‘Food gives me a way to express myself.’

David Buico, Huntington Station

“I started cooking at a very young age. My mom passed away in a car accident when I was 11. I was in the car with her. Cooking kept me busy and kept me positive when I was feeling lost. Then I fell in love with it. I started hanging out with my grandmother in Brooklyn. She taught me how to make her classic spaghetti pomodoro, a simple dish that’s still one of my favorites. I fell in love with food, and it kept me out of trouble and gave me a voice.

“I was an executive chef for over 30 years in New York City. To be a great chef, to be running the restaurant business, you need a lot of passion. I love seeing the expressions on people’s faces when they bite into something.

“Food gives me a way to express myself. Cooking food brings a family together, and that was something that was always big in my family before I lost my mom. I guess that’s why I love food so much, because it reminds me of a happier time.

My grandmother was the inspiration behind Mercato Cucina, which means ‘market kitchen’ in Italian.

“I worked my way up to where I am today, but in busy restaurants, the hours are long and you miss out on a lot of your own family birthdays and holidays. COVID made the business much more difficult. I’m in my 40s and have a family, and I started to think, What am I going to do with my life? I came across this location and kind of pivoted to my childhood.

“Sundays were my grandmother’s shopping days, and my three siblings and I were sent to at least five different stores to get only the best bread, meat, cheeses, produce, pastries, pastas, cold cuts. What I came to understand years later as I began my journey in the culinary world is the importance of fresh, quality ingredients.

“My grandmother was the inspiration behind Mercato Cucina, which means ‘market kitchen’ in Italian. My wife pushed me to open up the location. I put a chef’s dream and everything into one little spot. I have this tiny marketplace with all the specialty products and everything I love to cook with and love to eat. We do catering. We have gourmet coffee, olive oil, pasta, and we make these whimsical sandwiches with Brooklyn names like the Belt Parkway. It just took off. If I had a choice to do it all over again as a chef I would, but I’m enjoying this new experience and where it might take me.”

Interviewed by Liza Burby

‘Don’t be afraid to get tested; that’s the easiest part. Be afraid not to go! It could save your life.’

Pamela Giglio, Huntington Station

“I was the youngest of three sisters, so I figured I’d be the lucky one. My sister Melisande was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 2003. Then my other sister, Aurelia, was in 2011. In Melisande’s case, it was detected and treated early. Unfortunately, Aurelia didn’t win her battle.

“I was vigilant about going regularly for a mammography in conjunction with a sonogram. I was shocked when, in 2018 at age 64, I was diagnosed. I had no symptoms. It was devastating. Going into it, all three of us were post-menopausal, healthy people. I had tested negative for the BRCA gene.

“My sisters had ductal carcinoma in situ; I had invasive lobular carcinoma. I felt an amalgam of emotions, including fear and anger. I had done everything right! I realized my level of determination.

“My philosophy became to put one foot forward until I got to the end of the journey. You have to be strong and can’t always think about it. I had a lumpectomy and went for radiation every day for three weeks, first thing in the morning, and then I’d immediately go to work. I found the normalcy of the routine therapeutic.

“After my last treatment, they walked me out to the waiting room, and I hit a big gong. It was a salient moment. I started to cry. It wasn’t just out of happiness; I felt badly for the people in the waiting room who had a lot longer to go and who were probably a lot worse off. It was a poignant day that I’ll always remember. I was very blessed because I trusted my team of doctors, which was crucial.

“I was also fortunate to have my family, whose love was a testament to how special they are. I think about how, at 61, Aury realized she wasn’t feeling well and was brought to the emergency room. The cancer was so advanced that in less than a year she was gone.

“Mel was 56 and had a double mastectomy with TRAM flap reconstruction. [TRAM stands for transverse rectus abdominus muscle.] She’s a 20-year survivor. I’m five years out from my own experience and only need to take medication for two more years. Three sisters, same family, very different timelines. I can’t stress enough the importance of early intervention and early screening. Don’t be afraid to go; that’s the easiest part. Be afraid not to go! It could save your life.”

