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After 72 years in business, Ralph Dispigno of Ralph’s Italian Restaurant still loves the cooking

Six days a week, Ralph Dispigno Jr. drives the 35 minutes from his home in Delaware County to work in South Philadelphia at Ralph's Italian Restaurant.

At 87, Ralph Dispigno still works six days a week in the kitchen at Ralph's Italian Restaurant. "I was brought up in the business," he said." I've worked as a dishwasher, a busboy, and a waiter. All through the '40s and '50s. I did a little cooking, too. I did a LOT of cooking."
At 87, Ralph Dispigno still works six days a week in the kitchen at Ralph's Italian Restaurant. "I was brought up in the business," he said." I've worked as a dishwasher, a busboy, and a waiter. All through the '40s and '50s. I did a little cooking, too. I did a LOT of cooking."Read moreMICHAEL KLEIN / Staff

Six days a week, Ralph Dispigno Jr. drives the 35 minutes from his home in Delaware County to work in South Philadelphia at Ralph's Italian Restaurant.

This would be unremarkable if he were not 87 years old.

If Ralph's is the oldest family-owned Italian restaurant in the United States, Ralph Dispigno may be among the oldest full-time restaurateurs.

In 1900, seven years after coming to America, his grandfather Francesco opened the restaurant 2½ blocks away, naming it after his son, who was born Rafael. In 1915, Ralph's moved to its current location, in a narrow brick rowhouse at 760 S. Ninth St.

Ralph Dispigno Jr., the oldest of Ralph and Mary Dispigno's surviving children, owns a quarter of the business, according to corporate records. Ralph and his sister Elaine Dodaro, who also owns a quarter, took over the business after their father's death in December 1970. Elaine's sons, Jimmy and Eddie Rubino, who grew up in a house next door, together own a quarter and also independently and exclusively own a restaurant in King of Prussia called Ralph's of South Philly. Rounding out the ownership is the family of Michael Dispigno, a brother who died in 2000, and his late wife, Lenore.

Ralph's is timeless: black half-tiled walls beneath floral-print wallpaper, plaster mouldings on the ceiling, bare-topped wooden tables, laminated menus, and the original floor, uncovered during a renovation 25 years ago and worn smooth from the countless wingtips and oxfords, stilettos and huaraches. Near the front door, to the left as you walk in, there hangs a photo from an era past - the engagement party of Ralph Dispigno Jr. and Mildred Fanelli, in 1949. She died in 2009, "they were married in 1950, just shy of 60 years," said their only child, Karen Castagna, 53. Like her parents, Castagna and husband Doug, who are financial professionals, have one daughter, Courtney, now 18, whom Ralph dotes on.

Ralph himself is like the restaurant itself - around seemingly forever but still capable of moves. He's a wiry fellow with an aquiline nose, smooth skin, and clear green eyes behind square brown glasses. (He says the doctor who performed cataract surgery told him that he has the eyes of a 30-year-old.)

The restaurant's past has been recounted time and again, but not Ralph's story. He prefers to stay behind the scenes. For the first time, he sat for a chat last month in the restaurant.

What is your earliest memory of this restaurant?

Well, I can go back, I guess, to the '30s. I'm 87 years old, so I can go back awhile.

Since the restaurant was your family business, did they just put you to work?

No, when I was maybe 15, 14. I was brought up in the business. I've worked as a dishwasher, a busboy, and a waiter. All through the '40s and '50s. I did a little cooking, too. I did a lot of cooking. We used to do everything. We had cooks come in from Italy, and I learned a lot from them. My father was a cook, too. ... I'm still here, but I can't go behind the ranges at 87. But I'm back there [in the kitchen].

And you still drive everywhere?

My reflexes are great. I can't go up the steps that fast. Let's face that. But as far as walking straight, I'm fine. When I'm driving a car, I have no problem. I drive in the day, and I drive at night.

Do you ever take a vacation?

Not too many, to tell you the truth.

Karen: We drag him along.

Ralph: Only in the car. I hate to fly.

What do you do for fun?

