Presentation Transcript

1. The Chicago Son: Stories of Grit, Family, and Becoming Dr. Francis P. Lagattuta Some people live lives that demand to be shared—not because they are soaked in fame or wealth, but because they embody something bigger: an era, a culture, a set of values now fading from view. The story of Dr. Francis P. Lagattuta is one such narrative, woven from the tough streets of postwar Chicago, stitched with Sicilian pride, family chaos, immigrant resilience, and the lessons of a city that raised a generation of men who knew how to work hard, love deeply, and laugh even harder. This is not a story of one man. It is the story of many: a large immigrant family, a sprawling city, and the bridge between old-world traditions and American opportunity. Part I: A Legacy Written in Two Languages Francis P. Lagattuta was born in 1958 in Chicago, Illinois. But to understand his story, you need to travel back decades and cross an ocean. His paternal family came from Sicily—a land of ancient stone villages, olive trees, and tough, sun-weathered people. Sicily was the kind of place where pride and survival walked hand-in-hand. His grandfather, born in New Orleans, was sent to Sicily after his mother died during the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic. Just a baby, he was raised by an aunt in a small town called Megli Tuscu, a short ride from Corleone, immortalized in film as the birthplace of Vito Corleone in The Godfather. Francis’s grandfather lived the kind of life that, today, might seem like fiction. He worked as a shepherd in the Sicilian hills—a job passed down for generations and steeped in solitude and self-reliance. There, he met Jesualda Morales, a fellow American-born Sicilian whose family had returned to the old country after disliking life in Brooklyn. The two fell in love, married, and eventually boarded a ship back to the United States. But re-entry wasn’t smooth. Jesualda was detained at Ellis Island for nearly two weeks because officials mistook her for a man. Her Spanish-sounding name and unfamiliar accent raised bureaucratic alarms. It took a well-connected cousin to pull some strings and convince immigration officers she was who she claimed to be. It was an early example of the kind of grit and resourcefulness that would come to define the Lagattuta family. Part II: The Slovenian Side and Silent Sacrifices

2. On his mother’s side, Francis inherited Slovenian roots. Her family had fled the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the late 1800s to avoid forced military service. These immigrants were practical, quiet, and tenacious. They didn’t arrive with much, but they came with a purpose: to work, to save, to build. Francis often mentions how little he knows about his maternal grandmother’s migration story—something he hopes to piece together before the elders are gone. The lack of detail is telling. These were not families who boasted; they endured quietly, letting their work speak for them. Part III: Chicago in the 1960s and 70s — A City Divided, A City United To grow up in mid-century Chicago was to know contradiction. It was a city of grit and grace, of ethnic neighborhoods that bordered invisible lines of class and race. Francis’s early years were spent just blocks from Wrigley Field, on Barry Avenue. Later, the family moved west to North Major Avenue, still within the city limits. Chicago was booming but segregated. Italians, Irish, Germans, Poles, and African Americans all had their slices of the city—separate and unequal. During the riots of the late 1960s, after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., Francis remembers the heavy presence of riot police. But even as buildings burned and tension gripped the city, the children were protected. "We still played Little League. It never touched us," he says. It was the kind of community where everyone looked out for each other, even as broader systems failed. Part IV: The Lagattuta Household — Controlled Chaos Francis was the third of five boys, born in rapid succession. By 1964, Claire and Joseph Lagattuta had five sons under the age of ten. It was a home full of energy and volume. The boys shared everything: clothes, bedrooms, food, and cars. Francis jokes that he dated a girl while rotating through 32 different pairs of shoes before repeating a pair. His father owned an employment agency, which meant the family was financially secure—upper-middle class, but not flashy. There were Lincolns and Cadillacs, but also old Buicks and Cutlasses. Whoever had the "most important" date got the best car for the night. And if a brother needed money? He just took what he needed from the safe—a wad of $500 in cash or stacks of Sears gift certificates.