Interviewed by Iris Wiener

‘I was so afraid to feel my heartbeat. Little by little, he inspired me to feel it again.’

Huntington Station

“I had shortness of breath, fatigue, and couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. For nine weeks, I continued to get worse. I went to sleep on a Friday night, and I was woken up at 1:45 thanks to my puppy Ananda who sensed I was having a heart attack. I said, ‘Ananda, I think I’m having a heart attack.’ Then I considered the fact that I was 45, healthy, only ate organic, had already lost 100 pounds, and was on cholesterol medication because my father had a heart attack almost 20 years ago, and I inherited his high cholesterol. I thought, what else could this be? I was frozen in bed for about an hour. My chest felt as if someone was trying to beat me up. Finally, I was able to walk to take Aleve. I went to sleep, which is the worst thing you could do when you’re having a heart attack. I spent the next week dealing with the same symptoms. Thursday morning came, and I got on the treadmill to do a 5k, and I couldn’t do it.

Widow-maker heart attacks have an 11% survival rate outside of the hospital. I survived two, but not everyone is that lucky.

“I went to the doctor and did an EKG, and they sent me right away to the ER. When I got there, they told me I had 100% blockage. They put a stent in, and I was told I had a widow-maker heart attack the Saturday before and a second heart attack that morning on the treadmill. A week later, I went for a walk and got halfway around the block before I started to feel wrist, elbow, chest, and back pain and sweating. The next morning, I had my third heart attack in 12 days. They found that one of the smaller arteries was blocked.

“For 18 months after, I had to navigate the PTSD of almost dying on a treadmill before I was lucky enough to encounter an online fitness coach who motivated me. One day, I was so engrossed in his humor that I started jogging. Now here I am, sprinting. I was so afraid to feel my heartbeat. Little by little, he inspired me to feel it again.

“I applied to be a Go Red for Women Real Women Class of 2023 ambassador because women need to know that the symptoms of heart attacks for women are different from what you see on TV. If I knew that night one, I would not have had to go through two more heart attacks. Widow-maker heart attacks have an 11% survival rate outside of the hospital. I survived two, but not everyone is that lucky.”

‘I’ve learned that I can act as if I can do anything in the very moment — and then do it.’

Huntington Station

“Growing up, I found it very difficult to relate to other children. I suffered from extreme separation anxiety. I also struggled with a speech impediment and a processing delay. I was always ashamed about that.

“Music was a calling for me. It was an itch that needed to be scratched! I was singing ‘Smoke on the Water’ before I could talk. Growing up in the ’90s and 2000s, the dream was to be a Spice Girl while singing Backstreet Boys tunes. Music was always with me because my parents are artists.

“I would listen to my dad’s cassette tapes in the car. Art gave me a voice. My life changed when I started playing the cello at age 10. It was love at first sight. It was the last day of school, and we had to watch the fifth- graders show off their instruments. I ran outside to tell my mother and we told the music teacher.

“Two days later, I was in the Northport summer music program. That instrument gave me an identity and helped me connect with other children.

You have to keep trying until you believe in yourself.

“I got a music scholarship to study at Five Towns College. When I graduated, I didn’t know what to do as a musician, so I unhappily worked for a law firm for seven years.

“Finally, I realized I had to follow my passion. I began teaching privately and playing open mics. I performed songs and posted videos on Facebook. Then I wondered what would happen if I did it professionally.

“Now I play guitar and sing from Northport to places in the New York metro area while going to grad school at Aaron Copland School of Music, where I’m studying to become a music teacher. I also teach cello. I had to embrace my processing delay.

“As a teacher, someone said to me, ‘It’s your superpower.’ It helps me relate better to myself and to children. I try to understand how I can be more understanding and compassionate.

