MICHAEL FERUGIO: The Measure of a
Man
"The
true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do
him absolutely no good." Samuel Johnson, the 18th-
century man of letters, wrote it, and Michael Ferugio
lived it.
He came from Smalltown, U.S.A. Pottsville is an aging
coal-mining town in the northeastern hills of
Pennsylvania, and like many young people there, Mr.
Ferugio, 37, left to make his fortune.
Still, he took something with him. His father was a
steam-pipe fitter, his mother a homemaker. They imparted
some regular folk wisdom to him that he did not abandon:
"You're no better than anyone else."
"We used to fight because he said hello to strangers,"
said his wife, Susan, 34, who grew up in Queens and lived
with her husband in Brooklyn. "I'm a New Yorker, and I
told him you can't do that here."
But he did, top to bottom. As an insurance broker at
Aon, he ate breakfast with chief executives at the World
Trade Center, and when he was done, he made small talk
with the secretaries. After his death, Susan went through
his phone book. Inside were the numbers of half a dozen
janitors. His friends.
.
