By: Richard L. Smith
As the sun dipped low over the Passaic River Tuesday evening, the feeding area of St. John’s Church in Newark's East Ward was filled with emotion, reflection, and meaningful gratitude. 
Dozens of people—family, friends, longtime customers, and civic leaders—gathered on the church grounds not only to honor the late Antonino “Nino” D’Angelo, a beloved Harrison business owner, but to celebrate the legacy he quietly built through a decade of generosity.
I was on hand for the 5:30 p.m. ceremony, which was organized by the Honorable Newark East Ward Councilman Michael J. Silva, who stood with pride as more than three dozen attendees joined him on the 'humanitarian' grounds of St. John’s—a site Nino had supported for years through regular donations of food.
For nearly a decade, every Tuesday without fail, Nino delivered trays of pasta and pizza to support the Harrison, NJ “Help to Feed” organization.
His meals were shared just steps from where Tuesday’s tribute was held, often reaching the hands of those who simply had nowhere else to turn.
Yes, even while waiting to get food for the evening, some of the less fortunate joined in the ceremony to express their gratitude to Nino.
The location of the event was no coincidence. St. John’s Church is known throughout Newark as a lifeline for the city’s most vulnerable.
That made it the perfect setting to reflect on a man who gave quietly and consistently, with no expectation of recognition.
Councilman Silva, who first met Nino during his years in law enforcement, opened the ceremony with a deeply personal message. 
“This is more than a resolution or a citation,” he said. “This is about recognizing someone who gave back every week to people who had nothing. That’s ‘community patriotism’. That’s compassion. That’s Nino.”
Representatives from both Newark and Harrison, including Tom Dologhan from the Honorable Harrison Mayor Fife’s office, stood shoulder to shoulder in shared appreciation.
We all listened as Councilman Silva read an official Newark Municipal Council proclamation into the record, making clear that Nino’s name and acts of kindness would live on in the city’s official history.
Nino’s son, Salvatore D’Angelo, stood with quiet pride as he recalled his father’s dedication. 
“Every Tuesday, like clockwork, we’d pack up trays of food—pasta, pizza, whatever was needed,” Sal said. “He never saw it as charity. To him, it was just what you’re supposed to do when people are hungry.”
The atmosphere turned even more emotional when Nino’s wife, Maria, told me with tearful gratitude. Holding back sobs, she simply said, “I love you all for this.”
Her words were brief, but they carried the weight of years spent standing beside a man who saw feeding the hungry as part of his life’s purpose.
Monday’s ceremony was more than a memorial—it was a moment of unity and a reaffirmation of the power of everyday kindness.
It honored a man who chose to make Tuesdays special, not for himself, but for those who had no food, no home, and no hope.
And fittingly, it took place on the same grounds where, week after week, his gift of nourishment was served.
As Councilman Silva concluded the ceremony, he looked out over the small crowd. He said, “This is how we build community—by remembering people like Nino and by continuing to do the work he started.”
And just like that, as evening settled over Newark, the legacy of a quiet hero lived on—one plate at a time.
