Little Italy’s Mary Pidgeon, 100, died Wednesday

Editor’s note: Mary Pidgeon died Nov. 4, 2015: Her obituary. Here’s our story from last January.

SCHENECTADY – Each year at the Little Italy Street Fest on Jay Street in Schenectady, restaurants line the streets with tables full of food. Tucked in among them each year, right up until her 99th birthday, was Mary Valentino Pidgeon, “the best cook on Jay Street,” according to those who know her.

Pidgeon celebrated her 100th birthday Saturday evening at the Ancient Order of Hibernians hall on State Street surrounded by friends, family, and of course, dish after dish of Italian food — though none of it, guests said, could match Pidgeon’s cooking.

In addition to “the best cook there is,” family described Pidgeon as “a beautiful, wonderful woman.” Pidgeon, who still lives on her own, cooks for herself and takes care of herself, introduces herself more simply.

“I’m Mary Pidgeon and I’m 100 years old,” she said. “And I feel fantastic.”

Pidgeon walked into her birthday party on her own to greet friends and family, and chatted and socialized with the best of them. At one point, while discussing her life, she stops to ask, “Am I going too fast?”

The world, and Schenectady, has changed a lot in 100 years. Pidgeon was born in Pennsylvania, but moved to Schenectady with her family when she was young. They settled on Jay Street, in what has become known as Little Italy.

She remembers her mother holding her in her arms as they watched trains depart, waving to the soldiers inside heading off to war. And she remembers them coming home. She remembers when the Erie Canal was drained and the introduction of television.

Her family was the first on the street to get one, a small 10-inch black and white model with a magnifying glass over the screen. On Friday nights, all the guys would come over to watch the fights.

She also remembers a time when communities were more tightly knit.

“Before, if someone got sick, the whole neighborhood would come,” she said. “Now, they turn the other way.”

When asked about her secret to such vibrant health after a century of life, Pidgeon leans in and answers gravely: “Good Italian olive oil.”

“Really,” she said. “I don’t cook with nothing but good Italian olive oil, since we were kids.”

Pidgeon raised a son in Schenectady, who now lives in Florida, and has a handful of grandkids and great-grandkids, as well as a small village of extended family and close friends. Phyllis Derenski, who organized the party, calls Pidgeon a second mother.

“I think one of the reasons why she’s so independent is because she’s — I call her spunky,” said Derenski. “She’s so spunky.”

Roma Barbera, who married into the family, remembers being invited by “the aunts”— about 16 of them, she said— to a dinner. They all had their own sauces, and they all claimed theirs was the best.

“And then I went to [Pidgeon’s] house,” she said. “And it was like, ‘oh my God.’ This is the best sauce. This is the best meatballs. This is the best everything.”

Father Tom Morrette of All Saints on the Hudson Church in Mechanicville, who gave the opening benediction, has known Pidgeon his whole life. His mother grew up with her on Jay Street, and the two were close friends.

“She loves that street,” he said of Pidgeon. “That street was where her Italian parents and my Italian parents all came to work on the railroad, and they all stayed there. They’re the last remnants of that older world, the early part of the 20th century. She’s the last of an old guard. The last of Schenectady’s great immigrant history. It’s quite amazing.”

Pidgeon had a big celebration last year on her 99th birthday, too, said Derenski, because she didn’t think she was going to make it to 100.

“And she did,” said Derenski. “And I think she’s ready to go to 101, actually.”

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