So it was with spring bursting onto the scene that I learned of Vincent Eterno’s death the other day, and there went the spring, from my step and from my heart.
A lot of people knew Vince. He was the ‘V’ in J&V Locksmith, with a store and office on Central Avenue, across from Common Road Bakery — but when I first met him, the ‘J’ in J&V was still around. This was Vince’s dad, Joseph Eterno; the two of them were in business together. I never figured out which was smarter. Both men were savvy enough to do something they loved, and although the library has some fairly complicated lock situations (fire doors, one-way locks, etc.), I never threw anything at those two that they couldn’t solve or correct or improve.
Vince moved the business to the Central Avenue location just in time to rescue me one morning when I couldn’t get my car key to turn in the ignition switch. He not only fixed the problem — he also showed me what to do if it ever recurred. Then he refused to let me pay him! “I didn’t do anything!” he said. “I didn’t cut you any keys. Don’t worry,” he added. “You’ll need me again sometime.”
And so I did. Over the years, he fixed the locks on the library’s outdoor book drops, upgraded locks that had worn out, performed major surgery on one of our fire doors, and provided additional non-duplicating keys. I called him knowing that he would arrive promptly, work expertly, charge reasonably (or not at all — he frequently donated his services to the library), and leave quickly. I also knew that we could trust him completely. I appreciated his expertise and his lively intelligence, and the way he seemed to find life amusing.
John Donne famously said in one of his poems, “Any man’s death diminishes me,” and I’ve always had reservations about that. I know what he meant; I just think the world was a smaller and simpler place back in the 1500s. But Vince’s death — even though I really hardly knew him — is like a light going out; it takes some of the shine from the world. The idea that this quick, kind, and funny man with the snapping brown eyes won’t be among us now is hard to absorb. Good-bye, Vince — and thanks!
Susan Harper is director of the Commerce Public Library. She lives in Commerce.
