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The Roots of the Rex Manor

Well, I am so lucky to have known my father. My father was born in Brooklyn in 1932. My grandfather, Carmine Bartiromo, came to this country in 1906 and built a restaurant literally with his hands—he was a bricklayer in Italy. He named it the Rex Tavern, after the ship, the Rex, which transported Italians from Italy to America. Eventually, he changed the name from the Rex Tavern to the Rex Manor. My father ended up running that restaurant and spent a lifetime there just working hard and raising a family.

My dad was always a jolly guy. He was a little overweight, and he was sweet to everyone. My mother always said that my father’s voice was like an opera singer, and we always thought maybe he could be one too because his voice was strong and loud, but refined. He loved baseball for sure; he loved the Dodgers, and he would only call them the Brooklyn Dodgers, even after they moved to become the LA Dodgers. When he was in the Army, he actually met Willie Mays, who used to call him “Brooklyn.” So that became his nickname within the house.

He would always wear a button-down shirt with a pocket on the left side where he would keep his pen and pad, as if he had real important work and notes to take. Because he was in the kitchen a lot, he was also in whites all the time. He loved Italian food and was an excellent chef—especially with pizza and calzones. Sometimes I would call the restaurant and say, “Oh dad, can you please bring me home VCP?” Veal Cutlet Parmesan was another favorite. I remember I walked in on him one day and he was taking out his 13th cheesecake of the day that he had made. It was a big business, but he never got stressed out, even though he was running this incredible restaurant with two catering halls, a huge pizza oven, a massive bar, and an enormous staff. Everything he took in stride, and then he would come home and be there for us if we needed him.

Lessons in Business and Life

My mom and dad were very, very hard workers. He always said, “There are no shortcuts. It will be your responsibility to prove to others that you can do the job, handle the job, lead, and do it well.” Even though my dad worked incredibly hard, his number one most favorite thing in the world was his family, and so he kept us close. Luckily, he gave me my first job; I was the coat check girl at the Rex Manor. My sister was a hostess, my mom would help, and my brother was a waiter. We were all there at the restaurant.

I remember as a girl I would go to the Rex with him on Mondays when he would “do the books.” I never really knew what that meant back then. I remember just sliding on the floors, going into the dining room, and checking everything out while he was sitting at a big dining room table with his calculator. I think that really planted the seed for me, and I think that is why I ended up going down to the floor of the New York Stock Exchange to be in the middle of everything and to cover business.

My father had an enormous, outsized influence on my life, from setting the tone of understanding business to making sure I did the right thing as a girl. I mean, my father would never allow me to take a car service. He insisted on driving me everywhere. He could have been in the middle of work, but if I had to go somewhere at night with friends, he would leave the restaurant, drive me, and then go right back. He always made it a point to ensure he was setting the tone for the family in the most positive way possible.

Shared Joys and Pride

My mom and my father were both really avid followers of horse racing. He wasn’t a big gambler at all, but he would put a few dollars on horses and loved to follow the races. I think that was another reason he always needed his pen—so he could circle things in the newspaper the next day about the horses that won. I’ll never forget the day I got a call from a jockey who named their horse after me: “Bartiromo.” When I called my dad about it, he was over the moon. He told all his friends that there was a horse named Bartiromo running, and that it would win. And it did win, actually!

You know, my father was a shy man, but he was always incredibly supportive of me, and I knew that he loved me so much. My parents did an incredible job raising me because they showered me with love and support—not material goods or presents. My father was so proud of me in my career, he really was. I remember he used to ask me for headshots to give to his friends at the local pork stores. One day, I went back to Brooklyn to check in with my family, and my mom wanted to pick something up from the store. As soon as I walked in behind the counter where all the meats were, there it was, front and center: an 8×10 picture of me. I looked at my dad and said, “Dad, you are gonna make me famous one pork store at a time.”

He wasn’t a well-traveled person, though I did send him to Italy for the first time later in life. He was very often just at home in Brooklyn with his family. He had his own unique style and way of talking. He used to say things to me like, “You’re going here, you’re going there… I can’t even go to Coney Island!” He was always worried about me. He would say, “Don’t let mom worry. We’re worried about you. Come home. I can’t go to Coney Island and you’re on this island and that island.”

Best Friends Until the End

I think I learned so much about myself from my dad, starting with what a family-oriented person I am. When my mom and dad were in their seventies, I remember calling them to see how they were doing. My mother told me, “Well, dad and I just finished having a very important conversation. We both decided that from now on, we’re going everywhere together. No matter what happens, we wanna go together.” They truly did not wanna leave each other’s side. Even if he just wanted to go to the store to pick up milk, my mom would go with him. They really were best friends.

When my father knew that his time was near to be leaving us, I asked him, “Dad, is there anything that I can do, or anything that you want me to make sure to get from the house?” He said, “Yes. Go in my third drawer in my bureau and get my Army tags. I want you to have them.” Today, I wear my father’s Army tags a lot. They have his name, his military number, and the key to his locker on them. I wear those Army tags on the air with pride.

A Final Message and Moving Forward

When my father first died in 2022, I kept waiting and waiting for him to come to me. Time went on, and then all of a sudden, I was sleeping one night and he came to me in a dream. I remember he walked into my bedroom wearing one of his favorite blue button-down shirts with the pocket and his pen inside. I rushed out of bed, gave him a huge hug, and said, “Dad, oh my God.” He wanted me to know that he was resting, that he was okay, and he reminded me to take care of mom. And that’s exactly what I did.

As I look back, I’m so grateful that I was open with my emotions. I was the one who got the whole family to start saying “I love you” all the time. My dad was shy and didn’t say it initially, but I kept saying it until he started saying it back. I feel really good about the way that I treated my dad, and I have no regrets.

Losing my father opened my eyes to how short life really is. We say it all the time as a throwaway line, but it truly is that short. Ever since he died, I try to take things less seriously. My father used to let everything roll off his back, whereas I tend to take everything—work, family, life—very seriously. When he passed, I made a commitment to try to do more of what he did, and to promise myself to be more like my father in that regard going forward. My name is Maria, and I’m one of the lucky ones.