For fun? It takes a lot of your time, this kind of business. I used to be a good ol' gambler, I got to tell you the truth. I'm not going to lie. I gambled a little.

Karen: That one day a week that he doesn't work, he usually comes out to our house and visits, and basically usually looks through cookbooks and makes concoctions of his own and then he comes back and tries them here. It's kind of all about the same thing, all about the business.

Doug: We joke, "What does he do for work?" He comes here. "What does he do for fun?" He comes here.

Karen: You always were this way. I remember many a New Year's Eve, he would come running in at 11:59 and make it just in time.

Ralph: Actually, this place is family, that's what it is. The wait staff, and the managers, they're like family. Joe the cook [known popularly as Joe Shea] has been here for 25 years, and the two managers, J.B. [Anthony Pettino] and Ron [Trombino], over 35. We have a lot of people that stay.

Tell me about all the people you've seen here.

Oh, celebrities. Yeah, so many of them, gosh. Nelson Eddy. Jack Klugman. Jimmy Darren's a good friend of mine. When he's in town he's always here. He's 80 years old. I can't believe how time flies ... Oh, my God, and Tony Bennett.

How did they know about the restaurant back then?

In those days, Frank Palumbo's was right down around the corner. A lot of the acts that were over there used to come here and eat. In those days, with the nightlife, the restaurant would be open until maybe 3:30 in the morning. Little by little, we started to close earlier. No more nightlife, like there was in those days. 2 in the morning, you'd see the dining room half full with people.

Karen: You told us you used to sit with Angelo Bruno once in awhile.

Ralph: Oh, yeah. I did. He was into the food. He used to come in the back after he ate. He'd sit down. ... He loved my father. He was a nice guy, as far as I knew. When he came in here, he was a gentleman. I don't care what he may have done outside. He talked to me, asked me about different dishes, how they're made and all that. He'd sit down in the back, at the bar.

How has the business changed over the years?

That's one thing. There is a lot of competition. You have to be the owner of everything. You've got to know what you're doing. Some of the dishes changed. We had a lot of old dishes that don't go anymore. We had sweetbreads. We took them off and years later had put to them back on again. We used to have kidney stew. We used to have pluck - that's the lung, heart, and liver. The old timers grew up with that. A lot of that stuff doesn't go anymore.

What do you sell the most of?

We sell a lot of veal. And naturally I love spaghetti and macaroni. I could live on macaroni.

How do you keep the business going after ...

... 116 years? You have to watch me some night and see what goes on. You'll see what it takes. Lots of little things. You have to see the little things that you have to correct a lot of times. It's the little things, like the old saying, little things become big things. My father used to say, "I can walk through the dining room and see eight or 10 different things wrong." The waiters walk by, they don't see nothing. They don't see no mistakes, nothing wrong. I do the same thing, I see a lot of different things. I'll tell the waiter, "That's not right," or ... all those little things that you see. You see during the day, you see those things. That's not a knock on the wait staff, no. It's because I've done this all my life.

Did you ever think, anytime over the years, that the restaurant would have to close?

Not really, no. We've put up with some good times, some bad times. In the early '40s, late '30s and '40s, there were tough times. At the time, it wasn't all right, but we survived.

How's business now?

It's good. Can't complain.

Tell me about the neighborhood.

It's changed a lot. You know the small, little streets? They fix all the houses on those streets, these young kids that bought them.

You still know a lot of people on this block?

My friends have died away.

What's the same?

A lot of the people I served over the years, you see once in a while. You see some people that are coming in through the years, that are 75, 80 years old. They came here as kids with their mother and father.

If your family wasn't in the restaurant business, what would you have done?

Ever think of retiring?

Tell me what I'm going to do if I retire. I'm so used to being here.

Karen: I think that keeps him young.

Doug: I hope you don't mind me saying that when his wife passed, he spent some time basically living with us for a few months. They'd call every day [from the restaurant] with questions or, "Ralph, when you coming back? We need you back."

Karen: That was about nine months.

Doug: He gradually weaned back. That's when we said he needed to be here, because this sustains him. This is it.

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