Remembering Ben Carnevale
I was honored to be asked to give the eulogy for my Uncle Ben at his funeral mass on June 14, 2025. Ben was a very successful entrepreneur, but that was the last thing he wanted people to know about him. What mattered to him was all the work he did to help those around him, and the lines out the door at his wake were a testament to how successful he was at doing just that. Below is the full text of the eulogy, with a few minor details changed for privacy. Happy Father’s Day, Uncle Ben, we already miss you dearly.
719 Oakmont Drive in Downers Grove was an especially lucky place to grow up.
You see, in my case that particular house came with an entire extra family, right next door over at number 725. Three cousins were really extra siblings to play with, some cool bonus aunts and uncles came with the package too, and even extra grandparents who would come to your birthday parties, bearing delicious homemade mostaccioli and meatballs.
And of course there was also an extra set of parents there to offer love and support, and to rely on and learn from.
So even when my own family changed, and my father moved far away, I felt very lucky to still have Uncle Ben, Auntie Mar, and the rest of the Carnevales, right next door.
In my memories from that time is the way that when Uncle Ben spoke about almost anything he was up to, he made it all seem so … interesting.
He’d show me all the different speakers and electronics stacked neatly on the shelves in his basement workshop, enthusiastically explaining the difference between a woofer and a tweeter.
He’d regale us with stories of adventures in what to me at the time sounded like truly exotic places, like Ireland and Japan, where he often traveled for business.
I remember how cool it seemed that he’d bought his own tuxedo, because he had so many occasions to wear a tuxedo that it didn’t make sense to keep renting them.
Uncle Ben clearly enjoyed pretty much whatever he was doing, and for a long time I thought he was so lucky to have found fulfilling work and a range of skills and interests that made him so happy.
But I’ve recently realized something about Uncle Ben.
I see now that his “luck” was in fact a choice.
A choice to live a life full of joy, and love, and optimism, and most of all service. A life that brightened and improved the lives of all of those around him.
But don’t take my word for it. If you’re like me, you’ve spent a lot of time over the past few days looking at pictures of Ben. And I hope you look at even more, because when you do you see that he’s not, as so many of us do, just smiling for the camera. He was already smiling, because he’s joyful, and happy, and content with where he is and who he’s with – someone just happened to catch it on film. You can see it over and over – it’s right there in that unmistakable twinkle in his eye that could light up whatever room he happened to step into.
There’s something else you can see in those pictures, besides the joy. And that’s pride. And I don’t mean pride in any boastful sort of way. Quite the opposite. It’s how proud he was of his family, and as his family expanded with the weddings and then the grandkids, and then the weddings of the grandkids, that pride and that smile and that twinkle grew bigger and brighter too.
Having children of my own has taught me the truth in the adage that “once a parent, always a parent”. In Uncle Ben’s case, he and Auntie Mar never stopped being that extra set of parents for me. He’d regularly send me articles and videos, and would ask me questions about my job that made it clear he’d done his homework. On the day of the Boston marathon bombing I arrived home to find an email from Uncle Ben, checking in to make sure we were all OK.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Uncle Ben over the past few weeks, and I simply don’t remember ever feeling anything but genuine love and kindness and support and strength. (And while I don’t mean strength in the physical sense, it’s also true that I was pretty sure he’d break a finger every time he shook my hand!)
But what’s so remarkable about Ben is how much he worked to direct all of that love, kindness, support, strength, talent, and wisdom toward so many of those around him.
Over the years, and without any fanfare, Ben helped so many families who weren’t quite as lucky as mine was in that house on Oakmont Drive, and who desperately needed an Uncle Ben of their own.
He helped a woman that had lost her husband and along with him the means to support her family, spending two years mentoring her, teaching her how to budget, and helping the whole family find sustainable housing. And he kept doing that over and over as part of the Bridge Families program.
And like a true entrepreneur, he spotted an unmet need when he learned that none of the area food pantries were especially useful for someone who worked the day shift, so he organized a group of men from church to start an evening food pantry. And for those who couldn’t make it in, on Sundays he’d drive the food to them.
I joke about Uncle Ben being an “extra” dad, but the truth is that he was always just as much a role model as my own father. Watching him live a joyful family life alongside his best friend Marilyn taught me so much about how to build a marriage and a family of my own. Especially that it took work, and time, and love, and attention, but that if you did it right, you’d get back so much more than you put into it.
Uncle Ben was there for me my entire life, through thick and thin, always ready with a beaming smile, a warm hug, and the reassuring strength of someone who knows for certain what truly matters most in life.
He set an incredible example for what it means to be an exceptional father, husband, brother, uncle, grandfather, and all-around good man, and it’s a privilege to be standing here today to honor and remember him.
Everyone deserves someone like Ben in their life. Someone to love you and support you and always be in your corner, ready with a kind word or a warm embrace, or just a smile to cheer you up and remind you without saying a word that things really are going to be OK.