm that would include a gasoline shortage and soaring unemployment, interest rates, and inflation over the next five years.

The guy had scrapped and lost, scrapped and lost. He had no 401(k) to weep over, no pension payout to safeguard, no existential despair over the prospect of a 30-year career track coming to an unexpected halt.

He had been humbled years before. And as always, he had a job to do - a tightrope walk into a future with no safety net. No prayers to the president for a Hail Mary rescue. No fear allowed.

Christos turned a temporary employment agency office into Ariston Delicatessen. It was a crapshoot.

These days, many feel life has pulled a bait-and-switch on us. Instead of the steady rise toward prosperity we thought we were owed, our fates now seem reduced to little more than a blackjack bet - and the dealer is on a cruel winning streak.

We panic. We complain. And we ask: Where is the Big Hand to fix this mess?

Economists offer terribly complex solutions that seek to cure our ills by fixing the system. Like theoretical physicists, they try to solve the puzzle with a few neat mathematical equations.

Piece of cake for the rest of us if it works, right? So far, though, bailout math has been less than convincing.

So what about us? Are we just passive puppets? Surely not - even though this idea doesn't get a lot of ink in the press or chatter on cable TV, that universe of Debbie Downers.

How about this:

Take a chill. Get religion and get off your behind. Breathe. Life is long.

I've wondered what my dad would be thinking these days if a heart attack hadn't taken his life 14 years ago this month.

He was no hero in the epic or grand paternal sense. He was just a good guy, an honorable father, a hard worker, a humble example.

By no stretch was he a big-shot businessman. (I'll never forget the parent of a college friend who so charmingly belittled me for being "The Only Poor Greek Family I Know.") But he kept Ariston Deli going for 17 years, employed a bunch of people along the way, beat out a chain competitor and put three girls through college until he died asleep on the sofa after yet another day at work.

"Everything in moderation, Maria." That was a favorite line, delivered quietly but with a cartoonish accent which, aimed at a strident daughter, failed to adequately convey its true wisdom.

This man of few words never missed a day of work, never had a paid vacation, and always put enough money aside to pay the family's health insurance premiums.

"This country needs a war." That was another gem, though deployed rarely and only after, say, catching a dose of smut on TV. Watching clips of near-criminal corporate types talk about how fun it was to be a "billionaire" while wrecking the economy would have been a trigger, too. (Enter: last Wednesday's The Daily Show With Jon Stewart.)

He was a patriot whose wisdom was forged not by ideology but hard knocks. His teacher wasn't the Web, but war: Nazi occupation and the bloodshed of modern civil war on the ancient soil where democracy was born.

There are heartbreaks in life far worse than shattered savings accounts and cracked dreams of pampered retirement.

But with humility, hustle and courage, there is hope amid it all.