“The hardest thing about my career was walking through that dark tunnel to get to that bright light. I’ve learned that I can act as if I can do anything in the very moment — and then do it.

“I set too many rules for myself. You have to keep trying until you believe in yourself. I’m not perfect, but I’m good enough and I can do this. I teach my students that if they literally pretend in that moment, it actually comes true.”

Interviewed by Iris Wiener

‘I’m jokingly known as the guitar-playing chef.’

Huntington Station

“I began as a dishwasher and busboy making money so I could go out with friends. I kept at it and moved up the ranks. I was working as a waiter at Carlyle on the Green when I complained about how the kitchen needed more organization and systematic approaches. The owner liked it, so he made me a kitchen manager. It was a great learning experience.

Life’s a pendulum. You go back and forth, and somewhere in the middle is where you find happiness.

“One day, my friend said they needed someone at the restaurant where he worked because a cook had quit; they needed someone on the line. I did it and loved it, which led me to the culinary side. Then I became a kitchen manager at the New Hyde Park Inn. I was always going back and forth with types of kitchen jobs. It’s a brutal industry, but it’s also the most rewarding because you get to pursue your passion and creativity. I decided I wanted to move to something more sustainable so I’d have free time. I was playing the guitar alone at night because my schedule didn’t allow me to be in a band. I took on temp work at Northwell Health and worked as hard as I could. Within a month, they offered me a full-time job as a chef!

“I was finally able to play with other musicians. My friends and I started a band called Sound Creation Station. We play psychedelic rock and jazz/funk/fusion. It’s great that I can pursue both cooking and music. I think everybody’s purpose in this world is to create something positive. I love that I get to do that with food and help people in the hospital. The best part of the day for somebody recovering is when they get something that’s nutritious and looks beautiful.

“Playing music helps people find understanding and meaning. I’m jokingly known as the guitar-playing chef. I get right out of work and onstage, often around the corner from Huntington Hospital. I’ll be wearing my chef coat while I play bass guitar. It used to be difficult for me to accept failure, but it’s a critical part of learning. You have to fall before you can rise. Haters are your best critics. Take what they’re saying, try to better yourself and find something you can’t wait to do each day. I’m always excited to go to work. Life’s a pendulum. You go back and forth, and somewhere in the middle is where you find happiness.”

Interviewed by Iris Wiener

‘Seeing this racial hatred around me, I knew I had to do something.’

Huntington Station

“As a Jewish South African, the first black person I ever met was our maid, Miriam Lusenga. When I was 2 years old, my mother died, and when I was 9, my stepmother passed away, too. Miriam became my surrogate mother. She used to make the best gefilte fish for Passover. I loved her. Her son, Reggie, was the first black kid I ever knew. He didn’t speak much English, but we communicated through soccer, water guns, hide-and-seek and just being boys. Being a child, I was curious; who were these people who lived in my backyard?

I remember when I was 13, my sister’s boyfriend came over with his classical guitar. He played in our living room, a piece by Fernando Sor, and I was mesmerized. He offered to take me to see a concert of the Classical Guitar Society of Johannesburg. After that, I was hooked. But my musical influences came from other places as well. I would often hear the sound of the black gardeners outside my window as they sang their beautiful melodies and whistled their tunes, which they brought with them from their homes hundreds of miles away, all the while tending to the gardens of the white middle class.

“I would learn about their lives, leaving their wives and children to go earn a meager living in Johannesburg or one of the many other large South African cities. Speaking little or no English, having no real education, they did backbreaking jobs with little pay for long hours. My home away from home was the Hillbrow Record Library. Hillbrow was a neighborhood of tall residential buildings and had a vibrant nightlife, similar to New York City. I listened to records by Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Jackson Browne, Marvin Gaye, James Brown, and my favorite, George Benson. As I look back now, something stood out as unusual. Everyone in the record store was white. Blacks were not allowed in. I listened to the music of white and black musicians, but the people in the store were all white.