3. No one abused it. There was a mutual understanding. You took what you needed and left the rest. Part V: Catholicism and Coming-of-Age The family was devoutly Catholic in the early years. Francis became an altar boy just as the Church was transitioning from Latin to English Mass. He remembers being the first altar boy to serve a full English Mass—a moment symbolic of both tradition and transformation. He received First Communion in a brand-new church and was deeply involved in parish life. But after the birth of their fifth son, his mother went on birth control—a decision that made her feel excommunicated from the Church, even if unofficially. That emotional shift marked the beginning of the family's slow drift from institutional religion. Still, the moral foundation stuck. Discipline, charity, humility—these values stayed long after Latin left the liturgy. Part VI: Holy Cross High and the Rise of a Leader Francis attended Holy Cross, an all-boys Catholic school that was about 60% Italian. He was a social force. Though he stopped growing early—"I was 5'7" and shaving by freshman year"—he made up for it with charisma. He served as class vice president every year, played football, and acted in school plays. He wasn't a star athlete, but he got an interception in a varsity game and called it the highlight of his sports career. He also performed in Li’l Abner and Yankee Doodle Dandy, showing off his comedic timing. In 1976, his senior year and America’s bicentennial, he was voted "Man of the Year." Part VII: Loyola and the Brotherhood of the Driven Francis enrolled at Loyola University with a group of classmates. They were a driven bunch: future doctors, lawyers, and entrepreneurs. Loyola’s lakeside campus offered fresh air, intellectual rigor, and a short commute from home. College life was a continuation of the household ethos. Cars were shared. Money was pooled. If one brother needed to focus on the MCATs, another picked up his slack. If someone was in a jam, they took $20 from the safe—never more.

4. Francis worked as a bellman at the Marriott, hauling luggage to guest rooms. Others took jobs where they could. It didn’t matter. They always had each other’s backs. Part VIII: Chicago Sports and Sunday Rituals The Lagattutas were a sports family. They held season tickets to the Blackhawks, Bulls, and Bears. Back then, the Bears played at Wrigley Field. After games, the family would visit the Yamasakis, Japanese friends who lived nearby. While the boys watched West Coast NFL games, Mrs. Yamasaki quietly served sushi and tempura from the back kitchen—a new culinary world for Italian boys raised on red sauce and beef sandwiches. Francis remembers bleacher seats for $2, hot dogs for a quarter, and the kind of community where 12-year-olds could ride the bus to Cubs games unsupervised. Part IX: Games in the Alley, Lessons in the Dust Back home, entertainment didn’t come from screens. It came from parking lots, side streets, and city alleys. The boys played 16-inch softball with no gloves. They invented home run rules based on landmarks: the alley, the trash bins, the garage roof. They played "pinners," bouncing rubber balls off front steps and scoring "base hits" by how far they flew. Winters brought bowling leagues and long walks to the alley. Summers were for Wiffle ball and hockey with gym shoes. Everything was improvised. Everything was shared. Part X: Mischief, Mistakes, and Growing Up No story of youth is complete without a little rebellion. Just weeks before his 16th birthday, Francis drove to school without a license and blew white smoke from the tailpipe—right past a police station. He got pulled over and claimed to be his older brother. This was before IDs had photos. It worked. Barely. Later, a speeding ticket almost cost him his clean record. Even with a connected relative trying to "fix" it, Francis found himself declared guilty in court—until a clerical error gave him a second chance.

5. Part XI: What It Meant to Belong At its heart, Francis’s story is about more than childhood memories. It’s about what it meant to belong—to a family, to a neighborhood, to a generation that straddled old-world values and new-world promise. Today, Dr. Lagattuta is a leader in interventional pain medicine, with decades of groundbreaking work in spinal injections, neuropathy, and regenerative therapies. But behind every title is the boy from Barry Avenue, playing pinners and sharing sneakers with his brothers. In an age of individualism, his story is a love letter to the collective.