The secret to long life? Garlic and oil

I’m an old lady already.”

Clara Lomangino on her 107th birthday

Clara Lomangino stood with Mayor Robert Kennedy just inside her storm door. She waved and smiled as police cars and fire trucks raced by, flashing their lights and blaring their sirens. 

It was a parade, all just for her. Celebrating 107 years of a rich, remarkable life.

After it was over, Clara sat in her house like a queen, surrounded by son Fred Lomangino, his wife Karla, grandson Stephen Sparaco, her aide, Nedy Gabriel, and some of the local village bigwigs.

“So let me tell you a little bit about Clara, right?” Kennedy started, listing some basic aspects of Clara’s life. She moved from Brooklyn to Martha Street in 1954 with her husband Fred and tiny children, Freddy and Carol.

She worked for an At&T switchboard in Freeport, then for 20 years at Long Island Trust Bank nearby. She was married 50 years before her husband died, and the two grandchildren born to her daughter have in turn produced three great-grandchildren. 

Clara smiled as Kennedy read out facts about her birth year, 1915.

“Life expectancy in 1915 was 52 years for a male and 58 years for a female. You almost doubled that,” Kennedy said. “The Model-T Ford, a popular car at the time —”

“My father did that,” Clara said. 

“— cost $350,” Kennedy continued. “And the term, ‘When life hands you lemons, make lemonade,’ was coined in 1915.”

Clara laughed, but when Kennedy read out the citation and reached the words, “in special recognition of Clara Lomangino,” she began to wipe away tears. 

Clara perked up and thanked the mayor, however. When he finished reading the citation, he handed her the decorative plaque.

“That’s gorgeous,” Clara said. “It’s upside-down.” 

“I messed it up,” Kennedy said. “I’ll take the blame.”

“Do you do anything right?” Clara said, as laughter rippled through the room. 

Clara spoke frankly of the downside of being 107.

“I don’t want to be old,” she said, “and I’m an old lady already.”

Hurricane Sandy ruined her possessions and forced her from her beloved house for three months to live in the Marriott with her daughter Carol while her son and grandsons saw to the repairs. Not 10 years later, Carol died at 77. And except for a sister-in-law, Clara is the only family member left of her generation.

Yet upon Kennedy asking the secret to being 107, Clara perked up: “Garlic and oil. And spaghetti.” 

“We’re here for all your birthdays, OK?” Kennedy said with a smile after wheeling out what Clara described as a “beautiful” cake.

“Oh, yeah? Oh, yeah?” exclaimed Clara. “You won’t see me next year. I’ll never, never make 108.”

“You said that last year, Mom,” Fred told her. 

Doug VanBrunt, from across the street, brought flowers. A neighbor woman from two doors down handed her a small gift bag and said, “I know you keep saying, ‘Why am I still here?’ But you haven’t seen it all.”

“I have,” Clara said. “I lost my daughter.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” said the neighbor, bending to kiss her cheek. 

Clara shared with the small group why she stayed in Freeport for the past 67 years, with quick bits of input from Karla, Fred or Stephen. She always felt safe because Freeport’s police and fire departments were good. Her appreciation for Mayor Kennedy was evident, especially since he pushed to get backflow pumps installed in several locations under the street surfaces in the south of the village, which sharply reduced flooding. 

But when Johnny Cummins breezed in from the house directly across the street, it became clear the real sustaining elements of Clara’s life are her family and friends. Fred and Karla live in Babylon Village, but they come by often. As does Stephen, a real estate agent who lives in Freeport.

Clara has known the neighbor two houses down since her children were infants, and the neighbor brought her children to Clara’s 100th birthday. 

“I’ve been Clara’s neighbor for over 50 years,” Cummins said. “I have a party at Christmas time, which is close to my birthday. And Clara, before she became unable to walk, used to come over to my house, and I used to put her to work handing out the cake.”

After Cummins’ wife Susie suffered a stroke, she and Clara continued their close friendship by speaking several times a week by phone from their respective beds. Cummins’ two sisters also stay in continual touch. 

Susie died last year. 

“I lost a lot of people,” Clara said. “They say it’s supposed to be that way.”

“Yeah, they say it, but you don’t like it,” Johnny said.

“I hate it!” Clara almost shouted.

“Me too,” Johnny said, but they both smiled when he reminisced that Clara had taught Susie — who was of Korean descent — how to cook Italian food. 

“Chi-chi!” Clara said to her daughter-in-law, using Karla’s nickname. “Are you feeding my son?”

“With lots of garlic and oil,” Karla responded. And Clara laughed.