“This bothered me. Seeing this racial hatred around me, I knew I had to do something. So, at the age of 18, when I was called up to join the army, I said no. This meant, by South African law, that I had to leave the country. I moved to Israel.”

“Israel was the place where for the first time I felt free to follow my heart, free from the constraints of a repressed society. I spent six months on a kibbutz near Tel Aviv, where I learned Hebrew. In Jerusalem, I met Michele, a beautiful curly-haired woman from Far Rockaway, Queens. We married, started a family.

‘In 2009, tragedy struck; Michele died from breast cancer. She was only 47.’

“Jerusalem was a magical city. There was always a line outside Abu Shukri’s restaurant and we, a South African and an American, would wait 45 minutes in line with Palestinians and Israelis with one common goal: to enjoy the best baba ghanoush in the Middle East! I booked a steady gig playing country music at the Dallas Restaurant, a Palestinian steak house in Arab East Jerusalem. The Palestinian owner and his Israeli partner stuck a ten-gallon hat on my head and I sang Hank Williams, John Denver and Bob Dylan songs to American and European tourists. I truly believed that, unlike South Africa, people here lived side by side, in peace, harmony and respect. I was wrong. That spring, the first Arab uprisings occurred. I wanted to stay in Israel, but Michele wanted to go home to America. She got a teaching job in Far Rockaway, and her cousin, an attorney on Wall Street, got me a job at his firm as a legal assistant, where I remained for 23 long years.

“In 2009, tragedy struck; Michele died from breast cancer. She was only 47. My family had given my life meaning, but my kids were grown and my wife was gone. I left my job to become a full-time musician and played in bars on Long Island. I realized I was playing those same songs that I first heard on the turntables in Johannesburg and that I played in the steak house in Jerusalem. My eyes are wide open now. Racism and segregation still prevail across the world, but I believe we can change that. We can spread the message of unity and respect for all people. So, I’ve taken a new path, to share my life experience as a white man of privilege by telling my story in a new theatrical presentation called “Journey from Johannesburg,” as well as in my daily actions and activities aimed at connecting with people of all walks of life, to find our common ground, our humanity and to bring joy to this world.”

Interviewed by Saul Schachter

‘This blank state of being that descends like a soft veil or settles like the surface of a still pond is a gift from the strokes.’

Huntington Station

“I am an artist and often have more creative ideas than I have the ability to carry out, particularly now in my post-stroke body, which is healing slowly. On January 21, 2022, I had an ischemic stroke, which caused the right side of my body to quickly become paralyzed. Fortunately, I was able to get to the hospital right away and was administered the drug tPa, which can reverse the effects. I remember the absolute joy at being able to move my hand again, smile, speak and walk with a cane.

“After the stroke, my mind can be so peaceful. I can sit for long periods without a thought in my head, nor a need to do anything. When I am in this state of being, there is no struggle and no suffering.

“As I am healing, I try to draw and paint often so that I can rebuild the circuitry in my brain through muscle memory and regain the full use of my hand.

Sometimes I feel so attached to all I have done and want to do, and it causes me grief.

“Just weeks after the stroke, I decided to attend an online meeting of artists who create together but had no idea what I would do. I started by simply drawing a circle on paper. I found peace with a pencil that made soft gray marks, and I used it to very slowly create a gradient around the interior line of the circle. I called that first circle a mandala, a word that means ‘circle’ in Sanskrit. The circles I create are empty in the center, and yet complete. I have since completed a series of circle paintings.

“My state of being after the stroke has fluctuated, and recovery is not linear, as each day is different from the next. In each moment, we are not who we were before, and we are not yet what we will be. Trying to see what we cannot yet see only causes suffering. Sometimes I feel so attached to all I have done and want to do, and it causes me grief. This is natural, I think. I do have endless stories to tell, ideas to express and mediums to explore and play with. But this blank state of being that descends like a soft veil or settles like the surface of a still pond is a gift from the strokes. It is a way to peace and to acceptance of myself as I am now, in this moment. I want to remember to reach for my art whenever I begin to suffer by trying to see ahead of myself in the circle of my life.”

