his father couldn’t afford to pay real estate commissions. He needed an agent who would work for free. Louie quit college, got a real estate license so he could start selling the town houses, and jumped in to help his father. Lou Capano had invested in sons as well as real estate, and Louie had come through for him.
Slowly, the Cavalier project began to generate cash, and then, with Louie’s natural gift for real estate, their fortunes grew exponentially. They had pulled off an almost impossible venture, son and father standing shoulder to shoulder. Joey dropped out of college, too, and Louis Capano & Sons, Inc., was in full swing.
They bought the Branmar Plaza, a big moneymaker in Brandywine Hundred, and the Midway Shopping Center in Milltown. It both impressed and alarmed Lou to watch his son seek out property. “My father was the kind of guy who said, ‘OK, fine. Take over the whole thing,’ ” Louie recalled. “He really didn’t like the financial end of things. He let me do whatever I wanted. I was buying and selling land—my father
never
bought land he didn’t develop.”
Lou still believed that a real builder turned his hand to fine houses. He bought a chunk of oceanfront property from the Catholic church in Stone Harbor, New Jersey, on the south end of Seven Mile Beach. Stone Harbor had a lot more cachet than Wildwood and was slated to be decidedly upscale. Villa Maria by the Sea,a nuns’ retreat, abutted Lou’s Stone Harbor lot. Villa Maria was a big white barn of a place with wide lawns.
Development in Stone Harbor hadn’t even begun until 1970, and it was carefully planned, with wide streets and ordinances that would control future construction. Lou built a beach house in Stone Harbor for his family, and it demonstrated his vision. It was far more than a beach house; it dwarfed even the Weldin Road house. It rose majestically from the white sand and sea grasses and was over five thousand square feet, its oblique angles stained a rich brown, with skylights and walls of windows that faced only the sea beyond. The Stone Harbor place was more than a decade ahead of its time. When Lou built it, it sat alone on the beach, with an unobstructed view across the dunes to the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
There would be no more sleeping on mattresses on the floor. The Capanos all had their own rooms, and so did visitors, and their own access to a private beach. They swam and turned mahogany in the sun while Marguerite cooked pots of spaghetti or
pasta e fagioli
in her modern yellow-and-white kitchen. They still drank the strong red wine that Lou and the boys made:
dago red.
They called it that, too.
Lou Capano had come such a long way from the seven-year-old Calabrese immigrant in New Castle. Almost single-handedly he had built most of north Wilmington. He could drive down street after street and see the fine houses with his stamp on them. He had honored his family with short streets named for them. There were streets named Thomas, Louis, and Joseph, but there were also streets in Weldin Farms surely meant to commemorate the birth of his youngest son: one cul-de-sac called Gerard Circle, and the next, Capano Court. It was a small vanity for a man so down-to-earth.
Lou had given his family a mansion in the city and a paradise on the Atlantic Ocean, but still he always felt humble next to someone who had a formal education. And he had dreams for his children; he had meant for them all to go to college, and he would be the proudest man in Wilmington. Louie had proven that he didn’t need a degree to carve the Capano name in Delaware real estate history. And Joey was in the business, too. But Thomas—Thomas was the scholar.
Someday his boys would take over Louis Capano & Sons, Inc., and maybe he and Marguerite would retire and live on the beach, welcoming grandchildren and watching the sea roll in.
T OM had graduated from Archmere in 1967 and been accepted at Boston College. There he met Kay Ryan,
Slowly, the Cavalier project began to generate cash, and then, with Louie’s natural gift for real estate, their fortunes grew exponentially. They had pulled off an almost impossible venture, son and father standing shoulder to shoulder. Joey dropped out of college, too, and Louis Capano & Sons, Inc., was in full swing.
They bought the Branmar Plaza, a big moneymaker in Brandywine Hundred, and the Midway Shopping Center in Milltown. It both impressed and alarmed Lou to watch his son seek out property. “My father was the kind of guy who said, ‘OK, fine. Take over the whole thing,’ ” Louie recalled. “He really didn’t like the financial end of things. He let me do whatever I wanted. I was buying and selling land—my father
never
bought land he didn’t develop.”
Lou still believed that a real builder turned his hand to fine houses. He bought a chunk of oceanfront property from the Catholic church in Stone Harbor, New Jersey, on the south end of Seven Mile Beach. Stone Harbor had a lot more cachet than Wildwood and was slated to be decidedly upscale. Villa Maria by the Sea,a nuns’ retreat, abutted Lou’s Stone Harbor lot. Villa Maria was a big white barn of a place with wide lawns.
Development in Stone Harbor hadn’t even begun until 1970, and it was carefully planned, with wide streets and ordinances that would control future construction. Lou built a beach house in Stone Harbor for his family, and it demonstrated his vision. It was far more than a beach house; it dwarfed even the Weldin Road house. It rose majestically from the white sand and sea grasses and was over five thousand square feet, its oblique angles stained a rich brown, with skylights and walls of windows that faced only the sea beyond. The Stone Harbor place was more than a decade ahead of its time. When Lou built it, it sat alone on the beach, with an unobstructed view across the dunes to the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
There would be no more sleeping on mattresses on the floor. The Capanos all had their own rooms, and so did visitors, and their own access to a private beach. They swam and turned mahogany in the sun while Marguerite cooked pots of spaghetti or
pasta e fagioli
in her modern yellow-and-white kitchen. They still drank the strong red wine that Lou and the boys made:
dago red.
They called it that, too.
Lou Capano had come such a long way from the seven-year-old Calabrese immigrant in New Castle. Almost single-handedly he had built most of north Wilmington. He could drive down street after street and see the fine houses with his stamp on them. He had honored his family with short streets named for them. There were streets named Thomas, Louis, and Joseph, but there were also streets in Weldin Farms surely meant to commemorate the birth of his youngest son: one cul-de-sac called Gerard Circle, and the next, Capano Court. It was a small vanity for a man so down-to-earth.
Lou had given his family a mansion in the city and a paradise on the Atlantic Ocean, but still he always felt humble next to someone who had a formal education. And he had dreams for his children; he had meant for them all to go to college, and he would be the proudest man in Wilmington. Louie had proven that he didn’t need a degree to carve the Capano name in Delaware real estate history. And Joey was in the business, too. But Thomas—Thomas was the scholar.
Someday his boys would take over Louis Capano & Sons, Inc., and maybe he and Marguerite would retire and live on the beach, welcoming grandchildren and watching the sea roll in.
T OM had graduated from Archmere in 1967 and been accepted at Boston College. There he met Kay Ryan,
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