St. Ray's Tony Iurilli remembered as man of quiet persistence

BY MATT GAGNE

Wednesday, January 9th 2008, 11:24 AM

A 1986 graduate of St. Ray's, Tony Iurilli taught and coached at the all-boys school for a decade before multiple sclerosis forced him to retire in 2006.

He died on Nov. 25 after a six-year battle with the disease.

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Tony Iurilli was the kind of guy who talked least but said most, always walking the walk, even when he could no longer stand up without falling down.

"He didn't want any help. He didn't want anyone feeling bad for him. He didn't want any pity," says his brother Frank. "His thing was, 'I'm fine.' Mentally he was. Physically we wasn't. That was the worst part of MS. He wanted his independence until the day he died."

He died in late November, at age 38, ending his six-year battle with a progressive form of multiple sclerosis, a neurological disease that attacks the brain and spine until rendering the body motionless. It curtailed a life centered around St. Raymond High, the all-boys school Iurilli graduated from in 1986 and returned to a decade later as teacher and coach.

"When he was a student, he spent more time there than he did at home," Frank says. "It was such an inviting place to be, and that's why he wanted to go back. He loved the school."

Iurilli was buried in St. Raymond's Cemetery on Dec. 1 following memorial services attended by hundreds who knew him as "Mr. Reliable," a nickname he earned playing baseball at St. Ray's and one he lived up to personally and professionally.

"He was the kind of guy you'd want teaching, coaching and being an administrator for your children. You'd feel secure knowing he was the one watching out for them," says Brother Frank Byrne, the former St. Ray's principal who hired Iurilli. "They say still waters run deep, and I think that was true about Tony.

"He was a quiet, calm, gentle guy, but there was a lot going on with him," Byrne adds. "He was a deep thinker, a deep person, and he was respected and appreciated for that by both the students and the faculty."

Friends and family describe Iurilli's life as short but sweet, and said he was the same way with words, that he preferred  to let his actions do the talking. This is what he did:

He grew up in the Allerton Avenue section of the Bronx, the eldest of five siblings in a single-parent home, and became the family's rock when their mother, Theresa, died from a heart attack in 1992. He was a year graduated from Pace University when she passed and working with AIDS patients as activities director at Bronx-Lebanon Hospital, where he stayed for four years before teaching grammar school at St. Helena's on Olmstead Avenue and then history and health at St. Ray's.

Iurilli eventually became dean of student affairs at St. Ray's, handling disciplinary matters while teaching it to young hitters on the baseball team. He coached alongside Ron Patnosh, the Ravens' athletic director and coach of 43 years, who had been a father figure to Iurilli since he was 14.

"My dream was to step down from coaching and let him take over," says Patnosh. "I'm 68, but now I don't want to think about stepping down. I have a fine assistant coach, but I need to get over the fact that Tony won't replace me.

"He was the best infielder I ever had, and I'm not saying that out of prejudice because I was close to him," Patnosh adds. "He made difficult plays look routine. He was always poised and did things most kids can't do on a high school level. There was nothing flashy about it, everything just came natural to him."

Iurilli was a three-year starter at third base, a cool head at the hot corner whose career assists (224) and consecutive hits (11) still stand as school records. He captained the squad his senior year and became the first and only Raven ever to be named all-city by all three local newspapers. He then walked onto the baseball team at Pace, earning a scholarship and starting at shortstop all four years.

As a junior and senior in high school, Iurilli played in CHSAA postseason games at Shea and Yankee Stadiums. In 1985, the Ravens lost to Molloy on the hallowed grounds, 2-1, but that wasn't Iurilli's biggest disappointment.

"He complained that the infield at Yankee Stadium wasn't what it was supposed to be like," Patnosh recalls. "I guess there were pebbles in the dirt."

It was one of the few times Iurilli ever complained.

"He was very quiet, very unassuming," Patnosh adds. "He would very seldom show his emotions."

Iurilli didn't complain years later, when he had to stop golfing and coaching third base, because MS had made it impossible to judge distances or track moving objects.

He didn't complain about having to use first a cane and then a walker, though he gripped them begrudgingly, to keep him from falling down, and he didn't complain at Frank's wedding despite struggling to stand up, sit down and kneel throughout the ceremony.

"He would continually try, even though he knew he couldn't," says Frank. "That's how stubborn he was."

Same thing when he had to give up coaching JV basketball after winning the city championship in 2005, his last place Ravens upsetting top-seeded Christ the King. Iurilli wanted to keep going, if only someone could describe what was happening so he could visualize it and make adjustments during timeouts.

"When it started out, nobody really knew he was sick unless he told them," Frank says. "He was doing really well for the first three years, but it progressed quickly and it became more visible. Last June we were eating lunch in a neighborhood restaurant and the owner didn't recognize him because he was in a wheelchair. I know it killed him, but he just kept it to himself."

Tony kept to himself the best he could, living in his own apartment near Morris Park until he moved to Winter Springs, Fla., in August. He went to live near his sister, Patty, reluctantly leaving the Bronx to avoid the New York winter. He took an apartment around the corner from her, staying there until he died on Nov. 25.
 
If Iurilli's actions revealed more than the words he rarely spoke, there was one subtlety in the spring of 2006 that screamed what was running through his head.

He and Frank, a teacher and coach at Monsignor Scanlon, had a daily routine. Frank would pick him up for work around 7 a.m., stop at a bodega to get coffee and newspapers - always four, so Tony could share - then drop him off at St. Ray's. They'd reconnect at the end of the day, just outside the school's wrought-iron fence, where Tony would be waiting for his brother to swing by so they could run errands, eat dinner or grab a drink.

But on Tony's last day of work, on the day he chose to leave St. Ray's because he now struggled to walk without tripping and falling, Frank couldn't find him as he pulled to the curb.

"It was a very rough day for him, and he didn't want any fanfare as he walked out. He wanted to go out gracefully," Frank says. "On the last day, he wasn't in his usual spot. He was closer to the door, inside the fence, and people have said that was his way of going, but not really going."

Just how much did Tony Iurilli love St. Ray's?

He was the only faculty member to receive a "Nickie Award" for perfect attendance in 2005. The school hands out the award in jest - as a tribute to a former teacher who, as legend goes, banked enough sick days and rarely showed up - but for Iurilli, it was serious business.

"I would tell him to take sick days, but he'd say, 'No, I have to get my Nickie Award," recalls Frank. "When I realized how much medication he was taking, I was blown away. He had to take certain medications twice a week that made him so drowsy, but he still wanted to go to work. He was so stubborn about it."

Iurilli lived his life the way he anchored an infield: as Mr. Reliable. He still made difficult plays look routine, even when they were anything but.

"The fact that he died is hard," Patnosh says. "But he's buried right next to our baseball field, and that is going to be comforting. I know he's still going to be looking out for the kids."