Interviewed by Jenna Kern – Rugile

‘We felt like sport was an avenue to get the young people to learn what it’s like to be part of a family, show them how to be respectful, work as a team.’

Huntington Station

“I went to Hofstra for college to play football. My dad was doing things in the community, and he became friends with the mayor of Hempstead, who was looking for someone to run a youth program. My dad volunteered me, and I took a liking to it. It was something that after a couple of times of doing it I felt like that’s what I want to do for the rest of my life. I realized that when I was in college.

“I started doing stuff with some of the people in the community, and then weekends turned into a month over the summer, and then the following year it just became something that I started doing myself. I got some of my friends in the community to partner with me, and we started a youth program in 2000. To this day we call it Young Leaders. It started off with kids who play football and basketball. We started with the Huntington Bulldogs football league when the kids were around 6. We did community service events with them, like cleaning up the streets and some of the seniors’ yards.

“As they got into middle and high school, we branched out so that other kids that didn’t play sports could be a part of it. We felt like sport was an avenue to get the young people to learn what it’s like to be part of a family, show them how to be respectful, work as a team. But we wanted other kids who weren’t athletes to have that same feeling, so we started opening up for kids that didn’t play sports, and it grew. It expanded to not just kids in Huntington Station, but also Greenlawn, Cold Spring Harbor, Half Hollow Hills and Wyandanch. We started bringing all the kids together, and we did a beautification of Wyandanch High School. A bus company donated the buses, and we took all the kids there, and Home Depot gave us over $10,000 worth of paint, flowers and plants. It was all about the kids all working together.

“I saw all the teams come together, and coaches from other teams came and helped out. We saw that we really, really had something that was helping some of these kids stay off the streets, helping them get into college. Then we started doing banquets and raising scholarship money for the kids. We gave out close to $10,000 worth of scholarships every year for the kids.”

If you’re helping kids, you want to leave yourself open to everything because I don’t work with just one type or a particular group of kids.

“My friends and I do this as fathers and community activists. But we realized when you work with kids, you also have to work with their families. How do we help their parents out? Then it became helping some parents find jobs or go back to school. It prepared me for this pandemic. It was an easy transition when we saw that people were not able to get food. I’m good at networking, bringing people together. With Project Hope, we were able to donate $5 million worth of food for the community in the two years of the pandemic. Over the years, I also started using music to help some of the kids. I opened up a studio and used that to help some kids who were interested in music. I also coach football, basketball and track.

“I do anti-bias stuff also. If you’re helping kids, you want to leave yourself open to everything because I don’t work with just one type or a particular group of kids. I leave room for everyone, for every type of kid, because every kid, even though we have different backgrounds, ethnic groups, different colors, we’re kind of the same. I want to leave myself open for whatever they want to do. Two young people came to me last year to put together an anti-bias concert. They asked me if I could help them, and I said absolutely. I gave them a template, and I got sponsors.

“They got artists to perform, and we got other agencies involved in it with the Tri CYA and the Anti-Bias Task Force. It was a success and something those kids will never forget. So, that’s what keeps me going, when they see that they can accomplish something. Over the years, I’ve worked with thousands of kids. But the thing is, I never get a chance to live in a moment. I consider every kid at risk. It’s a lot of decision-making that makes a difference for so many kids. I’m always thinking of different ways how I can help and do things in the community.

“I love doing what I do, and I’ll continue to do it, but even after helping someone, it still doesn’t stop me from worrying about how am I going to help the next people? To this day, I’m always thinking about what am I going to do next? Or if someone called me, ‘OK, how am I going to help you?’ I never say no because no one ever said no to me.”

Interviewed by Liza Burby

‘I still meet people who don’t know about climate change. But eventually the tide is going to keep moving.’

