Alfred A. Tella, Jr. (93), passed away peacefully on September 26, 2026. Born in East Boston, he was the youngest of three boys born to Alfred Sr. and Christine (née Staffieri). After a brief time living in Chelsea, the family settled in Medford in December 1949. Except for the years he spent in the Army (1953–1955), Alfred never left the house he and his parents adored. He continued to live there with his wife, Rosemarie (née Buccafusca), who predeceased him in 2021 after 59 years of marriage. “I just wanted you to know,” he once wrote to his wife, “I hit the lottery big time. I married you.”
It was also the home where, together, they raised their two sons, Robert and James. An enigma to many who met him, Alfred was—unlike the rest of his family—always the quietest figure in a room full of people. Before beginning his lifelong career with the U.S. Postal Service, he held several odd jobs, including working as a toll taker on the Weston–Newton line of the Mass Pike. It was there, one Sunday night when his was the only booth open, that the greatest excitement of the evening came in the form of a call from the state police: a prisoner had escaped from a nearby facility, and he was to be on the lookout. Whether he ever saw the convict, he never said. While nothing quite like that happened during his years at the post office, perhaps working there is what made him an avid stamp collector. Without a doubt, his job at the Boston Mail Hub was the reason he would continue to lament the increasing price of postage to anyone who would listen. Yet, despite working nights and the fact that the Post Office paid double for Christmas shifts, Alfred never volunteered to work the holiday. “I was there to film you boys waking up every Christmas morning, and those are some of my best memories,” he later wrote in a letter.
During his younger years, Alfred was always relegated to the confines of the cellar or the back porch when he lit up his cigars and pipes, but he eventually quit so quietly that not even his family noticed. Perhaps, too, because he was shorter than his wife, she could never see him coming—causing him to “pop out of nowhere” and inadvertently scare her. It always made for a good laugh—after the fact, of course.
Alfred may not have traveled the world or driven his car very far, but he fully lived up to the description of a good man. Even when those closest to him passed away or disappointed him, it was hard to see his emotions; they were constantly kept in check. But if you looked hard enough, you could see the cracks in the wall. “There was such heavy rain the night Ma died,” he once shared about our grandmother. “It was dark, and the storm seemed to ravage everything. But when the sun rose, it was bright and sunny. I have always pictured my mother ascending to heaven in that sunshine.” We’d like to think that our dad will finally get confirmation that she did.
He will be laid to rest alongside his beloved Rosemarie in Oak Grove Cemetery during a private ceremony with immediate family.