This is Paradise

If you’ve been to LaGuardia Airport in roughly the last 40 years, odds are you’ve seen John DiCicco.

Mr. DiCicco has been shining shoes for a full 4 ½ decades. He has four stands located at four different terminals in the airport. Before him, the business belonged to his father, John Joseph DiCicco, and before that to his grandfather, John Joseph DiCicco.

“I’m a third,” he told me, applying black polish to my beat up shoes as I sat in his chair in the American Airlines terminal. “My grandfather, when he got off the boat from Italy, he lived downtown in Little Italy. He cleaned shoes on the Staten Island Ferry, so this business now is 105.”

Mr. John Joseph DiCicco III

The DiCiccos have been at LaGuardia 68 years. In 1947, the year his grandfather moved the business to the airport, he moved his own family from Mulberry Street in Little Italy to Flushing. By 1960, the elder DiCicco and his wife had 32 grandchildren within 10 blocks of their house – 17 boys and 15 girls.

According to Mr. DiCicco, his family has the oldest small business in any airport on the planet. I’m not inclined to disagree with him.

“We go in the Guinness Book soon…which is really cool,” he tells me, glancing up from his work as a parade of passengers hurry past his stand. “And no matter what airport you go to in this country, this is the least expensive that you’ll ever see.  This place is paradise.”

Apparently “paradise” was not good enough for his cousins, though. In fact, they considered the work of shining shoes as, well, beneath them.

“My cousins never wanted this business,” Mr. DiCicco explained. “They were embarrassed. They thought it was not the proper thing to do. I found out why – because in the 40s, 50s and 60s, grandpa’s stands were in the men’s room. My first day, they were taken out of the men’s room in 1970. Next Wednesday, I’m working here 46 years.”

He continued: “When they took the stands out of the men’s room, I said ‘Thank you, God.’ I knew this place…I didn’t want to work in there, but that’s where all the men were. My cousins still never came back and I worked through high school. In the 46 years I’m here, I’ve met a million nice people and only 50 idiots in my life. This place is paradise.”

Paradise. He said it again. You might think to yourself, “Ah, he’s just kidding” or perhaps painting a rosy picture. But when you talk to him – when you hear his enthusiasm, the genuine optimism in his voice, you quickly realize he’s not kidding around. He’s totally serious.

Apparently, the price for shining a shoe in paradise is $3. You have to stop and remind yourself this is New York, after all. What is still $3? I know for a fact that a packet of peanut M&Ms at the gift shop some 50 feet from his stand costs about the same.

But because Mr. DiCicco’s rent to the New York Port Authority is grandfathered in, it hasn’t increased since 1990. In those 25 years, he’s kept his price the same. Three bucks. The Port Authority wanted to throw him out and usher in a company that would charge $10 (and justify higher rent for them), but Mr. DiCicco, no doubt channeling the resolve of his father and grandfather, refused to go.

“I told the Port that this is only 4 minutes of work. It’s not a beauty parlor,” he told me. “I can’t justify more money because I can’t justify more time. How much could you actually do to the shoe? You clean them, protect them and move on.”

He proudly explains that former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani came to his defense in his battle with the Port. He credits Mr. Giuliani for why he’s still in business.

I’d say there are other reasons as well, though. You’re likely never going to meet a more genuinely pleasant guy. Mr. DiCicco has a charm, a quite confidence and good sense of humor. As business men walk past, Mr. DiCicco calls out to them in a slightly sarcastic voice, saying, “See, look. No one cares about their shoes anymore.” Or perhaps, as he said to me,  he will suggest, “Your shoes need me more than I need them.”  People smile, as I did. He smiles back.

Amidst the frenetic movement of passengers, rolling bags in tow, smart phones in hand, rushing to catch their flights or striding purposefully for an exit to grab a taxi, the one thing that is not moving is Mr. DiCicco and his business. I expect that will be true for many years to come.

For the record: On Wednesday of this week, May 27, John turned 60 years old. Happy birthday, John.