Huntington Station

“As a kid I always did well in science, and I asked my grandma for books about animals. When I was 10, she gave me a National Geographic book, “Birds,” and I remember looking at pictures of all these beautiful birds and being in complete awe of nature. And then came this defining moment.

“I came to the section that still makes me want to cry of a bird covered in oil from the Exxon Valdez spill. I decided then that it’s unacceptable, and how can humans let this happen?

“I was on the path to stop it. In college, I studied environmental studies and got a master’s in environmental law. I wanted to figure out ways that we can reduce these impacts on nature.

“I had a radio show on WUSB Stony Brook for seven years to highlight environmental organizations, and now we have an international podcast. Five years ago, I founded the nonprofit Green Inside and Out to help people understand how the daily choices we make impact the broader environment and our own health.

The planet is going to do what it’s going to do, and it doesn’t care whether we believe in it or not.

“We publish fact sheets usually in response to questions I get, like, ‘What kind of dry cleaner should I use? How do I reduce plastics? What kind of clothing should I wear?’

“My goal is to highlight solutions and how others are trying to address these problems. My day job is working on state clean-energy policy. My nonprofit I do on the side, giving hundreds of talks all over Long Island.

“We worked on getting legislation in Suffolk County to have signage put on the wall that tells you what sort of chemical is being used at the dry cleaner.

“It’s a customer’s right to know when something is in a product or a service that they’re using if it’s going to be harmful to their health. That’s one successful change we were able to help bring about. Our individual actions make a difference.

“Collectively, we can help shape policy. We can influence our elected officials, and we can also influence businesses by what we purchase.

“I still meet people who don’t know about climate change. But eventually the tide is going to keep moving. The planet is going to do what it’s going to do, and it doesn’t care whether we believe in it or not. That’s what’s going to dictate the response. Hopefully, it’s a sound and reasonable response.”

Interviewed by Liza Burby

‘We had collected 30,000 books from all over Long Island, so many that we were able to give books out to other libraries in the county.’

Huntington Station

“In 1967, I applied to the Peace Corps and was assigned to teach English in Ethiopia. I didn’t go, but I sometimes wondered what I missed out on. When I retired in 2003 at 57 as an elementary school principal, I was accepted to a program called Teachers for Africa through a Nongovernmental Organization. They invited me to teach in Ethiopia, so I decided I was meant to go. I worked on a new program to train college teachers in Hosana, a rural town.

“As I learned about the culture, the school system and met villagers, children, and teachers, I saw a great need, but also great potential. I committed to working with educators to improve the quality of education. I visited schools where there were 100 kids to a classroom and the teacher only had chalk and a chalkboard. There weren’t any books or materials. Before I left in 2004, I asked the largest school what I could do for them. They said, “Build a library.” Their “library” for 4,000 kids was 20 ripped, old books in a closet.

I learned that if you’re going to make really lasting change, you have to be in it for the long haul.

“I started fundraising and in 2006 founded a nonprofit, h2 Empower. I wanted to build something that would be for the whole community. We had a school committee in Hosana and the parents, town and county chipped in. We got a $10,000 grant from the U.S. Embassy. We opened the first library in Hosana in 2010. We had collected 30,000 books from all over Long Island, so many that we were able to give books out to other libraries in the county. I’ve been back every year since then, except for 2020, and I’ve overseen getting water into 5 schools, training librarians, building 15 classrooms in 6 different schools and I’ve even extended my work to Burundi.

“What motivated me from that first trip through today is the students there all know that education is a way to a better life for themselves and their families. I know my purpose is to be a bridge, to bring people together in Hosanna and in the US. When they saw the impact the library made in their community, it made them realize they could do a lot more. I learned that if you’re going to make really lasting change, you have to be in it for the long haul. In the end, I feel like I’ve been so blessed by this. I’ve had opportunities that most people wouldn’t have.”